Ahh! Sorry this took so long! It seems the world is against me writing! All of a sudden, everything that usually ignored me and I ignored back, suddenly demanded my attenion. Family, friends, school, they all remembered me and dragged me off!
But here I am! I had to stay up late to finish this chapter, so enjoy it! If my humor is a bit...weird, its probably due to lack of sleep. Review! Its all that keeps me from giving up!
And a clarification. I realize that Erik was only three in the last chapter and that makes his whole encounter with Stella quite odd. I was trying to show how shallow this girl was. She was simply doing what steroetypical lovers did, not because she really felt anything but because that was what she probably heard her mother gossiping about with her friends. She is just going with what society deems as "cool", get it? She's a very shallow girl who does not really feel much, but just goes along with what is socially glorified at the moment. And no, she is not Erik's cousin. She is a friend of the family, which I shall explain here just incase you forget. Alright, on with the show!
Episode 9
Were streamers really all that important? Obviously Raoul thought so, as he went out of his way to make sure every downstairs room in the house was covered in them. It was all rather ridiculous, and made it very difficult to get around anywhere in the sea of paper and fabric, but at least Raoul had taken interest in trying to please Erik.
The cake was ready and beautiful. I had specifically instructed, much to Raoul's disappointment, that no pink icing be used to top the cake. Lately Erik had shown such animosity towards the color, which had finally reached its climax one day when I found all my pink ribbons thrown into a washbasin. Erik had insisted that it hadn't been his doing, that the ribbons had fallen in and drowned themselves by accident. I tried to explain to him that inanimate objects were not alive and thus could not die, but he fixed me with a swift and certain "How do you know?" and bounded off. After that I stopped wearing anything in my hair for a while, simply out of fear that my clips would sprout teeth and bite me.
Whatever had stirred the sudden hate for pink ribbons in Erik, I did not know. Truthfully I was too frightened to ask. Raoul had not noticed anything unusual, except for the fact that I started locking my jewelry box at night and warning my charms that I would drown them should they try anything while I slept.
But that didn't matter. It was Erik's fourth birthday and a time for celebrating, not fretting.
"Raoul?" I went, with some effort as my legs kept becoming tangled in the rainbow strips of cloth, into the study to find him. He looked up from a box which he was staring at in the most adorable mystified manner. "What is it?" I asked as I approached him. "Is the furniture speaking again?" he shook his head and looked up at me sadly.
"Oh, Christine. I don't know what to get him! I can't ask him; that will spoil the surprise. But I have no idea as to what he could want. We've given him everything I could ever want at his age. I even went so far as to consider giving him one of my old pistols…" I screamed and stated that he should not, under any circumstances, give Erik firearms to play with. Raoul shrugged. It didn't really matter to him. He just didn't want to be outdone by any of the guests.
Speaking of which, I had tried to ask Raoul if we could hold a private celebration, wanting to avoid any trouble like at Isabelle's party. Raoul had refused, insisting that de Chagny parties were always the talk of the town for weeks to come. I had insisted until finally he had agreed to invite only family. The exception had been Meg and Madame Giry, who Erik had personally requested attend.
"Raoul," I said, an idea coming to me. "I know something he would like. Something wonderful. I'm sure it will be his favorite gift of all time." Raoul pondered the idea for a moment,
"I don't know. The greatest gift of all time will be difficult to top next year." Finally he conceded. "What is it?" I whispered into his ear and watched as a flurry of mixed emotions danced across his perfect face. "What? B-but, Christine! You know I can't… what if he… what will people say?" I gave him the most sincere smile of reassurance I could, and watched as his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine, but only if you will forgive me for that thoughtless punishment I gave Erik." He left before I could answer him.
I covered my mouth to swallow back any threatening sobs. "Oh Raoul, it is not me you should be apologizing to…" If only I had the courage to actually tell him that.
"Wait! Christine!" Raoul said with urgency as he came racing back in. "How will I fit such a gift into this?" he held up the box he had been staring into earlier. I pat his cheek, pitying his deprived, meager mind but loving him so much for trying.
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They weren't here yet. I paced about my room, my hands folded behind my back. Already guests had begun to arrive. Only a few, but they were still the wrong guests! I dashed out into the hallway stealthily, standing behind the stairway's handrail, and looked down at the room below. They still weren't here.
Alamoda walked right by but did not see me. I blended in perfectly with the shadows. Sometimes I thought I was born of them, though that is absurd as I am obviously my mother's son. Where were my guests? I wanted some answers and I decided that she would be the one to give them to me.
I strode out from the corner and stepped in front of her as she passed by again. The poor, flighty little thing jumped a meter into the air, figuratively of course. "W-what do you want, Master Erik?" I smirked at the sound of her stutter. So they were calling me master now? Unfortunate Alamoda was by far my favorite servant in the household, simply for the reason that she was the youngest and thus was most often assigned to care for me, giving me the opportunity to terrify her in ways I could not the others. I did not do this to torment her; I found no delight and perhaps even hurt in knowing that the hired help feared me. Rather, I found I preferred being feared to being mistreated. It pleased me to see her cower, confirming my efficiency. I suppose then, in an ironically masochistic way, I did enjoy watching her blanch at the sight of me.
"Where are my guests?" I said coldly. She did not answer. I could see her panicking at her own lack of an answer. "Meg and Madame Giry!" I pressed. "Did I not instruct you to send them personal invitations on my part?"
"Yes, Master Erik! Yes!" she nodded frantically.
"And?" no reply. "Why aren't they here?" I instinctively reached for my lasso. "I do hope you're not lying to me, Alamoda…" I said, suddenly calm. "You may find it does not agree with your health." She screamed and fled down the stairs, tears of fright streaming behind her. I felt horribly guilty at the sight of her tears. She really had done nothing to provoke me this time. And out of all the help, the poor woman was perhaps the most benevolent. She never gossiped about me when she thought I wasn't listening. If anything, the squeamish girl avoided me at all costs. A few rare times she had even tried to be somewhat amiable, though her attempts always led to disaster.
Why was I so bad? I could've asked, should've just asked nicely. I'm sure she would've told me why they were not here yet. They were probably just going to be a bit late because of Madame Giry's illness. Yes, she would've told me that had I asked nicely, like a good little boy.
But I knew I was not a good little boy, and I hated myself for it. With a sigh and a swirl of my cape I retreated back to my room, my private sanctuary, my self-imposed prison.
I did not sit for very long before I heard more guests arriving. I hurried out to see who was there, almost running into Alamoda who had gone back to changing the washroom towels as she had been before I frightened her off. The mousy maid squealed and stuttered out something along the lines of an apology. I waved her away and returned to my hiding spot atop the staircase, watching.
A couple I knew all too well entered, pink-bowed Stella bouncing in haughtily behind them. Stars above, why?
"Monsieur and Madame Beaucanon!" My mother greeted them, genuinely surprised. "How nice to see you! If you would excuse us a moment?" She then turned to my father and pulled him away to speak with him privately. "I thought we agreed to only invite family!" her voice was intended to be harsh, but came out more as a plea.
My father shrugged. "I didn't invite them. I suppose they must've heard about the party and invited themselves. Besides, what harm does it do? The Beaucanons are long-time friends with the de Chagnys. They're almost like family, just like Meg and Madame Giry are to you."
"Pardon," chimed in Monsieur Beaucanon, "we do not mean to be a bother. You see, our little Stella insisted we come. We tried to tell her that we did not receive an invitation, but she simply cannot stop talking about your son!"
Madame Beaucanon whispered to my mother, "She seems quite smitten with him." and giggled. I tightened my grip on the handrail intensely. No, Maman! Send them away! I don't want them here. I thought desperately.
My mother seemed to ponder for a moment but then, much to my dismay, led them in.
Immediately my father took it upon himself to show them around the house, pointing out the finer, more expensive items in each room. The distracted simpletons did not even notice their daughter stray away from them.
Curiously Stella began her own tour of the house, whispering "Mask Face?" every now and then. I followed closely behind her, making sure to keep myself cleverly hidden. I could not describe what I felt around this girl. I could've just avoided her or gone down and asked my mother to send them away. But somehow I could not. A few times I tried to head back to my room, but I found I could only move so far from Stella before I was running back to spy on her. Why? The girl disgusted and irritated me beyond all else! Her mere presence filled me with so much rage that I began to physically ache!
Yet when I was away from her all I could think about was going back. All I wanted was to go back. I wanted to reach out, to tell her I was here, and yet the thought of her even looking at me made me feel unclean. She was spoiled! I hated her! She revolted me!
I could think of nothing else to do but carry on as I was. I followed her into every room, watching her intently as she searched under beds and in cabinets for me. I resisted the urge to wrench off her bow and rip it to shreds.
Then she reached my room. She looked at the words engraved in my door:
Do not enter! Knock.
She tilted her head to the side and shrugged. The damn girl probably did not know how to read! I cursed her ignorance as she reached up on her tip-toes to grab the knob.
Quick as a flash I was standing between her and the door. She gasped at my sudden appearance but then smiled, her eyes lighting up. "I found you!" She seemed so proud.
"No." I corrected, grabbing her arm roughly and leading her away from the door. "I found you." I released her and watched in satisfaction as she rubbed away the pain where I had so firmly gripped her.
She looked up at me indignantly and scoffed. I chose to ignore her reaction. I would've so preferred to see her cry. But the girl recovered quickly and suddenly smiled again. "Happy birthday, Mask Face!" I felt my upper-lip twitch and I reached once again for my lasso.
"Don't call me that!" I stomped my foot for added emphasis. "How would you like it if I called you stupid girl who can't read?" The blush on her cheeks betrayed her embarrassment, though her expression remained egotistical.
"Well, what else am I supposed to call you? I told you my name. You wouldn't give me yours. So you see, it's all your own fault really." She tossed her hair importantly. I felt a sudden desire to tie the lasso around her neck and choke the conceited little words right out of her.
"I have a name!" Downstairs I heard familiar voices enter the house. Meg had arrived. I bowed formally and moved away. "Now if you'll excuse me, mademoiselle, I have other matters to attend to." She stood there, dumbfounded by my dismissal, until I had reached the last step on the stairwell.
"Wait! Don't leave me! I'm your guest!" She lifted her skirts and began chasing after me. I ignored her completely and briskly made my way over to my wanted guests.
Madame Giry seemed to be doing much better and was actually managing to walk quite well on her own. If not for a slight limp and her pale complexion, one would not have noticed anything wrong with her at all. I approached her modestly; awed by the humbling abilities Madame Giry's very aura seemed to possess. I politely pressed a kiss to her hand and thanked her for coming. She graced me with a smile and patted my head. "You have been good, Erik?" I nodded halfheartedly, not sure whether or not my recent behavior could be judged as being necessarily bad.
Meg stood behind her mother, playing nervously with her skirts. I felt a tremendous joy bubble up inside of me at the sight of her, though I was completely ignorant as to why. I paid it no mind and let my happiness show in the form of a large, lopsided grin. She saw me at once and gave me a thin smile.
"I am pleased to see you made it." I said, trying but failing miserably at hiding the extreme delight in my voice.
"I am pleased to have pleased you." She gave a laugh and handed me a small package wrapped in newspaper. "I know it isn't much, but I thought you'd enjoy them." I unwrapped the parcel and found three old but promising books. "Happy birthday." She said, motioning to embrace me but hesitating.
"Thank you, truly." I could not think of a better gift. Seeing her arms outstretched and seeking permission, I plunged headfirst into her hug. Surprised, she faltered and almost fell. Even as she regained her balance she laughed. I released her, unable to even attempt to hide my delight any longer. "I am pleased to see pleasing me pleases you." She stared for a moment, a comical expression on her face, but then laughed again.
I took her hand and begun leading her away to a more private area of the house. I had plans in which Meg played an integral role as my assistant, but I preferred they not be spoken in public… not yet.
I had not made it three steps before Stella stood before me, her hands balled up into tiny fists at her sides. "And who is this?" she hissed, pointing at Meg accusingly.
"This is my guest, Meg Giry. Not that it's any of your concern." My response only angered her further.
"I didn't know your family associated with common folk." She said bitterly. Meg stiffened behind me; I knew Stella's idiotic comment had wounded her. I was not going to stand for this. There was only one thing to do…
I reached out and pulled on Stella's hair, hearing her whine for me to release her. Once I let go, I grabbed Meg by the hand and pulled her up the stairs. "Run!" I called back, hearing Stella tearfully giving chase.
I pushed Meg into my room, locking the door behind us. I could hear Stella shrieking and banging on the door on the other side, but I pretended I couldn't.
Meg looked around her fearfully. I realized, too late, that the black on black on black motif I had chosen for my room could be a bit… daunting at best. "Don't move!" I warned her. 'I have traps; wait for me to disarm them." I went around the room, moving anything hazardous out of the way, and turned back to Meg. Her eyes were filled with panic. Downstairs we could hear laughter and chatting. The party had begun.
"Why have you brought me here?" she demanded, singing.
"We can't go back there!" I said gruffly, turning away with a swoosh of my cape.
"We must return to the party!" she insisted.
"She'll catch me!" I retorted, rounding on her. "Her eyes will find us there! Those stubborn eyes!" Meg cocked her head, not understanding. "And if she has to rip a thousand bows! Stella the pink bow girl will grab me and not let go!"
Meg smirked in a most unladylike manner. "I think someone has a crush on you..."
I just then realized that we had inexplicably begun to sing, still I continued. "My god, what's wrong with her?"
"My god, what's wrong with her?"
"She won't go away!"
"She thinks you're cute!"
"I wish she'd leave me alone!"
"If you were older you'd probably like her back."
"She's ruined my day!"
"I bet you already do!"
Our voices rose in perfect unison. "And in the de Chagny manor, where parties are grand! Stella, the pink bow girl will brag again and again!"
"Sounds like someone's got a girlfriend…" Meg teased. By now I had fully grasped just how weird it was that we randomly started singing, and that we both knew not only the tune but the words as well! I was shaken, and furious at Stella who had grown silent but who I knew was listening in on us.
"Meg, I've been there! To her world of getting everything she wants! To her world where her parents can deny her nothing…nothing…" I stared into the blackness of my walls, remembering that day at the library and then shoe store. "Meg, I've seen her! Can I ever escape that sight? Can I ever escape from that bow? So huge and so pink… it overwhelmed her clothes! She has no fashion sense…. No fashion sense…" Downstairs I heard my father scream, as if he had sensed me comment on one of his guests not knowing how to dress.
Meg tried to approach me, she seemed to have finally caught on to the fact that we were singing. Still, I did not stop. "But her voice ran up my spine, like nails on a chalkboard. The next night I had to drown Maman's ribbons… In my dreams her bows haunted me with their pinky frills!" I took a breath. "The thought of her gives me the chills…"
"Yeah, I guess that the pink bow is fashion overkill."
"Yet on her feet, she wears the shoes I got… She proudly wears the shoes, which for I so valiantly fought…"
"Erik…Erik…" Meg touched my shoulder comfortingly.
Stella began to pound on the door again, shrieking. "Mask Face!" Not exactly an echo of Meg's words but… Of course I had no idea how I knew it was supposed to be an echo.
This had to stop. Just as Meg began to mouth the words "No more talk of pink bows…" I covered her mouth and shook my head.
"Meg, listen to me. I need you to fetch me something." She nodded and begun to leave. "No, not now. You don't even know what I want!" She stopped, crossing her arms. "Listen, next time you pass by the library, could you get a specific type of book for me?"
She uncrossed her arms and brought a hand to her chin, thinking. "I suppose so. What kind of book did you have in mind?" I knew my request would earn a strange look from her, but I would not allow myself to be deterred.
"I want a romance novel."
She stared, opened her mouth to say something, stopped, put her finger up signaling for me to give her a minute, then opened her mouth again, stopped, put her finger up, and so on. Finally she nodded to herself and decided on which reaction to settle for. She laughed her pretty little head off. "A… romance… novel?" she choked out between guffaws. Her mirth was so great that she collapsed into a chair.
I hate it when people laugh at me. I quietly pulled a lever, causing the chair she sat on to sprout metal cuffs which bound her. She looked up at me in shock, her mirth of only moments ago evaporating completely. "Yes." I said, nonchalantly. "I want a romance novel. Not because I find anything particularly interesting in the genre. The reason is I simply want to try and understand girls." I shrugged. "Isn't romance what you read most?" Meg shook her head.
"Well, perhaps. Not all women, there are always exceptions. But Erik, reading a book will not help you understand women." She chuckled. "Nothing can help a man understand women. It's just the way of things."
I was in no mood to have my theory shot down. I stalked over, pulling a stool to stand on so I could tower over her. "Your job is not to question, dear Meg!" I took her chin in my hand, forcing her to look me straight in the eyes. "Your job is to do what I say. Didn't I make that clear on your first visit?" I could see the fear in her eyes and I felt disgusted with myself. Would I never behave well?
"Yes, Erik." She said, suddenly defiant. "I shall fetch your book, but not because you ordered me to do so." She tugged at the cuffs, which I opened. "I shall do it because you are my friend and I care for you!" She rubbed at her wrists. I sighed and jumped off the stool. I didn't want to play this game, not right now.
"We had best join the party. The guests will be looking for their host." I said with a look that told her not to point out how I had conveniently changed the subject.
"Mhm, wouldn't want to keep Stella waiting." She poked my ribs playfully. I scowled.
"We had best find something to distract her with, then." I smiled, hatching the perfect plan. "Mademoiselle, if you wouldn't mind?" I picked up a rag doll and gestured for her to hold it.
"What are you thinking?" she raised a suspicious eyebrow.
"I'm thinking that its time I live up to this 'Phantom of the Opera' you say I resemble." I laughed wryly at the inside joke. Meg only stared in confusion. No matter, she would understand soon enough.
"Erik?" she asked, puzzled.
"It's alright Meg. You will see what I mean in a second." She shook her head.
"No, I mean… why do you have dolls?"
I blushed under my mask. "They were my father's."
Uh oh! What is Erik planning? How does the rag doll figure into it? How is he going to live up to the Phantom? Why was Meg singing a parodied version of "WHYBMH"? And why does Stella wear that horrendoue pink bow? All to be answered soon on My Father, the Fop!