Yeah, this took a while. About that... I'm, uh... well... eh...heh heh. Well, a lot f my favortie writers on this site haven't updated either!
Okay, you want to know the truth? My "twin", my source of humor inspiration, has been away for the last couple of weeks visiting family. I need her back! I tried to update the best I could...I really did!
(Sings) Readers I'm sorry I took so long. Stay by my side, trust me! Reviewers my twiny is gone, forgive me! Here are your replies, please review! (Stops)
Kimberly: And eat them he shall! That's what Willow Rose is for!
Larienn: Here's your dose! But I don't encourage addictions! (Shufty-eyed) Unless they're Phantom related...
Spinder-UndeadBallerina: (Fights off wagging finger with a broom) You know, you guilted me into finishing this! This chapter is all YOUR fault! This it is also dedicated to you!
Kianra 17: Ah, yes. Raoul is kinda... slow, isn't he? Hey, did you read the rest? If you did, then you didn't review! (Shame, shame, shame!)
Moon Avenger: Ah, don't worry! I take threats forcing me to write as compliments! Only one thing... (Grabs Erim out of your grasp) Yoink!
wendela: Yes. Through natural selection only the most beautiful and foppiest survive in high-class Parisian society, the de Chagny family has developed immunities to several physically straining accidents. These include but are not limited to: falling on your face, having your hair shaved off, being burned in a visible area, having your clothes rip in a non-sexy place, any scars or wounds that are not sexy, and sweating.
YoukoElfMaiden: Zank joo verreh verreh much! Yeah, I always pictured Raoul overreacting. He doesn't seem like the type to pass up an opportunity to be overdramatic.
Willow Rose: Hmm... you make a persuasive arguement. Let's see where the story takes me. They should show up in about two chapters... hopefully. I have plans. Oh, such plans! So brilliant, and full of gelatin!
RozzandMaya: No... lose... arm...? Aww... well, see? Now I had to rewrite the chapter!
The Singing Fox Demon: Wow, you just pretty much summed up my whole story! I should have you writing the "Next time on..."s.
Witchy-grrl: YAY! Yeah, that was my favorite one! I should give the demonic-crumpet-loving voice it's own chapter! (Pause) Hey...
gavvie: Well, not exactly asap. But here it is!
Baffled Seraph: Yeah, I had to have Madame Giry do it. The trouble is, since I'm basing it off the movie, Nadir doesn't exist. It does make me sad though. Poor Nadir is so neglected! Maybe I can fit him in here somewhere.
Dee: Yeah, kinda shoots down Christines whole "reincarnation" theory, doesn't it?
CoolGirlEmily: Yes... muffins were taken.
amandathevampirelove: See? You didn't review more often so I didn't take as long, I took longer! Kidding, actually, thankyou! It's a relief to know other people find what I write funny. Sometimes I think I'm just a major nutcase and no-one else is gonna get what I'm saying...
Misty Breyer: According to the ff dictionary: A kind of large, thin, unsweetened muffin or cake, light
and spongy, and cooked on a griddle or spider, or
sometimes toasted. AND UPDATE SOON! Your story just keeps getting better and better! I readyour latest chapterat school during a test. Curse your funiness! Everyone around me thought I had lost my mind! Well, what hasn't already been lost to insanity, anyway.
letthedreamdescend: (Stands, twiddling thubs idly, awaiting disaster beyond her imagination) I'm sorry I took so long! Please! Don't erase my memory of Phantom! That's the worse unimaginablething I can imagine at the moment...
LoverofBalto: A staring contest you say... No that wouldn't work. And only for one reason. After a while I think they'd get creeped out and think they were staring in a mirror. And since we all know Erik smashes mirrors... Well, it would be a big mess. Wouldn't it?
Countess Vladislaus Dragu: Raoul thinks slippers were so 1860. Now it's all about sparkly hair accesories.
musicallover: That's what I was aiming for! I wanted Meg and little Erik to have a sibling type relationship! Yes! I AM getting through! Sorry about the confusion. I'll work on that for next time. Thanks for the tip!
Episode 13
"You have to tell him!" I was not at all happy with how my mother had handled the situation. "His plan will never work!" Little Erik had proposed we go back to the ruins of the opera house and make the Phantom an offer: trade Christine for his son. I understood that Little Erik was only a child and didn't know the… requirements to be someone's father, but my mother had agreed to go along with his plan.
"Quiet! Listen. The plan will work, and let me explain why." She signaled for me to move closer. She had to speak in whispers so Raoul; over in the next room recruiting Philippe to help him invade the cellars of the opera house with his own plan, and little Erik; up in his room packing a suitcase, could not hear.
I took in a quick breath, shocked by my mother's words. "But… what if he doesn't believe you? He is a clever man, Maman! What if he is only angered and tries to kill you?" My mother sighed, brushing my hair with her pale, fine hands.
"Meg, we must have faith. And do not fear for my safety, I am much too old to go down there again, especially now that I'm a bit…under the weather." She always understated her condition. What a strong, admirable woman my mother was!
"But then who will lead little Erik to the Phantom's lair? Surely you would not entrust such a responsibility to Raoul…"
"Of course not!" My mother was aghast. "I'm ill, not stupid! No my dear, I trust only you to take my place." I paused for a moment.
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I don't think I understa-"
"You, Meg! You shall have to take little Erik!" My blood froze in my veins. Why? Why would she send me down there? How had I ever admired this mad woman?
I stood, distancing myself as if she would grab me and force me down to the catacombs at any given moment. "I can't! Never! I shall never return!" My mother insisted. "You don't understand!" I cried, letting my hands drop as I turned to face her. "When I was down there, the feelings in that place… you don't even know. The emptiness, the anguish, in my entire life I have never known such utter despair! And it was not even mine!" I fell to my knees, so befuddled by my memories. "Who's? Was it the pain of his victims? Messages sent from beyond the grave by unhappy spirits of the ones he's killed?"
My mother sighed. "Meg, he will not harm you if you bring him his son. You must be firm and insist what you claim to be the truth. He will believe you. Even he needs to believe in something. If not, what point is there to living? If there is nothing to believe in, why even exist?"
I held myself, suddenly so cold. Beyond my own fear there was another reason. Specifically a small, adorable, dangerous, sweet, brilliant, black clad, half-masked reason. The plan would rescue Christine, but what would become of little Erik? I could not deny how fond I had grown of the mini-phantom. I would not risk his safety, even if it meant abandoning my dearest friend. In truth she had done this to herself, why should little Erik be the one to pay?
"Alright! Let's go! Madame de Chagny awaits her rescue!" Little Erik entered the room, holding a rumpled little bag. His head was tilted up proudly. He was so brave, not a flicker of fear in his eyes. He would do anything for his mother, even sacrifice himself. That was how much he loved her. I felt a twinge of jealousy constrict my chest, but I did not stop to contemplate why.
I felt like death's messenger as our carriage rode alone through the night. We did not speak the entire way. I feared saying goodbye would bring tears to my eyes, while little Erik could not take his mind off his mother long enough to say a word to me.
Christine, Christine, Christine… I rolled my eyes at my own thoughts. It was always about her, wasn't it? When we were children it had always been about her. Poor, orphaned Christine. Pretty, promising dancer Christine. Crazy, angel-hearing Christine. Beautiful, new prima donna Christine. Of course, back then I had not felt this way. I had been more than happy to live in her shadow, so long as she was my friend and we were together. Then she had left, abandoning me. I should've known Little Meg would not be good enough for gorgeous Christine once she became a Viscountess.
But even forsaking me was forgivable. Trading little Erik and having him pay for her mistakes was not.
"We're here…" Erik whispered, looking up at me with large, devoted eyes. Did he realize just what he was giving up?
I stepped out of the carriage and motioned for Erik to follow me. We entered through a secret gate my mother had shown me, leading into the chapel. The room was dark, grimy, the stones chipped and crumbling, with shards of stained glass scattered across the floor, completely forgotten, but filled with memories. It seemed ages ago I had come into this very room, innocently praising my dear almost-sister. We had been singing… we had been happy… we had been friends.
"Meg?" Little Erik asked softly, his child's voice laced with worry. "Is something wrong?" I shook my head, not trusting my voice, and was thankful for the darkness which concealed my teary eyes. "Why are you crying?" How could he see…?
I wiped my eyes quickly and gave the most false chuckle you can imagine. "Nothing. Simply dust in my eyes." I tried to check if he believed me but I could not make out his expression in the darkness. "Come, we should move along." I took his hand, grasping it tightly. Was tonight the last time I would ever see little Erik? Only now, when I was about to lose him forever, did I realize how dear he was to me. If only the Phantom would take me, I would have traded myself so that little Erik may be free.
I opened up a new path in the wall. An icy draft blew forth, causing me to shiver from more than just the cold. I squeezed little Erik's hand in mine. How could he live down here? Swallowing down a sob of desperation and pity, I continued to lead little Erik to his self-imposed imprisonment.
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As I plunged once more to the dungeons of my black despair, I relentlessly gritted my teeth. So, Antoinette meant to betray me to that fop once more? I was hardly surprised. Why wouldn't she? What had I ever been to her but a distraction? A mere obstacle, a lost dog she had rescued and grown weary of but been unable to do away with. Why would she even consider my motivations? Her treachery was a given.
The only pertinent issue was how they would strike. Surely Antoinette would not send the boy down to my world again. I would kill him without a thought, no matter how sweetly Christine begged or bribed me.
Oh no, Christine. I had left her alone for far too long. What if she had attempted to escape? She could harm herself!
I will not tell you the extreme measures I took to arrive in my lair as quickly as possible, but I will state my extreme anxiety when I arrived. All was still. I hurried over to her room, unbolting the door and flinging it open.
What in the seven hells…?
There sat Christine, wearing a flowery bonnet and holding a pot of steaming tea. Her eyes shone with the glimmer of mental instability. I would have been worried, had she not smiled so dearly at me. So affectionately… just like she used to before she knew… back when I was still an angel to her. Perhaps she had come to realize this was where she belonged. I had removed her from that imprudent boy and her soul had returned to me willingly.
"Erik!" She squealed and ran forward, the pitter-patter of her quick footsteps echoing in the lair. "You're back. Come, I'm inviting you to an early afternoon brunch. Do you want to see what I've prepared?" She pulled me gently. I followed without question. How long I had dreamed of her skin upon mine? Admittedly my dreams involved far less innocent touches, but at the moment I was more than satisfied simply to be close enough to sense the fragrance of her hair.
"Christine…" I whispered as she sat me down at the table. My hand was slapped.
"Erik! Really, where are your manners? Respect your mother!" I raised an eyebrow. "Now don't give me that look! Be good or no licorice for you, young man!" Young man? Licorice? I felt my heart, or the shriveled corpse of a heart I had, become dust. She had lost her mind. First she had thought me her father, now her son. This affection was all the illusion of her psychosis. She cared nothing for me.
I buried my face in my hands, running my fingers through the wig. Not even an hour in my home and she had rather loose all reason than be in my presence. Oh Christine! I asked nothing of you but for you to love me! Love me, Christine! I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs until the catacombs caved in on us: LOVE ME, CHRISTINE!
"Erik?" her sweet, concerned, false little voice brought my eyes back up to face her. Stars, I was panting. "Oh Erik, what is the matter?" She took my hand, the one she had stricken mere moments ago, and stroked it with so much motherly concern. Oh, why? Why must you torment me so? It was worse than not having her here at all.
I snatched my hand away, unable to bear the sweet pain of her false touch. She had busied herself with arranging flowers—Where in hell did she get flowers down in the fifth cellar of the opera house?—on the table as a centerpiece and did not take notice of the anguish that must have been reflected on my expression.
"Your father is late. How like him!" She smiled at me as if this was the most normal conversation, a daily routine. "He probably stopped at the hair salon again and lost track of the time. Tea?" She held the teakettle over my china cup. "It really is quite nice, though. When it's just the two of us. Don't you agree?" She paused, frowning. "Erik! Do you want tea or not?" I blinked, realizing I had left her hand hanging in midair holding the kettle.
I swallowed hard, trying to dampen my painfully constricted throat. Would I ever even sing again? "No. I am… not thirsty." She nodded in assent but poured the tea anyway. I sighed and brought the cup to my lips. Porcelain is a poor replacement for her skin though, isn't it? Wouldn't you much rather place your lips there…? My eyes focused on her collarbone, her perfect, delicate collarbone. I shut my eyelids tightly against the sight of her. Oh, by the end of the night one of us would surely be dead!
I opened my eyes and her distracted little gaze focused on me, a smile spread across her lips. Yes, one of us will most definitely be dead… She pat my cheek affectionately. …and it will almost certainly be me.
"Erik?" She asked suddenly. I was suffocating, unable to breathe as I watched her own chest rise and fall. How her breasts swelled with ever intake of breath… "Erik!" I forced myself to draw in a long, shuddering breath, holding it, and faced her once more. "The tea is wonderful, but where are the crumpets?"
I coughed to clear my contracted throat quickly. "I'm sorry dear, crumpets?" Her smile died. Her neck muscles tightened, her hands fisted in the most unladylike manner on her knees.
"Yes…Erik…" her words came from behind clenched teeth as she tried to maintain a smile, her upper lip twitching from the effort. "We can't have early afternoon brunch… without… the… deliciously essential… CRUMpets…" her pitch rose and fell unexpectedly on the final word. I backed my chair away slowly.
"Christine, my angel. If I may offer you some biscotti, perhaps?" A sudden swoop of her arm across the table sent my entire tea set crashing to the floor. I might have cared, seeing my china set shattered, had I not been slightly alarmed.
"Forget the goddamn biscotti! I want crumpets!" I stood, meaning to employ my height as a means to intimidate her.
"I have no crumpets; otherwise I would have brought them out for you. May I interest you in a muffin instead? I'm afraid I have no more blueberry, but my supply of lemon poppy seed is untouc—" She flipped the table over in my direction. I dodged with ease but when I came out from behind the table, I found a chair coming for me, followed by a candelabrum. Christine meant to simultaneously harm me and destroy my lair?
"I don't care! I want crumpets! I can't have tea without crumpets! How can you expect me to have tea without some goddamn crumpets?"
"Blasphemy." I reminded. She replied by hurling other inanimate articles in the general direction of my head. I wove through the onslaught and caught her wrist with just enough force to splinter bone. "I will buy you some crumpets, now calm yourself!" I bellowed.
Christine sniffled, all anger evaporating instantly to be replaced with tears. "No… The moment is lost. Then will never be now again." She began to cry, on the floor with her arm stretched up over her, her wrist still in my crushing grasp.
My wrath dissolved completely and at that moment I wanted nothing more than to hold her. To have her hold me
"Christine…" I murmured as I crouched down beside her slowly…
Her head snapped up to attention. "Now Erik, what have I said about respecting your mother?" She stood, pulling me up with her by the ear. "And just look at this mess!" She sighed dramatically. "Such a messy child."
I wrenched myself out of her grip, ready to strangle sanity back into her, when the alarm sounded. "Wait, I think my dear, we have a guest!" I announced excitedly. "Go to your room now, I shall be there shortly. Go." I ushered her away and bolted the door behind her. Perhaps the spilled blood of her precious Viscount would bring her back to her senses. Then she would need comforting, wouldn't she? Perhaps then, my dear Christine, you could find solace in my arms. They are open and hungry for you. I laughed as I rowed the gondola through the murky depths of the underground lake.
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"This way, Erik. Don't fall behind." I warned even though my iron grip on his tiny hand would make it impossible for us to be separated anyway.
We walked together in the darkness, the flickering light of my torch our only guide. "Meg?" Little Erik whispered, not wanting to be disturbed by even his own echo. "Why exactly does this Phantom want my mother? I know there is more to all of this than anyone is saying. Who is he? What does he have to do with the Angel of Music? And with me for that matter?" I sighed. I knew this would come. Nothing got past little Erik. Oh brilliant little Erik, the good martyr!
I didn't know quite how to explain it all to him. Then suddenly, the words came!
"Uh, Meg? Where is all that music coming fro—" I cut him off.
"In sleep he sang to her. In dreams he came. That voice which called to her. And spoke her name. And though she turned from him, to marry the fop. The Phantom of the Opera is back! And he won't stop…"
"Meg!" Little Erik tried to stop, but I pulled him along. "What are you doing? Am I the only one who thinks this breaking into song is bizarre?" I pulled him out in front of me and pushed him onward.
"Though she left him once, she your father met. His power over her, grows stronger yet. You can call anyone, the Persian or the cops. But the Phantom of the Opera is back! And he won't stop!"
"Who's the Persian?" I shrugged and shoved him forward. Little Erik fell to the floor. With a groan he lifted himself up, fixing me with a glare but now following me willingly.
"Defying the Opera Ghost, we thought absurd. Yet your mom tore off his mask…"
"It's him I heard!" Little Erik exclaimed suddenly, covering his mouth in shame for his outburst.
We turned a corner and stood, back to back. Little Erik rose his voice to join mine, having finally submitted. "Be you dancer, singer, stage hand, or fop! The Phantom of the Opera is back! And he won't stop!"
"Hey guys! Where's the Phantom of the Opera?" A voice behind us echoed. We whirled around to find a grime covered Raoul, armed with several cans of cosmetics, making an effort to catch up. "Sorry I'm late! I'll get you Phantom of the Opera!"
"I'll handle this." Little Erik stated casually. I waited patiently against the cold, damp wall as Little Erik tied his struggling father to nearby gargoyle statue. "Stay, father! Stay for me!" Raoul's voice made quite the interesting vocalization as he tried to pull free of his restraints, failing miserably, comically.
I laughed at the sight of little Erik dusting his hands in triumph. But my own laughter depressed me. Would I never see Raoul fall victim to his son's antics again?
I said nothing to little Erik as we continued on our descent into darkness. I didn't trust my voice. I knew if I attempted a goodbye, I would break into tears and I had to show strength when I was before the Phantom.
We arrived at the lake. The mist swirled off the rippling waters onto the bank where we stood silently, cautiously. It was time. "Oh, great Phantom!" I called into the vast emptiness. "Come, that I may speak with you on Christine's behalf!" I listened as my echo resounded around us and faded away across the lake.
"Dude, Meg. That was lame." Little Erik said, casting me a critical look. I rolled my eyes.
"Here Phantom! Here Phantom, Phantom, Phantom! I have something to tell you!"
"Meg!" Little Erik whined, pulling his hand out of mine. "Now you're making him sound like a dog!" I rolled my eyes.
"Fine! What do you suggest?" He shrugged, crossing his arms. "Oh, you're helpful, Master Phantom summoner!" Just then a sound came from across the lake with the rippling of the water. Somewhere, hidden in the fog, someone was here. It grew louder and louder, until I knew exactly what I was listening to. The Phantom was laughing. "Erik…?" I asked timidly.
"What?" he replied timidly, hiding behind my skirts.
"What does 'dude' mean?"
The laughter grew and swelled. "I don't know!" Little Erik whimpered. "But I don't think we'll live to find out." The laughter approached, coming closer and closer, until I could feel the speaker's hot breath on my neck, causing my hair to stand on end.
"Meg…" a ragged voice whispered. I screamed and spun around, tripping on little Erik.
I opened my eyes, pointing an accusing finger. "What do you want?... Monsieur le Viscount?"
"The rope snapped." He said excitedly. "So I hurried to catch up. My turn to tie someone up!" He reached for little Erik who served him a quick fist in the gut. Raoul fell to the floor with a yelp.
"Sorry father, but it really is for your own protection." Little Erik explained, hiding Raoul under his cape.
"And why were you laughing?" I asked, still shaken.
"Laughing?" Raoul rasped, still clutching his side. "I wasn't laughing."
"No, I believe that was me." Answered a voice from behind me. My eyes locked on little Erik's. We both froze.
Next time on My Father, The Fop:
Meg: Little Erik, meet Erik. Erik, meet little Erik.
Little Erik: What in the...
Erik: ...he looks just like me!
Little Erik: MOM!
Erik: CHRISTINE!
Eriks: YOU HAVE SOME 'SPLANING TO DO!
Christine: Aw, nuts. Err, I mean crumpets.
Meg: Well, you take little Erik and I'll take Christine!
Erik: That's not a fair trade!
Meg: Sure it is! Little Erik's stats and merchandisingpossibilitiesare much higher than Christine's! If anyone's getting ripped off, it's me! Christine only has three attack points and uses an energy card everytime. Little Erik can cast "cuteness" without resorting to hanging his mouth open and using breasts!
Raoul: What breasts?
Christine: HEY!
Erik: Hey! The fop said something remotely intelligent!
Little Erik: Let's throw him a party!
All Except Christine: YAY!
Christine: Oh, bugger...
Review! It really helps! You are what motivated to post this chapter! Don't worry, my "twin" should be back by the end of this week!