A/N: Hey, guys! Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you like Erik being tormented by children… Hope you like the second chapter just as much!
Erik stood at the window to the torture chamber with a messily made sandwich, feeling like a complete fool.
"I got your food," he announced, glaring at Sylvie who was swinging on the branch of the tree.
"Good!" she squealed, hopping down and running up to the little window. "Is it extwa mayonnaise like I asked for?"
"Yes," Erik sighed.
"With cheese? And ham?"
"Yes, yes."
"And the cwust cut off?…"
"Yes!" Erik shouted curtly, squeaking open the little window and shoving the sandwich through, stretching his arm as far as it would go. "And I got you some water, too." After the girl took the sandwich from him, Erik stooped down and carefully picked up a bowl of water.
Sylvie blinked.
"Is that how you dwink it?" she asked, sufferingly.
Erik looked down at the bowl of water, then back to Sylvie. "No… But small girls have to drink it like this."
"No they don't," she said.
"Yes, they do!" Erik snapped back.
"I don't!" she retorted, taking a menacing bite of her sandwich and chomping it forcefully.
"Well you do, now," Erik muttered, shoving the bowl through the hole.
"Don't spill it," Sylvie said. "Mama is always careful about-"
"I'm not your mama! Just take the water!" Erik growled. Sylvie's eyes welled up with tears and her lower lip quivered. "Now don't cry," he said, arms aching from holding the bowl out too long. "It's all right!"
"Say you sorry," she whimpered, letting tears spill down her face.
"For what!" Erik said, exasperated.
"You awe being mean!" she whined.
"Will you take the water if I say it?" he asked.
"Say you sorry!" Sylvie cried.
"All right! I… I'm sorry okay, now take it!"
The girl happily reached for the bowl, only realizing that her sandwich was in her hands. She held the sandwich in one hand and tried to take the water with the other, but stopped and looked confused.
"What is it?" Erik said, his voice forcefully calm.
"I can't carry the watow in one hand," Sylvie informed it. "It will spill."
"Put the sandwich down."
"It'll get dirty!"
"Here!" Erik grumbled, squeezing his other arm through the hole. "Give me the sandwich and you can take the bowl of water."
Sylvie handed Erik her half eaten ham sandwich, which was covered in slobber. Erik nearly snapped with rage, gritting his teeth, but when he saw Sylvie on the verge of tears again, he turned his face into a very agonizing smile.
"Awe you conspitated?" Sylvie asked, lightly. "My daddy used to-"
"TAKE - THE WATER!" Erik shouted.
"Okay, okay," she replied, grabbing the bowl with both hands and carefully lowering it to the floor. She didn't have to bend over very far. "Now gimme the samwich."
"Little brat," he muttered under his breath.
"Huh?" she asked as Erik dropped the sandwich into her hands and drew them back out of the torture chamber with a disgusted look on his face.
"I said, don't spill that," he said quickly, closing the little window with his elbow.
"Oh."
The Phantom rushed from the room the wash his hands, thoroughly. "Because," he decided, logically. "Who knows what kinds of diseases children have?"
Erik decided his pruny hands were sterilized after a good eight washes, and by the time he made his way back to the torture chamber, there was an empty bowl next to Sylvie, who was sitting on the floor, wet and awaiting his return.
"Look at me," she said.
"What?" Erik asked, innocently.
"I'm all watowy," she growled. "Whenever I tried to dwink from your stupid bowl, it would spill over the sides and onto me."
"Why didn't you set it on the ground and lap it up?" he suggested.
"I'm not a aminal!" Sylvie said, hurt.
"Well I'm sorry, but I don't know how to take care of a kid, okay?" Erik muttered.
"You should! You awe old, and old people know how to take care of kids!" Sylvie answered.
"I never had any!" he hissed.
"No wondow!" she hissed back, curling her knees up to her chin, defiantly. "You awe too gwumpy and mean to have kids! You mean old clown head!"
"Clown head!"
"Uh-huh! I know what you awe! It's sooo ovibous! Only clowns awe old and gwumpy and wear masks!" And with that, she stuck out her tongue and kicked the bowl a few inches for good measure. Erik took a deep breath, and there was silence for a few minutes with which both of them used to calm down.
"What is your name?" Sylvie asked, abruptly.
"My name?" Erik asked. "Why do you need to know?"
"If you don't tell me, I'll just call you Clown Head," she said.
"It's Erik," he said without a second thought.
"Ewik the Clown Head," Sylvie laughed.
"Hasn't your mama ever told you not to be rude to strangers?" Erik shot.
"You awe not a stwanger. Stwangers awe people you don't know. I know you. Your name is Ewik, you don't know how to take care of me, and you have kindness ithues," Sylvie said, plainly.
"Yeah, yeah."
"But if you let me out of here, I won't think you awe that mean," she bargained.
"I can't let you out!" he objected.
"Why not?"
"You'd destroy my house!"
"Would not!" Sylvie said. "I want to go back to Mama," she added.
"Well, you can't, yet."
"Why not!"
"Because - because…" Erik trailed off, not wanting to tell the girl that the reason was because he couldn't have a kid spreading around the location of his home. He knew that the instant she left the place, she'd be rattling on about a mean old man in the cellar, and pretty soon, people would come to investigate. And what if she knew the rumors of the phantom of the opera? Everybody had… Perhaps the thought hadn't even crossed her mind. Maybe she thought it was normal for people to live down there…
"Little girl-"
"Sylvie," she quickly corrected him.
"Sylvie- do you think it's strange that you're here in this place?" Erik asked.
"Isn't it a pwop room?" she inquired in reply.
"That's right," Erik said.
"And you awe a stagehand who has rescewed me," she added, impressively, twirling around and looking at herself in the mirrors.
"How do you know what a stagehand is?" he wondered aloud.
"My daddy was a stagehand here!" she answered, happily. "He brought me behind stage a whole a bunch." She extended her arms to emphasize the 'whole.'
Suddenly, there was a loud knocking on the door.
"My mommy has come-"
"Sh! Sylvie, be quiet! It's not your mama," Erik hushed the girl, rushing to get the door. He only knew of two people it could be. Christine, or- "Daroga," Erik muttered, swinging open the door to rudely greet his friend. The door slammed against the wall and shook the small chandelier. "What are you doing here?" he asked, spitefully.
"Do you have to ask? I think there's something funny going on here. I heard voices," the daroga said.
"Voices? It was just me. I talk to myself, you know that," Erik replied, coolly.
"Children's voices."
"I can do children's voices!" Erik said defensively, feeling like a total freak.
"Can I come in, then?" the Persian asked, stepping into the house. Erik shoved him back out and blocked the doorway.
"Why would you want to do that?" Erik asked, quickly.
"I thought you might want to have some tea with me," he retorted.
"Tea! Who wants tea? Be a man and go find yourself some fine wine," Erik said.
"Ewik, you awe taking a long time!" Sylvie's voice floated from the torture chamber to the entrance.
"Damn," Erik grumbled.
"Who was that?" the daroga snapped.
"Uh… It was… My niece."
"You don't have a niece."
"Fine, it was Ayesha!"
The daroga stared.
"Oh, all right," Erik muttered. "You caught me!… Welcome to 5th Cellar Daycare Center."
"Fifth cellar…?"
"It was a way to earn a few extra francs, okay?"
"You know you're a horrible liar, right?" the Persian said, eyeing Erik, slyly.
"Okay, fine," Erik mumbled. "So this kid fell through the trapdoor in the top of the torture chamber and now I'm stuck with her."
"Erik!"
"And I can't let her go or she'll tell her mama I'm here!" he added. The daroga sighed and glared at Erik for a while. "You can glare at me all you want, but you know I'm right."
"You're not right," the Persian said.
"Am too!" Erik clapped a hand to his mouth and stared at his friend, embarrassed. "Pretend I didn't say that."
"Erik, you have to let the girl go," the Persian said, sternly. "It's for her own good, and yours. How long do you think it's going to take before people start looking for her and they find you, anyway? Your best bet is to tell the girl not to talk about you and just put her back onto the first floor where she can find her mother again. Think about it. Do the right thing. I'll see you later." And with that, Erik watched his friend slide back into the shadows where he could easily spy on him some more, since he had no life other than that in the first place.
"Her name's Sylvie," Erik called into the darkness, slamming the door behind him.
Erik stood at the window to the torture chamber with a messily made sandwich, feeling like a complete fool.
"I got your food," he announced, glaring at Sylvie who was swinging on the branch of the tree.
"Good!" she squealed, hopping down and running up to the little window. "Is it extwa mayonnaise like I asked for?"
"Yes," Erik sighed.
"With cheese? And ham?"
"Yes, yes."
"And the cwust cut off?…"
"Yes!" Erik shouted curtly, squeaking open the little window and shoving the sandwich through, stretching his arm as far as it would go. "And I got you some water, too." After the girl took the sandwich from him, Erik stooped down and carefully picked up a bowl of water.
Sylvie blinked.
"Is that how you dwink it?" she asked, sufferingly.
Erik looked down at the bowl of water, then back to Sylvie. "No… But small girls have to drink it like this."
"No they don't," she said.
"Yes, they do!" Erik snapped back.
"I don't!" she retorted, taking a menacing bite of her sandwich and chomping it forcefully.
"Well you do, now," Erik muttered, shoving the bowl through the hole.
"Don't spill it," Sylvie said. "Mama is always careful about-"
"I'm not your mama! Just take the water!" Erik growled. Sylvie's eyes welled up with tears and her lower lip quivered. "Now don't cry," he said, arms aching from holding the bowl out too long. "It's all right!"
"Say you sorry," she whimpered, letting tears spill down her face.
"For what!" Erik said, exasperated.
"You awe being mean!" she whined.
"Will you take the water if I say it?" he asked.
"Say you sorry!" Sylvie cried.
"All right! I… I'm sorry okay, now take it!"
The girl happily reached for the bowl, only realizing that her sandwich was in her hands. She held the sandwich in one hand and tried to take the water with the other, but stopped and looked confused.
"What is it?" Erik said, his voice forcefully calm.
"I can't carry the watow in one hand," Sylvie informed it. "It will spill."
"Put the sandwich down."
"It'll get dirty!"
"Here!" Erik grumbled, squeezing his other arm through the hole. "Give me the sandwich and you can take the bowl of water."
Sylvie handed Erik her half eaten ham sandwich, which was covered in slobber. Erik nearly snapped with rage, gritting his teeth, but when he saw Sylvie on the verge of tears again, he turned his face into a very agonizing smile.
"Awe you conspitated?" Sylvie asked, lightly. "My daddy used to-"
"TAKE - THE WATER!" Erik shouted.
"Okay, okay," she replied, grabbing the bowl with both hands and carefully lowering it to the floor. She didn't have to bend over very far. "Now gimme the samwich."
"Little brat," he muttered under his breath.
"Huh?" she asked as Erik dropped the sandwich into her hands and drew them back out of the torture chamber with a disgusted look on his face.
"I said, don't spill that," he said quickly, closing the little window with his elbow.
"Oh."
The Phantom rushed from the room the wash his hands, thoroughly. "Because," he decided, logically. "Who knows what kinds of diseases children have?"
Erik decided his pruny hands were sterilized after a good eight washes, and by the time he made his way back to the torture chamber, there was an empty bowl next to Sylvie, who was sitting on the floor, wet and awaiting his return.
"Look at me," she said.
"What?" Erik asked, innocently.
"I'm all watowy," she growled. "Whenever I tried to dwink from your stupid bowl, it would spill over the sides and onto me."
"Why didn't you set it on the ground and lap it up?" he suggested.
"I'm not a aminal!" Sylvie said, hurt.
"Well I'm sorry, but I don't know how to take care of a kid, okay?" Erik muttered.
"You should! You awe old, and old people know how to take care of kids!" Sylvie answered.
"I never had any!" he hissed.
"No wondow!" she hissed back, curling her knees up to her chin, defiantly. "You awe too gwumpy and mean to have kids! You mean old clown head!"
"Clown head!"
"Uh-huh! I know what you awe! It's sooo ovibous! Only clowns awe old and gwumpy and wear masks!" And with that, she stuck out her tongue and kicked the bowl a few inches for good measure. Erik took a deep breath, and there was silence for a few minutes with which both of them used to calm down.
"What is your name?" Sylvie asked, abruptly.
"My name?" Erik asked. "Why do you need to know?"
"If you don't tell me, I'll just call you Clown Head," she said.
"It's Erik," he said without a second thought.
"Ewik the Clown Head," Sylvie laughed.
"Hasn't your mama ever told you not to be rude to strangers?" Erik shot.
"You awe not a stwanger. Stwangers awe people you don't know. I know you. Your name is Ewik, you don't know how to take care of me, and you have kindness ithues," Sylvie said, plainly.
"Yeah, yeah."
"But if you let me out of here, I won't think you awe that mean," she bargained.
"I can't let you out!" he objected.
"Why not?"
"You'd destroy my house!"
"Would not!" Sylvie said. "I want to go back to Mama," she added.
"Well, you can't, yet."
"Why not!"
"Because - because…" Erik trailed off, not wanting to tell the girl that the reason was because he couldn't have a kid spreading around the location of his home. He knew that the instant she left the place, she'd be rattling on about a mean old man in the cellar, and pretty soon, people would come to investigate. And what if she knew the rumors of the phantom of the opera? Everybody had… Perhaps the thought hadn't even crossed her mind. Maybe she thought it was normal for people to live down there…
"Little girl-"
"Sylvie," she quickly corrected him.
"Sylvie- do you think it's strange that you're here in this place?" Erik asked.
"Isn't it a pwop room?" she inquired in reply.
"That's right," Erik said.
"And you awe a stagehand who has rescewed me," she added, impressively, twirling around and looking at herself in the mirrors.
"How do you know what a stagehand is?" he wondered aloud.
"My daddy was a stagehand here!" she answered, happily. "He brought me behind stage a whole a bunch." She extended her arms to emphasize the 'whole.'
Suddenly, there was a loud knocking on the door.
"My mommy has come-"
"Sh! Sylvie, be quiet! It's not your mama," Erik hushed the girl, rushing to get the door. He only knew of two people it could be. Christine, or- "Daroga," Erik muttered, swinging open the door to rudely greet his friend. The door slammed against the wall and shook the small chandelier. "What are you doing here?" he asked, spitefully.
"Do you have to ask? I think there's something funny going on here. I heard voices," the daroga said.
"Voices? It was just me. I talk to myself, you know that," Erik replied, coolly.
"Children's voices."
"I can do children's voices!" Erik said defensively, feeling like a total freak.
"Can I come in, then?" the Persian asked, stepping into the house. Erik shoved him back out and blocked the doorway.
"Why would you want to do that?" Erik asked, quickly.
"I thought you might want to have some tea with me," he retorted.
"Tea! Who wants tea? Be a man and go find yourself some fine wine," Erik said.
"Ewik, you awe taking a long time!" Sylvie's voice floated from the torture chamber to the entrance.
"Damn," Erik grumbled.
"Who was that?" the daroga snapped.
"Uh… It was… My niece."
"You don't have a niece."
"Fine, it was Ayesha!"
The daroga stared.
"Oh, all right," Erik muttered. "You caught me!… Welcome to 5th Cellar Daycare Center."
"Fifth cellar…?"
"It was a way to earn a few extra francs, okay?"
"You know you're a horrible liar, right?" the Persian said, eyeing Erik, slyly.
"Okay, fine," Erik mumbled. "So this kid fell through the trapdoor in the top of the torture chamber and now I'm stuck with her."
"Erik!"
"And I can't let her go or she'll tell her mama I'm here!" he added. The daroga sighed and glared at Erik for a while. "You can glare at me all you want, but you know I'm right."
"You're not right," the Persian said.
"Am too!" Erik clapped a hand to his mouth and stared at his friend, embarrassed. "Pretend I didn't say that."
"Erik, you have to let the girl go," the Persian said, sternly. "It's for her own good, and yours. How long do you think it's going to take before people start looking for her and they find you, anyway? Your best bet is to tell the girl not to talk about you and just put her back onto the first floor where she can find her mother again. Think about it. Do the right thing. I'll see you later." And with that, Erik watched his friend slide back into the shadows where he could easily spy on him some more, since he had no life other than that in the first place.
"Her name's Sylvie," Erik called into the darkness, slamming the door behind him.