A/N: Yes I am slow to update. winces I'm losing my touch. I have no idea whether this is funny or not (maybe: not) but it does give you more ideas on what Philippe has to put up from Raoul as his brother. I kinda feel sorry for him.

Rémy strode hurridly along a corridor to the managers' office. Casting a quick look about, he could not help surpressing a snigger. Seeing the Vicomte hanging onto the chandelier was perhaps the most amusing thing he'd seen in ten years…no, the secretary corrected himself, that would be M. André and M. Firmin riding bareback on Cesar. Wearing party hats.

He burst into a fit of giggles, and crammed a fist into his mouth. He was acting unseemly for an employee of the Paris Opera House and he tried to stifle his mirth. If the managers heard him, they'd throw him out. The secretary collected himself, though he still wore a smile on his lips. Not even Gabriel could spoil his mood now…

Rémy paused outside the door, feeling deliciously smug. He'd like to see how they handled this little catastrophe…Rémy cleared his throat, then knocked briskly on the door. He waited.

No reply.

Mon Dieu. They must think I am Madame Giry, the Ghost's blasted Box Keeper…he rapped sharply twice, three times.

"Who is it?" came Andre's voice, sounding thick, "If it's Lachenel, we haven't touched your sodding horses!"

Rémy smothered his laughter. "Monsieur le Directeur, I have an urgent matter of which I am bound by duty to report –"

The manager's door opened. Rémy blinked. André stared back at him, his face flushed, his hair slightly tussled. A couple of buttons of his shirt were undone.

My God, the man looks as if he's just- Then Rémy saw Firmin just over Andre's left shoulder, hastily buttoning his shirt.

Ah.

With a poker face Rémy continued, "I am sorry to disturb you from your pressing business, but about the chandelier…" His lips twitched.

Firmin appeared, adjusting his collar, trying to look normal and failing. "Well, what about it? Not the Opera Ghost, I hope?"

"Well, now that you mention it…" Rémy began, before a piercing screech assaulted their ears. Firmin cringed.

"Carlotta."

The managers sped to the scene with Rémy trailing behind, trying not to smile too widely. André leaped back, colliding with Firmin as he caught sight of the chandelier.

"Good Lord!" he shrieked.

Carlotta rushed over to them, dragging Piangi behind her like a terrier. "Thees ees too much! I come 'ere to practice my solo in 'Annibal…to perfect my art…and vat do I see? Two strange men dangling from ze chandelier! Vun of 'om is zis Opera Ghost! I 'ave 'ad eenough! I resign!"

Firmin ignored her: he was dancing around on the stage, having an apoplectic fit. His veins stood out on his forehead. "Nooo!" he screamed, pointing a trembling finger at Erik, "Don't you dare touch that chandelier! It cost us 25,000 francs!" He looked quite unhinged.

"Oh do shut up!" Erik shouted back, "If you want someone to blame, it's him!" He pushed Raoul away from him. More candles fell. André jumped away as one landed at his feet. There was a loud creak and the chandelier dropped another foot. Firmin and André clutched at each other.

"It's over!" André wailed tearfully, "It'll drop and it will be the end! Think of the headlines, Firmin!"

"I know!" Firmin shouted, "'Second chandelier disaster! Two-hundred kilos on the heads of the Opera managers!'"

"'Opera house managers caught molesting prized Profeta horse!'" Nadir giggled suddenly. The managers immediately stopped lamenting and gave him a scathing glare.

"How did you know about that!?" André roared. He sagged. "Oh, what's the use! I suppose the whole bloody Opera House knows!"

Carlotta was not a woman used to being ignored. She wasn't finished and was beginning to work herself into a fabulous temper tantrum.

"Diablo!" she shrieked at Erik, "Madman! It was you who wrote that silly Don Juan Triumphant! Ze annoying letters!"

Erik made a rude Spanish hand gesture. Carlotta purpled.

"Ubaldo! Did you see zat!" she yelled at Piangi, "Ze nerve! Ze insolence!"

"I saw it, amore!" Piangi replied nervously, eyeing the swaying chandelier, "I saw it very clearly!"

Carlotta, having roasted the managers, swung towards Count Philippe as the second source of her troubles. "And you! Call yourself an areestocrat when you cannot even keep your silly brother under control!"

Philippe stiffened. "Madame, I resent that remark!" Though it may well be true, he thought glumly.

The Count really had had enough. It was meant to be a quiet day (well, as quiet as it could get having Raoul as a brother) and he'd hoped to have at least one birthday pass without some monstrous havoc occurring as it did unfailingly every year. He was seriously wondering if the Chagny family was cursed. He gazed upward helplessly, watching his younger brother whom he'd sworn to protect cling to the chandelier as it creaked and swayed.

"What are you smiling about!" he heard André shout at Rémy. "Stop grinning like a lunatic and call the fire brigade! Get those two idiots off of there!"

They found out, however, that there was no need. A monstrous groaning made them look upwards.

Pieces of ceiling plaster, paint (from the great fresco above) fluttered to the ground, falling like flakes of ash. As the counter-weights failed, the chandelier began to swing like a great pendulum, shedding candles and crystal ornaments as it went, which flew zinging down to the seats and stage below. Erik and Raoul screamed simultaneously and grabbed each other.

Philippe was an inch away from having a fatal stroke. He cried out in alarm as Raoul slipped, scrabbled. As the great chandelier finally gave way, both men leapt as far as they could, limbs flying.

There was a horrendous silence. There was a horrendous crash.

The Comte would've probably fainted from shock if another large candle hadn't decided to ricochet off his head (again). And before he knew it, he was on the floor staring dizzily up at the ceiling, hearing the managers' cries of woe, and Raoul's voice shouting, "It's ok, Philippe! I landed on a fat lady!"

"And I had the bad luck to land on a fat tenor!" came Erik's miserable groan.

Philippe turned his head. He saw the Spanish diva doing her best impression of a recently beached whale, with Raoul lying on top of her with a relieved grin on his face. That is, before he looked down, shrieked, and tried to back-pedal off as fast as he could. La Carlotta uttered a magnificent scream as she took to be Raoul's attempts to get off her as some sort of sexual assault. Raoul was unceremoniously thrown off. Philippe closed his eyes, willing everything to go away. It didn't.

"You CAD!" he heard Carlotta scream anew, "Ubaldo!! Zis man attempted to ravage me!! I shall destroy him! I shall lodge a complaint!! I shall- "

"I shall never be never be the same again!" Erik moaned, dragging himself off Piangi. The rotund tenor was gaping like a fish. The managers were crying in each other's arms. Christine was helping Raoul, Nadir, laughing, was with Erik.

Philippe laid his head back on the floor and shut his eyes. "Happy Birthday to me," he mumbled dismally. A shadow appeared over him.

"Comte Philippe, to what bill do we owe this chandelier incident to?" came Rémy's voice. He bent downwards. Philippe cracked an eye open. "I'm expected to contact the person or persons involved on the behalf of the Opera House…" The secretary looked at him questioningly.

"It's my birthday, dear fellow: all charges made to me." The pain in his head reached an aching crescendo not unlike Carlotta's singing.

"Very good, Monsieur." Rémy scribbled on a notepad, whistling cheerfully. The Count resisted the temptation to toss him into the orchestra pit. Eyes closed, he listened to the voices around him, growing faint.

"Where are my chocolates? You didn't eat them, did you?"

"If you mention those infernal sweets to me one more time, Monsieur le Vicomte, I shall hang you from the chandelier hook by your underwear and –stop laughing, Daroga! Or you'll be next!"

"Raoul, dear, I wouldn't eat anymore if I were you…"

"I was only –"

"No no, Christine, do let him eat some if the boy wants too! With any luck one will be filled with cyanide: at least, that's what I'm hoping."

"Erik! Don't say things like that, even as a joke!"

"I'm not joking."

"Monsieur le Directeur, Comte Philippe de Chagny has agreed to pay for damages done to our new ex-chandelier. I'm quite sure that's what he meant, he seemed half-conscious at the time…"

"That leetle fool landed on me! Dios Mio! I am resigning from zees Opera House! Ze managers can have their little Daaé, I no longer care –"

"I say, where is Philippe? Oh look, he's napping…funny thing to do, really, onstage…do you think he's rehearsing for a part?"

"Raoul, do not talk to me. I hate you. "

"That's rather harsh. All I did was love Christine."

"…."

Philippe, mercifully, passed out.

A/N: Um..yup. If you didn't find this funny, I'm sorry. Also sorry for shortness. You can go back and look at chapter 3, that's rather amusing Still, reviews are appreciated, flames will be laughed at and fed to my pet Balrog. I have a pet Balrog. Be afraid. O.o