Short and sweet today…or short, at any rate. I would like to thank my beta reader, Forkie, for taking a break from making inappropriate camel jokes to read over this. Come oooon, camel!
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"And do I dream again?" sang Christine as Poot began to lead her down a flight of stone stairs. "For now I—oh!"
Poot had been looking back at her again and again as they moved along, as if hardly believing she was really there. With the addition of stairs to the equation, however, it all proved to be too much for his motor skills, and down he went.
Christine watched as the angel of music tumbled down the stairs, emitting loud curses and becoming entangled in his own cape. He soon came to rest at the bottom of the steps and stopped yelling. Christine hurried down to him, concerned, but before she got there, he began to struggle.
"Stop!" laughed Christine, seeing that he was entirely trussed up in his cape, his arms pinned to his sides. "You'll rip it!"
Poot looked up at her and sighed heavily. She laughed again and knelt to untie him. As she reached toward him, however, another though occurred to her. Without warning, she darted her hand forward and snatched off his mask.
Poot stared up at her for a moment, shocked. She stared back, taking in the sight of his face. While it did immediately bring up feelings of revulsion, it somehow failed to live up to her expectations. She could see how such a face would utterly ruin one's chances in polite society…and yet, when it came down to it, it could have been worse.
"Damn you!" shouted Poot, breaking the tableau and starting the thrash around. "You little prying Pandora!"
Christine jumped to her feet and backed away in order to avoid being struck by one of his legs. Poot continued to yell insults and something about how she could no longer be free. Christine simply stood and waited for him to get it all out, noting that in the meantime he was worsening his predicament with the cape.
Poot finally finished his tantrum and lay still, fuming. He pointedly looked away from Christine, looking thoroughly uncomfortable and thoroughly pinned.
"It's really not that bad," commented Christine when she was sure he was done. Poot whipped his head around to stare at her incredulously.
"Not that bad!" he spluttered. "How can you even look at it?"
Christine shrugged.
"Well, Buquet said you had no nose, so compared to that…."
Poot snorted in derision and scowled at the ceiling. "Buquet should learn to keep his mouth shut."
"So I'm a 'little demon'?" asked Christine, returning to the words of his extended outburst.
"You did pull off my mask," grumbled Poot. "It was very rude."
Christine nodded absently, playing with the mask.
"Well," Poot considered what he was about to say for a moment before saying it. "If you help me up, we could just pick up where we left off."
"That works for me," replied Christine, kneeling again. It was but the work of a moment to free Poot, who sat up, looking sheepish. He took his mask back from Christine, adjusted his wig as best he could, and stood up.
"Let's see," he muttered, putting his mask back on and brushing ineffectually at his cape, which had become a mass of wrinkles. "Ah, yes."
He reached for Christine's hand, and she gave it to him. Poot closed his eyes in concentration, hummed a note, and launched back into song.
"Sing once again with me—our strange duet!" he sang.
Christine laughed out loud. She hadn't thought he would want to pick up exactly where they had left off. Poot chuckled softly as well, but held a finger to his lips before going on with "My power over you grows stronger yet!"
Christine smothered her giggles and followed when he began to move again, and the song went on.