Disclaimer: I don't own POTO; and I certainly do not own lewd golden statues of naked women!


Chapter Two: Hannibal and Think of Me when Carlotta sings it, before she nearly gets squashed. Any connection?

1870, the Paris Opera house – even though this was supposed to take place in the 1880s, according to the book, but let's ignore that for now, shall we?

The entire auditorium and stage has been magically – well, digitally - restored to its former glory. Unfortunately, that includes (among more naked golden women than is good, right or remotely decent for any room, musical or not) Carlotta, complete with a big gilt skirt, a strange red wig and holding Hannibal(both the general and the Doctor)'s answer to: What do you get the spoilt diva who has everything? A severed human head in a bag, with scary disgusting bloodstained spinal cords still attached, that's what. Besides being a collector's item and a totally repulsive piece of memorabilia, it says a number of cute catchphrases, including several forms of 'Argh!', and the ever endearing death rattle. No Opera Diva should be without one.

Carlotta: THHHEEEEESSSSSSEEEEEEEE TROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPHEEEEEEEEEEE

FROM OUR SAAAAAAAAAVIOURS…

and more of the same; but I can't bothered to type it all out. Let's just say it sounds a bit like Sarah Brightman.

Sarah Brightman fans: Grrr. (Throw a random machete they just happen to have, but which misses by about a mile, since I am the narrator of this phic and I don't particularly want to get the top of my head sliced off, so I say it misses me. Plus the fact that technically I'm disembodied in this, so I can't get the top of my head sliced off in any case – but it's the fact that they threw it to hit that's important.)

People in audience who haven't seen the stage show and so don't have some inkling of what that was about: Okay, I have absolutely no idea what she just said.

That is, I believe, the usual opinion with most opera goers in this day and age.

Same people: All right: I know she was speaking English, and yet I still have absolutely no idea what she just said.

Deal with it. So, after Carlotta does her little opening bit, with much waving about of her new toy – shudders – all the dancing girls and dancing boys – that just sounded so wrong, lets change it to male dancers – and some people wearing really strange headdresses, and some other people wearing loads of big armour, go onto the stage, and start dancing about. The girls are wearing very skimpy clothing for something set in the 1870s. But I can see why the Phantom would be spying on the rehearsals all the time, if they wore stuff like this everyday. And when they bring out the chains, I can definitely understand why the Phantom is watching this particular rehearsal – as well as many of the males in the audience.

Joel Schumacher: That is so not true! This is totally a family film!

Phantom(from up in the flies): And I'm not a pervert!

Joel, this is a PG-13, so don't talk to me about family films. And you're not in this scene yet, Erik, so go away. So where were we, when I got sidetracked on the dubious rating? Oh, yeah; Piangi comes forward to sing – though how he can sing properly through that strange mouth-guard is anyone's guess.

Piangi: Sada return to finda the land we lova, threatened once more by Roma's far reaching-

Strange little Piangi who is in the film for no reason that can be attained at short notice: (Mimes.)

Reyer: For God's sake, man, if the gilt Spanish chick can say the damn word, you should certainly be able to manage it! Now, try it again!

Piangi: Si, si…threatened once more by Roma's-

Reyer: No, no, it's Rome! Rome!

Piangi: Roma?

Reyer: For the last time, you obese Italian dolt, it's Rome! Rome! Rome! With an 'e'! Rome, I tell you! ROME!

Pause.

Piangi: …Roma?

Reyer:(Lies down and cries.)

Lefevre: Umm…maybe I should intervene at this point?

Maybe you should.

Lefevre: All righty. (to Andre and Firmin, who have come in with him) Rehearsals, as you can see, are under way for a new production of 'Hannibal'. Or at least they would be if the conductor wasn't currently lying in the orchestra pit in a foetal position and sucking his thumb.

Reyer(incensed by this remark and leaping up): Monsieur Lefevre! I am rehearsing!

Carlotta: You no rehearsing, we rehearsing! All you doing is standing in orchestra pit waving your stick!

Reyer: You are all meaningless! You are merely pieces on the stage! I am the master! I control all! I'M KING OF THE WORLD!

Phantom(from the flies): And people say I'm weird.

Giry: That's becoming a bit of a catchphrase in this film(apparently remembering the last scene, despite the fact that philosophically it hasn't happened yet. Don't ask.).

What ever. Go away, Erik; I'm not warning you again.

Phantom: But I am in the scene! I'm lurking!

Oh yes, so you are. Well, you can stay then; but don't say anything. The point of lurking is to skulk in the shadows, not to make sarcastic comments about the proceedings.

Phantom: What ever.

Giry: And that's becoming a catchphrase as well!

Lefevre: Seriously, though, the man in the mask has a point. Sometimes Reyer does really nutty things – he could give the Phantom a run for his money.

Meg: Hmm. 'He's there, the Conductor of the Opera!"…Nope, just doesn't sound as catchy.

Lefevre: But maybe if we gave him a swishy little cloak and a mask-

Meg: But he doesn't have a disfigurement to hide!

Phantom: It could be arranged.

Giry: Don't you think this building has enough strange men stalking around in masks and swishing cloaks doing crazy things?

Phantom: Exactly! I refuse to be compared with a loony conductor!

Lefevre: But Reyer does crazy things so well!

Reyer: I am right here, you know. I can hear every word you're saying.

Lefevre: So?

Reyer: Ooo, I hate you so much. I'm going to make a papier mache model of you out of sheet music and stick pins in it!

Lefevre: You do that. (To Andre and Firmin) Make sure you keep him away from sharp objects.

He then notices – about time, in my opinion - that none of the characters on stage – or anywhere in the building for that matter – except for the Phantom, Reyer, who is frothing at the mouth, and the two Girys, are actually moving or blinking or even breathing. Carlotta's stuck in the middle of a horrible pout. Andre and Firmin are licking their lips at the sight of the ballet girls. Buquet is in the act of picking his nose. And so on. It's like they're all stuck in a little time warp. It would be quite impressive if it wasn't quite so creepy.

Lefevre: Hey, how come everyone's suddenly started playing musical statues?

Phantom(bored): They haven't. They just stopped moving. And if you'd been paying attention, you'd have noticed that it didn't happen just now – it's been happening since, like, from when you starting talking about dressing that idiot up in one of my capes.

Lefevre: So why didn't you say anything?

Phantom: I don't know – I suppose the sight of Buquet forever stuck in the motion of picking his nose is quite diverting.

Actually, neither of you were paying attention. If you had been, you would have noticed that everyone stopped just after Giry's line about the catchphrase.

Giry: I noticed. I always notice these things.

Lefevre: So why didn't you say anything?

Giry:(Shrugs) I don't talk. It's not my job.

Meg: What have you done to them, anyway?

Well, it's a little bit complicated. Anyone here seen X-Men 2?

Meg(excited, bouncing up and down and waving her hand in the air): Ooo, ooo, ooo, I saw that! Hugh Jackman is so hot! Though I liked him in Van Helsing as well – I love guys with long hair!

Yeah, me too. But anyway, to avoid getting sidetracked; you remember that bit in the museum, when Pyro set that guy on fire, and Iceman put him out, and Professor Xavier froze everyone in the place except the mutants so they wouldn't get into trouble?

Everyone(except Reyer, who is gnawing his baton): Yes.

Phantom: …Well, I haven't, but I'll take your word for it.

Well, that's basically what I did here.

Lefevre: How? You don't exactly have wheel-chair bound bald telepath powers…unless…Oh, dear God, you're one of those authors who can inflict anything they want upon us simply by wishing it, aren't you?

Phantom (seriously panicked, trying to claw his way up the guy-ropes to safety): No! Not that! Anything but that! Leave me alone! Stay away from my trousers; away, I tell you!

Actually, I'm a sixteen year old school girl living in Surrey in the south of England, currently sitting in front of her computer, wondering why on earth she's writing this into her fan-fiction. I don't have any deadly powers. I'm not going to murder or maim or mutilate or assault anyone in any way in this fiction. And Erik, please believe me when I say this; I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in your trousers, or whatever they may contain.

Phantom: That's what they all say!

Just because I'm legal doesn't necessarily mean I'm interested in that sort of thing. Not when I can buy a lottery ticket. Or even get married with my parents' consent.

Phantom: Wow! England sounds so much better than France! I should take Christine there!

Lefevre: All this is very interesting; but if you don't have any scary author powers, how did you freeze everyone?

I didn't do it. He did.

Joel Schumacher (inserting himself once again): Hi, everybody!

Everyone(except Reyer, who's now hitting himself over the head with the gnawed baton, rather in the fashion of anyone who has to greet that rather inept doctor with the beard in the Simpsons): Hi, Mr. Schumacher!

Lefevre: So do you have wheel-chair bound bald telepath powers, then?

Schumacher: Nope. This is a film, right?

Eveyone (even Reyer, who's stopped hitting himself over the head long enough to answer): Yeeeees?

Schumacher: Well, since this is a film, and I'm the director, I can just pause it when I please. Such as now.

Phantom: Yeah, but why?

Well, when I started writing this thing, Joel and I formed a truce. Since I don't profess to have any weird author powers, I can't really control you lot except with stern words. So I made Joel – with his influence as the actual director of this movie - promise that if things got really out of hand, he'd pause it so that I – or we, if such was the case – could reprimand whoever wasn't playing their part properly.

Phantom: How did you do that?

I bribed him.

Phantom: I have a feeling I'm really going to regret asking this…but I'll do it anyway. With what?

Doodlebags.

Giry: I beg your pardon?

Doodlebags. Randombattlecry has blueberry muffins, L'ange d'Erik has blueberry waffles – I have doodlebags. Rice crispies mixed with melted Mars bars and chocolate and butter, frozen and cut into slabs. The ultimate chocoholic's dream.

Phantom: I find that hard to believe.

You'd be surprised. Don't knock 'em 'till you've tried 'em, if you don't mind.

Joel: Seriously; they are so good. If she gave me enough, I'd let her be the director.

Never underestimate the power of Rice Crispies.

Lefevre: I'll take your word for it. So what did we do wrong anyway?

Joel: Well, correct me if I'm wrong, sweetheart-

Lefevre: I'm not your sweetheart, bub.

Joel: Well, compadre, then; but I don't really think you're supposed to start having a conversation with the Phantom in the middle of the rehearsal about the selling potential of 'The Conductor of the Opera'. Or that you should start chatting at length about the 'strange dark man stalking around in a mask and a swishing cloak, doing crazy things'. Kind of takes the whole mystery out of the movie, if you know what I mean.

Phantom: But that's what I do, after all!

Joel: Erik, dear; you know that. I know that. Practically half the audience knows that. But the cast aren't meant to know that – at least, not yet.

So if Joel just un-pauses everything, you don't talk about this enjoyable little conversation of the last few minutes, and we can all pretend this never happened, okay?

Meg: But what if we do talk?

My advice to you is – don't.

Meg: Yeah; but what if we do talk – by accident, of course?

Well, Lefevre leaves for Australia after this scene, Madame Giry never says much if she can help it, I highly doubt Erik's going to start chatting to the cast, considering his extremely anti-social behaviour, Reyer's a few scales short of an aria -

Reyer: Aria? Aria! That damned aria! THAT DAMNED ARIA!

umm, yeah; as you can see, no one's going to believe him anyway – and as for you, Meg, I think everyone will be far too busy staring at your neckline and below it to listen to anything you say.

Meg: Gee, thanks!

I didn't necessarily mean that as a compliment, but if it makes you happy – but on the whole I'm fairly satisfied with the way you were portrayed in this film, so we won't say anything more on that subject. Anyway, I believe we have a scene to continue?

Everyone (except Reyer, who is now pulling his moustache out, and Joel, who is munching some doodlebags): Oh, yeah.

Good. Isn't it nice when we all agree? Now, everyone get back into the positions you were in when the scene first got frozen-

Phantom: That would be just after the first catchphrase comment, right?

Yes, it would. And somebody please make Reyer stop pulling his hair out.

Phantom: I must say, it is rather refreshing to see someone other than me portrayed as a raving nut case for a change.

Joel: Yeah; but for the sake of reality we're going to keep Reyer on drugs for the rest of the movie. I messed up on some of the research in this, but I don't think many theatres would have employed a mad conductor, no matter how good he was.

Phantom: Spoilsport.

Joel: Don't worry; according to one review of this film, thanks to my fetishistic obsession with your gloves, you're like a slightly creepy Alvin Stardust impersonator.

Phantom(sarcastically): Oh, joy.

Joel(immune to sarcasm): Glad you're so happy.

Joel, with a doodlebag wedged between his teeth, unfreezes the scene, and everyone starts moving around again – bar those people who were unfrozen before, who just keep on moving. So the film finally gets going again, after a pretty pointless debate about the selling potential of the 'Conductor of the Opera', an exhibition of the director's awesome 'pausing' powers, a discussion of the attractiveness of men with long hair, the revelation of just what kind of sad, lonely weirdo is writing this phic, the statement of the age of consent and just how many things you can do in England when you turn sixteen, the second revelation of doodlebags as useful bribing material, a segment of a rather less flattering review of the movie, as well as the conformation that one of the characters is insane and is on the pills – which is pretty darn good for what has been, in theory, only the first ten minutes of the film.

Carlotta: Whya are ma lips stuck inna trout pout?

Andre and Firmin: And why are our lips all soggy?

Buquet: And why do I feel like I've had my finger jammed up my nose for the last five minutes?

Not saying a word. Not. One. Word.

Lefevre: Where was I? Oh, yeah: Monsieur Reyer, Madam Giry, ladies and gentlemen; if I could have your attention? (Not that he needs it; they're all looking at him anyway.) As you know, there have been rumours of my imminent retirement. I can now tell you that these were all true-

Some random stage hand: What? Even the one of you going off to California with a mail order bride?

Lefevre: Well, not that one-

Another random stage hand: And the one about you having a sex change operation and wanting to be called Leslie?

Lefevre: Shut up, you. Put it like this; I'm leaving. These are the two suckers – I mean, the two gentlemen who now own the Opera Populaire. Richard Firmin and Gilles André. Everyone give them a nice clap, now.

The cast accordingly clap.

Another random guy: Gilles? What are you, a fish?

André: Remind me to fire that bloke.

Firmin: Okay. (Pause) Fire that bloke.

André: YOU'RE FIRED!

Lefevre: Technically, I am still the manager; so you can't fire him just yet.

André: That's okay. I can wait. You are mine. All mine… (Rubs his hands in a rather creepy manner.)

Firmin: Well, while we're here, we'd like to introduce our new patron, the Vicomte de Chagny.

Enter Raoul, who's had all the old bloke makeup scraped off and is looking young, spry, and – I hate to say it, but it must be said – just a little foppish in his shoulder-length wig.

E/C worshippers in the audience: AAAAAAAHHHHH! FOP! KILL! KILL!

Raoul worshippers in the audience: No one's killing anyone else!

Not in my phic they're not; at least not if they're not meant to. In any case, you can't kill him, since he's in the film and you're sitting in a cinema.

E/C worshippers: DAMN.

Dancing Girls: Ooooo, he's, like, so dreamy!

Christine: OMG! Meg, I know him! I know him! He's a childhood friend! We used to hang out and everything! We were bestest friends! He was so sweet! He used to call me such a cute nickname - 'Little Lotte'!

Meg: Little Lotte? How the hell do you get 'Little Lotte' from Christine?

Christine: The same way you get 'Little Meg' from Marguerite or Magdalene, I suppose.

Meg: Not exactly. I mean, at least there are 'M's and 'g's in those names…

Raoul: Yeah, I'm really happy to be here, being the patron of this wonderful opera house – even though I don't really like opera, since I can't really understand what anyone's saying half the time.

Audience: The feeling's mutual.

Lefevre: In the meantime, this is the woman who's been driving us all completely nuts for the past five seasons.

Firmin: You mean the leading soprano, I'm sure.

Lefevre: (shrugs) Same thing.

Carlotta: Hiya, Mista Vicomte! (Practically drools all over him. Raoul doesn't notice, or if he does he pretends not to, in which case he's doing a very good job.)

Piangi: Hey! I'ma your boyfriend! I'ma youra amore!

Carlotta: Quiet, Piangi; I'ma talking to the Vicomte.

Piangi glares at Raoul. Raoul, although he's not very quick on the uptake in many respects, is very intelligent in some ways, and quickly takes the hint.

Raoul: And I believe that is my cue to leave. I'll be here this evening to celebrate your great triumph. Bye, y'all. (Walks up to Christine, who's grinning like a loony – and straight past her. He doesn't even look at her. Not once. Not even once.)

Meg: Well, it has been a long time since he last saw you…

Christine: Shut up.

Meg: He was probably so excited at the thought of this evening, he wasn't paying attention…

Christine: Shut up.

Meg: You were standing in the shadows, so he most likely couldn't see your face properly…

Christine: I cannot believe you will not shut up.

Meg: Point taken. Shutting up now.

Christine: Thank you.

Giry: All right, enough standing around; back to work.

Everyone starts dancing with the chains again. Unsurprisingly, this draws the new managers' attention. Well, it's not really surprising; a bunch of cute girls not dressed in much will draw the attention of any red-blooded hetero-sexual man.

André: Whoa, check out the hot little blonde.

This earns him a 'look' from Giry. I'm sure you know the sort I mean. If looks could maim, then André would have to be carried away in a basket.

Giry: That's my daughter. Meg Giry. Very nice little girl, wouldn't you say? She is such a treasure. Of course, that means I am very protective of her. Very, very protective. If you know what I mean.

André: Meep.

It's clear he does.

Firmin: Well, anyways, (resolutely not looking at Meg) that brunette just behind her is pretty hot as well.

Phantom: Grrrr.

Firmin: What was that?

Giry: Nothing. Just a ghost of an echo.

The big finale comes, with lots of wailing from Carlotta, and smiting on breasts from the ballet girls – god, the managers are really drooling by now – and Piangi climbing onto that big fake elephant, which is quite an achievement in the armour he's wearing. It's like trying to climb on top of a wall while encased in a giant tin can, while also weighing about 16 stone. Well done to the man for trying, even if he didn't quite manage it. Have a special little round of applause.

Applause: CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP times a few more hundred.

Okay, that's enough. We don't want it going to your head.

Piangi: My public, I lova you, I lova you all!

Reyer(who is now high on all the pills he's been given to stop him from killing somebody, namely Piangi): Wheee! We did it! It's over! Yay! Go everybody! I love you all so very much, even though I have no idea who any of you are! WHEEEEEEE!

Okay, maybe we gave him too many pills. Anyway, Carlotta starts having a hissy fit, because the managers have been ogling the ballet girls rather than watching her. Seriously, though, who wouldn't rather watch some hot girls in not much at all rattle their chains and smite their breasts, rather than have to listen to some Spanish diva, who can't even sing properly, butcher the score? Not the males in the opera house; that's for certain; and not the males in the audience either. Though the fact that the choreography had been directed by a woman a.k.a Madame Giry, at least in the film, is rather scary. Best not dwell on that.

Carlotta: I leave! You no appreciate my talents! Bye bye!

Firmin: No, please, we love you, Carlotta!

André: That's right! We would happily listen to you for hours – if there were dancing girls in the background…

Carlotta: WHATTA YOU SAYA?

André: I said you produce a beautiful sound! And you do! Would you care to provide us with an example?

Carlotta: Oh, OKAY. But only causa you asked nicely.

Lefevre: If you would, Reyer?

Reyer: Sure! I love everybody! Here goes!

Carlotta: (Screeches. Well, actually it's not that bad, it's just…all right, let's just stick with the screeching.)

Everybody winces and keeps on wincing, except Reyer, who isn't paying any attention because he's waving his arms trying to fly; and the Phantom because he's untying a backdrop to drop on her. Which he does. Not soon enough.

Carlotta: Aaaeeeemmpppfff. (Disappears under the backdrop.)

Meg : HE'S THERE! THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA!

Giry: We know he's there. He's been there since the scene started.

Meg: Mama, as Joel Schumacher said earlier, you know that. I know that. But they don't know that.

Giry: Well, if they don't, they sure as hell do now.

Lefevre: OH MY GOD! That backdrop cost three thousand francs; and it's ruined! Ruined! Three thousand francs down the toilet!

Firmin: Should you be concerned? I mean, since this isn't really your opera house any more, it's not really your problem anymore either.

Lefevre: Oh, good point. Still, it's the principle of the thing that matters.

Piangi: Does nobody cara that a falling backdropa nearly crushed the life outta her?

Everybody: Umm…

Apparently not.

Lefevre: Oh well, I will appear to be concerned. Buquet, what's going on up there?

Buquet: Please Monsieur, don't look at me! As God's my judge, I wasn't at my post-

Lefevre: We don't care about that! Just tell us what happened!

Firmin: Aren't you the least bit concerned that your chief stagehand just left his post for no apparent reason?

Again, it would appear not.

André: Forget the francs, this whole place is going down the toilet.

Buquet: As I was saying – please, monsieur, there's no one there! Or if there is – well then, it must be a ghost! (Laughs sinisterly.)

Phantom: Oooo, you know too much. I may have to kill you later on.

Buquet: (Stops laughing and starts looking scared instead.)

Carlotta(who by this time has been freed from the backdrop): THAT'SA EET! I TAKE NO MORE OF THIS! I REALLY GO BYE BYE! SO BYE BYE! (She storms off stage, calling for her poodles.)

Lefevre: She'll be back. She says all this stuff, but she never means it. She always comes back. Just you wait and see. She'll be back.

They wait. She doesn't come back.

Lefevre: All right; maybe this time she did mean it.

Piangi: Way to go, dumbo.

Reyer(who if he hadn't been high on pills would probably have been so dead of a heart attack at this point, but as it is, is making paper aeroplanes out of the sheet music): Whee, pretty planes! Whooosh!

Lefevre: Well, I'm done with hanging around this popsicle stand; so I'm outta here!

André: But you can't just-

Lefevre: Don't worry, I'm sure you'll both do fine!

Firmin: But how can we-

Lefevre: It's as easy as winking; just make sure you balance the bills and keep on the good side of the Phantom.

André: But-

Lefevre: Bye now.

Firmin: But-

Lefevre: Au revoir.

Both mangers: But-

Lefevre: Later. (He scoots away before the two can get a stranglehold on him.)

Giry(with classic merde timing): I have a message, sirs, from the opera ghost.

Firmin: Oh, for God's sake! Are you all on something?

Giry: No, that's just Reyer. The ballet girls just drink rum. Anyways, basically he says "Welcome to my Opera house, you saps; do as I say and you'll stay alive; keep box five empty for me and me alone or you'll regret it; and don't forget my salary, or else. Yrs sincerely, O.G."

André: What a nice, polite fellow.

Whether he's being sarcastic or just plain dumb I leave up to you to decide.

Firmin(tearing up the note – not the best action on his part, methinks): Well, we obviously won't be able to pay him, since we won't be able to have our gala tonight, since we seem to have lost something rather important.

Random stage hand: The music?

Another random stage hand: The conductor?

Yet another random (and apparently randy) stagehand: The dancing girls' bras?

Firmin: The STAR, you cretins. We'll have to refund the full house.

Giry: Oh no you won't, because Christine Daaé will magically step in and save the day, because she can suddenly sing really well.

Firmin: She will?

Giry: Yes; otherwise there isn't much point to the story, is there?

André: I suppose not. Come on, then, dear – and I am not ogling you in anyway whatsoever as I say this…

Christine: Gee, thanks.

Reyer: From the beginning of the aria, then, mademoiselle. Whee, this is fun!

Christine: (Sings. Very well indeed, although that is apparently a matter of opinion in the audience.)

Random members of the audience: I like Sarah Brightman better.

Other random members of the audience: No way, Emmy rules. (Fight consequently breaks out.)

Giry: And so it begins. Again. Hey, another catchphrase!


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