Yeah, so what! This is only 16 pages. So sue me! Gas prices are so much money and yet, I have to drive half way around Houston 2 days a week for classes! Grr... stupid Hurricane, eating away all the cities and oil industries, making our gas prices jump! I saved up money from the summer job to buy things I always wanted and now I have to waste all that on gas! Arg!
Okay well, you all wanted this chapter... they meet... (gasps) WHAT WILL HAPPEN WHEN UNO AND ERIK MEET! You find out now... or... do you? (eyes you all wearily)
- Chapter Thirteen -
The Opera Populaire was bustling with life the following morning. Charline spotted Uno on the high-rise of all the action—the balconies and box seats—watching the whole scene with the authorities take place. Uno didn't see her, she realized; Uno was too busy sitting in Box Five with a serious look on her face. Charline frowned, wondering if Uno had anything to do with the incident the night before.
She noticed as the two managers constantly discussed matters with the policemen and still the bodies of the two deceased stage members have yet to be removed. When Madam Giry stepped onto the stage—Charline behind for a private discussion about the shrieking Marcella the night before—the woman spun around and told Charline to step backstage; Charline did as told but with her American blood flowing through her veins, she was too curious as to what the big deal was. When she snuck back on stage she found Madam Giry kneeling over a body on the center stage and frowning.
After that, the whole opera house was running amuck. Charline gasped and covered her mouth and as Madam Giry commanded, ran to get the managers. Meg soon stepped on next but she didn't know what happened except for soft talking.
What she did make out was, "Did he do this, Maman?"
"No Meg. Erik doesn't work this approach and he is much cleaner."
Charline didn't know what that meant and who this 'Erik' person was but she knew eventually she'd find out. It was in her American blood to get to the bottom of things, whether or not she was an innocent ballet girl.
However, when she returned to the stage with the managers half of the corpse de ballet was standing around, many were cringing and shrieking, and Madam Giry was struggling to get control of everyone. Even Meg tried in vain to warn them away from the scene. Charline stayed behind and off to the side of the stage; she still had a clear view of the man on the platform and when she was off to the side she noticed a second man in the pit.
She knew she would never forget this day in her entire life.
"Do you think it was the phantom?" One of the ballerinas questioned her friends.
"This has to be the work of the ghost," came another voice. "He must have not been pleased with these two."
"But I thought the managers said he had stopped killing."
"I thought we were safe here."
"This is so frightening! What if he comes after us?" At that, half the ballet had shrieked and took off at a run.
Charline rolled her eyes. Half of these girls act as if they haven't seen a murder before. Coming from New York she was used to crime and a high death rate; after all, not far off from the Metropolis Theater was one of the cities largest gangs.
Charline glanced back up at the box where the dark shadow of Uno was sitting. She frowned, wondering why Uno kept staring at the dead bodies. Had Uno never seen a dead body before? Had she been there when the incident happened? Perhaps she was actually somewhere else and originally thought about going there when it happened. Charline knew Uno had left after Marcella woke everybody up and she had never returned until half the ballet were out of the dorms; Charline only knew because she was fixing up her and Uno's bed.
"I don't suppose this could be him," said one of the mangers. Charline turned and watched them discuss matters with one of the police officers. "I-I mean, he did inform us that his killings would be put to a stop so long as we do as he demands."
"And have you?" The officer countered.
Firmin glanced at Andre with a frown before returning to the cop. "He would have told us if he was being disobeyed."
"Ah-we have kept his salary up—and even sent him a little more for a 'thanks' for helping us rebuild the theater," Andre added in quickly. "We keep Box Five empty at all times and make sure that our staff is in complete control and sober as much as possible to invent things from happening."
"Which apparently didn't happen," the officer barked back. Andre and Firmin frowned at each other before returning to the policeman. "One of my men saw empty whisky bottles by the lamp just a few minutes ago. It appears they were drunk and had brawl."
Andre glanced down with worry. Firmin cleared his throat and held out his hand to the officer. "Do you think the Phantom could have done this?"
"Did he give you any warning?"
"Well—no!" Firmin expressed greatly. "He didn't so I don't see any reason he would have done something like this."
"Which is exactly my point," the cop bit back.
Charline frowned. What's going on? Why is the policeman defending the phantom of the opera? Did the phantom pay the cop to keep him safe? Does the cop really think the two were drunk and brawled?
"Don't assume this was the owner's work," the policeman added in. "What I recall he worked with rope and I don't see any rope marks on their bodies."
"Well—"
The officer, again, cut Firmin off. "If you insist the man had done this then he would have a few bruised spots on his body for beating these men."
"Do they have bruises?" Andre asked quizzically.
"They are dead and that's all we are assuming," the copy returned.
He turned away and pointed towards the body on the stage as he continued to discuss the matters at hand with the managers. Charline glanced back up at Uno and inhaled deeply. She needed to talk with Uno and she left the stage to head there. Right as she exited the auditorium the Viscount and his wife stepped into the halls; Christine smiled and Charline returned the greeting, but kept to herself and continued up the stairs.
-
Erik smirked and watched the battle between the chief of police and his two foolhardy managers, pleased that his past payments had paid off. Despite how much Firmin and Andre insisted that the phantom had done the murder, the officer stated it would have been impossible, as it was not his way to kill and he had no reason to kill in the first place.
It appears my salary to the police proved to work, he mused through a grin.
A new face joined up the group and Erik wanted badly to kill that man. Raoul de Chagny. No matter how much Erik could stay away from anyone's sight that boy still believes him to be a murderer.
He should have killed him in spite, just to keep him out of his problems.
"I insist that monster be hounded again," Raoul urged on with a fist in the air. "It is apparent that he did not appreciate these two men getting drunk and without warning killed them. There is no telling when or who he will harm next just to get his word across."
"Monsieur de Chagny," the officer cut in, "this doesn't appear to be his style of work."
"That is because he wishes you to not believe it was him!" Raoul fought back. "You know as well as I do that he has killed before and he will keep killing until he gets his way. He has tried to kill me several times, he has threatened to kill Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin many times, and now he has taken the life of these two stage handlers."
The officer sighed heavily and Erik felt the weight of his stress rise up to the rafters above. He growled. What he wouldn't do to stop that boy's pitiful mouth; he would but thoughts of bringing harm and sadness to Christine would kill him.
And she would never forgive him for it, either.
"Sir, I beg you to please back away from this crime scene," the officer barked out to Raoul. "For all I know you could have done the murders yourself!"
Raoul gasped, clearly taken aback. Erik had to grin and crossed his arms over his chest.
The tables have turned, he mused silently.
"I-I can't believe you would assume such a foolhardy thing!" Raoul proclaimed. "You know he has threatened to harm me many times and nearly done so as well!"
"And I also know you want him dead, captured, or banished from Paris," the policeman countered. "For all I know, you could have done the murder yourself to put the blame on him so he can be hunted for and removed from your worries."
Erik turned to go, his job already proven successful. He no longer needed to stay and supervise the chief's beliefs; the man had already won the argument and there would be a hefty increase in his salary when he returns to the office.
Erik would make sure of it.
-
The dead bodies were a sight for sore eyes to most girls. It was a new thing to an everyday boring lifestyle. Whereas a bundle of ballet rats would dance around in their tiny dresses or the divas would sing until their lung's capabilities, there were police, stunned managers, an enraged patron, and corpses. It was a different thing to wake up to, a new command of thought compared to normal life.
For everyone except Uno Maxwell.
The dried blood on the two deceased men was like reminders of the past lived not long ago. In place of hustling faces and busy bodies were men standing around, discussing who could have done the said problem. In place of police cars and news broadcast cameras outside the building were police carriages and a plenty of people unaware to the occurrence of the opera's status. Where chalk lines were drawn on the grounds of the corpses were dried blood stains.
The people who were supposed to be coroners were actually just common folk, wondering what all the attention was for and the workers of the theater, not counting the police.
Bullshit, Uno thought to herself. Just move the bodies and carry on with life. It's as if nobody has seen a dead body before.
"Uno?" A soft and gentle voice called out. Uno ignored it, knowing it was only Charline, and kept her eyes glued to the stage before her. Charline stepped up to the chair besides her and took a seat. Frowning, she turned and saw the blank expression on the young girl's face.
"What's the matter?" She asked sweetly.
"This is pathetic," Uno spat. "They won't touch the bodies and just clear them away from the scene."
Charline turned to the stage. "They are discussing what happened."
Uno snorted. "They need to let this theater carry on with life. Oh so what—two men died, big whoop."
Charline gave a weak smile and shrugged her shoulders. "They are sometimes not allowed to until they figure out what happened. If they move the bodies sometimes the stories around them could change and they wouldn't remember what the scene looked like before to conduct truth upon their theories," Charline explained. Uno frowned and glanced over at the young American.
"How do you know?"
"There was much crime in New York and almost everyday my father would read about murder in the tabloids. Sometimes, if I walked long enough at night with him, there would be a murder close by that he would explain things to me."
"You father taught you death?" Uno spat out in shock. Charline shook her head.
"No he did not teach me death but he taught me about it. He wasn't afraid of the gangs in New York—I never understood why, to be honest. But he told me that if I show fear then I would become a victim."
"A load of shit to me," Uno scoffed out without censoring her words first. "You can still get raped."
"My mother said the same thing," Charline added in. Uno turned back to the stage and sighed.
"This is just horrible. I was expecting to audition for a greater part today and kick Marcella out of her spotlight for good."
Charline giggled. "You still have more time to practice, Uno."
"I don't need to practice," she spat back.
"Well," Charline sulked, "what are you going to do today? Meg had told me Madam Giry canceled auditions until at least Wednesday."
Uno nodded as she absorbed all the information. She pushed out of the chair and stretched her limbs. However, she kept her eyes glued to the stage.
"I'm going to walk the streets of Paris," she returned. "Better than be stuck in here I'd rather learn about France."
"Mind if I join you?" Charline asked softly. "I am new here as well."
"No," Uno said sharply, finally tearing her gaze away from the stage life before her. She turned and headed towards the door. "I don't want anybody to tie me down."
And with saying that she left the box to Charline and made her way down stairs towards the front, her purse clutched tightly in her hands. Normally she would leave it behind but with Marcella by her every step, watching and waiting for something to happen she had to keep hold of it. There was no way for Uno to hide it when the prying eyes of the horrible girl would always be astray to find it.
And besides, what if she found something to buy when she was out in the city? She didn't want anybody with her for reasons she kept to herself. When Madam Giry had insisted they stay together Uno acted as if she hadn't heard and left the new girl alone. She was American by fifty percent as Charline was one-hundred; if Uno could survive on her own due to that American blood, Charline would be perfectly fine.
And I don't need friends, her mind added in mentally. Uno ignored the pleasant greeting Christine sent her way when she passed by Meg and the other ballet members. She stepped out into the world and closed the doors behind her.
Friends only get in the way. The more friends, the more obstacles, the more chances of getting hurt. Without friends there's no body to stop me from doing what needs to be done. Without friends there no body to be used against me by my enemies. Without friends I don't have to worry about hurting them and being stranded.
As she did when she was captured.
"Ah—Mademoiselle!" A young gentleman with short blonde hair and bright blue eyes chased up to Uno with a pink carnation in hand. Uno paused and knitted her brows together, frowning at the sudden gift.
"You were spectacular the other night," he gleamed. Uno slowly nodded his head, wondering if he's heard about the murder at the theater. "I must say you showed us who should be the prima ballerina in place of La Marcella."
"Yes," Uno murmured out slowly, "yes I did—I know."
"Please," he pushed the flower into her hands and wrapped her fingers around its stem. With a pat on her wrists and a smile in his eyes to match the smile on his lips, he stared up at her. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Count Verafaunte."
Count? Good lord I've attracted a rich audience!
Uno stifled a smile and curtsied properly, stunning the man with her graceful mannerism towards the higher class.
"Uno Maxwell," she delivered back with a much sweeter voice than what she delivered to the common rich folk of Parisian society.
"My—you have mannerism," he grinned. "Are you, by any chance, or royal background?"
Uno returned to her full height and stared him in the eyes, sensing the knowledge that a relationship with a man her height or shorter would be Hell.
"No," she replied generously. "No I am just an ordinary American girl."
"American?" He gasped. "You seem to be more organized than that! How do you go by saying you are American when you treat royalty correctly?"
Her smile turned into a forced grin, fake with all its aggressive charm. "Please sir, if you don't mind. I have some things I need to do."
He bowed his head. "Forgive me for driving you away from it all. Might I ask for your hand for a date? Perchance, tonight for dinner?"
"Forgive me sir," she breathed out, "but I really must reject. Although I am from America my family would not appreciate my choice of dating a Parisian."
He frowned. "Not even a count? Surely they will understand after you tell them Count Verafaunte had offered his hand to you."
Uno's fake grin turned into a pitiful smile of the sorts. "I am sorry sir," she returned, "but although I am not of any class in America, I am considered a princess and a future empress in Tokyo and my country would not appreciate settling for a class lower than my own."
"Empress?" He gasped. "If you are to be empress then how are you a ballerina?"
Her smile was genuine now. "Why, to learn about the people, of course." Uno covered her mouth to giggle at his foolish mind to believe such a lie. She had the intelligence to become a real empress and where she came from she was the ruler of mankind so she had the Governmental and political foundation to carry through with the said job.
"But," he glanced off in wonder, "where is this, Tokyo? A town in America, I assume. But empress—that would make you the ruler of the country!"
Uno nodded. "Although I am of American heritage, I am only half American. My father was a Duke in America whereas my mother was Empress of Tokyo."
"You are from a huge family," he murmured off to the side. Suddenly frowning, he turned back to her and released her hand. "Where is this Tokyo, I wonder?"
"Japan," Uno replied delicately, careful of how much information she released. She knew these people didn't know Asians but who's to say they won't eventually meet one? "Tokyo is a nation within the country—continent—of Japan."
The man frowned and the look on his face told Uno that he didn't know where the land was. "Japan?"
"A quarter around the Earth from where we are now, sir. My parents wanted me to be educated in the people of the world and that is why I am a ballerina here, at the Opera Populaire," she told him. "When I become twenty and one, I will assume my rightful place as empress with the emperor, as he awaits my return already."
The man smiled. "You sound to be a wonderful woman, Uno. Your eyes are sparkling every time you speak, your smile melts my heart, and your beautiful hair reflects the rays of the sun as it is swept up in that braid."
Uno smiled although on the inside she wanted to throw up. The man's talk was sickening, to say the least. "You're too kind," she replied kindly. "The braid is part of my heritage. Being empress, I must have some ingredient to my kingdom for whenever I return. I can't simply cut it off and expect the people to appreciate that I have changed to better fit a foreign society."
"I couldn't agree with you more," he said. "But perhaps it is alright for you to remain in my heart as a good friend? Should your country ever need alliance, you will always have Count Verafaunte on your list of names."
"You're too kind," Uno returned. "I bid you adieu, Count Verefaunte. Sayonara."
"And to you, Empress Maxwell." He kissed her hand then let her go.
Uno headed towards the streets, careful to keep up her elegant walk and swaying of her hips to further entice the count of her life. But the moment she turned the corner of the next street over, she tossed the flower into a trash bin and wiped her charming smile off her face.
I can't believe that rat fell for it, she mused. He believed every piece of bullshit that I gave him! What if I had fallen for his tricks of gentleman manners? What if I had accepted his hand? He would later dislike me if I cease to dance swiftly and gracefully and if he ever found out about the murders and my connection to them, he'd deliver me to the authorities! Uno shook her head. No fucking way—that jackass is only looking to get laid; not a romantic wife.
She continued walking a few more feet until she was surrounded by a bunch of Parisian faces before glancing down at what she held securely in her hand. Although Count Verafaunte had given her a pink carnation he had also given her his gold watchband—little did he know.
Uno lifted it up to her face to inspect the metal and smirked. The damned fool was walking around with a thick chuck of solid gold and fell for one of the easiest pocket-pick tricks in the world. The band itself would cost enough to boost her cash flow rather high and the watch would add in a couple extra notes to the total, as well.
She stuffed the stolen item into her purse and began strolling down the street in search of a jeweler. If she was caught with the item red handed she would be in trouble. But if the jeweler had it and she did not she would be safe. When she crossed a small street and entered a new section of the path she was taking, she spotted a large window to her left that expressed emeralds and diamonds.
With a grin, Uno wrapped her braid up in her hand, coiled it around her head, and tied it into a bun. Most of the faces would only look at her as a whole and after seeing a woman with a bun sell an expensive watch they would assume her to have only a bun. But the moment she was free she would return her braid to its length and walk on as if she had never even seen the stolen watch before.
And since the French in this day of time were stupid enough, it was too easy an opportunity to pass up.
-
Erik leaned back from the organ and closed his eyes. The notes of his latest composition were imprinted within his mind and every time he closed his eyes he could see the music in his face. Rubbing his eyes didn't help; in fact, it only put black ink on his skin. He needed a break.
Erik sighed and placed the quill on the parchment. He turned and glanced at the covered mirror besides him and with a frown, glanced down to the stone floor. He didn't need a nap, as he had slept earlier when he returned from the police department. He didn't need to busy himself with eavesdropping on the ballet rats. He didn't need fresh air from the rooftop.
Instead, what he needed was a short vacation away from the building, entirely.
He took a deep breath and stood up from the organ bench. Turning to glance at the grandfather clock by his desk, he found it was late into the night, a perfect time to go riding on Hercules. His poor horse hadn't been ridden in weeks and was due for another midnight stroll. Although the stable boys took care of the mare and fed him Erik knew the horse also needed a break from the same stall.
The poor thing's probably ready to break out of there, anyways.
He wrapped his cloak around his body tightly and stepped up to his desk. His full black mask was slightly askew and after fitting it back onto his face he turned and stepped into his boat. The walk to the stables would be a long journey for normal people but thanks to his ingenious architecture designs when he built the theater he was capable of digging tunnels and hallways to lead where he wish to go.
So it would only take him a matter of five minutes to reach the stables.
Erik gasped when he stepped inside the stable and found his stall was bare, his horse empty, and the saddle removed. He spun around and found the stable boy fast asleep on the makeshift hay bed in a corner and after grasping the boys shoulders Erik hefted him up into the air and slammed him against the wall. The boy shrieked when he saw the familiar green eyes piercing his own.
"Where's my horse?" Erik snarled.
The boy stuttered. "He's right—" His statement died on his lips when he noticed the stall empty. "I swear he was there when I went to sleep!"
"You lie!" Erik slammed his frail body up against the wall again, the violent force shaking the wooden stable wall in its quake. "My horse!"
"I-I told you I don't know," the boy replied with a frightened scream. "Hercules was there earlier!"
"Then you weren't doing your job and tending to the mare's needs! Somebody stole away while you were taking your rest," Erik snarled. "Or did you just lie to me and steal him away yourself?"
Green eyes pried deeply into gold ones and Erik felt shaky breath breathe against his face. The boy struggled to kick free but got no where as the phantom had him lifted up off the ground a good foot in the air. He whimpered.
"P-Please Monsieur," he choked out, "I don't know a thing!"
Erik's eyes narrowed. "Apparently you don't." He flung the boy out of the stable and turned to glare him. The boy scurried backwards as the phantom towered above him and stalked towards him.
"You are fired," Erik growled. "Leave now or I will kill you for trespassing." He pushed his cloak to the side to show the lasso wrapped securely against his hip, hinting at the seriousness of his words.
The boy gathered himself up and took off running as fast as he could. Erik stepped into the dark and watched after him to make certain the boy didn't duck away into the corners or shadows and try to sneak back in. He would be ready to attack if the boy was foolish enough to think he could continue working here. Erik only had to send notice to the managers and he would be removed for good.
Which he turned to do.
After I deliver the note I will wait until the thief returns my horse before I make my presence known and demand my answers.
-
By the time he heard hooves Erik was well ready to admit defeat and believe his horse to be fully stolen. It was very late at night—or rather, extremely early in the morning—and he was tired enough to return to bed. But when the hooves began pounding outside the stable he knew the thief had returned.
Erik ducked back into the shadows of the stable where his stolen horse belonged and waited. He peered through a crack in the wooden stable walls and tried to catch a glimpse of the man in charged of stealing his horse but all he could make out were dark shadows. Hercules, with the thief, was standing outside the door to the stable; Erik assumed he was waiting to see if anything stirred due to the sudden noise.
Suddenly, the man kicked the mare back into a gallop and charged down the hall. Erik crouched and stayed in the corner, watching as the thief leaped the horse directly over the stage doors. His eyes widened despite the knitting of his brows, as he watched the thief circle the horse around until the remaining energy was used up.
This man knows how to maneuver a mare, Erik assumed. My mare, to be exact. Hercules should have kicked the trespasser off his back as I have taught him to against strangers.
The man leaped down off the animal's back and patted the mare's neck. He heard soft muttering coming from the thief's presence but it wasn't enough to make out the words or sound of the voice. Erik narrowed his eyes, watching as the thin fingers weaved into the mares main and brush the hairs it stroked. He stood up at his full height, watching the man pet the animal that was stolen only recently, and narrowed his eyes.
He couldn't make anything out about this character but Erik would eventually learn all he needed too. If the thief had managed to get over the gate without unlocking and relocking the padlock then apparently Erik had to work better at keeping his things kept specifically for himself. He pushed out of the dark corner and noticed the character's form; brown breeches, white shirt, and an exceptionally long braid.
He paused and frowned. The man was dressed in the extra clothes the stable boy had possession of but there was only one person who he knew had a braid and one as long as this!
Uno Maxwell, the ballet rat? Erik thought puzzled. It can't be!
Before he gave another thought, Erik reached out and grasped the figure's shoulder, ready to whip him—or her—to the side and demand answers.
But something happened and he was found lying on his back in less than a second.
When Erik whipped the character around the form moved so fast that he had trouble noticing it. Dark eyes filled with a violent rage glared into his own green orbs, a hand wrapped itself around his wrist, and the strength used in the arm that had flipped him in the air was inhuman! Erik landed with a thud on his back and found himself gazing up into the eyes of the said ballet rat—the one who had killed the two drunks the night before—Uno Maxwell.
"Kuso," she seethed out before spinning and fleeing. Erik shook his head of the dizzy spots he saw before his eyes and watched as she ran up to the gate, gripped the tops of it with her hands, and flung into the air in a handstand. She landed on the other side and took off at a run that by the time he got to his feet she was already gone.
How on Earth? He frowned in shock. He turned back to Hercules then back to the hall, still amazed at the girl's incredible strength to flip him without a struggle and flip herself in the air over the gate, and then continue running at top speed.
She needs to tell me some answers the next time she goes off on a midnight stroll with my horse!
-
Uno smiled and patted the mare's thick neck, pleased with the horse's obedience to not leave her stranded as she bathed beneath the waterfall. All the horse did was sip at the water of the lake and eat some grass. When she was ready to return she donned the boyish clothing once more and returned to the stalls.
A hand grabbed her shoulder and out of sheer instinct, Uno wrapped her fingers around the wrist, spun around, swept the legs out from under the intruder, and tossed him in the air in a spin. He landed squarely on his back with a heavy thud and gazed up at her in shock. Uno returned his stare with her own serious gaze and growled.
"Kuso," she seethed out. She had just overstepped her boundaries again by attacking without thinking first. She needed to begin taking notice of her surroundings and remember that Paris in the eighteen hundreds wasn't the United Earth Sphere Alliance.
At least she didn't finish the move by stabbing him in the chest with her hand or stepping on his neck and breaking it!
She stared into the stunned eyes of a deep green and backed away. There was a black mask covering the full of his face from the base of his nose and up to his forehead, a black cloak covered black clothing, and his mouth parted as if to speak.
Uno spun and ran towards the gate before the man could stop her and gripped the lining. She hoisted herself up into the air, flipping over the gate, and as soon as she landed on the other side, took off on a fast run. On the way out she grabbed her dress that she had wrapped up into a bundle of blue velvet, the lantern she had discarded, and escaped the stable, hopefully before the man got to his feet.
That was too close for comfort, she berated. Not only could I have killed him but I came close to being caught! I'd have to watch my back more thoroughly next time.
Uno slowed down once she entered the building and headed towards the back halls of the stage. She needed to change before she returned to the dorms and incase that man was following her, she didn't want to be caught. She had killed two already; she didn't want to kill again unless need be it.
And unfortunately, if that man tried to attack her again, she wouldn't be able to stop herself.
Uno sighed when she redressed herself in the navy blue dress and tossed the stable boy clothes into a pile beneath a desk. She picked up the lantern and glanced at her surroundings before returning to the kitchen. She didn't have a clue as to who that man was and why he wore a mask, but if he had startled her in silence then he was trying to keep his presence a secret.
Which means he doesn't belong on the theater grounds, she totaled up. He tried to attack me and hid his face—that man's got something coming if he tries it again.
And with Shinigami as her witness, Uno would give him a fate worse than the two drunks she had recently dealt with.
A heard a few of you out there liked that poem indicating to review... well... good. Then review! XP Hey, you all wanted them to fight! Hehehe