There wasn't a great many things to do while being cooped up in her room. The thought of marrying Erik had Lysandre feeling, truthfully, a bit nauseated. Maybe if he weren't such a complete psycho, he'd be a bit more loveable. While she pondered things to do, she began to smack her head against the wall. The walls must have been really thin in that underground house, because before long Erik came in. He gave a gasp of surprise when he saw that Lysandre's forehead was bleeding a bit.
"You've got no one to blame but yourself," she chided. "Quid pro quo, douchebag." Erik shook his head at her and pulled out a long piece of rope. Lysandre's eyes widened. "What the hell do you think you're doing with that?" She exclaimed.
"You're not going to kill yourself," Erik told her. "You'll not get out of this that easily!" With the rope, he bound her wrists and tied her to one of the bedposts.
"You're so friggin high right now," Lysandre said. "You've been poppin' them pills, trippin' on acid, bruh!" Pointing this out to him didn't keep him from tying her up. He left her there, alone, to dwell on her future and make her decision.
Fine, Lysandre thought. If you're gonna play dirty, I'll play dirty too. With that in mind, she promptly began to do the most natural thing: annoy the shit out of Erik.
"I GOTTA GET BACK TO HOGWARTS!" She sang, very loudly and very off-key, something Erik wasn't very accustomed to hearing. "I GOTTA GET BACK TO SCHOOOOL. I GOTTA GET MYSELF TO HOGWARTS, WHERE EVERYONE THINKS I'M COOOOOOOOL!
"THIS IS THE SONG THAT NEVER ENDS! COS IT GOES ON AND ON BY FRIENDS!
"I KNOW A SONG THAT GETS ON EVERYONE'S NERVES, EVERYONE'S NERVES, EVERYONE'S NERVES! I KNOW A SONG THAT GETS ON EVERYONE'S NERVES AND THIS IS HOW IT GOES: I KNOW A SONG THAT GETS ON EVERYONE'S NERVES, EVERYONE'S NERVES, EVERYONE'S NERVES..."
Finally, Erik barged back into her room. He was trying to keep himself calm, and it looked like a very difficult thing to do. "Lysandre, my dear," he said, his voice only slightly shaking, "I would appreciate it if you would keep those songs to yourself. Perhaps try to think a little more on your decision, hm?"
"It helps me think," Lysandre said darkly. Erik made a sound of exasperation and left the room again.
"FRIDAY, FRIDAY, GOTTA GET DOWN ON FRIDAY! EVERYBODY'S LOOKIN' FORWARD TO THE WEEKEND, WEEEKEND!" Lysandre called after him.
The hours crept slowly by. Lysandre sang every annoying song she knew: Sexyback, Oops I Did It Again, Bird Is The Word, and Peanut Butter Jelly Time. She made odd animal noises. She talked about all the times she and Raoul had gotten frisky in a loud New York accent. She tried to compose a song of screams. But apparently, Erik was either really good at tuning things out, or he had turned off his hearing aids. Lysandre found herself so bored now that she almost wanted his company. Creepy asshole that he was, he could be pretty fun to talk to sometimes. The man had seen more than a veteran from 'Nam.
However, when he returned, Lysandre found that she wanted him to leave again.
"Have you made your decision?" He asked. Lysandre nodded.
"Sure have!" She said brightly. "I've decided that Friday is a way more annoying song than Bird Is The Word, yet it's somehow catchier. Isn't that just hilarious?"
Erik scowled at her. "So you've given no thought whatsoever to whether or not you want us all to perish?"
"Hmmm...nope, not really."
"You must make your choice!" Erik exclaimed. "The wedding mass or the requiem mass!"
"God, they both sound so depressing."
Erik scowled at her again, anger flashing in his yellow eyes. "The requiem mass is not at all gay," he said, "whereas the wedding mass-you can take my word for it-is magnificent! You must take a resolution and know your own mind! I can't go on living like this, like a mole in a burrow! Don Juan Triumphant is finished; and now I want to live like everybody else. I want to have a wife like everybody else and to take her out on Sundays. I have invented a mask that makes me look like anybody. People will not even turn round in the streets. You will be the happiest of women. And we will sing, all by ourselves, till we swoon away with delight. You are crying! You are afraid of me! And yet I am not really wicked. Love me and you shall see! All I wanted was to be loved for myself. If you loved me I should be as gentle as a lamb; and you could do anything with me that you pleased."
Lysandre couldn't help but melt a little at his lament. She wiped her eyes-the tears weren't from crying; she had yawned and a few tears leaked out-and looked back up at Erik.
"Damn," she said. "Did you copy and paste that from a book or what?"
Erik let out a heartwrenching groan and covered his masked face in his hands. "You don't love me!" He wailed. "You don't love me! You don't love me!"
Lysandre yawned again, and felt her eyes water. Holy guacamole, how long had it been since she slept? Erik looked at her in pity. "Why do you cry? You know it gives me pain to see you cry."
"Dude, I'm fucking tired as hell. I can't really sleep on the bed if I'm tied to it."
An electric bell sounded. Erik and Lysandre both looked in the direction of the bell.
"Oh for shit's sake," said Lysandre, "who the hell is stupid enough to actually come down here and ring the doorbell? Damn teenagers."
Erik gave a sinister chuckle. "Wait for me here...I am going to tell the siren to open the door." He stepped out of the room. Lysandre knew that some shit was about to go down. In other words, someone was gonna die.
"Yeah," she called after him. "I'll just wait here...tied to this bed...dumbass." She gave a big sigh and looked around the room, shaking her feet to a random beat as she quietly hummed Poker Face. Suddenly, there was a sound from the adjacent room to hers-the one she had never been allowed to enter.
"Lysandre! Lysandre!" That was Raoul's voice!
"Holy shit, I'm getting a contact high!" Lysandre cried, burying her face in her arms.
"Lyssie, Lyssie, it is I, Raoul!"
"Of course it's you, no sane person in this world calls me Lyssie!"
"Can you tell us where Erik is?"
Lysandre thought for a moment-the siren was outside the front door, and Erik usually didn't like to kill people in the house. "I'm guessing he stepped out," she said.
"Can you make sure?"
"Nah, bruh, he tied me to the bed. And not in the kinky way." Lysandre looked toward the wall where their voices were coming from. "There's a door to the right. I'm not allowed near it, it's the door to the torture chamber, he says."
"That is where we are!" She heard another man say. "But we cannot see the door!"
"Knowing Erik, he's probably disguised the door," said Lysandre. "It's something a prick would do. If I could, I'd throw something at the door so you guys could see where it is."
For a few moments, there was only silence. Lysandre began to jump at small noises, in fear that Erik was returning. If he discovered Raoul, they were all shit outta luck.
The other man spoke again. "Is it a door with a lock on it?"
"Yeah, bruh."
"Mademoiselle, it is absolutely necessary for you to open that door for us!"
"Oh, sure," said Lysandre, "I'll just pull some magical rope cutters out of my ass and untie myself, then pull the key out of my nostril and get the door for you."
"Do you know where the key is?" The other man asked.
"Yeah bruh, it's in the other room. But I can't get there because I'm-"
"Yes, we know, you're tied up," said Raoul, his voice becoming a bit whiney-something that never failed to piss off Lysandre. "Why on earth did he do such a thing in the first place?"
"I started bashing my head against the wall and it pissed him off. I swear, he's always on his man-period. But anyways, I strongly suggest the two of you skeedaddle before he gets back, because if he sees that y'all are here, he'll castrate you in the middle of Time Square."
"Lysandre," said the other man, "You must play to his affections. Make him untie you. Say you're hurt. Remember, he loves you."
"No shit?" Lysandre said. "Nothin' says 'I love you' like a good ole' kidnapping and forced marriage."
Suddenly, Lysandre heared something-not just something, but something something. Footsteps.
Erik was coming back.