Insanity (and an Author, Too)
She though the morning was more than a bit on the chilly side, for her home, as she managed to roll herself out of bed; part of it was probably the fact that she didn't particularly feel like waking up that morning, and that in itself probably had something to do with the fact that she hadn't been able to get to sleep until twelve o'clock the previous night. She noticed that that usually happened to her.
Der Drache von der Himmeln rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, before attempting to stagger over to her dresser and choose something to wear for the school day. Pulling open her drawer and ignoring it as she fell forward and hit her head on her dresser, she groggily pulled out the pair of shorts and a shirt nearest the top, before proceding to pull them on.
Approximately seven minutes and numerous shouts of "stupid dumm affe idiot dingen" later, she stumbled out of her room in a pair of boy's shorts that reached down to her knees, paired with a shirt from her church's division of Bible Drill. Barely missing a wall, she staggered down the hallway to eat breakfast. A bowl of chocolate cereal stood waiting for her.
After she had sat down and begun to eat, she looked up to find Manfred sitting across the table from her- reading, of all things, a newspaper.
"You know, Manfred," she managed to slur, following an attempt to rub the sleep from her eyes, "that newspaper might not do you much good, considering it's written in English . . ."
The newspaper lowered a few inches, just enough to accomodate a view of the twenty-five-year-old pilot's face, making just enough noise as it did so to grab Der Drache's attention (she had fallen asleep in her cereal bowl)- and Manfred bent forward to say, "Chibi Darien."
"Chibi Darien? Where?" Der Drache's face shot up from out of her cereal bowl, scattering Cocoa Crispies every which way. She looked around for a few moments, before asking, "There's no Chibi Darien here, is there?"
Manfred slowly shook his head, before leaning back again and continuing to read his newspaper.
"Oh, well," our favorite insane author sighed, following Manfred's example and leaning back in her chair as well. "At least I'm awake. I needed that, Manfred. Danke."
Manfred only nodded in reply.
Der Drache slowly turned her gaze across the table, upon hearing the noise of some foreign object settling into a chair. She seemed taken aback for a moment, before beginning to speak.
"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Griffin: DON'T SCARE ME LIKE THAT."
Unbeknownst to the blond-haired girl, the Invisible Man nodded his head.
She turned back to her bowl of cereal, gazing at it more than a bit disgustedly before deciding that she couldn't finish eating all of that chocolate-ness today. She pushed her chair back, stood up, before slowly and purposefully beginning to carry it to the kitchen sink. With due ceremony, she poured the remains of the chocolate cereal down the garbage disposal; and somewhere, far off, taps began to play.
The blond-haired one shot a look of pure venom in the general direction of which the song was being played, and it abruptly died away.
"Much better." She began to walk towards her room, so she could put on her shoes.
That, too, was a challenge, just as dressing herself had been; truly, the effects of little sleep on one's mind were becoming prominent today.
She fell asleep, dreaming contentedly despite the fact that her nose was stuffed into her right shoe.
* * *
Der Drache von der Himmeln was woken quite suddenly by a loud barking of some sort. Pulling her face off of her shoe, she looked groggily around, just as she had earlier; upon remembring that there were no working clocks in her room, she began to stumble around the house in search of one.
The nearest one, in the kitchen, read eleven fifteen.
"Oh, CRIPES!" she shouted, realizing that she was extremely late for school. She began to panick, running around the house and screeching, "I'm LATE! I'm flipping LATE!"
Manfred and Griffin watched all of this with surprising calmness.
This procedure went on for nearly twenty minutes, during which Der Drache attempted to pull on her shoes, put her hair in a ponytail, and brush her teeth, all while running about like a chicken without a head.
As we can all guess, it didn't come out very well.
Forty minutes and several attempts at slowing down later, Der Drache finally managed to collapse in a heap on the floor, looking just as she had quite some time ago when she had began to run. Calming down, she stood up- chest heaving- and put her hair into a neat ponytail, finished brushing her teeth, and finally sat down to put on her shoes.
After she had done that, she stood up- quite calmly- and said, "It's no use. I've already been counted absent; I know it."
She fell back down, and resigned herself to staring at the ceiling from her position on the floor.
Manfred and Griffin both walked quietly over, bending over the blond-haired one. Griffin turned to Manfred and commented, "This is the second time she's done this. It is NOT going to work."
Manfred only nodded.
"We're going to have to get her to bed earlier."
Once again, Manfred nodded.
"Get out of my way- you're blocking my view!" shouted Der Drache, waving her long arms around wildly above her head as she made a feeble attempt to clear them from her view of the ceiling. She continued doing this for a few seconds, before dropping her now-tired arms back to her sides.
"Erik could solve this . . . he always manages to," Griffin finally commented, staring down at Der Drache. Following this comment, there was only silence hanging over the living room for several moments, before the blond-haired one shot up like a rocket.
"That's it!" she cried, throwing her arms over her head. "Even if I can't make it to school, I can still do something!" Turning to Manfred and Griffin, she said, "You two guys are brilliant. What would I do without you?"
"Lead a normal life?" Griffin offered, speaking for both him and the pilot.
"True, true . . ." Der Drache muttered, confessing. "In any case, however . . . why don't you ever talk, Manfred?"
"Sometimes, speak I do, though not often."
"Okay, so you just proved me wrong. Why don't you talk more, Manfred?"
"I speak only when I have something to say."
"Umm . . ." Der Drache's voice trailed into a somewhat embarrassed hum. "I guess that's all well and good . . . ah . . . in any case, do any of you know where Erik is?"
Manfred shrugged, while Griffin supplied, "You might check your closet. I know for a fact that he tends to sing to you from in there . . . apparently, you created some sort of paradox with all your strangeness that allows him to cross back and forth between Paris and here. Rather interesting, really; I might look into it, sometime . . ."
His voice trailed off as Der Drache swept by him and Manfred to go to her room. She opened the closet door with due ceremony; and just before she stepped in, she shouted, "If I'm not back in an hour, come in after me!"
She shut the door with a loud bang.
* * *
Manfred and Griffin were growing increasingly worried; it had almost been an hour, and yet there was STILL no sign of Der Drache. -But then again, Manfred reasoned, -Paris is a large place to get lost in . . .
They waited until the clock in the kitchen read twelve o'clock before they finally dared to open the closet door. Manfred's hand was inching so slowly to the door handle . . .
. . . when, all of a sudden, it opened, causing him to jump back and almost fall over Griffin.
"Hi, guys," the blond-haired one said cheerily, stepping out of the closet. "I was about to come and get you. I found another paradox in my closet that leads to a REALLY big room; that's where I'm having The Meeting. And, as we all know, it just wouldn't be the same without you two." She turned back around, beginning to walk off; but then, she paused, glancing over her shoulder and calling out, "Are you coming, or what?"
She was greeted by silence as the pair considered this.
"Good grief," she said. "Griffin, just bring all those bandages and stuff with you . . . nobody's there yet. Manfred, pull yourself together; you wouldn't really leave me all alone, would you?"
She made big Bambi eyes.
"Biiiitte?"
Manfred sighed, showing his resignation to fight it further; he began following Der Drache, who noticeably brightened. Griffin, not wanting to be left out, brought up the rear end and closing the door behind them.
As the sounds of footsteps began to fade away, Der Drache's voice was heard shouting, "Meeting room, here we come!"
* * *
The silence that had hung over the large room like a shroud was suddenly broken as the three travelers stumbled into it, each tripping over the other as they scrambled to make it out of the closet's paradox. There were a few shouts in random languages, numerous cries of, "Get off me!", and one screech of "Erik, help us!"
The plea fell on nothing; Erik was not there.
After they all managed to pull themselves off the floor, while they were dusting themselves off, Der Drache said, "How was I supposed to know that an army of crickets was waiting for us? At least all those old shoes came in handy . . ."
She shuddered.
"You know how people who've been in a war tend to have nightmares about the experience? I think that's what is going to happen to me . . ."
She stepped out further into the room, trailed by Manfred and Griffin; abruptly, though, she turned around, saying, "We're here early; after all, everybody else had to get ready." She was greeted by silence.
Pause.
"I told you it was a big room. Did you guys not believe me?"
Once again, her question fell on deaf ears; her two partners were busy staring at where the ceiling would be, if it weren't so high up.
Indeed, Der Drache had been right; the vaulting ceiling was so high above them that it was lost in the shadows. There was a single, but still bright, light-source coming down from above, bathing the room in eerily pale light that barely touched the walls, because they were so far apart. Sitting in the very middle of the room were a circle of four chairs, with one in the center of them; outside this little ring were three more, in one of which Der Drache was sitting.
"Well?" she said, rather in a rather bored-sounding manner. "Are you done gawking yet? If so, come sit over here while we wait for everyone to arrive."
They did so, Manfred leading and Griffin following suit, settling down quietly into the wooden chairs beside the blond-haired one.
And so the silence settled once more.
No one said anything for quite a while; the first noise after the trio had sat down was the sound of somebody stumbling into the room, which caused Der Drache to shoot up like a rocket. There were a few shouts of something in French (which Manfred later said were not very polite), and a black-clad figure wearing a sky blue mask tripped into the pool of light to see the blond author. They righted themself from their bent-over position, brushed themself off, and said, "Pardon me, mademoiselle, but am I in the correct place?"
Der Drache von der Himmeln smiled, answering, "Yes, you certainly are, Monsieur Claudin. I'm so glad you could come. If you'd like to, you may take a seat in that circle"- so saying, she gestured at the circle of chairs with a long arm- "except for the middle one. That is reserved."
Monsieur Erique Claudin nodded, not seeming to take notice of the blond girl's strange company, which consisted of a young man dressed in a cavalryman's uniform and an odd gentleman whose entire was head wrapped in bandages, but rather walked silently over and sat down. His velvet-lined cape billowed up for a moment, before silently settling down around him.
There was silence again.
Once more, it was abruptly broken by a few rather impolite cries in French, and another person tripped into the room. They, too, brushed themself off, saying one more rude phrase en Francais before looking up to see the blond-haired girl standing over them.
"Yes, you are in the right place," she said, just as their mouth began to open; briefly, it hung like that in an expression of surprise, before they composed themself and stood upright to tower over the blond.
"Very well then." The white half-mask shifted slightly as they spoke.
Once again, Der Drache told him he could sit in the circle of chairs, but not in the middle one; and Griffin and Manfred began to wonder, who was it for?
In any case, the tall man was also clad in black, and wearing a velvet-lined cloak as well. Upon seeing Erique, he arched the eyebrow not hidden under the mask, before switching his expression to a more serious and somehow dire one. He gathered his cape around himself and settled into a chair across from Erique.
The silence reigned once again.
As this new stranger was casting inquiring glances in the direction of Manfred and Griffin, there came another shout, this time in rudimentary English, that was extremely rude and enough to cause Der Drache von der Himmeln to clap her hands over her ears. Accompanying this were the sounds of someone tripping across a hard floor, muttering under their breath all the while.
The newest visitor stepped into the circle of light.
He glanced first, curiously, at Erique and Erik, looking at them with golden eyes peeking out from a black mask. Next, his gaze was cast upon the blond-haired author, who only said, "You are in the correct place. If you wish, you may take a seat in the circle of chairs, but not in the center one; it is reserved."
The newest black-clad visitor, wearing the black porcelain mask, gave Manfred and Griffin a strange look before settling himself into a chair as far away from Erik and Erique as possible.
The three Phantoms sat staring at each other from behind various-colored masks, each contemplating what the others were doing there and just WHY they all resembled one another.
There was suddenly a shout of something first in French, then English, followed by a variety of languages that made the cries very . . . erm . . . colorful. Once again, someone tripped into the circle of light, and he, too, was clad in black, wearing a long, velvet-lined cloak and a mask- except his more resembled a human face, and it had a sort of flap on the bottom that moved whenever he spoke.
"Am I in the correct place, mademoiselle?" he asked, after casting curious glances at the other three phantoms. Der Drache nodded her head, saying, "There is one more seat left in the circle, and it is yours; but don't sit in the middle chair, it's reserved."
The fourth phantom to arrive nodded in reply, gazing curiously at Manfred and Griffin before walking silently off to seat himself.
The silence once again reigned supreme as the four Phantoms of the Paris Opera eyed each other warily. Nobody said anything; there was hardly any movement at all. After a while, though, there could be heard the faint sounds of someone attempting to hold in a laugh.
But that didn't last very long. Before anyone knew what was happening, Der Drache von der Himmeln fell out of her chair laughing, gripping her sides as she rolled around on the floor.
Everyone shifted to stare at her as she convulsed in mad fits of laughter, rolling about in the pale light. It went on like this for five minutes, in which the only noises to be heard were Der Drache's laughter and, occasionally, someone shifting in there seat. After she finally calmed down, a huge grin still plastered across her face, she explained, "If you're like me, and you love the Phantom as much as I do, then you couldn't help but laugh if you saw four of them all shifting their eyes to look at each other, and not moving otherwise. It's just not something you see everyday . . ."
She burst into another fit, and this one lasted longer; but it was cut short by someone stepping daintily into the room.
Instantly the author shot up, her face the perfect picture of seriousness, and began to brush herself off. After doing so, she herself stepped forward, saying, "Ah, Mademoiselle Christine. I'm so glad you made it . . ."
The little Swedish singer gave a small bow of her head in acknowledgement. Seeing that there was only one chair left, she inquired, "Is that one for me?"
Der Drache nodded her head.
With small, graceful steps, the diva walked across the floor, before stepping lightly into the circle of Phantoms and seating herself in the center chair. She nodded at each one in turn, and they all seemed happy to have their presence acknowledged by her.
"Now that everyone's here," Der Drache began, herself stepping into the center of the circle, "we can begin. I'm sure we all know each other . . . and if you don't, I'll introduce you and what French paradox you came from. For, as at least Manfred, Griffin, and I know, there are many more Phantoms than any one person would have you believe. So if you would please stand up as I say your name . . ."
She closed her eyes and spun in a circle, stopping as she faced one Phantom.
"Erik, from Andrew Lloyd Webber's 'The Phantom of the Opera'."
He stood up, executing a short waist bow and staring out at all of them from under his half-mask.
"Erik, from Gaston Leroux's 'The Phantom of the Opera'."
The phantom wearing the black porcelain mask stood up, himself did a short waist bow, and then sat back down.
"Erik, from the 1925 movie 'The Phantom of the Opera'."
This one joined the others' lead, bowing shortly before sitting back down.
"Erique Claudin, from the 1943 movie 'The Phantom of the Opera'."
Monsieur Claudin stood up, kissed Der Drache's hand, and sat back down. Der Drache turned red enough to remind Manfred of his personal aircraft.
"Erm . . . well . . . and this is Mademoiselle Christine, and I'm not telling you which version she's from yet."
The diva stood up and curtsied before she sat back down again, while Der Drache cleared her throat.
"You're probably all wondering why I brought you here . . . as Manfred and Griffin both know, I managed to . . . fall asleep in my shoe earlier this morning, because I hadn't slept much the night before. When I awoke, I was already too late to go to school; so I collapsed on the floor. My two partners there gave me an idea . . . and so here we all are. We have four phantoms and one Christine; you guys get to essentially duke it out over her, though not physically, and she gets to choose her favorite phantom. Now . . ."- she gave a broad smile that Griffin thought was reminiscent of a mad scientist- "you may begin."
She stepped out of the circle, sitting down beside Manfred and Griffin.
There was silence for a moment; then, Christine began to speak.
"Oh, what fun," she said, more than a bit sarcastically. "I get to make sure they don't kill each other."
"No, you don't. That's my job," Der Drache commented, still smiling. "But have fun anyway."
More silence.
Suddenly, the Erik wearing the half-mask shot up. He began to speak rapidly in French, accentuating his speech with gestures of his long pale hands. Something that he said must have offended the Erik in the black mask, because he almost immediately stood up and began arguing with him. Christine spun around and tried to calm them, but they wouldn't have it; they continued arguing.
Very calmly, but distinctively, Erique said something that cause both of the other phantoms to glare daggers at him. (Manfred later translated it to tell Der Drache that Erique had told them to stop behaving like children over such a matter.) He was the only one to speak who had remained sitting. Abruptly, they switched to English to begin fighting- or was it just that me, author of this story, felt pity on you who wanted to know what they were saying?
"I would not be saying anything on this matter, old man," the Erik from the 1925 movie said. "You could never know how much any of us love Christine . . ."
Erique abruptly stood up, something that managed to surprise the other phantoms because he had remained calm until that point.
"'Old man'?!" he questioned angrily. "I could not rightfully say that, were I you, because you know very well that we are all the same age, if you could beat it into your deformed skull!"
Behind the mask, the movie Erik's face was contorted with rage; only his voice reflected his current attitude.
"How dare you!"
The other two Eriks rounded on him as well, the one in the half-mask saying, "How could you know what any of us three have been through? You were not born deformed, so that even your own mother ran screaming in fright from you! No, you were normal until you managed to be stupid enough to have your face etched with acid!"
Erique's eyes flared.
"They stole my life's work, and Pleyel payed for it. His cursed 'assistant' was the one that did this to me!"
"Gentemen, please!" Christine said quite forcefully. "Why must you argue over such things? Please act your age!"
Every single Phantom turned to face her, and then, realizing they had all done the same thing, they glared daggers at each other. This time, not only Der Drache, but Christine as well fell on the floor laughing.
While the only females in the room rolled fitfully on the floor in spasms of laughter, the males all turned to face each other, Manfred and Griffin included. They all stared for a moment, all with arched eyebrows, before Griffin finally said, "While they're both rolling around, why don't you do something? I'm just as bored as the next person; arguments aren't much fun to watch."
Silence again.
"You could see which Phantom can scare all the others with his face . . ." Griffin suggested. All the Phantoms looked at each other for a moment, and one shrugged- something quite odd for one living in late nineteenth century France. Another one followed his example, and then another, and another, until all of them had taken the same pose; then they all lowered their shoulders, and Leroux's Erik said, "That would be quite . . . disturbing."
"I agree," ALW's Erik said.
"Although," started Erique, "I agree with the gentleman in the bandages, it would be something to do."
Once again, they all- simultaneously, of course- shrugged.
"On the count of three," the 1925 Erik stated. "Une, dous, trois!"
As the final count was spoken, all the Phantoms simultaneously ripped off their masks and turned to face each other.
By that point, Christine had managed to stop laughing, and had attempted to stand up; at the sight of all the Eriks without their respective masks on, she rolled her eyes upward in her head and fainted dead away.
The noseless death's-head visage of Leroux's Erik didn't show much expression, but one could tell from his voice that he wasn't happy that Christine had fainted.
"Mon ange!"
ALW's Erik, too, was not pleased with the fact that they had all scared Christine nearly unto death. His face, one side of which bore the resemblence of molten wax dripping down a lit candle, showed more emotion than the other's; he almost fell to his knees, but still called out Christine's name.
Neither Erique nor the remaining Erik, the 1925 one, were happy about this proceding.The face of Erique, whose acid burns were beginning to get a sickening green tinge to them, showed the most pain and grief of them all; he actually dropped to his knees and took Christine's hand in his own, crying, "Mon ange! Christine! Wake up!" in such a voice that caused Der Drache to stop laughing and start crying. Instantly, all the other phantoms had followed his lead, and were currently fighting over who got to hold Christine's hand.
Der Drache stopped crying, wiped her eyes, and noticed that Christine's legs were sticking straight up in the air- something none of the Phantoms had seen. Very calmly, she walked over, pushed her way through the Eriks, and put Christine's legs down on the floor, pulling her dress down as she did so. All the Phantoms looked up at her, and one- she couldn't particularly tell which- commented, "I did not notice that."
All the others agreed.
In any case, Der Drache managed to push all of them back, before bending over and giving the diva a couple good slaps across the face to wake her up. Of course, none of the Eriks were happy with this, but the blond author said, "It was the only way; I didn't have a bucket of water. She should be coming around right about . . ."
Christine sat up.
" . . . now."
"Oh, Christine, my angel! I'm so glad you're awake again . . ." one of the phantoms said, taking her hand. Once again, a fight over who got the other hand ensued.
Der Drache walked very calmly back to her seat and sat down, sighing contentedly.
"Yep," she said, "this is a great way to pass the time. I should do this more often." She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.
Meanwhile, Christine stood up and sat herself back down in the center chair, after reassuring all of the Eriks that she was fine. They all managed to acknowledge this, before going back and sitting down in their respective chairs. And still, none of them had masks on.
It was to stay that way for the rest of the time.
After that incident, no one said a word for quite a while; at last, however, Der Drache stood up and walked lightly over to Griffin, before bending over and whispering so that only he could hear, "Nothing's happening. You have my permission to play with their minds . . . but don't be cruel. Just make it funny. And be careful . . . I know for a fact that all of those phantoms have an uncanny knack for strangling people."
Somehow, she could tell he was smiling. Manfred just arched an eyebrow- something rather uncharacteristic of him- and cast an inquiring glance at Der Drache, who grinned back at him. Sensing what was going to happen, he turned his gaze back at all of the phantoms again as Griffin stood up and stalked off to the far reaches of the room.
No one said a word.
"Hey, you guys . . ." Der Drache began, not the least bit hesitantly. "Why don't you sing us a song?"
Once again, all of the Eriks shrugged- at the same time, but of course- before turning to face each other and asking, in unison, "Who wants to lead?"
Erique sat back, saying, "I'm afraid I'm not much of a singer . . . a violinist, yes; pianist, yes; and just about everything else I can play, I am good on- but I'm not one to carry a tune with my voice."
All the others shrugged.
"Well, we all know that the rest of you are wonderful singers," Der Drache said. "Why don't you play paper-rock-scissors and see who gets what part, and then sing the trio from the prison scene in 'Faust'?"
Once again, all the Eriks shrugged- something that was becoming quite common for them- but one of them piped up and asked, "What is this 'paper-rock-scissors' of which you speak?"
And so Der Drache von der Himmeln spent the next fifteen minutes attempting to teach the various phantoms how to play "paper-rock-scissors". After they had managed to learn- and Der Drache got them to stop using their Punjab lassos instead of paper, rock, or scissors- they got down to the final match, which was between ALW's Erik and Gaston Leroux's Erik. The Erik from 1925 resigned himself to sitting across from Erique, in the process stealing the chair of ALW's Erik. The tension in the air soared as the final round began.
"Paper, rock, scissors!"
Both Eriks looked down at their hands, to realize that they had chosen the same thing- rock.
"Paper, rock, scissors!"
They did the same thing, but this time, it was paper that they both decided on.
"Paper, rock, scissors!"
This time, Gaston Leroux's Erik got scissors and ALW's Erik got rock. With gleeful menace, the Erik from ALW's musical production smashed the scissors of the Erik with the golden eyes, just as Der Drache had shown them. The phantom who chose scissors made an angry expression, and his eyes flickered. He was about to whip out his Punjab lasso when Der Drache literally fell into him, shouting something in German and glaring daggers at someone behind her. Quiet laughter was heard.
"And so it begins," Manfred said.
"I'm sorry about that," the blond-haired one said, "but it was . . . unavoidable. I do believe SOMEONE tripped me." She turned around again, glaring at something behind her, and a few muffled sniggers were heard.
"In any case," she continued, after turning back around, "you can go ahead and sing your piece now. And remember: even if the other phantoms make you mad, the Punjab lasso isn't the way to go." The last sentence was said in the same tone as a preschool teacher telling her students not to hit the other children.
M. Leroux's Erik rolled his golden eyes.
After this display, Der Drache walked back to her chair and sat down, once more giving the two Eriks and Christine the go-ahead to sing the final trio out of "Faust".
Everything went well, and, as always, they all performed beautifully- but then again, what else was expected of them? They recieved wild ovation, a lot of which was caused by Der Drache, before they finally resigned themselves to sitting down again.
Now, they only stared.
All of a sudden, the tranquility was broken as Der Drache fell forward out of her chair, taking the chair with her. She shot up, put the chair back in position, and gave a sharp bark in German that translated to, "I told you to play with THEIR minds, not trip ME!"
Oh, but for the foolishness of the blond-haired one.
She began to pout, and said, "Dang it, I love 'em all too much! I can't do anything cruel to my beloved phantoms . . . oh, just trip me instead. There. I gave you permission. SO TRIP ME ALREADY! KNOCK ME OVER! DO SOMETHING, AS LONG AS YOU DON'T KILL OR HOSPITALIZE ME! Go on!"
There was silence for a moment, and then a voice said, "It's no fun when you've given me permission."
One of Der Drache's eyes widened, while the other shrank; and the smaller one began twitching. This was a bad sign. Der Drache was about to explode.
And then, it happened.
There were a few cries in German that made Manfred arch an eyebrow at their strangeness, then a couple in French that translated into something along the lines of "stupid pig monkey". Her eye still twitching, Der Drache von der Himmeln stomped off at an alarming rate into the darkness at the edges of the room. There were a few moments of silence, in which everyone glanced at each other, before somebody began playing some very loud, very angry music on a French Horn.
"She is playing one of her 'angry songs'," the bodiless voice explained.
The blaring music continued for a few minutes before it abruptly changed. There were a few more shouts, this time in a mixture of German and English, and then someone was heard banging away on a piano.
"'Black Shadows'," Manfred said.
After this display was done, there was an even longer period of silence, that lasted about fifteen minutes. Everyone just sat back, waiting for another outburst, but there was none; and so they all relaxed.
Abruptly, the peace was shattered by more angry music, but this time, it was on a pipe organ.
The pipe organ display took much longer than any of the previous ones, and it ran through a variety of songs that seemed rather uncharacteristic of Der Drache. When it was over, she walked back into the room, very calmly, and said, "That long period of silence you heard was me learning how to play some very basic pipe organ pieces. I think that was very good for a first time, don't you?"
She was met by an awkward silence.
Once again, she sat herself down, and said nothing. Nobody moved. The stillness settled over the room like a heavy shroud, suffocating Der Drache with the silence . . .
. . . until suddenly, she shot up again.
"You know what?" she asked, her hands placed on her hips in a position reminiscent of one of Oswald Boelcke's. "This is getting really boring. If you're not careful, I'm going to go over there and make it more interesting. Don't MAKE me start singing!"
Somewhere, from far off, there came a cry of, "Don't make her sing! Please!"
She nodded in the general direction of the cry.
"There. There's your proof that you don't want me to start singing."
Still, nobody moved; somewhere, from far off, came the sound of someone coughing. A cricket chirped- and Der Drache von der Himmeln fell over.
Manfred and Griffin both walked over, staring at the author in much the same manner as they had been earlier, after she had collapsed onto the floor and gazed at the ceiling. After a few more moments of silence, Manfred said, "She fainted from boredom."
The bodiless voice beside him said, "She tends to do that, doesn't she?"
Manfred nodded.
"Well, what are we going to do now?" ALW's Erik asked, standing up. "Although I must admit, it is much more peaceful with her unconscious."
All the other phantoms nodded their heads and gave murmurs of agreement. Manfred pulled a rather odd face that seemed a mix of displeasure and a certain unamused-ness, before turning back to Der Drache and saying, "Why does not anybody do something about this?"
He was answered by the cricket chirp.
"Oh, grief," he sighed, imitating a semi-phrase he had learned from Der Drache. "Somebody go get mein Bruder. He might know how to handle this, if none of the Eriks will."
The blond cavalryman turned around on his shiny booted heel, waiting for someone to say SOMETHING; but nobody ever did, and the pervasive silence fell upon the room once more. He made a displease expression he had learned from Der Drache, before running off to presumably find his brother.
Der Drache stared at the ceiling.
Nobody said anything for quite some time, until someone finally bothered to ask, "What became of 'Manfred'?" When nobody answered, they lapsed into silence once more.
The former cavalrymen finally returned, dragging along behind him somebody that bore a striker resemblance to him, despite the fact that the second person was taller- this was Lothar, three inches taller and two years younger than Manfred. Lothar was speaking very rapidly in German, and he seemed to sound unhappy; Manfred gave a rather curt answer, and the brothers continued arguing as the took short strides across the great room, until they finally reached where Der Drache von der Himmeln lay staring at the ceiling. Lothar asked Manfred something, to which Manfred nodded his head; the former bent down and shouted something im Deutschen.
The blond author immediately shot up, her body rigid as she stood at attention; she remained in this for a few moments, Lothar looking in a satisfied manner at her, before a voice from far off cried, "At ease, girl, at ease!"
"Thank you, TBI!" shouted the author of this story, turning in the direction of the voice. "I needed that!"
Spinning back around, she said, "You Phantoms aren't doing anything, so I'm going to let you go. But first . . . Der Drache von der Himmeln has a surprise for you." She smiled, then shouted, "You can come out now!"
From the shadowy corners of the room walked in the other three Christines, joining their sister at the center of the Eriks (and Erique); their phantom counterparts recognized them as two Christine Daaes and a Christine Dubois. At a nod from Der Drache, they all told which French Paradox they were from.
"My name is Christine Daae," said one, giving a dainty curtsy, "and I come from the 1925 movie."
"I'm Christine Daae, and I come from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Musical," explained another, following the first Christine's example.
"My name is Christine Dubois, and I come from the 1943 movie," came the gentle voice of another, who followed suit and curtsied.
"And I am Christine Daae, from M. Leroux's book," said the last, the one who had been present through the whole meeting. "I'm please to meet all of you."
"And now that that's over," Der Drache said, surveying everyone around her, "our Christines have something to say." She gave them The Signal, which was- once again- a nod of her head. When they saw this, all the Christines ran to their Phantoms and threw their arms around the others' necks.
"We decided to stay with you," explained one.
A look of shock crossed the Eriks faces, soon replaced by ones of happiness; Der Drache just gave a broad smile, as though her place in life was fulfilled.
But there was one Christine who didn't follow suit; this was Christine Dubois, who stepped very timidly up to Erique Claudin; he gazed at her a bit apprehensively, though his stare namely held the respect he had always delivered her. The newly-risen diva bit her lip as she walked quietly up, before saying, "I can't stay with you, Erique."
A hurt look crossed his disfigured face.
"Oh, it's not that I don't like you," she said, noticing this look and attempting to console him, "it's just that . . . I was going to stay at the Opera and sing, and I can't really . . . stay with you without leaving my singing career behind. I hope you understand . . ."
The former violinist looked at the ground.
"I'm sorry, Erique," she said once more, then kissed him. Everyone's eyes widened in shock.
"How come he gets that?" one of the other Eriks asked.
* * *
"Well, Manfred, everything turned out okay," Der Drache said contentedly, sitting back on the living room couch. "Everything worked out in the end. And, as a plus to the fact that I got a break from school and met four different Eriks, Erique joined my little group! How happy is Der Drache . . ." After this, she sighed happily, falling further back into the couch.
Her motley array of three, formerly two, was the trio that she now and always dragged around with her- Manfred, Griffin, and Erique, in the order that they "joined"- or, rather, were involuntarily recruited. They exchanged glances with each other, all of them strewn in random places throughout the living room, then stared at Der Drache as she got out a two-inch-thick book and began reading.
It was "Les Miserables".
The silence fell again, but was soon broken by Der Drache as she peeked over her book and said, "You know what? I'm going to have to meet this Jean Valjean character."
Manfred, Griffin, and Erique all groaned.
DAS ENDE
She though the morning was more than a bit on the chilly side, for her home, as she managed to roll herself out of bed; part of it was probably the fact that she didn't particularly feel like waking up that morning, and that in itself probably had something to do with the fact that she hadn't been able to get to sleep until twelve o'clock the previous night. She noticed that that usually happened to her.
Der Drache von der Himmeln rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, before attempting to stagger over to her dresser and choose something to wear for the school day. Pulling open her drawer and ignoring it as she fell forward and hit her head on her dresser, she groggily pulled out the pair of shorts and a shirt nearest the top, before proceding to pull them on.
Approximately seven minutes and numerous shouts of "stupid dumm affe idiot dingen" later, she stumbled out of her room in a pair of boy's shorts that reached down to her knees, paired with a shirt from her church's division of Bible Drill. Barely missing a wall, she staggered down the hallway to eat breakfast. A bowl of chocolate cereal stood waiting for her.
After she had sat down and begun to eat, she looked up to find Manfred sitting across the table from her- reading, of all things, a newspaper.
"You know, Manfred," she managed to slur, following an attempt to rub the sleep from her eyes, "that newspaper might not do you much good, considering it's written in English . . ."
The newspaper lowered a few inches, just enough to accomodate a view of the twenty-five-year-old pilot's face, making just enough noise as it did so to grab Der Drache's attention (she had fallen asleep in her cereal bowl)- and Manfred bent forward to say, "Chibi Darien."
"Chibi Darien? Where?" Der Drache's face shot up from out of her cereal bowl, scattering Cocoa Crispies every which way. She looked around for a few moments, before asking, "There's no Chibi Darien here, is there?"
Manfred slowly shook his head, before leaning back again and continuing to read his newspaper.
"Oh, well," our favorite insane author sighed, following Manfred's example and leaning back in her chair as well. "At least I'm awake. I needed that, Manfred. Danke."
Manfred only nodded in reply.
Der Drache slowly turned her gaze across the table, upon hearing the noise of some foreign object settling into a chair. She seemed taken aback for a moment, before beginning to speak.
"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Griffin: DON'T SCARE ME LIKE THAT."
Unbeknownst to the blond-haired girl, the Invisible Man nodded his head.
She turned back to her bowl of cereal, gazing at it more than a bit disgustedly before deciding that she couldn't finish eating all of that chocolate-ness today. She pushed her chair back, stood up, before slowly and purposefully beginning to carry it to the kitchen sink. With due ceremony, she poured the remains of the chocolate cereal down the garbage disposal; and somewhere, far off, taps began to play.
The blond-haired one shot a look of pure venom in the general direction of which the song was being played, and it abruptly died away.
"Much better." She began to walk towards her room, so she could put on her shoes.
That, too, was a challenge, just as dressing herself had been; truly, the effects of little sleep on one's mind were becoming prominent today.
She fell asleep, dreaming contentedly despite the fact that her nose was stuffed into her right shoe.
* * *
Der Drache von der Himmeln was woken quite suddenly by a loud barking of some sort. Pulling her face off of her shoe, she looked groggily around, just as she had earlier; upon remembring that there were no working clocks in her room, she began to stumble around the house in search of one.
The nearest one, in the kitchen, read eleven fifteen.
"Oh, CRIPES!" she shouted, realizing that she was extremely late for school. She began to panick, running around the house and screeching, "I'm LATE! I'm flipping LATE!"
Manfred and Griffin watched all of this with surprising calmness.
This procedure went on for nearly twenty minutes, during which Der Drache attempted to pull on her shoes, put her hair in a ponytail, and brush her teeth, all while running about like a chicken without a head.
As we can all guess, it didn't come out very well.
Forty minutes and several attempts at slowing down later, Der Drache finally managed to collapse in a heap on the floor, looking just as she had quite some time ago when she had began to run. Calming down, she stood up- chest heaving- and put her hair into a neat ponytail, finished brushing her teeth, and finally sat down to put on her shoes.
After she had done that, she stood up- quite calmly- and said, "It's no use. I've already been counted absent; I know it."
She fell back down, and resigned herself to staring at the ceiling from her position on the floor.
Manfred and Griffin both walked quietly over, bending over the blond-haired one. Griffin turned to Manfred and commented, "This is the second time she's done this. It is NOT going to work."
Manfred only nodded.
"We're going to have to get her to bed earlier."
Once again, Manfred nodded.
"Get out of my way- you're blocking my view!" shouted Der Drache, waving her long arms around wildly above her head as she made a feeble attempt to clear them from her view of the ceiling. She continued doing this for a few seconds, before dropping her now-tired arms back to her sides.
"Erik could solve this . . . he always manages to," Griffin finally commented, staring down at Der Drache. Following this comment, there was only silence hanging over the living room for several moments, before the blond-haired one shot up like a rocket.
"That's it!" she cried, throwing her arms over her head. "Even if I can't make it to school, I can still do something!" Turning to Manfred and Griffin, she said, "You two guys are brilliant. What would I do without you?"
"Lead a normal life?" Griffin offered, speaking for both him and the pilot.
"True, true . . ." Der Drache muttered, confessing. "In any case, however . . . why don't you ever talk, Manfred?"
"Sometimes, speak I do, though not often."
"Okay, so you just proved me wrong. Why don't you talk more, Manfred?"
"I speak only when I have something to say."
"Umm . . ." Der Drache's voice trailed into a somewhat embarrassed hum. "I guess that's all well and good . . . ah . . . in any case, do any of you know where Erik is?"
Manfred shrugged, while Griffin supplied, "You might check your closet. I know for a fact that he tends to sing to you from in there . . . apparently, you created some sort of paradox with all your strangeness that allows him to cross back and forth between Paris and here. Rather interesting, really; I might look into it, sometime . . ."
His voice trailed off as Der Drache swept by him and Manfred to go to her room. She opened the closet door with due ceremony; and just before she stepped in, she shouted, "If I'm not back in an hour, come in after me!"
She shut the door with a loud bang.
* * *
Manfred and Griffin were growing increasingly worried; it had almost been an hour, and yet there was STILL no sign of Der Drache. -But then again, Manfred reasoned, -Paris is a large place to get lost in . . .
They waited until the clock in the kitchen read twelve o'clock before they finally dared to open the closet door. Manfred's hand was inching so slowly to the door handle . . .
. . . when, all of a sudden, it opened, causing him to jump back and almost fall over Griffin.
"Hi, guys," the blond-haired one said cheerily, stepping out of the closet. "I was about to come and get you. I found another paradox in my closet that leads to a REALLY big room; that's where I'm having The Meeting. And, as we all know, it just wouldn't be the same without you two." She turned back around, beginning to walk off; but then, she paused, glancing over her shoulder and calling out, "Are you coming, or what?"
She was greeted by silence as the pair considered this.
"Good grief," she said. "Griffin, just bring all those bandages and stuff with you . . . nobody's there yet. Manfred, pull yourself together; you wouldn't really leave me all alone, would you?"
She made big Bambi eyes.
"Biiiitte?"
Manfred sighed, showing his resignation to fight it further; he began following Der Drache, who noticeably brightened. Griffin, not wanting to be left out, brought up the rear end and closing the door behind them.
As the sounds of footsteps began to fade away, Der Drache's voice was heard shouting, "Meeting room, here we come!"
* * *
The silence that had hung over the large room like a shroud was suddenly broken as the three travelers stumbled into it, each tripping over the other as they scrambled to make it out of the closet's paradox. There were a few shouts in random languages, numerous cries of, "Get off me!", and one screech of "Erik, help us!"
The plea fell on nothing; Erik was not there.
After they all managed to pull themselves off the floor, while they were dusting themselves off, Der Drache said, "How was I supposed to know that an army of crickets was waiting for us? At least all those old shoes came in handy . . ."
She shuddered.
"You know how people who've been in a war tend to have nightmares about the experience? I think that's what is going to happen to me . . ."
She stepped out further into the room, trailed by Manfred and Griffin; abruptly, though, she turned around, saying, "We're here early; after all, everybody else had to get ready." She was greeted by silence.
Pause.
"I told you it was a big room. Did you guys not believe me?"
Once again, her question fell on deaf ears; her two partners were busy staring at where the ceiling would be, if it weren't so high up.
Indeed, Der Drache had been right; the vaulting ceiling was so high above them that it was lost in the shadows. There was a single, but still bright, light-source coming down from above, bathing the room in eerily pale light that barely touched the walls, because they were so far apart. Sitting in the very middle of the room were a circle of four chairs, with one in the center of them; outside this little ring were three more, in one of which Der Drache was sitting.
"Well?" she said, rather in a rather bored-sounding manner. "Are you done gawking yet? If so, come sit over here while we wait for everyone to arrive."
They did so, Manfred leading and Griffin following suit, settling down quietly into the wooden chairs beside the blond-haired one.
And so the silence settled once more.
No one said anything for quite a while; the first noise after the trio had sat down was the sound of somebody stumbling into the room, which caused Der Drache to shoot up like a rocket. There were a few shouts of something in French (which Manfred later said were not very polite), and a black-clad figure wearing a sky blue mask tripped into the pool of light to see the blond author. They righted themself from their bent-over position, brushed themself off, and said, "Pardon me, mademoiselle, but am I in the correct place?"
Der Drache von der Himmeln smiled, answering, "Yes, you certainly are, Monsieur Claudin. I'm so glad you could come. If you'd like to, you may take a seat in that circle"- so saying, she gestured at the circle of chairs with a long arm- "except for the middle one. That is reserved."
Monsieur Erique Claudin nodded, not seeming to take notice of the blond girl's strange company, which consisted of a young man dressed in a cavalryman's uniform and an odd gentleman whose entire was head wrapped in bandages, but rather walked silently over and sat down. His velvet-lined cape billowed up for a moment, before silently settling down around him.
There was silence again.
Once more, it was abruptly broken by a few rather impolite cries in French, and another person tripped into the room. They, too, brushed themself off, saying one more rude phrase en Francais before looking up to see the blond-haired girl standing over them.
"Yes, you are in the right place," she said, just as their mouth began to open; briefly, it hung like that in an expression of surprise, before they composed themself and stood upright to tower over the blond.
"Very well then." The white half-mask shifted slightly as they spoke.
Once again, Der Drache told him he could sit in the circle of chairs, but not in the middle one; and Griffin and Manfred began to wonder, who was it for?
In any case, the tall man was also clad in black, and wearing a velvet-lined cloak as well. Upon seeing Erique, he arched the eyebrow not hidden under the mask, before switching his expression to a more serious and somehow dire one. He gathered his cape around himself and settled into a chair across from Erique.
The silence reigned once again.
As this new stranger was casting inquiring glances in the direction of Manfred and Griffin, there came another shout, this time in rudimentary English, that was extremely rude and enough to cause Der Drache von der Himmeln to clap her hands over her ears. Accompanying this were the sounds of someone tripping across a hard floor, muttering under their breath all the while.
The newest visitor stepped into the circle of light.
He glanced first, curiously, at Erique and Erik, looking at them with golden eyes peeking out from a black mask. Next, his gaze was cast upon the blond-haired author, who only said, "You are in the correct place. If you wish, you may take a seat in the circle of chairs, but not in the center one; it is reserved."
The newest black-clad visitor, wearing the black porcelain mask, gave Manfred and Griffin a strange look before settling himself into a chair as far away from Erik and Erique as possible.
The three Phantoms sat staring at each other from behind various-colored masks, each contemplating what the others were doing there and just WHY they all resembled one another.
There was suddenly a shout of something first in French, then English, followed by a variety of languages that made the cries very . . . erm . . . colorful. Once again, someone tripped into the circle of light, and he, too, was clad in black, wearing a long, velvet-lined cloak and a mask- except his more resembled a human face, and it had a sort of flap on the bottom that moved whenever he spoke.
"Am I in the correct place, mademoiselle?" he asked, after casting curious glances at the other three phantoms. Der Drache nodded her head, saying, "There is one more seat left in the circle, and it is yours; but don't sit in the middle chair, it's reserved."
The fourth phantom to arrive nodded in reply, gazing curiously at Manfred and Griffin before walking silently off to seat himself.
The silence once again reigned supreme as the four Phantoms of the Paris Opera eyed each other warily. Nobody said anything; there was hardly any movement at all. After a while, though, there could be heard the faint sounds of someone attempting to hold in a laugh.
But that didn't last very long. Before anyone knew what was happening, Der Drache von der Himmeln fell out of her chair laughing, gripping her sides as she rolled around on the floor.
Everyone shifted to stare at her as she convulsed in mad fits of laughter, rolling about in the pale light. It went on like this for five minutes, in which the only noises to be heard were Der Drache's laughter and, occasionally, someone shifting in there seat. After she finally calmed down, a huge grin still plastered across her face, she explained, "If you're like me, and you love the Phantom as much as I do, then you couldn't help but laugh if you saw four of them all shifting their eyes to look at each other, and not moving otherwise. It's just not something you see everyday . . ."
She burst into another fit, and this one lasted longer; but it was cut short by someone stepping daintily into the room.
Instantly the author shot up, her face the perfect picture of seriousness, and began to brush herself off. After doing so, she herself stepped forward, saying, "Ah, Mademoiselle Christine. I'm so glad you made it . . ."
The little Swedish singer gave a small bow of her head in acknowledgement. Seeing that there was only one chair left, she inquired, "Is that one for me?"
Der Drache nodded her head.
With small, graceful steps, the diva walked across the floor, before stepping lightly into the circle of Phantoms and seating herself in the center chair. She nodded at each one in turn, and they all seemed happy to have their presence acknowledged by her.
"Now that everyone's here," Der Drache began, herself stepping into the center of the circle, "we can begin. I'm sure we all know each other . . . and if you don't, I'll introduce you and what French paradox you came from. For, as at least Manfred, Griffin, and I know, there are many more Phantoms than any one person would have you believe. So if you would please stand up as I say your name . . ."
She closed her eyes and spun in a circle, stopping as she faced one Phantom.
"Erik, from Andrew Lloyd Webber's 'The Phantom of the Opera'."
He stood up, executing a short waist bow and staring out at all of them from under his half-mask.
"Erik, from Gaston Leroux's 'The Phantom of the Opera'."
The phantom wearing the black porcelain mask stood up, himself did a short waist bow, and then sat back down.
"Erik, from the 1925 movie 'The Phantom of the Opera'."
This one joined the others' lead, bowing shortly before sitting back down.
"Erique Claudin, from the 1943 movie 'The Phantom of the Opera'."
Monsieur Claudin stood up, kissed Der Drache's hand, and sat back down. Der Drache turned red enough to remind Manfred of his personal aircraft.
"Erm . . . well . . . and this is Mademoiselle Christine, and I'm not telling you which version she's from yet."
The diva stood up and curtsied before she sat back down again, while Der Drache cleared her throat.
"You're probably all wondering why I brought you here . . . as Manfred and Griffin both know, I managed to . . . fall asleep in my shoe earlier this morning, because I hadn't slept much the night before. When I awoke, I was already too late to go to school; so I collapsed on the floor. My two partners there gave me an idea . . . and so here we all are. We have four phantoms and one Christine; you guys get to essentially duke it out over her, though not physically, and she gets to choose her favorite phantom. Now . . ."- she gave a broad smile that Griffin thought was reminiscent of a mad scientist- "you may begin."
She stepped out of the circle, sitting down beside Manfred and Griffin.
There was silence for a moment; then, Christine began to speak.
"Oh, what fun," she said, more than a bit sarcastically. "I get to make sure they don't kill each other."
"No, you don't. That's my job," Der Drache commented, still smiling. "But have fun anyway."
More silence.
Suddenly, the Erik wearing the half-mask shot up. He began to speak rapidly in French, accentuating his speech with gestures of his long pale hands. Something that he said must have offended the Erik in the black mask, because he almost immediately stood up and began arguing with him. Christine spun around and tried to calm them, but they wouldn't have it; they continued arguing.
Very calmly, but distinctively, Erique said something that cause both of the other phantoms to glare daggers at him. (Manfred later translated it to tell Der Drache that Erique had told them to stop behaving like children over such a matter.) He was the only one to speak who had remained sitting. Abruptly, they switched to English to begin fighting- or was it just that me, author of this story, felt pity on you who wanted to know what they were saying?
"I would not be saying anything on this matter, old man," the Erik from the 1925 movie said. "You could never know how much any of us love Christine . . ."
Erique abruptly stood up, something that managed to surprise the other phantoms because he had remained calm until that point.
"'Old man'?!" he questioned angrily. "I could not rightfully say that, were I you, because you know very well that we are all the same age, if you could beat it into your deformed skull!"
Behind the mask, the movie Erik's face was contorted with rage; only his voice reflected his current attitude.
"How dare you!"
The other two Eriks rounded on him as well, the one in the half-mask saying, "How could you know what any of us three have been through? You were not born deformed, so that even your own mother ran screaming in fright from you! No, you were normal until you managed to be stupid enough to have your face etched with acid!"
Erique's eyes flared.
"They stole my life's work, and Pleyel payed for it. His cursed 'assistant' was the one that did this to me!"
"Gentemen, please!" Christine said quite forcefully. "Why must you argue over such things? Please act your age!"
Every single Phantom turned to face her, and then, realizing they had all done the same thing, they glared daggers at each other. This time, not only Der Drache, but Christine as well fell on the floor laughing.
While the only females in the room rolled fitfully on the floor in spasms of laughter, the males all turned to face each other, Manfred and Griffin included. They all stared for a moment, all with arched eyebrows, before Griffin finally said, "While they're both rolling around, why don't you do something? I'm just as bored as the next person; arguments aren't much fun to watch."
Silence again.
"You could see which Phantom can scare all the others with his face . . ." Griffin suggested. All the Phantoms looked at each other for a moment, and one shrugged- something quite odd for one living in late nineteenth century France. Another one followed his example, and then another, and another, until all of them had taken the same pose; then they all lowered their shoulders, and Leroux's Erik said, "That would be quite . . . disturbing."
"I agree," ALW's Erik said.
"Although," started Erique, "I agree with the gentleman in the bandages, it would be something to do."
Once again, they all- simultaneously, of course- shrugged.
"On the count of three," the 1925 Erik stated. "Une, dous, trois!"
As the final count was spoken, all the Phantoms simultaneously ripped off their masks and turned to face each other.
By that point, Christine had managed to stop laughing, and had attempted to stand up; at the sight of all the Eriks without their respective masks on, she rolled her eyes upward in her head and fainted dead away.
The noseless death's-head visage of Leroux's Erik didn't show much expression, but one could tell from his voice that he wasn't happy that Christine had fainted.
"Mon ange!"
ALW's Erik, too, was not pleased with the fact that they had all scared Christine nearly unto death. His face, one side of which bore the resemblence of molten wax dripping down a lit candle, showed more emotion than the other's; he almost fell to his knees, but still called out Christine's name.
Neither Erique nor the remaining Erik, the 1925 one, were happy about this proceding.The face of Erique, whose acid burns were beginning to get a sickening green tinge to them, showed the most pain and grief of them all; he actually dropped to his knees and took Christine's hand in his own, crying, "Mon ange! Christine! Wake up!" in such a voice that caused Der Drache to stop laughing and start crying. Instantly, all the other phantoms had followed his lead, and were currently fighting over who got to hold Christine's hand.
Der Drache stopped crying, wiped her eyes, and noticed that Christine's legs were sticking straight up in the air- something none of the Phantoms had seen. Very calmly, she walked over, pushed her way through the Eriks, and put Christine's legs down on the floor, pulling her dress down as she did so. All the Phantoms looked up at her, and one- she couldn't particularly tell which- commented, "I did not notice that."
All the others agreed.
In any case, Der Drache managed to push all of them back, before bending over and giving the diva a couple good slaps across the face to wake her up. Of course, none of the Eriks were happy with this, but the blond author said, "It was the only way; I didn't have a bucket of water. She should be coming around right about . . ."
Christine sat up.
" . . . now."
"Oh, Christine, my angel! I'm so glad you're awake again . . ." one of the phantoms said, taking her hand. Once again, a fight over who got the other hand ensued.
Der Drache walked very calmly back to her seat and sat down, sighing contentedly.
"Yep," she said, "this is a great way to pass the time. I should do this more often." She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.
Meanwhile, Christine stood up and sat herself back down in the center chair, after reassuring all of the Eriks that she was fine. They all managed to acknowledge this, before going back and sitting down in their respective chairs. And still, none of them had masks on.
It was to stay that way for the rest of the time.
After that incident, no one said a word for quite a while; at last, however, Der Drache stood up and walked lightly over to Griffin, before bending over and whispering so that only he could hear, "Nothing's happening. You have my permission to play with their minds . . . but don't be cruel. Just make it funny. And be careful . . . I know for a fact that all of those phantoms have an uncanny knack for strangling people."
Somehow, she could tell he was smiling. Manfred just arched an eyebrow- something rather uncharacteristic of him- and cast an inquiring glance at Der Drache, who grinned back at him. Sensing what was going to happen, he turned his gaze back at all of the phantoms again as Griffin stood up and stalked off to the far reaches of the room.
No one said a word.
"Hey, you guys . . ." Der Drache began, not the least bit hesitantly. "Why don't you sing us a song?"
Once again, all of the Eriks shrugged- at the same time, but of course- before turning to face each other and asking, in unison, "Who wants to lead?"
Erique sat back, saying, "I'm afraid I'm not much of a singer . . . a violinist, yes; pianist, yes; and just about everything else I can play, I am good on- but I'm not one to carry a tune with my voice."
All the others shrugged.
"Well, we all know that the rest of you are wonderful singers," Der Drache said. "Why don't you play paper-rock-scissors and see who gets what part, and then sing the trio from the prison scene in 'Faust'?"
Once again, all the Eriks shrugged- something that was becoming quite common for them- but one of them piped up and asked, "What is this 'paper-rock-scissors' of which you speak?"
And so Der Drache von der Himmeln spent the next fifteen minutes attempting to teach the various phantoms how to play "paper-rock-scissors". After they had managed to learn- and Der Drache got them to stop using their Punjab lassos instead of paper, rock, or scissors- they got down to the final match, which was between ALW's Erik and Gaston Leroux's Erik. The Erik from 1925 resigned himself to sitting across from Erique, in the process stealing the chair of ALW's Erik. The tension in the air soared as the final round began.
"Paper, rock, scissors!"
Both Eriks looked down at their hands, to realize that they had chosen the same thing- rock.
"Paper, rock, scissors!"
They did the same thing, but this time, it was paper that they both decided on.
"Paper, rock, scissors!"
This time, Gaston Leroux's Erik got scissors and ALW's Erik got rock. With gleeful menace, the Erik from ALW's musical production smashed the scissors of the Erik with the golden eyes, just as Der Drache had shown them. The phantom who chose scissors made an angry expression, and his eyes flickered. He was about to whip out his Punjab lasso when Der Drache literally fell into him, shouting something in German and glaring daggers at someone behind her. Quiet laughter was heard.
"And so it begins," Manfred said.
"I'm sorry about that," the blond-haired one said, "but it was . . . unavoidable. I do believe SOMEONE tripped me." She turned around again, glaring at something behind her, and a few muffled sniggers were heard.
"In any case," she continued, after turning back around, "you can go ahead and sing your piece now. And remember: even if the other phantoms make you mad, the Punjab lasso isn't the way to go." The last sentence was said in the same tone as a preschool teacher telling her students not to hit the other children.
M. Leroux's Erik rolled his golden eyes.
After this display, Der Drache walked back to her chair and sat down, once more giving the two Eriks and Christine the go-ahead to sing the final trio out of "Faust".
Everything went well, and, as always, they all performed beautifully- but then again, what else was expected of them? They recieved wild ovation, a lot of which was caused by Der Drache, before they finally resigned themselves to sitting down again.
Now, they only stared.
All of a sudden, the tranquility was broken as Der Drache fell forward out of her chair, taking the chair with her. She shot up, put the chair back in position, and gave a sharp bark in German that translated to, "I told you to play with THEIR minds, not trip ME!"
Oh, but for the foolishness of the blond-haired one.
She began to pout, and said, "Dang it, I love 'em all too much! I can't do anything cruel to my beloved phantoms . . . oh, just trip me instead. There. I gave you permission. SO TRIP ME ALREADY! KNOCK ME OVER! DO SOMETHING, AS LONG AS YOU DON'T KILL OR HOSPITALIZE ME! Go on!"
There was silence for a moment, and then a voice said, "It's no fun when you've given me permission."
One of Der Drache's eyes widened, while the other shrank; and the smaller one began twitching. This was a bad sign. Der Drache was about to explode.
And then, it happened.
There were a few cries in German that made Manfred arch an eyebrow at their strangeness, then a couple in French that translated into something along the lines of "stupid pig monkey". Her eye still twitching, Der Drache von der Himmeln stomped off at an alarming rate into the darkness at the edges of the room. There were a few moments of silence, in which everyone glanced at each other, before somebody began playing some very loud, very angry music on a French Horn.
"She is playing one of her 'angry songs'," the bodiless voice explained.
The blaring music continued for a few minutes before it abruptly changed. There were a few more shouts, this time in a mixture of German and English, and then someone was heard banging away on a piano.
"'Black Shadows'," Manfred said.
After this display was done, there was an even longer period of silence, that lasted about fifteen minutes. Everyone just sat back, waiting for another outburst, but there was none; and so they all relaxed.
Abruptly, the peace was shattered by more angry music, but this time, it was on a pipe organ.
The pipe organ display took much longer than any of the previous ones, and it ran through a variety of songs that seemed rather uncharacteristic of Der Drache. When it was over, she walked back into the room, very calmly, and said, "That long period of silence you heard was me learning how to play some very basic pipe organ pieces. I think that was very good for a first time, don't you?"
She was met by an awkward silence.
Once again, she sat herself down, and said nothing. Nobody moved. The stillness settled over the room like a heavy shroud, suffocating Der Drache with the silence . . .
. . . until suddenly, she shot up again.
"You know what?" she asked, her hands placed on her hips in a position reminiscent of one of Oswald Boelcke's. "This is getting really boring. If you're not careful, I'm going to go over there and make it more interesting. Don't MAKE me start singing!"
Somewhere, from far off, there came a cry of, "Don't make her sing! Please!"
She nodded in the general direction of the cry.
"There. There's your proof that you don't want me to start singing."
Still, nobody moved; somewhere, from far off, came the sound of someone coughing. A cricket chirped- and Der Drache von der Himmeln fell over.
Manfred and Griffin both walked over, staring at the author in much the same manner as they had been earlier, after she had collapsed onto the floor and gazed at the ceiling. After a few more moments of silence, Manfred said, "She fainted from boredom."
The bodiless voice beside him said, "She tends to do that, doesn't she?"
Manfred nodded.
"Well, what are we going to do now?" ALW's Erik asked, standing up. "Although I must admit, it is much more peaceful with her unconscious."
All the other phantoms nodded their heads and gave murmurs of agreement. Manfred pulled a rather odd face that seemed a mix of displeasure and a certain unamused-ness, before turning back to Der Drache and saying, "Why does not anybody do something about this?"
He was answered by the cricket chirp.
"Oh, grief," he sighed, imitating a semi-phrase he had learned from Der Drache. "Somebody go get mein Bruder. He might know how to handle this, if none of the Eriks will."
The blond cavalryman turned around on his shiny booted heel, waiting for someone to say SOMETHING; but nobody ever did, and the pervasive silence fell upon the room once more. He made a displease expression he had learned from Der Drache, before running off to presumably find his brother.
Der Drache stared at the ceiling.
Nobody said anything for quite some time, until someone finally bothered to ask, "What became of 'Manfred'?" When nobody answered, they lapsed into silence once more.
The former cavalrymen finally returned, dragging along behind him somebody that bore a striker resemblance to him, despite the fact that the second person was taller- this was Lothar, three inches taller and two years younger than Manfred. Lothar was speaking very rapidly in German, and he seemed to sound unhappy; Manfred gave a rather curt answer, and the brothers continued arguing as the took short strides across the great room, until they finally reached where Der Drache von der Himmeln lay staring at the ceiling. Lothar asked Manfred something, to which Manfred nodded his head; the former bent down and shouted something im Deutschen.
The blond author immediately shot up, her body rigid as she stood at attention; she remained in this for a few moments, Lothar looking in a satisfied manner at her, before a voice from far off cried, "At ease, girl, at ease!"
"Thank you, TBI!" shouted the author of this story, turning in the direction of the voice. "I needed that!"
Spinning back around, she said, "You Phantoms aren't doing anything, so I'm going to let you go. But first . . . Der Drache von der Himmeln has a surprise for you." She smiled, then shouted, "You can come out now!"
From the shadowy corners of the room walked in the other three Christines, joining their sister at the center of the Eriks (and Erique); their phantom counterparts recognized them as two Christine Daaes and a Christine Dubois. At a nod from Der Drache, they all told which French Paradox they were from.
"My name is Christine Daae," said one, giving a dainty curtsy, "and I come from the 1925 movie."
"I'm Christine Daae, and I come from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Musical," explained another, following the first Christine's example.
"My name is Christine Dubois, and I come from the 1943 movie," came the gentle voice of another, who followed suit and curtsied.
"And I am Christine Daae, from M. Leroux's book," said the last, the one who had been present through the whole meeting. "I'm please to meet all of you."
"And now that that's over," Der Drache said, surveying everyone around her, "our Christines have something to say." She gave them The Signal, which was- once again- a nod of her head. When they saw this, all the Christines ran to their Phantoms and threw their arms around the others' necks.
"We decided to stay with you," explained one.
A look of shock crossed the Eriks faces, soon replaced by ones of happiness; Der Drache just gave a broad smile, as though her place in life was fulfilled.
But there was one Christine who didn't follow suit; this was Christine Dubois, who stepped very timidly up to Erique Claudin; he gazed at her a bit apprehensively, though his stare namely held the respect he had always delivered her. The newly-risen diva bit her lip as she walked quietly up, before saying, "I can't stay with you, Erique."
A hurt look crossed his disfigured face.
"Oh, it's not that I don't like you," she said, noticing this look and attempting to console him, "it's just that . . . I was going to stay at the Opera and sing, and I can't really . . . stay with you without leaving my singing career behind. I hope you understand . . ."
The former violinist looked at the ground.
"I'm sorry, Erique," she said once more, then kissed him. Everyone's eyes widened in shock.
"How come he gets that?" one of the other Eriks asked.
* * *
"Well, Manfred, everything turned out okay," Der Drache said contentedly, sitting back on the living room couch. "Everything worked out in the end. And, as a plus to the fact that I got a break from school and met four different Eriks, Erique joined my little group! How happy is Der Drache . . ." After this, she sighed happily, falling further back into the couch.
Her motley array of three, formerly two, was the trio that she now and always dragged around with her- Manfred, Griffin, and Erique, in the order that they "joined"- or, rather, were involuntarily recruited. They exchanged glances with each other, all of them strewn in random places throughout the living room, then stared at Der Drache as she got out a two-inch-thick book and began reading.
It was "Les Miserables".
The silence fell again, but was soon broken by Der Drache as she peeked over her book and said, "You know what? I'm going to have to meet this Jean Valjean character."
Manfred, Griffin, and Erique all groaned.
DAS ENDE