"People of a feather prank together."
13.1
Upon Awaking, Christine realized that she now had six limbs instead of four. Two arms, two legs...two great big masses of white feathers coming off her back. "Huh," she said. "Normally Erik's the one with the wings."
Her companion raised an eyebrow. "Erik? Who's he?" Meg grinned. "Oh, I see! Christine, why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone?"
"Well, I'm not exactly," she protested. She really needed to check her Loop memories before saying anything definite.
"Details! I need details!" the other girl demanded, buzzing her hummingbird wings.
Christine peered downward off the edge of the conveniently placed cliff, then artfully staggered back. "Wow, that's high. That is really high. I think I need a moment."
Meg frowned. "Do you need to sit down or something?"
She ransacked her memory for pertinent details. Either this was a Fused Loop, she concluded, or it was one weird Variant. "Never mind, I'm good. So let's do this flying thing, why don't we?" Without waiting for an answer, she flung herself into the open air and promptly plummeted like a rock.
After several seconds of screaming, her fall was slowed, though not stopped, by a pair of hands seizing her ankles. "God, Christine, you need to actually flap those wings of yours, you know? It's not that hard if you actually try!"
Christine complied hesitantly, beating her new limbs once, twice, thrice, and it was working. It was working! She let out a whoop as Meg broke off to fly beside her. "This is amazing!"
"Sure is," Meg agreed, smirking at her at the exact moment Christine felt a Ping.
"You weren't Awake back there."
"I totally was," Meg crowed, "and I got you so flustered it wasn't even funny! Scratch that, it was funny. Although you know it isn't exactly healthy to jump off a cliff as a way to escape awkwardness, right? You've got so much to live for, like that what's-his-name dude you were talking about earlier. Erin or something?"
"Shut up," Christine scolded, smiling despite herself.
Meg's expression grew comically serious. "I mean it! You can't get dates when you're dead. Don't do it, Christine, don't do it!"
"You're really one to talk about not committing suicide, Miss Bathing Beauty."
Meg looked troubled for a moment, uncertain. This had not historically been a topic of conversation that led to good places.
"And you couldn't even aim right!" Christine added with a grin.
"Oh, you did not just go there!"
Meg shoved Christine, who shoved back, and the whole thing rapidly devolved into an aerial tussle just above the treetops. As said tussle got in the way of remaining aloft, the pair soon found themselves just below the treetops. Branch after branch contrived to smack into one or the other, or sometimes both. Christine hit the ground with a sickening crack. With the waves of pain already flooding her body, she barely noticed when her friend landed on top of her.
"Thanks for cushioning me, I guess," Meg wheezed, clutching at her bruised side, but her voice seemed distant.
Thunder boomed overhead, but not even the brilliant forks of lighting could defeat the darkness encroaching on her vision.
.
"Christine. Hey, Christine," a voice whispered.
"Go 'way," she replied intelligently, and buried her head in a pillow. The light was too bright, even through her shut eyelids.
"C'mon, wake up!" the person urged. Their voice was familiar, but she wasn't nearly awake enough to place it and she would much prefer to stay that way. She was sleepy and the bed was warm.
...Bed? Her confusion and curiosity finally provided her with sufficient motivation. Ignoring for the moment the pain shooting through her right wing, she sat up and opened her eyes to the sight of Meg's face. "What's going on?"
"I'm not really sure. I think we're still in the forest, though."
"Well, that's quite helpful of you. I don't think I ever would have figured it out," Christine said, turning thoughtful. "I wonder what kind of person would make a home way out here in the middle of nowhere."
"The same kind of person who's bringing you food," a man said, striding into the room. True to his word, he bore a tray with two bowls of delicious-smelling stew. "I see you're awake."
Meg glanced at Christine, who had broken into a grin as soon as she saw him. Ah, young love. Erm...ah, very old love? "And what might this person's name be?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Save your questions for later. You should both focus on nourishing yourselves," Erik said. He set the tray before them and left the room once more, although not without a surreptitious glance at Christine.
Meg gestured to the empty doorway. "He looked like a normal person, as far as I can tell. Except for those scars on his face, of course, but that's practically nothing. What do you think his deal is? Obviously there's something."
"Reclusive man with secrets?" Christine suggested.
"Oh, you're no fun." Meg wrinkled her nose. "You can do better than that."
"All right." Christine tapped her chin. "Mm...lives in the forest..."
"I bet he's a dryad."
"I'm pretty sure those don't exist here."
"We're people with wings. Why not have dryads?" she defended, crossing her arms.
"Fine, then I say he's a gorgon," Christine countered.
"What? No. That's ridiculous for so many reasons."
She shrugged. "No more ridiculous than yours."
"If you say so..."
"He's on the run from the cops. He broke some law or another."
"Murder," Meg decided.
Christine rolled her eyes. "Meg, don't -"
But the girl was already grinning widely, eyes alight. "Not only murder," she said. "He went and killed the president."
"No, Meg, just no." Sighing, she put a hand to her face.
"Well, then, he's a mad scientist."
"And where did you pull that from?"
"Well, unless there's someone else in this house and I seriously doubt that, he's obviously good with medicine. Or haven't you noticed this by now?" Meg prodded Christine's wing. Hard.
"Ow!" Christine shrieked, instinct jolting her away from her friend. "What was that for?"
Meg raised her eyebrows. "Why don't you look?"
She turned her gaze to her injured wing, which was now half stripped of feathers. A line of stitches ran across a portion of the exposed flesh, and two more parts were bound to splints. "...Well, that's nasty. You didn't have to poke it, though," she huffed.
"Sorry."
"Apology accepted."
The two sat in silence for a minute or so.
"He's a cannibal," Meg decided.
"What?"
"Yep, that's it exactly. He's going to kill us and cook us and eat us."
"Meg!" Christine protested.
"This stew was made from his previous victims," the wickedly grinning girl concluded, earning herself a face full of pillow.
"Stop being so morbid!" Christine ordered.
"Mmph."
From his position in the doorway, Erik cleared his throat. Christine's head shot up to stare at him, utterly mortified. "How long have you been there?"
"Considering I was still just outside when you started your lovely discussion, what do you think?" His tone was dry, if a bit shaken.
"Oh. I'm really sorry, we weren't trying to - sometimes Meg gets a little - I'm really sorry. Meg!" she hissed. "Apologize!"
"Mmph," Meg said contritely.
.
The next morning, the two girls were sitting on the couch, in their own home, sans Erik. Meg had a remote in her hand and was absently flipping channels.
"I still think it's your fault that he wouldn't come with us." Christine glared at Meg.
"Uh-huh. Crap movie...advertisement..."
"He was thinking about it, I could tell," she insisted over her friend's droning.
"Yeah, sure. Cooking show..."
"Then you just had to open your mouth again, didn't you?"
"What, did I mess up your love life? News...kids' cartoon..."
"Meg, you know that's not -" She frowned at the screen. "Was that Carlotta? Go back."
"It couldn't have been. We haven't passed any nature documentaries." At Christine's questioning look, Meg elaborated. "You know, frogs."
"If you say so."
Carlotta's dulcet voice interrupted any further discussion. "...when these new, stronger genes are mixed with that of a naturally wingless person, the result is the average, winged, like you and me."
One of the reporters began asking some question of Carlotta and her companion, a man who looked to be Philippe de Chagny, but Meg spoke over her.
"Correction: Hitler frogs."
"Oh dear Lord above," Christine breathed, staring at the four scaled, feathered, practically clawed wings of one of the child prodigies currently on display. None of the three seemed very happy with the situation, especially not the girl. Oh, they looked enthusiastic enough, but Christine was an actress. She knew the tells.
"Wait, Carlotta's a scientist now?" Focusing on the most important information as always, Meg frowned. "How is that even possible?"
"Meg, there is a time and place to be flippant, and this is not one of them." She shuddered. "Not at all."
"Oh, all right. So what are we doing about this?"
"You are going to fly back and convince Erik to help us bring that woman down. I -" she gestured to her wing - "am too injured to come with you, unfortunately. By the way, thanks so much for landing on me. It really helped."
"Anytime," Meg assured. "But couldn't you just fix it?"
"Not without raising too many questions." Christine smirked. "Just think of this as your punishment for out-disturbing Erik."
"I guess that's fair." Shrugging, she got to her feet and made for the door. "See you later."
When Meg had gone, Christine whipped out her phone. She tapped out the number of a certain childhood friend, then impatiently drummed her fingers against her leg as she waited for him to pick up.
"Christine! What's up?"
"Raoul, what the hell is your brother doing?" she demanded.
He sighed. "Oh, you saw that interview. Look, there's blackmail involved and he can't be seen going against Carlotta."
Blackmail? That was never good. "Well, does that extend to you?"
"If it does, I know I'm going to be in a lot of trouble soon."
She chuckled, leaning back into the plush of the couch. "Good for you. Don't get caught, all right?"
"Of course not. Is there something else you were thinking about?"
"Well, maybe," she suggested. "Why don't you come over this afternoon, and we can talk more?"
.
Christine opened the door on Meg and...opened the door on Meg. "Where's our friend from yesterday?"
"Having second thoughts," Meg explained, tugging the man in question into view. "Look, we have a guest. Hey!" she called. "This is Erik. Say hi, Erik!"
"You didn't say there would be this many people," he mumbled, studying his feet.
"There is only one extra person for God's sake Erik says hi," Meg translated, and proceeded to drag him in.
Amused, Christine closed the door and walked back to where Raoul was already sitting. She turned the laptop to face the doorway. "Actually, thanks to the power of the internet, there are two extra people. Meg, you might remember Eveline from this morning."
"I don't think so..." Meg stared at the four-winged girl nervously waving on the screen. "Oh...oh yeah, I do. Um, are you..." She trailed off in surprise. "What's wrong?"
Erik was doing his very best to loose Meg's grip on his hand and back away from the computer. "No, not another one, no telling if they've done worse to her, shouldn't be two like me in the same room, can't end well..." he was muttering to himself, seemingly unaware that they could easily hear him.
Standing up, Raoul raised an eyebrow. "Two like you? What do you mean? You don't look like you have wings at all."
Erik's eyes widened further. "No... I..."
Christine caught him by the shoulders, and he froze. "Don't worry. You're okay, nothing's wrong. I didn't see a television in your house, so you probably haven't heard yet. I'll just catch you up, okay? There's this scientist, Carlotta Guidicelli - no, don't panic, you're fine - claiming that people like Eveline are superior and people without wings are worthless. We're trying to foil her evil plans. That's all. We think you could help, if you wanted to." He seemed, if anything, more agitated after hearing that name.
"So what have we got so far?" Meg asked in a low voice.
"Look, why don't you just sit down with us? You don't have to talk if you don't feel like it. You don't have to do anything if you don't feel like it. Does that sound good?"
"We were going to have Eveline publicly denounce her unless we thought of something better," Raoul murmured.
Christine leaned into Erik, her grip slipping into a hug, then paused. She tentatively patted his torso. "Is there something under your jacket?" He stiffened further.
"I'm just a little nervous, I suppose," Eveline admitted.
"No, I'm sorry, you don't have to talk about it. Whatever it is, it's not a problem. You're all right," Christine reassured. She kissed his cheek to reinforce the idea, and for a brief moment it seemed to have the desired effect.
"How about I break the ice for you?" Meg suggested.
Erik wrenched his way out of Christine's grip, stalked away, and whirled to face the group again. "No, I'm not all right!" he burst out. "God knows what was going on yesterday, and now you're all practically treating me like you would a normal person. If you knew, you wouldn't act like this. I don't deserve this at all. I'm a monster!" He showed them exactly what lay beneath the jacket, and the room was silent for a few seconds.
Raoul nodded slowly. "Okay, we can work with this."
.
"Excuse me, Doctor Guidicelli, ma'am?" A hand waved in the air, a young woman making herself known amid the chaos of the press conference. Reporters were younger every year, it seemed - this one barely looked out of high school, if that.
"Go on, ask your questions," she allowed.
"Oh, I don't have any questions, sorry. Is a fifteen-page paper refuting your every word okay instead?" The room fell silent, and the blonde granted herself a cocky grin. "It's got quite a lot of scandals in, if that helps." She had said precisely the right thing, considering she was talking to a flock of media people.
"You little toad! That is not -" the doctor was protesting when, suddenly, she let out a croak. Well, at least she succeeded in drawing attention back to herself. Although she could hear tittering from a couple near the back (the man had no visible wings, she noted. How had he been allowed in?), she tried again. "How dare you - croak - you insolent - croak - you can't just - croak croak croak -" There was no stopping it now, and that held equally true for the croaking itself and the widespread laughter it was inspiring.
As the red-faced doctor tried desperately to reestablish herself - this was not supposed to be happening, damn it - her gaze returned to the pair who had first laughed. The young woman, one wing in a splint, looked very adamant in her side of the conversation; the man seemed more hesitant, but nodded his head. He then turned to face Carlotta directly, and she involuntarily gasped, setting off another series of croaks. Those eyes of his burned right into her soul: those terrible familiar golden eyes which brought back the worst of memories. She had tortured him years ago, when she was just beginning her research. And now this man was striding into the midst of the crowd; now clearing his throat, drawing attention to himself; now glancing nervously at the injured girl; now speaking, and that voice, dear God, that voice...
"I'd like to say - ah, wait a moment." Taking a deep breath, he removed his leather jacket and unfolded his dragonlike wings with a dramatic flourish. The scales, the fuzz, the wide tan membranes stretched between the bones were all on display. His chest was just as exposed, where every scar carved a line of white against his pronounced ribs. "I'd like to say that I am also firmly against everything Dr. Guidicelli stands for."
Another superhuman figure, flanked by two smaller ones, flew into the room on her four wide wings. What were they doing here? "So do I," Eveline said and, after a pause, nudged her brothers. "Me too," they chimed in, slightly out of sync with each other.
As Dr. Carlotta Guidicelli watched her world crumble around her, Raoul entered after the trio and made his way to a still-snickering Christine. "Hello again."
"'A toad, madame?'" she squeaked out. "'Perhaps it is you who are -' ah, um, sorry." She giggled. "Yes. Hi."
He snorted. "Where did you come up with that, anyway?"
"It's a long story."
.
"That. Was. Awesome," exulted Meg, pumping her fist.
Laughing, Eveline shook her head. "How on earth did you write fifteen pages in three days? I can't wrap my head around it."
"Hey, I can do a lot when I put my mind to it," she defended. "Also I may have skipped school."
"For shame. And here I was, starting to think you were responsible," Christine shot. "Now would you kindly stop talking?"
She was ignored. "All of you were great too," Meg continued. "Erik, I was really impressed. I wasn't sure you would be able to do it."
Erik looked away, a small smile playing about his lips. "I would not want to do that again... but I agree it went well."
"I'm with Christine on this one," Raoul said. "Hush."
"And the whole toad thing! That was hilarious!" Meg offered a high-five to Christine. Failing to get the other girl's cooperation, she pouted.
"Please," Christine stressed. "Be quiet or leave. This is one of the best parts and no one can hear it with your chattering."
The room was promptly abandoned in favor of another, leaving Christine and Raoul alone on the couch. Well, Eveline's brothers were still in the room, just on the floor - nope, they were on the couch now, having seized the opportunity to take the now-available spots.
"Ponyo loves Sosuke!" the adorable fish squealed from the television.
"Some people just don't know good movies when they see them." Sighing, Christine stood up and made to follow the others. "I'd better make sure Meg doesn't say something stupid. Erik can be really thin-skinned."
Raoul frowned. "You've only known him a few days. How do you -"
"Because reasons."
13.2
After that first gala night, Christine raced to her dressing room. She wouldn't have much time, if she wanted to pull this off. Sidestepping the various congratulations, she only paused to instruct Madame Giry that she wanted to be alone. And that meant everyone, childhood friends included. She had an appointment with an Angel - and Madame smiled a knowing smile and nodded.
Once the door was safely closed, Christine whipped out a pair of scissors and set to attacking her hair, catching the curls in her subspace pocket. It would grow back. For now, it looked suitably patchy and thin. Good. A black wig came next. She exchanged her fine white gown - stuffing it into her pocket again - for an elegant black dress and cape. Oh, don't forget the black gloves, those were part of the outfit for sure. How much longer did she have? It couldn't be very long, and this would take the most time...
Fortunately, she had already applied the necessary makeup much earlier in the day, and had simply used a spell (or glamour, or something like that, from some Loop or another) to make her face look like it was supposed to for the gala. She cancelled the magic, donned the mask, double-checked the floor for scraps of her transition, and found her place behind the mirror. Her back straightened, her expression calmed, her pounding heart slowly stilled; no, she had not taken too long. He wasn't here yet, and she was. She allowed herself a sly smile. For someone she had once thought so... imposing, aloof, icy, he was such an easy man to confuse.
Footsteps from behind. Hello, Phantom.
She stiffened as if in shock. "Who are you? How did you find your way in here?" Her voice was cold but uncertain, a trace of steel hiding behind the words. At least, that was the intention. She wasn't sure if she had done it right.
"I might ask you the same thing." His voice carried exactly what she had wanted her own to. He didn't seem to realize who she was. Good.
Christine whirled around, narrowed her eyes - froze, staring at the man before her. "The hell?"
The Unawake Phantom was as confused as she looked. "You're - what?"
She visibly relaxed. "Oh, now I see. You're pretending to be the Phantom of the Opera to scare the Opera's rising star. Did Josephine Buquet plan this? Or, no, you wanted to frighten off the threat to El Carlos." She casually took out a Punjab lasso. "Well, you've made two mistakes. Christopher is very comfortable with me, so you won't be scaring him dressed like that. You also failed to realize that the Opera Ghost is not a man, which is quite the flaw in your costume, don't you agree?" She chuckled, advancing toward him. "Of course, you've also made the third mistake of assuming you could get out of this alive, but I think that goes without saying."
He snorted derisively, drawing a lasso of his own. "If you're the Phantom of the Opera, I'm a chorus girl."
Well, she didn't actually want this to turn into a fight to the death or something. "Let's just see what's under that mask, shall we?" Lunging, she tore off both his mask and his wig and stopped short. "What?"
To his credit, the Phantom was much better at recovering from this when he didn't know it was her. "Do you like what you see?"
Outwardly stunned, she bared her own (fake, of course) deformities. "You're hideous," they whispered in unison, and neither seemed to take all that much offense.
The Phantom glanced past her at the mirror. "So Christopher would be..."
"Christopher Daae, who else?"
"Christine."
Her eyes widened. "And Raoule de Chagny, El Carlos, Ubalda Piangi, Martin Giry?"
"Raoul, La Carlotta, Ubaldo, Meg." He shook his head. "What the hell is going on?"
Christine frowned. "I'm not sure." They stared into the dressing room in silence. "I don't think he's coming."
"Where else would she go? Where else could she be?" he worried.
"I have no idea, but he'll have to be back by morning. He can't just vanish on us. He has nowhere else." Giving one last forlorn look to the mirror, she strode down the corridor. "We can see him then."
"I suppose..."
.
When they reached the Phantom's lair, Christine appraised the wedding doll. "That was a suit last I saw it. God only knows how this happened."
"We'll figure that out in the morning. For now, where will you sleep? The swan bed?"
"Heavens no, that's for Christo- that's for Christine."
"It isn't as if I have any other spare beds, you know."
She sighed. "Yes, you're right. The swan bed it is." Yawning, she rubbed at her eyes. "And not a moment too soon."
He nodded to her. "Good night...?"
"Erika. You're Erik, I presume?"
"You would be right in that. Good night, Erika."
"Good night, Erik."
.
"Wake up, Christine."
"Mnuh." It was hard to tell when underground, but she was pretty sure it was morning now. Still, that didn't mean she couldn't sleep some more - her eyes flew open. "You called me Christine?"
The Phantom glared at her, mask on once more. "That's what I said, Mademoiselle Daae."
She touched a hand to the right side of her face, which felt distinctly like bare skin and not like makeup. "Oh, come on!"
"I don't know how you -"
"And this was going so well! It was going to be such a good prank, I hadn't even gotten to any of the funniest parts yet. I mean maybe it wasn't the best prank, but I still -"
"Excuse me?"
"Do you have any idea how long it took to learn how to do makeup that realistically? A long time! I'm not very good at visual arts, I'll have you know -"
"What -" His anger was rapidly dissipating into complete bafflement.
"And maybe I'll never be able to pull this off, because apparently it all smudges away in my sleep and I won't be able to reapply it all even if I do wake up first, and I had so many ideas that'll have to wait until I figure this out -"
"Christine, what the hell are you talking about?" the Phantom demanded.
"I've gone a bit Loopy," she told him.
He rolled his eyes. "Obviously."
"You wouldn't understand."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"I met someone once who can sing in harmony with herself," Christine suggested.
"What?" He looked at her strangely.
She shrugged. "You didn't know that, did you? Also, mantis shrimp can see in sixteen different colors."
"How is that related to anything?"
"Beats me." She grinned. "Also, I have photographs of you making out with Meg."
"What?!"
12.6 continued: Populairables
July 27, 1824
As soon as they arrived at the house on Rue Plumet, Christine suggested that Valjean take the children to the park. One park in particular, in fact, to which he acceded fairly easily. Meg and Azelma were enticed by the verdant grass, by the ornate flowerbeds, by the swans that circled in the pond, and so they would come to the Luxembourg once or twice a week. Valjean admitted to being somewhat perplexed as to what she intended of the visits (he could not imagine that she was pursuing romance with Marius, and in any case she was currently far too young for that), but she assured him that she had a feeling.
Sure enough, that feeling was rewarded after a month or so. Valjean was sitting on the bench, reading Leroux's interpretation of her story, and Azelma was singlemindedly chasing off the pigeons Christine and Meg were attempting to throw crumbs to. Christine would have liked to say she saw him as soon as he entered the park, but that did not happen, for it was a very large place that they were in. But she did notice him after all, a gangly boy nodding along to his grandfather's ramblings, his wandering eyes betraying his disinterest. He was missing what some would call his most distinctive feature, and she rarely saw him at this age of fourteen; but his hair, his eyes, his whole wary manner of moving, she knew all those by heart. Smiling privately, she turned to chide Azelma once more, though she kept an eye on him. If the pair continued along the path they were taking, they would be coming quite close.
It was almost entertaining to watch. He caught sight of the man on the bench, stopped where he was, and fixed on Valjean's white hair. His gaze flickered briefly to the spot where Cosette would have been sitting. He shook his head. He frowned and again scrutinized the white hair, the simple and worn clothes, the walking stick that was almost a cudgel. He made a sharp motion as if to pluck something from the air and cursed at his empty hand, whereupon his grandfather finally noticed. Monsieur Gillenormand, Christine thought the man's name was.
"...and as for Napoleon, my boy, I think thou wouldst agree that - what is it?"
"It was nothing."
"Surely not. What has gotten thee worked up like this?"
He coughed. "...Napoleon, Grandfather, that's all. Why don't you enlighten me more as to how deplorable he was?"
Apparently satisfied, his grandfather returned to his monologue, leaving his grandson to squint once more at Valjean.
Christine had seen her opportunity and taken it, so that she was now hovering directly behind him. She chose this moment to give him a tap on the shoulder and a quick whispered "Hello, you."
He must have jumped a foot into the air. He whirled around, electrified with shock. "Christine?"
She grinned. "Erik. Fancy meeting you here."
"Do you two know each other?" Erik's grandfather peered down at Christine, who hastily shrugged nonchalantly.
"We've bumped into each other on the street once or twice."
"Is that so?"
"So," Valjean said loudly, having put away his book, "I hear you hold opinions on Napoleon, monsieur?" He patted the bench beside him, and M. Gillenormand obliged.
The old man scowled good-naturedly, settling into a familiar rhythm. "Oh, I hold a great many opinions about that blackguard..."
Valjean winked at Christine. She and Erik shared a grin and took full advantage of the opportunity he had given them.
.
"You caused me quite a bit of embarrassment a few months ago, you know," Christine said, hauling herself into the tree after him.
Dangling his legs off a limb, Erik quirked an eyebrow. "Really? How so?"
"You answered my Ping."
"What, should I not have?"
She settled herself in a place where two branches forked. "I don't know, but at the time I didn't think it was from you. Raoul's replacing Javert, you know."
He gasped dramatically. "You didn't."
"I did. Long story short, there was a misunderstanding or two and then I kicked him several times in a very tender area." She grinned. "You must be very disappointed to have missed it."
"Oh, I'm sure it must have been a sight to see." Erik's eyes danced with laughter. "I'll be getting my own chance in seven or eight years, of course, if you're not opposed."
"As long as he hasn't Woken Up first," she cautioned.
"Oh, darn, you got me there," he said, mock-crestfallen.
Christine laughed. "Although I will say he treated me just a bit more decently than Javert would have. Up until I went after him, he was treating me as a victim, not an accomplice."
He grinned. "Raoul couldn't be callous if he tried."
"So what have you been up to?"
"Nothing nearly as exciting. School, as if I haven't had a thousand educations already. My dear 'grandfather' keeps me on a tight leash, you see. And you? What brings you here this early?"
She shrugged. "We just skipped over the convent entirely, that's all. I wouldn't have minded it too much, but then there were Az - whoa!" For a flock of pigeons had abruptly colonized their tree, squawking indignantly. The birds, and thus the lovebirds, were soon pelted with breadcrumbs. "Point in case." Christine leaped to the ground with a playful shriek. "Come here, you!"
Smiling down on Christine and her antics, Erik shooed a pigeon from his knee and another from his head. It was as if the birds were staging a revolution against people in trees or something. That reminded him - what would he do about the revolution? He certainly should do something; after all, he couldn't just let them die, even if they would be just fine next Loop. He wracked his memory for recollections of the book, as he unfortunately didn't have it with him. The Amis had been defeated because...well, he couldn't remember exactly what had happened, but surely an increased offensive capability would serve. As it was, he was tempted to give them all machine guns and be done with it.
Erik grinned. Actually, that wasn't such a bad idea. He should give them machine guns. The police and the army and such wouldn't know what hit them. The Amis would easily win the battle. Triumph would be theirs!
It was at this point that he remembered, with some disappointment, that he was not actually in the habit of stockpiling machine guns in his Pocket.
"Erik!" Christine called, her giggles disrupting his musings. "Erik, help! They've ganged up on me!"
Both of the other girls were indeed chasing after her, and he debated whether or not to join the game. One of the pigeons chose that moment to relieve itself, and he quickly Forced the falling white glob away from his shirt - its original target. Several seconds later, he heard a squeal of disgust and turned to look.
"Ewww!" whined one of Christine's pursuers, the blonde who seemed vaguely familiar. "It got in my hair!"
"What did?" asked the youngest of the three girls, and came closer to look. "Oh, gross!"
"Jean - uh, Papa!" Christine shouted. "We need to go home and give Meg a bath!"
At that name, Erik nearly fell off the branch. As it was, he momentarily dangled like a sloth, and recovered just in time to find himself on the receiving end of an unimpressed look from Christine.
Well, he hadn't intended that to happen at all, but circumstances were against him and he might as well take responsibility. You were the one who asked a fourteen-year-old boy for help, you know.
She rolled her eyes, stuck out her tongue, and waved to him.
Goodbye to you too. Same time tomorrow?
She nodded, turning to follow Meg and the other girl over to Jean Valjean. He wrinkled his nose. Was that smoke he smelled? What -?
The leaves beside him burst into flame, and he belatedly realized the error in giving oneself a fiery shadow when sitting in a tree.
13.1 - Variant Loops are occasionally backed up on the Hub as fanfiction. This particular variant is modeled on Wings by Kumon5. I cannot adequately stress how absolutely fantastically amazing it is. You should go read it right now. (I apologize for spoiling some parts of it...) (and yes, I did ask for permission first.)
13.2 - Sometimes, Looper pranks are pulled off spectacularly. Other times, not so much.
13.3 - The next chapter should have the rest of this.