Link: You can't fire me!
Authoress: I can do anything I want.
Link: No you can't! This is fictional character cruelty! I'm calling the ASPCA!
Authoress: The ASPCA only cares about animals! Plus, you don't know ow to work the phone.
Link: B-but why?
Authoress: Because my twiny came to visit and we started watching fruits basket. I fell in love with the series all over again...
Link: ...so?
Authoress: SO! I have a new, less effeminate narrator.
Link: Who... WHO?
Authoress: Excellent introduction, Link! (Turns to readers) Everyone welcome Hatsuharu from fruits basket! Call him Haru for short.
Haru: (Walks in, looking disoriented) This isn't the kitchen... (Spotlight flashes on him) Huh?
Authoress: I see your sense of direction is as bad as ever! Well Haru, say hello to the readers.
Haru: Um. Okay. (Waves)
Authoress: Now take of your shirt for the reviewers!
Haru: What? Uh, alright... I guess. (Does so)
Authoress: (Drools)
Link: (Sniff) But... I thought you loved ME! Oh, and Erik too.
Erik: HEY!
Authoress: I do love you Link! Oh, and Erik too.
Erik: HEY!
Authoress: That's why I'm going to lock you both up in my closet and start the story.
Erik/Link: What?
Authoress: Don't worry, Haru won't be narrating today. But soon! And here we go!
Haru: ... yay... whatever.
Episode 23
A hospital room. As grim a setting as there can be.
"Doot… doot… doot… doot…"
Silent weeping, repressed angers, surfacing regrets…
"Doot… doot… doot… doot…"
Confessed guilts, quiet prayers, hidden requests…
"Doot… doot… doot… doot…"
A woman, so petite it seems she was rushed out of childhood, sits by his bedside, clutching his hands tightly until her delicate, little knuckles are white as her face. She clings to him as if he is the only force holding her to this Earth. As if without him she fears she will fly up into the sky and be unable to come back down. Unable… or unwilling.
"Doot… doot… doot… doot…"
Such somber settings suit me not. (Ooh alliteration!) I suppose that is why I can't help myself.
"Doot… doot… doot… doot…"
Especially seeing those wide eyes of hers fill with tears. I feel as if I was to touch one that it would pop and water would leak all over me.
"Doot… doot… doot… doot…"
"Misty! Stop with the 'doot' sounds already! We get it! His heart is beating! Now shh!"
I roll my eyes and slump back in my chair. I don't mean to be unsympathetic; it's just that I'm so bored!
"W-what d-does the sound d-doot have t-to d-do w-with a heart-t?" The bug-eyed moron asks, sniffling on Raoul's shirt. Yeah, like that's going to help him wake up any faster.
"Nothing. It's… before its time. Just like practically everything else about Misty." Willow covers. I don't know why she's so nice to Mrs. Fop. But maybe that's just Willow's personality.
You know, I'd be more concerned if Raoul wasn't snoring. That's usually a big indicator that everything is alright. Still, we're all sitting here, pretending to be worried. Christine is just eating up the attention. Naturally. What an actress she is.
I bet it's not even Raoul she's worried about, but what will become of her. Without the fop she has no husband to take care of her. She might actually have to do things for herself. That must be a frightening thought. I wonder if she'd go so far as to run back to the Phantom…
Oh, how do I know all this? Madame Giry told Willow. They've become buddies, always coming up with bluffs and keeping enigmatic secrets together. I don't mind though, I like Madame Giry. Besides, Willow always fills me in so I'm not left out.
"My love…" Christine whispers, her eyes bulging and looking like they're ready to pop out of her skull. I stifle a giggle at the thought. Willow casts me a glare and I settle down. Christine is kissing his forehead now. "I love you, Raoul…" And maybe it's true. Maybe somewhere, deep down through that selfish child who can't see past her own grief, she does love him. You see, Christine isn't a bad person; it would be a lie to say that she was. But she is selfish and childish. But these are simply traits of her immaturity, not because she's a bad person.
Still, she's not seventeen anymore. Sometimes I just wish someone would slap her and shout "Grow up!" But no one ever does and it's not my place to do so. Even if it was, Willow wouldn't let me. She can be a killjoy that way, even if she's only doing it to be kind.
Sigh… we've been here for hours! I really wish we could go. What's more, Willow and I should have left by now. It's not safe. I start bouncing my leg in nervousness. Madame Giry makes a death symbol at me. I cross my ankles to stop the twitch and try my best to put on a compassionate smile. I bet I look more like a hobbit who's had bad sushi.
Yes, I know what a hobbit is. And no, I don't know how a hobbit would get a hold of sushi. Let alone bad sushi.
The doctor comes back in, wearing a golfing hat. You know, the ones that look like berets but with a fluffy ball on top. Christine does not notice this. Even unconscious Raoul winces. I want to laugh but Madame Giry and Willow both give me a warning glare. I sit back in my seat and pout, dejected. Ann pats my shoulder understandingly and stifles her own giggles. I like Ann. Never has there been more clever a young girl. If only that idiot genius little Erik could see that. But meh. Eriks will be Eriks.
"As far as I can tell, Monsieur de Chagny's mind if furiously at work, rather than almost shut down like most comatose patient." The doctor says. "When the mind cannot act normally due to circumstances beyond its control, it will try to find other ways out. Other ways to function, to act." I know this already. That's how some people develop certain psychic abilities.
"In the process, his mind may reach out and make new connections within itself. Some perhaps even unnatural." The doctor continues. "And I base this on absolutely nothing." He ends, completely serious.
Christine is in tears again. The doctor's gone, probably off to play badminton judging by the hat he changed into on the way out.
An awkward silence fills the room. All is quiet but for the sound of Christine's cries. What I would do for a disruption right about now.
Madame Giry is the first to speak, her face straight though not unkind. "I told him to keep his hand at the level of his eyes." She says with a shrug. "I didn't mean it for just the Phantom's lair. It could come in handy for all situations. Playing soccer? Hand at the level of your eyes. Popcorn thrown at your head in the theatre? Hand at the level of your eyes. Hail storm? Hand at the level of your eyes. Tax collectors? Hand at the level of your eyes." No one quite gets the last one, but we heed this advice anyway.
"Oh, p-poor Raoul." Christine sniffles. Her stutter isn't cute, I hope she knows that.
Madame Giry is fiddling with her skirts. Has she tired of this setting as well? Hen perhaps she has an idea! She always does! Or at least a bluff…
"I suppose we should go out to buy him new lilac slippers, for when he wakes." She says kindly.
"Yes… lilac slippers." Christine echoes. Suddenly Raoul stirs.
"Gasp! He's waking up!"
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"Where is he?" Meg asked for the seventh time, singing now.
"You mean me?" I joked, entering the living room to find her lying on her back, head hanging off the edge of the chaise.
"I mean your father! Where is he?" Again with the singing.
"Well how should I know?"
She turned onto her stomach and propped herself up on one hand, pointing at me with the other. "I want an answer! It takes a madman to know one!"
I sighed, laughing at her impatience. We had woken this morning to find my papa missing. He had left no indication of where he had gone or when he would be back, but it had been hours now and Meg wanted to get this card game over with. "You know, Meg. If I didn't know any better I'd say this whole card match has you nervous."
"Me? Nervous?" She gave a forced laugh and sat cross-legged on the chaise. "Please. Nervousness indicates worry or fear. When it comes to cards, what is there to fear about the Phantom?"
"What's all this nonsense?" said a familiar voice from the Rue Scribe entrance. Meg squealed and fell off the chaise, almost fainting.
"Ah, papa! Glad you could make it. We were beginning to wonder… where… you… were… Uh… What are those?" He held bags, fat and full. It was a strange scene, the Phantom of the Opera holding what appeared like groceries before his secret entrance.
"Supplies." He replied casually, placing the bags on the floor. "And gifts for my victims. It is only polite, after all. Before death, one final request."
"Death?" Meg, who had just picked herself up off the ground, squealed again and proceeded to fall behind the chaise.
"I am going to kill you both in cards, you see." He continued, rummaging through the bags. "This is for you." He handed me a small paper box. I was not too interested really, until I sensed a familiar aroma.
"Is this… is it…?" I tore through the box in three rips. "It is!" Licorice. I adore licorice, you see. No gift could have been sweeter. Well, perhaps in the literal sense, yes. But that isn't what I mean!
"Don't eat them all before the match. A sugar induced euphoria makes it difficult for one to concentrate." I looked up skeptically, giving him my best 'how would you know?' look. "Believe me. Why do you think it took me so long to write Don Juan Triumphant?"
OoOoOoOoOoOoFlashback! Yeah!OoOoOoOoOoOo
(Erik is trying to compose Don Juan on the organ. Empty chocolate and licorice boxes lie scattered all over the lair)
Erik: (Scribbling… uh… something) I like trees. Treeeeeeeeees!
OoOoOoOoOoOoEnd Flashback!OoOoOoOoOoOo
"So the original words to Point of No Return were I like trees?" Meg asked, coming towards us to join the conversation, all fear forgotten.
"Yes. Now stop talking." He answered curtly, reaching into his bags to retrieve another box. "Here." He said gruffly, tossing it nonchalantly into her hands. "For you. Now fetch the cards."
But Meg did not move to fetch them right away. For a few moments she stayed put, starring incredulously at the rectangular, smooth but sturdy, black box in her hands. I did not waste a second to stuff half my gift into my mouth.
"What is it?" Meg asked softly, stroking the box tenderly.
"Maybe it's candy too." I suggested. "Fancy candy by the looks of the packaging. Ooh! Maybe it's imported Swiss chocolate!"
He didn't answer. By now papa had gone to put away the supplies.
"Me-eg! Maybe you should get the ca-ards!" I hinted, my voice sing-song.
"Oh, right!" Her eyes unglazed and she hurried away to her makeshift room beside the chaise, shutting the curtain. Women, so sentimental about a pretty box! Really, he had said it was a last request type gift!
But, que sera sera! Whatever that means. So I went off to the living room, popping a couple extra licorice pieces for the game.
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Of course little Erik wouldn't know what it was. I didn't either, for I hadn't opened it yet. But I had my suspicions. They were just about the right size to be… could they? It was impossible! This brand and style was no longer produced! They were an old type yet they were obviously in new condition; never worn. The perfect size too.
With deft, trembling fingers, I undid the string tying the lid onto the box. Then, my hands unsteady as they've ever been, I lifted the lid; trying to banish any hopes incase they would be crushed. I closed my eyes as I pulled the lid away, revealing the box underneath.
There they were. Wrapped in simple, thin, rough paper. Ballet shoes; just like my mother's old ones. The right color, the perfect size, but brand new. Never used, perhaps only opened a few times before. But where had he gotten them? Furthermore, how did he know my mother's old slippers had been destroyed?
It was not an act of kindness. Not even of civility. He was trying to frighten me. Trying to prove that he had pure dominance over my mind, over my soul. He wanted me to panic, to lose hold on myself. If I knew anything about this man, which was very little, it was that he would not take well to losing. The last time he had lost what he had really wanted, an entire Opera House had burned to the ground.
I heard a crinkling sound and realized I was smashing the shoes in my grip. With a sudden exhale I dropped the shoes. I was gasping. No, I couldn't let him do this to me. I had to stay calm. I had to remain above the influence!
(Erik, my anti-drug.)
With a deep, calming breath, I gently laid the shoes back in their box. Securing the lid snugly over the box, I pushed the Phantom's gift under the chaise. No more. "My turn now, Phantom." I whispered to myself encouragingly.
I snatched up the cards beside me, stood, and drew back the curtain. "Let's do this!" I exclaimed, letting my Giry's blood fuel me with the wits and the strength I needed.
"Meg, you don't have to shout. We're right here." Said little Erik, sitting before me at a table he had placed in the living room. Erik sat across from him, giving me an equally confused stare.
"Oh, yes. Well, just trying to add some atmosphere." I covered quickly and took my seat between them. I placed my hands in my lap, staring straight ahead into the lake.
"… Ahem. The cards?"
"Meg, you okay?" Little Erik asked with concern.
"Oh, yes! The cards. Oh, I'm fine." I took the cards from my lap and placed them center table. To make sure all was fair, little Erik shuffled and dealt.
"Alright, there. Everyone look at your cards!" Little Erik said excitedly. I checked my own.
Not a bad hand at all. In fact, quite a decent one. It would not be difficult to achieve victory, not for me. I could do this! "Thank you for the gift, Erik. It was lovely." I said calmly, surprising Erik, and myself, with my acting. I could do this!
From the corner of my eye I noticed little Erik, who looked completely puzzled and oblivious as to what he was doing. No matter, I could handle this alone. I shifted my gaze to Erik, but his expression was unreadable. Again, not a problem. Fate had been good to me, I had received good cards, and my natural talent was pumping through me at full speed. I could do this. I just had to stay strong, as stony and unreadable as my opponent.
Erik met my glance with a smirk, picking out two cards from his hand.
The game had begun.
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"Raoul?" Christine said, clutching his hand.
"Christine?" Madame Giry said, sitting up.
"Misty!" I said, gesturing for Misty to pay attention.
"Wi-llow!" Misty sung, annoyed.
"Shh!" Ann hushed us to listen.
On the bed, Raoul stirred. His eye lids fluttered rapidly, and then opened. Everyone held their breath as his gaze drifted across the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings and the situation, no doubt. Slowly he began to sit up, resting his weight on his elbows behind him. Silence. Misty coughed once. I turned and snapped at her.
"Where…?" Everyone turned their attention back to Raoul, simultaneously. "Why am I in a hospital?"
I breathed a sigh of relief. He was fine. Perhaps then Christine would allow Ann refuge.
"You were unconscious, honey." Christine said, sickeningly sweetly. Misty cringed. I couldn't blame her. The former soprano was overdoing it.
"Was I? Oh, I hope I have not caused anyone any inconvenience. That would be most troublesome. I hate to be a burden. But perhaps I could reward them for their loyalty and compassion. Let us all out to lunch then, shall we? Not to worry, I shall bare the bill."
The sound of a roomful of jaws dropping was heard. Do you know what that sounds like? Similar to the sound of one hand clapping.
"M-monsieur de Chagny. Are you… quite alright?" Madame Giry asked, being the first to recover.
"Yes, I'm actually quite alright. In fact I have never felt more exuberant in all my life! Come, call in the doctor so I may discuss with him the extent of the damage caused by my prolonged comatose state. Then we can all click our heels and be off!" He said kindly, his warm smile unwavering.
"What… the crap?" Misty voiced what we were all thinking. Thank goodness for her.
"What, is something the matter? Have I upset you, mademoiselle Breyer? Forgive me, I meant not to cause any distress."
"… I repeat. What the crap?" Madame Giry hurried out of the room. Raoul cast me a concerned gaze in return.
"Monsieur de Chagny, we mean no disrespect. Nor do we mean to cause you concern. It's just… you seem very sharp today." I said, trying my best to paste an inviting smile on my face. I failed.
"Sharp, am I?" He laughed, good-naturedly. "Well I should hope you would be careful then, to avoid my sharp wit's end. We would not want to stumble and catch out pretty laces upon it, would we?" Now he was using metaphors even I didn't understand! Or was than an analogy?
"No… we wouldn't." I echoed, at a loss for words.
"It was a joke, Madame Rose! Do not take it to heart!" Raoul said with another laugh. "You have nothing to fear from me but fear itself!"
"Now he's philosophy-ing!" Cried Ann, hiding her face in Misty's arms.
"The word is philosophizing, Winanona." Raoul corrected playfully. Christine fainted.
Madame Giry returned then, dragging the good doctor by the ear. "What ze 'ell eez goin' on?" She demanded, very angry and very French.
Doctor Ess Char Goe sighed, removing his baseball gloves. "Remember that whole thing I said about the brain finding other ways out when it's trapped?"
"…no."
"Yes you do! I went into detail about, oh say, four or five pages ago." We all scrolled up and found that, indeed, he had explained such a phenomenon. Not very well, mind you, but he had.
"Wait a minute!" Misty interjected, pushing herself up from her chair. "That sort of thing takes years! A person would have to be in a coma for a very long time, not a few hours!" I nodded pointedly in assent.
"Well, he was a very extreme case of stupid. It did not take much to improve him." The doctor explained with a shrug.
"What are you saying?" Christine said from the floor, miraculously awake.
"I'm saying, Madame de Chagny, that your husband is no longer a fop!"
Christine fainted…
…
…
…again.
Next Time
Raoul: What's with my record books? They all have crayon pictures of jars!
Christine: That's how you do your tazes, dearest.
Raoul: Well, I suppose it is time to start anew! I'm going out for a hard day's work of... what do I do again?
Christine: Hell if I know.
Raoul: Right. A hard day's work of viscout-ing!
Meanwhilest...
Meg: Do you have any... eightes?
Erik: Go fish!
Meg: NOOOOO!
Lil Erik: What the crap? I thought we were playing poker!
Meg: Oh... yeah.
Erik: Damn, you! You shall pay for this!
Lil Erik: Oh yeah? How?
Candles: (Flicker and die)
Lil Erik: Ahh! The lights!
Erik: NO! I'm too young and beautiful to die!
Meg: ...?
Erik: Sorry. I always wanted to say that... ... ... ... I'll go relight the candles.
Haru: Moo. Do where is that kitchen? I've been looking all morning and I still can't find it.
Authoress: Phew, I'm sure glad no one's made black Haru reveal himself.
Haru: If I don't find that fridge soon I'll... I'll... HARU SMASH!
Authoress: 0.0
Next Time!