another weird chapter from the likes of me! ::giggles madly::
yes, now you get to discover who the phan is. don't shoot me. please. this was a very wild idea.
and oh yes, something HIGHLY suggestive in this chapter, goes beyond PG rating...hehe, just ignore it if you're young, K?
anyway, please continue reading! it's a pretty bad chappie, but i hope the end will make you want to hit something! ;) keep going, i love all of you guys to death!
Chapter 6: Guess Who Turns Out to Be the Phan??
In the week that followed, Erik's activities could be only described as varied. And not only that, there was a slightly irritating detail; Julio was now somehow fixed permanently to his side. The enormous man had (without a word of consent from Erik himself) cheerfully moved into Erik's lair carrying a large suitcase the day after the fateful conversation with Carlotta. Erik, who did not realize this fact, awoke the next morning carrying his breakfast tray (with a splitting headache; he and Nadir had drunk themselves into a stupor, as promised), finding Julio unpacking a pair of large scarlet pajamas.
"Hello?" yawned Erik blinking away the hangover. For a moment, the image did not register.
"Oh! Good morning, Monsieur Ereek!" the great ape scuttled over to Erik and shook his hand vigorously. "I begin my serveeces today!"
Erik blinked again.
Then, of course, it all came back to him.
"NO!" he cried, wrenching his hand away from Julio's massive paw. "What the bloody hell d'you think you're doing here?"
"Protecting 'oo," said Julio, bewildered, as he quickly scanned the lair for possible lurking assassins.
Erik groaned.
"But I don't need protection now," he moaned, "Only when the phan shows up! You can go home now, wouldn't you like that?"
To his dismay, Julio shook his head slowly. Instead of responding, the man sat himself down.
"May I 'ave some tea?" he wondered and helping himself to a biscuit from Erik's breakfast tray.
Not wanting to argue with someone quite capable of snapping his spine, Erik bustled off to make tea although questions still bubbled in his mind. When he returned, he saw that Julio had eaten most of his biscuits.
"These arre good," commented the large Spaniard, holding up the plate of chocolate sandwich cookies.
"They are called Oreos," said Erik stiffly, helping himself to one. "I happen to be rather fond of them. Nadir brings them all the time."
Julio said nothing, but proceeded to put the confection in his mouth, and swallowed it in a gulp.
"Wos zat ze uzzer man?"
"Yes." Erik sat down beside Julio, and poured his guest a cup of tea. "He is my very good friend."
Julio said nothing, munching methodically, although something like a twinge of sadness seemed to come over his broad features.
"I 'ave no friends," he said.
There was a very pregnant pause.
"Er," said Erik finally, "What about your sister? Carlotta?" He suddenly realized the ridiculous nature of this very question.
Julio sighed heavily and took a prolonged sip of tea, swilling it about in his cavernous mouth as though he was testing wine. At last he swallowed, and sighed again. Then he looked Erik very seriously a moment before staring into the dregs of his cup.
"Can I tell 'oo something?" he asked Erik hesitantly.
"Of course," said Erik, feeling this was the best thing to say. Julio looked about quickly again, although this time he looked heartily embarrassed.
"Cara? My seester? I am afraid of 'er."
Erik stared as Julio grinned sheepishly.
"Eez eet 'orrible of me?" he asked.
"No! Of course not," said Erik, pushing the plate towards him. Julio sighed and took another cookie. It was quite logical, actually. "You are not the only one who is, er, intimidated by Carlotta."
"Reeoleey?"
Erik smiled. "Really."
"Aah, zis eez wonderful, Monsieur Ereek," cried Julio, throwing his arms up dramatically (nearly causing Erik a concussion), "can I stay 'ere weeth 'oo?"
Erik thought it over. It wasn't as though he would be alone all the time with Julio; he'd ask Nadir to call more frequently. Besides, it might be nice to not worry about taking bullets from lurking rivals, such as members of the original cast of "Wicked" and such.
"Yes," said Erik finally, "of course you may stay."
He would live to regret those words. Deeply.
A few hours later...
Erik sighed with pleasure as he sank into a thick, foamy hot bubble bath beautifully prepared with scented oils (a birthday gift last year, from Christine). Not bothering to rush anything, the delighted Phantom put a thin arm onto a particularly fluffy cloud and stretched his aches away. The slick soap suds fell in creamy rivulets down his torso, and Erik took a moment out of his highly intellectual pursuit of knowledge to count the number of bubbles that had formed on his toe. He then grasped his companion in the baths always, a small yellow rubbery creature by the name of Herman.
"Rubber duckie, you're so fine," sang Erik in his angelic tenor. He pressed Herman who responded by squeaking excitedly.
"Yeez," said a disembodied voice, "I 'ave one of those, too."
Erik jumped about a foot into the air. He wondered if this was how it might have been for Christine, hearing odd voices. He certainly hoped that he hadn't caught her in an equally inopportune moment such as the voice had him in now (it wasn't as though he could actually watch her if she was...).
Then another thought occurred to him.
Was God punishing him for preying on the emotions of a naive girl? Was this a holy sign from above? Was he now to be tormented with a stealthy stalker from the heavens?
"At any rate it should have been an attractive female angel," thought Erik grumpily before responding to the voice.
"Yes, O creature of the light, forgive me for my sins," he sang, covering his incredibly expansive range with the sentence and holding the word "sins" long, sweet and pure, so beautiful that even the angel from heaven wouldn't have noticed the Phantom creeping out of the tub to wrap a towel about his waist because they would have been too busy heartily sniffing.
And it was true, whatever it was started heartily sniffing.
"Oh," it bawled, "'oo 'ave such a boo-ti-ful voice, Master Ereek!"
But of course.
Behind his mask, Erik's eyes turned to angry slits. He clenched his powerful fingers together, balling them into fists.
"JULIO!" he bellowed.
Sheepishly, the enormous bodyguard crept out from beneath the bathtub. Erik took a moment out of his rage to be amazed.
"How on earth did you fit beneath my bathtub?" he marveled, squinting at the narrow space between the elegant silver claws that propped the belly of the bowl above the ground.
"Ancient Japanese rib-flattening technique," rumbled Julio, looking pleased.
"Really?" asked Erik curiously, "I thought it was Mongolian. Impressive. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. In the process of exhibiting my wrath."
Julio looked highly uncomfortable; Erik's eyes became venomous daggers.
"Sorry, Master Ereek," said Julio, "But eef 'oo would care to 'ear about ze Duchess Dupont, zere vas an assassin een 'er bathroom, 'oo should 'ave seen it, she climbed eento ze bath and zen, out of ze shadows—"
Erik would not have liked to see it. Duchess Dupont was famed through the land for her exceptional girth.
"—Anyway, I don theenk zat I deed anything too your bathtub," continued the massive fellow, bending down nimbly to examine the tub.
"The hell with my bathtub," said Erik (Herman squeaked indignantly), "the question is, how—much—did—you—see?"
"I turned around when 'oo were streeping," said Julio desperately, turning the color of a rutabaga.
Erik put on his best penetrating gaze (although this did not always work, it certainly did well in looking highly ominous).
"You're—certain?" he hissed, hoping very much that he remained the only person in the universe who had seen himself naked. (A/N: Sorry, you rabid phangirls! It bothers me also!)
"Vairy, vairy certain," promised Julio. "I don't vant to loook at a leetle naked Phantom."
"What's wrong with me being naked?" demanded Erik suddenly, completely missing the point. (Up in her cloud, the authoress murmured in assent).
"But I thought zat 'oo deedin't want—"
"Oh, er, yes, sorry," said Erik blushing, realizing the idiocy of his very question. "Right. I'm just a bit sensitive about my looks, you know."
"'oo aren't zat bad," said Julio encouragingly, "eet eez just ze face! Even zat is better zan—"he looked around darkly, "Post surgery Michael Jackson."
"Why thank you, I'm flattered," said Erik, shuddering at the memory of the one Michael Jackson concert he had ever attended, dressed as a member of the paparazzi. He had seen Michael up close. It wasn't a pretty sight.
"Plaas, 'oo 'ave a seex pack," observed Julio, pointing to the phantom's fit stomach.
"You noticed!" Erik proudly displayed his impressive abdomen. "I don't live next to a lake for nothing."
"'oo do laps?"
"Yes!"
The two lunged into conversation about athletics, and that carried them along for a while. Erik then offered to demonstrate his most excellent full nelson, which Julio agreed to be in, insisting that his full nelson was superior. Suddenly, a voice cried,
"Oh, sick!"
Nadir stood in the doorway, his fists clenched against his eyes at the sight of the bare-chested Erik bodily clasping Julio to him (who was gritting his teeth at that particular moment).
"NADIR!" bellowed Erik, quickly releasing Julio and masking his embarrassment with a brilliant temper. Nadir blushed.
"I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?"
"Oh, shut up, Daroga," snapped Erik viciously, clasping a hand to hide the blush on the exposed half of his face. "be quick in naming your business."
"Well, after that display, I don't suppose you'll need female attention—"
"DAROGA," shrieked Erik with a warning note in his voice.
"—er, the information about your Phan has arrived, along with something else."
Not bothering to put on a shirt (I hope this satisfies the rabid phans!), Erik crossed the bathroom in a stride (followed closely by a curious Julio). Nadir offered him a sheet of paper, which he quickly scanned.
"Hmph!" he snapped, "This isn't much information at all!" The sheet said only the following things:
Name: C.P.
Vocal Range: Soprano
"What is this?" cried Erik, "what am I to make of this woman with her voice range? And 'C.P.? Who the hell is she?"
"Well," said Nadir reasonably, "since you left so many notes and signed them with your initials, and since you're so impassioned with music, the directors of the contest thought that you might be able to associate with your phan better if you knew her musical abilities and referred to herself with her initials."
"Sopranos make me highly nervous," confessed Erik. "Besides, it's nice and all that that she's a soprano, but I want to know some real information! For instance, does she like sushi?"
"I like sushi," said Julio behind him, quite arbitrarily.
"I need to know more about this woman!" Erik pummeled his hand. Nadir gave him an odd look.
"That brings me to a second thing. You don't need to worry about learning more about this phan."
"I don't? I won't see her until Christmas! How will I find out more about her?"
"You can ask her."
"What? How? When will I see her?"
Nadir grinned nervously, the same grin that Erik received when the Persian had proposed the contest to him in the first place.
"How about right now?"
Erik's blood pressure barely had time to spiral up, when a slender form appeared in the doorway behind Nadir. Immaculately dressed in expensive clothing, she was indescribably beautiful, with dark curls and lovely blue eyes. She smiled broadly at the sight of Erik without a shirt (as any faithful phan would).
"Hello, monsieur," she said, holding a delicate hand for Erik to kiss. He took a moment to reflect on how uncanny it was that she a) resembled Christine to a great extent and b) was a soprano. He sensed trouble.
"Hello," he said. "What might your name be?"
She smiled harder, forcing a pair of very deep dimples to appear in her soft cheeks.
"Please forgive me. I decided to visit you earlier, before our date. Perhaps telling you who I am will clear things up."
"So tell me, please." Erik was beginning to long for a shirt.
"So rude of me," she said with a sigh. "My name is Cosette Pontmercy."