Disclaimer: None of the characters, of course, belong to me. But Philippe should, because nobody else cares about him. Most of them belong to Gaston Leroux; Grandmother Euphrasie and Grandfather Marius belong to Victor Hugo, though. Am I the only one who's noticed the uncanny resemblance between Marius and Raoul?
Warning: Blurs the lines between the musical and the novel; purists beware. Also, I have no choice but to subscribe to the Raoul-as-a-fop stereotype, because otherwise it just wouldn't be interesting.
Philippe's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
The day started out bad from the minute Philippe, Comte de Chagny, got out of bed to find that there were no clothes in his closet.
Of course, he knew exactly who to blame for that.
"Raoul!" he shouted, stomping over to the door of his suite and sticking his head out. "Raoul, get over here!"
His brother Raoul did not appear. Instead, a fluttery servant girl flitted over and said, in a timid voice, "Scuze me, sir, but the -" She paused for a moment to sigh longingly. "The Vicomte de Chagny is out shopping. He left you this note . . ."
Philippe growled. Then he blinked and took another look at the servant girl, who seemed a little more fluttery than usual. "Marie – what are you wearing?"
The girl jiggled uneasily in her dress, made of dozens of red scarves sewn together. "The -" Another longing sigh. "Vicomte ordered us all new uniforms, sir."
"Of course." Philippe shook his head in disgust, then retreated back into his room and slammed the door.
He'd hoped sending Raoul off to be a sailor might cure him of his fixation with altering everything in their ancestral home to fit the latest Martha Stewart catalog. The two of them had always got along well in the past. However, six months at sea had only seemed to intensify Raoul's craving to make everything he saw fluffy and pretty, and his loving brother Philippe was rapidly being sent off the deep end.
With a muffled curse, he ripped the note out of its flower-decorated envelope and peered at the paper inside. The scent of lilacs wafted out.
Dearest Brother,
I have noticed since returning from my expedition that your wardrobe is simply abominable. As a result, I've taken the liberty of throwing out all your old clothes; there are some new outfits, at the height of fashion, in my wardrobe, which you can feel free to borrow while I buy you some new ones. Preferably with bunny rabbits on them.
Raoul..
Philippe cursed again. Raoul had obviously forgotten that his brother was two feet taller than he was. Marching out again, he roared at the top of his lungs, "All right, which of you helped my idiot brother throw away all my clothing?"
Three maids, all dressed in fluttery red scarves, tentatively raised their hands.
"And," said Philippe, trying to sound patient and not particularly succeeding, "what has happened to my clothing?"
"It's in the midden, sir," volunteered the boldest of the maids.
"Well, then," snapped Philippe, "am I expected to walk around in my woolly underwear all day?"
The maids tittered. The bold one spoke up again. "The Vicomte said -"
Philippe said a rude word. "I don't care what the Vicomte said! Look here, you." He pointed to a butler who was lurking in the woodwork, trying not to be noticed. "You've got to be about my size – go and fetch me one of your outfits, would you?"
It was not turning out to be a good day.
About an hour later, Philippe, dressed in a black suit that didn't quite fit and calculating the worth of all his clothes at his desk, heard his brother come back into the house.
"Hullo!" Raoul called cheerfully. "Philippe, I've bought you some of the most darling outfits -"
Philippe told himself, once again, that strangling his brother would cause more problems then it solved. Instead, he went to stand on top of the stairs, looking as imposing as he could in the butler's uniform, and said coldly, "Raoul, did I give you permission to throw out all my clothes?"
"It was a surprise!" said Raoul happily, apparently oblivious to the coldness. "Here's your new clothes – oh, and Philippe, I'm sure you'll be happy to know that I've just donated twenty thousand francs to the Opera House."
Philippe sat down very quickly on the steps. "What?"
"I've donated twenty thousand francs," repeated Raoul. "They needed it to pay for their new chandelier – you know, after that whole business with -"
"Twenty thousand francs?" repeated Philippe hoarsely.
"Philippe, I just told you -"
"TWENTY THOUSAND FRANCS?"
Raoul's brow furrowed. "Well, honestly, Philippe, I know you're excited, but you needn't shout -"
"Raoul," said Philippe, through clenched teeth, "how much money do you think we have here?"
"Oh, I don't concern myself with the accounts, Philippe," said Raoul airily, "that's your business -"
Philippe sat on his hands, because, if he didn't, he knew that he wouldn't be able to restrain himself from putting them very forcefully into the smiling face in front of him. "Raoul," he said, slowly and carefully, "I had to pay the dowries of both of our sisters. And all five aunts. And Grandmother Euphrasie, when she decided to remarry after Grandfather Marius died.* Not to mention the six orphaned poor relations who turned up mysteriously after I inherited the money. And then there was the money I had to pay to that sea captain to get him to take you onboard his ship, which, believe me, was a lot – Raoul, if we pay twenty thousand francs to the Opera House, we'll be living on bread and water for the next thirty years."
"Oh, I'm sure it can't be as bad as all that," chirruped Raoul.
"You are going to the managers," said Philippe, "and you are telling them that we're not donating twenty thousand francs. Understand me?"
"Oh, I couldn't," said Raoul, his face turning anxious. "Not after I borrowed Firmin's dress the other night – Philippe, could you do it? Please?" He looked up at his brother with big, puppy-dog eyes. "Pretty please?"
Philippe sighed. "All right," he growled. "All right, I'll do it. If only because I know if I send you, you'll just borrow another dress – and bear in mind that I'm not even asking about that, but only because I really don't want to know - and offer another thousand francs -"
"Thank you!" said Raoul, his face wreathed in smiles. "You're the best big brother ever, Philippe!"
Philippe sighed. This was not at all turning out to be a good day.