Disclaimer: Don't own POTO…but I just saw Phantom on stage in Arizona a week ago and SQUUUUEEEEEEEEE! OMG! (runs around in circles, chasing tail, bounces on the bed, falls down dead from sheer phantastic exhaustion) (stupid, dazed grin) I am so happy. We got to meet the cast and got autographs and pictures. A new guy was playing Raoul…I hate to say it…he was soooooooo uber-hot. The picture in the program did not do him justice. And Gary Mauer (aka Phantom) was so nice! And tall! Which is a good thing if you're playing Erik. Okay…I'll stop now.
Nameless Waif: Wow, that was one spastic review! But Erik is reminding me that since I myself am such a spaz, this is totally okay. Dear Cecily…she is an official snark.
Savvy the Pennameless: (huggles reviewer) I love you! And, yes, your vision was very close to reality…mwhaha…ha. You may most certainly have the hobbits for your willow tree, but only after the phic is over. And I shall be doing some research for our…ehem, (wary glance to the side) plans.
Erik'sDarkAngel2009: Amazing how "random and retarded" can be considered a compliment in some cultures. Our little insane phandom being one of them. We are so weird…I love it.
Silvermasque: Hey, welcome to the phamily. Official Poppins Bags are at the sign in table. And we just got a new shipment of warrior fuzzy socks in Punjab red and Scorpion green. Don't worry about the nuttiness of Anna and Brooke; they are simply phans on a whole new level. But to take their nuttiness away would be like depriving myself of goldfish crackers and that just isn't done.
Solecito: (sweeps a bow with her silver cape) Thank you, dear reviewer, you could not have paid me a higher compliment. (dons Captain Hook hat) Oh, I think I could manage to get a few glomps in there for you. (winks)
Music Angel no.24601: Yes! "One Day More" rocks my world. I love your insightful comparison of Cosette and Christine. Erik is glaring at me, but I am not wavering in my opinion as I have a lightsaber and he does not. MWHAHA. Anywho. I rather prefer Eponine myself.
Lenis Vox: Chickens! I love chickens! I knew a rooster named Ivan the Terrible. He had a bad habit of crowing (or trying to crow) at ungodly hours of the morning. AAH! No crappy Star Wars lines! (slaps Qui-Gon).
Erik's Girlfriend: Remind me about Atalanta and Meleager again. I do love mythology, but I'm a bit rusty.
tenshimerry: So glad to have been a pick-me-up! Always happy to make someone smile.
enigmatic mystery, India Pyro, xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: Misty is yours truly, darlings! (Points to Authoress's name tag.)
Lady Brandybuck of the Shire: My current hair color is entirely beside the point.
Tian Sirki: Sorry about the email thing. I've have a weird computer situation for a while, but I can respond now so it should be coming to you shortly.
Simply Elymas: I always pictured Raoul and Erik suddenly deciding to ditch Christine and going out for a beer to discuss the possibility of cutting a record together. (In a totally NOT slash way).
OneWhoWalksWithPigeons: It is most certainly NOT a bad thing to remain a phangirl…I myself am one and I thoroughly enjoy it. As for the source of my quirky phrases, it's in the blood. Oh, yeah! A party, I feel so loved!
His Mask: I beg you would not be offended, 'twas only meant as a light-hearted jest.
aragornnme: I am sorry the chapter did not meet your expectations, but I do appreciate the honesty, as much as it hurts to hear. But although the Gerry is gone, the hobbits are not.
LiTTleLoTTe1991: That is so what I had in mind when I wrote about the clicky silver heels! And you know that Dorothy's shoes are silver in the book, right?
Mademoiselle Phantom: Thank you so much for taking care of that issue with the plagiarism. In fact, I appreciate your efforts so much, I do believe Gerry owes you a kiss…a good kiss.
phantomsangelofmusic: I really enjoyed your review. It was encouraging. I do not know how many chapters are left. To be honest, I am kind of floundering with that as I am making this up as I go and I do not want to lose the element of insanity and fun. But I am glad you think I have improved. That's always good to hear.
Sandra: (Shrugs) I figured everyone else got a cameo, why shouldn't I? Besides, I am a selfish creature by nature, so I could not bear the thought of giving the Gerry up to anyone.
OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles: I cannot imagine this making sense to anyone besides us crazy phans, which is actually really cool because I love all of the inside jokes and all the little things that the phans pick up on that others wouldn't get.
Phantress: Thank you so much for the encouragement!
A/N: Okay, everyone, remember I said that they would return to the lair on chapter 36, this is chapter 35. One last random adventure in Perros, just for the heck of it.
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POOFS AND FOPS
Raoul felt a violent urge to climb the oak tree and sneak into Brooke's bedroom. Now before anyone assumes the worse, let it be known that his intentions were entirely honorable. He only wished to bid her farewell as it had finally occurred to him that he might not see her in Paris. Of course, he could have waited until morning to say goodbye at breakfast, but he was experiencing bouts of Romantic-Dashing Hero Syndrome (RDHS), so only a Romeo-esque rendezvous would suffice.
This being 1870, there were no alarm systems or dead locks to guard the window, so Raoul simply pushed the shutters and panes aside as he climbed into the dark room. His ears were immediately assaulted by grating snore. He grimaced. That's not good.
Creeping towards the bed, his only light was the moonbeams streaming through the window. The bed was a large four-poster affair, complete with curtains, which had been drawn back since it was still summer time and rather warm. Raoul thought he saw two bodies lying beneath the covers. He guessed the 'sisters' shared the apartment.
Bending over the closest figure, he gently pushed her shoulder and whispered, "Brooke?"
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Anna mumbled drowsily. Someone was shaking her and saying something. She cracked open one eye and saw the Vicomte's nose hovering a mere inch from her own.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" The piercing shriek sent Raoul reeling back and jarred Brooke out of her sleep.
"My lord, Anna, what is it?" Brooke cried as her cousin fumbled with the lamp at her bed table. A soft pink glow erupted from the lamp, filling the room with a warm, dim haze and throwing sharp shadows against the walls. Brooke spied the Vicomte huddled behind the fainting couch, shivering like a scolded child.
"Raoul!"
But before he could explain himself, the door flew open and Erik—masked, robed, and armed—stormed into the room. His shadowed eyes traveled from the startled girls in their bed to the rumpled, guilty-looking Raoul in a matter of milliseconds. One can only imagine his conclusion. With a low, feral snarl he lunged at the nobleman, Punjab lasso at the ready.
The girls scrambled to their feet, standing on the bed, and shouting at the two men. Brooke clung to a post for support, as her ankle was still tender. Her face was distraught with fright as she helplessly watched Erik overpower Raoul.
"Stop it! Erik, don't hurt him! Anna, do something, please," the brunette turned desperately to her cousin.
Anna shook her bedraggled head, "No, last time I interfered I almost ended up a grease spot on the stage floor. You do something about it, since it's your Vicomte."
Brooke, despite her sore foot, began to contemplate launching herself at Erik, but she was spared the effort when a great cloud of glittering pink smoke inexplicably billowed up out of the middle of the bedroom floor with a mighty POOF! Erik and Raoul both yelped and leapt back.
"What the hell is that?" Raoul screamed, his chocolate brown hair standing on end.
Anna danced from foot to foot atop the bed and squealed, "It's the Wicked Witch of the West!"
No such luck. When the thick, cotton-candy colored cloud dispersed, there stood…
"The fop?" Brooke said. In unison, everyone's heads tilted to one side to regard the man standing where there had once been a pixie dust cloud. His face was identical to Patrick Wilson's; he was dressed in an open poet's shirt, his shoulder length blond hair immaculately groomed.
"Who are you?" Raoul asked, glaring at the intruder as if he himself were not also intruding. Paddy blinked at him with big, doey eyes.
Erik snorted, "That's you, Vicomte."
"I beg your pardon!" both Raouls cried together.
"That imposter can certainly not be the Vicomte de Changy. His hair is far too unkempt," Paddy insisted. Brooke threw a pillow at him.
"There cannot be two of me!" the 'real' Raoul said, though judging by the distressed tone of his voice, it seemed he was beginning to question that assertion.
Erik shook his masked head and sighed heavily as he began to try to explain Paddy's existence to a very frazzled Raoul. Paddy, who did not seem too disturbed by the matter, occupied himself with checking his hair for split ends.
The Poppins Bag, lying suspiciously close to scene of the crime, caught Anna's eye. Leaning down from her perch on the bed, she plucked it off the floor.
"Did you have something to do with that?" she gestured disdainfully at Paddy.
No! Certainly not.
Brooke joined the interrogation, "But you brought Gerry here. How can you prove you didn't do this?"
Hey, I claim my mistakes, all right? My mistakes, my farts—
"Hold it!" Anna commanded. "You can fart?"
Sure! Ever smell that musty, damp washrag kind of odor?
"That's you!"
Yup.
The cousins wrinkled their noses and Anna tossed the Bag into a corner.
Ouch. Hey, everybody farts.
"I don't."
Everybody, including Erik and Raoul, turned to stare at Paddy. He regarded them in a frank, open manner as though there was nothing unusual about his statement or his very presence. Brooke and Anna were vaguely reminded of Legolas.
Erik growled, "Let's just get rid of him." Nobody made any objections as he circled behind the longhaired fop and wrapped the Punjab lasso about Paddy's throat. As Erik began to tighten the noose, Raoul scooted towards Brooke.
"I am sorry about all of this frightful business. I only meant to bid you farewell since I didn't know if we'd see each other in Paris," he explained softly.
Brooke smiled reassuringly, telling him that she appreciated the effort.
He added, "I hope your brother is not too angry. He looks awfully familiar, though I can't say if I've actually seen him around."
Anna smoothly interjected, "Oh, that's M. Gerard. He likes to sleep with a full mask on…just another of his eccentricities. Our brother is a very heavy sleeper. I doubt an earthquake could wake him."
"Oh, I understand," Raoul replied.
Erik was about to snap the Punjab lasso shut when Brooke commanded him to wait.
"What ever for?" Erik asked, annoyed.
"Watch the fop's face. Loosen the lasso, Erik."
He did so, albeit grudgingly. Paddy's face slackened into his normal, blank, expressionless visage.
"Okay, tighten it again."
Erik happily complied. Instantly, Paddy's countenance went from brown-paper bag to sweaty, snot-stained, and pathetic. The change was startling and disturbingly amusing. Everyone ooed and awed like spectators under a firework show. Erik was impressed enough to repeat the action several times, with increasing rapidity. The transformation never failed.
Poor Paddy. I almost feel sorry for him. He was eventually released when a rivulet of snot wound its way down his throat and over Erik's fingers.
"ACK!" Erik shrieked. He shoved Paddy away from him and frantically dried his hand on the back of a chair. The girls covered their indelicate snickers. Paddy gasped and choked and smoothed his hair. His shaking fingers combed through his shining locks. When they reached the tips, they uncovered a shocking development.
"Sweet HAIRSPRAY!" Paddy shrieked. He whirled to gape at Erik, his poor, glistening, foppy face wearing the injured look of a dog that has just been unceremoniously kicked out of the way. "You gave me…split ENDS!"
Erik was deeply grateful for his mask, which now shielded him from a spray of spit. He blinked once in surprise, impressed that the fop could rouse himself to such a passionate extent, and then he allowed the glitter in his blue eyes to deaden into a stoic gaze of unconcern.
Paddy staggered back a step or two, like a gunshot victim in a D.W. Griffith film. He turned his pleading eyes up to the girls, towering on the bed, and his counterpart, who was feeling extremely resentful that this pathetic mass of hair products had any remote connection to himself. Unable to find even a sympathetic companion in the Poppins Bag, Paddy curled up into a fluffy ball and died.
"You killed him," Raoul muttered to Erik.
"I did no such thing," Erik protested righteously, "It was the split ends."
"So that's how you kill a fop," Anna said. The whole thing, which was, really, sadly amused her and Brooke rather pitiful...almost…it could have been worse.
After contemplating the lifeless blob of hair and white shirt, Erik shook himself from his reverie and recalled that there was still one intruder left. The phantom's icy gaze slowly traveled to the Vicomte and fixed on his pale, handsome face. Raoul shivered—he felt that terribly creepy sensation that he was being watched. Guiltily, he brought his eyes up to Erik's.
"Um…I know how that must have seemed, but I can explain," he spluttered.
Erik chuckled, low and sinister, "Good. I'll give you a two second head start."
"Wha—?"
Raoul didn't have time to blink. Erik lunged at him with the Punjab lasso, moving in blur of black velvet. The Vicomte, however, was nimble and athletic. He wasted no time in scrambling for the door. Brooke wigged out, to say the least.
She knew the Vicomte was quick, but Erik was nearly superhuman. In a desperate attempt to give Raoul a fighting chase at escape, she shoved Anna off the bed and sent her crashing onto Erik. Raoul did not look back. The outer door slammed behind him and Brooke sank onto the bed with a sigh or relief.
Meanwhile, Anna and Erik were busy cursing and disentangling their limbs. Unfortunately, they were both so sore from the impact that neither had a chance to enjoy the position. Erik unfolded himself like a lawn chair and sprang to his feet, offering a hand to Anna, who was claiming to feel a little woozy.
"That's nice, Brooke. Sacrifice your best friend and cousin for a man," the redhead growled as Erik helped her to the bed.
"You'd do the same," Brooke remarked, glancing knowingly at Erik.
"Shut up."
"Now what to do with that fop," Erik reminded them. Apparently, chaos makes one forget about dead bodies lying on one's floor. But when they peered over Brooke's side of the bed, all they saw was a pile of empty clothes.
"OMG! He's been raptured!"
"He did that dead Jedi thing!"
"He's running around naked somewhere!"
"Ew."
"He's not here and that's what matters," Erik snapped, putting an end to the cousins' flustered tirade. He paused to regard them for a moment.
"Why was Raoul in here anyway? He didn't try to take advantage of you, did he?" Erik's voice dropped to a deadly hiss. Anna loved it when he did that.
"No!" Brooke exclaimed. "He wanted to say good bye to me."
"At two o'clock in the morning?" Erik said. Abruptly, Anna reached up and pried the mask off Erik's face. His countenance froze for a moment, one eyebrow still arched in serious doubt of Brooke's assertions.
"What did you do that for?"
"I wanted to prove to myself that you were, in fact arching an eyebrow at Brooke," Anna said simply. Erik shook his head at her. He did not understand why the cousins insisted on seeing his hideous face. It puzzled him exceedingly, but he had grown comfortable with the idea.
"Anyway," he turned back to Brooke. "At two o'clock in the morning, by climbing through a bedroom window?"
"Er…yes?" Brooke grinned sheepishly, like a teenager trying to explain a hickie to her father.
"Are you sure he meant to get this room and not Christine's?"
Brooke squirmed and glowered at the phantom, "I'm sure! He was afraid we wouldn't meet again in Paris."
"Well, he hangs around the Opera House often enough. I'm sure if you just pop out of the shadows every now and then, he'll ask you to supper some night," Anna said. She meant it as a joke, but when she looked at her companions, she saw both in sunk in thoughtful contemplation. Suddenly, she could see the cogs in Erik's brain turning in a most distressing direction as he regarded Brooke with new interest.
If Brooke could snag the Vicomte for herself then who would be left for Christine to turn to? Anna blanched at the thought. She gripped the mask in her hands. She would not lose Erik. Perhaps, Brooke had been more right than she knew when she said Anna "would do the same."