Chapter 6

The next morning Erik found Poison stretched out on the couch dressed in her shorts, tank top, and trench coat. She had her white ankles crossed, and she was skillfully flipping her silver butterfly knife open and close.

"You up?" Erik asked as he stopped in the doorway.

She tipped her head back meeting his yellow eyes. "Yep."

Walking around the couch, with her green eyes following him, Erik kept a certain distance between them. He came to stand at the other end of the couch. "I thought you would sleep longer."

Continuing to flip the knife back and forth, she batted her long lashes at him. "Why sleep when one could do much more…interesting things in a bed?"

Erik flushed red, and turned from her. "Must you speak so…plainly Mademoiselle?"

Poison smirked and drew her legs up under her. Flipping the knife closed, she turned so that her head was handing over the cushions, bare feet in the air and looking at him upside down. "Yes. I speak my mind. No one can stop me. Some have tried, but they had all failed."

Erik turned back to face her, shock on his face as she lay on the couch almost upside down. He took a step toward her, "Well then, Mademoiselle, I believe I will be to one to stop you. You see, I want my peace."

"What's the fun with onesies? How about make it a twosies?" She rocked her hips forward and filliped over. Moving quickly about the lair, Poison jumped around candelabras, the tails of her coat flying out behind her. She came to rest on Erik's bench, peering at him from under her hair that had fallen in her face. She smiled brightly.

"Will you stop running about the room?!" he yelled walking toward her.

She shot off again this time brushing past him and ran up in to her room, laughing all the away.

Erik contemplation on following her and threatening her, but he instead just groaned and went to the organ to pound out his frustrations.

xxxxx

Poison pulled out the two dresses and laid them on the bed. She searched around the room for the needed supplies. Surprisingly, she found them in a drawer in one of the dressers. Walking back to the bed with the scissors, needle, and thread, Poison thought about how she had acted earlier. She had never acted that playful with Stick. But then, maybe it was because Erik was so tense. She smiled as she heard the organ start up. It was a dark tune. Angry and seductive at the same time. If he had been in her own time, all the girls and women would throw themselves at his feet. He would be a great Goth with his temper and his dark morbidness.

Sliding the sharp scissors up the long skirt of the dark green dress, she cut the extra layer of cloth from the under part. Setting the cloth that she had cut to the side, Poison began to alter the rest of the dress. When it was cut and stitched the way she wanted, she made a tank top and long skirt out of the long strip of cloth she had cut from the dress.

She then turned back to the green dress. She hemmed the slit then cut the sleeves out. Changing out of the shorts and tank top, she pulled on her new outfit. Pulling her coat back on, she began to work on the red and black dress. Already liking the style, she didn't change much. She cut the sleeves out and dropped the neckline.

Stepping back, she looked over her work. It was not much, but it still looked great. A knock on the door caused her to jump. Erik. She walked to the door and pulled it open. Cold yellow eyes stared down at her. They took in the new outfit she was wearing and the altered dresses lying on the bed. To Poison, it looked like he was about to say something about it, but changed his mind.

"I have a feeling that you may be hungry. If you want to eat, follow me." Without another word he turned not looking back to see if she was following.

Surprisingly, she did feel a bit hungry. Following him, she found herself in a small kitchen. Standing stiff, Erik gestured to the table. She moved to one of the chairs, even more surprised when he pulled it out. Raising an eyebrow, she sat down. Erik moved to sit across from her.

"Eat." He said coldly.

Poison stared at him for a few minutes more, before picking up the hunk of bread. "May I ask you a question?"

"I believe you already have." He mocked.

A smile graced her face, "I'm curious. I believe I know you."

"How can you know me if you have never seen me? You say you are from the future. If you are truly, then I would be long past dead. So how do you know me?"

"Well," she began, taking a small bite of the bread, "in my time you are known. As a story."

"A story?" now he sounded interested.

"Yes. A story. As the…Phantom of the Opera?"