this chapter introduces Marius...at LAAAST, but it does make things more confusing...hehe. sorry...) but i really appreciate all of the wonderfully kind reviews...you guys rock!

as a disclaimer, this chapter is...well, weird. and no, despite the title, it does not really progress at all...read, by all means, but you will be AFRAAIIID of me...MWAHAHA.

ok. i dedicate this chapter to my whore-tastic friend Lauren. happy birthday, kiddo. the rest of you: i love ALL OF YOU. i'd get back to each individual reviewer but i'm too lazy...: ) but i promise i'll do it in the next chappie! so, as always, peace and love my friends....

The Plot, as it begins to Progress

"There is something I must doooo," sang Cosette suddenly in a very Colm Wilkinson-ish voice as Erik was examining the bottle of Green Elixir, making them all turn around with surprise.

"What do you have to do?" asked Nadir.

"Oo are oo going to turn green?" asked Julio.

"Where did you learn to have such a whiny tenor?" asked Erik.

Cosette smiled at them all. "Well, boys," she said, "what I have for you is a proposition. And don't worry," she glanced at Erik, "there will be something in it for you. I'll help you win back your little Christine Daae."

Erik was more than a little hurt at her negligence; first she claimed to be his die-hard phan and now she was acting as though she couldn't be able to distinguish him from his pipe organ if given the opportunity. But the prospect of Christine was too tantalizing.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "explain yourself."

Cosette sat herself down.

"To be very frank," she said twisting a pale finger into her dark curls, "I want Marius back."
"All right," said Erik cautiously, "That's very nice. But how does that involve us?"

Cosette smiled at him very prettily; Erik felt, despite his will, warm and fuzzy inside.

"You will weed out the competition for me."

Erik stared. Ignore the gorgeous blue eyes, ignore the rosebud mouth, ignore the dimples, ignore the lustrous hair—she's taking bleedin' advantage of you, damn it! Pull yourself together, man!

Musical genius or not, however, Erik was a man. And of course, he couldn't ignore it. Especially not when there was a particularly fine specimen of the opposite sex smiling seductively, coyly before him. A damsel in distress. No, a very attractive damsel in distress.

And she was a soprano. Erik was utterly helpless. All of his Phantom of the Opera senses were tingling.

"All right," he said grudgingly, "I'll help you."

The Life and Times of Marius Pontmercy

There was a time when Marius Pontmercy could be considered a flaming revolutionary. He was a scruffy, devilishly attractive young lad with long hair and huge, ratty clothing that might, in later centuries, be considered punk. There was a time when he could, at the drop of a hat try to talk you into starting a revolution. Especially if you were (are) a girl, he would succeed. There was a time when the girls of the piers and students of the revolution would swoon in his wake: he was the fabulous Marius, the sexy, tough young activist who didn't give a damn.

But that time had long past.

Now, although he hadn't physically aged (literary characters don't age—they remain frozen in time so as to recruit more fans), Monsieur Pontmercy had mentally aged. To put it politely, Marius was comparable to a bottle of fine wine. Like good wine, he was growing to perfection. But unlike good wine, he was not pursued by the very finest of connoisseurs, or, rather, beautiful women. Why was this? To put it simply, he was married.

Not that he minded it terribly; Cosette was a beautiful young lady, no doubts. But for some reason, he rather wished it were like the good old days when all he had to do was wink roguishly and he'd send a line of girls tumbling. Like dominoes. That never happened anymore. Also, while Cosette was very desirable, there was something about her that he couldn't quite put a finger on. But things had definitely changed since he married her. For one thing, Enjorlas and the boys certainly didn't come around for a beer anymore like they used to. Cosette insisted they move in with her father, Jean Valjean, who, despite being terribly heroic and intelligent, smelled an awful lot like cabbage soup. And absolutely no interaction with the children of the barricade! Now he had to attend silly society parties with his charming wife, Cosette, the toast of the town, standing beside her as though the Anti-Incest Fairy taped him to her with great zeal, and sipping champagne and playing Bridge with her damned little lady friends. It was not the sort of life he preferred. And then there were the clothes.

"You cannot wear these rags," Cosette said the night after they had exchanged their matrimonial vows (he started to regret it the minute she had thrown his Lucky Pants into the fireplace). She'd stripped him bare and he sat there foolishly, for about two hours, in her fluffy pink bathrobe while she ran off to convince some snooty tailor that it was an emergency. Oh God, thought Marius in his hugely unflattering garb. I'm a fashion emergency. How embarrassing.

He certainly hoped that Cosette never got her hands on Enjorlas; he didn't think she could survive from the horror of it all.

She returned later with several crisp packages under her arm and a large smile on her face; "Monsieur DuLac was happy to fill me up on the latest fashions," she said happily, as he (she insisted) modeled each ridiculous starchy thing she'd bought. Lacy collars, little velvet jackets, decent shoes, frilly little ascots—no longer was it "Marius the Buff." It was now "Marius the Pansy." And how did a rough and tumble, brawny revolutionary boy get transformed into a chic gentleman within an afternoon? Marius watched Cosette, her arms flying about as she efficiently stretched out the clothing, making intelligent remarks all the while. Wow, he thought, truly impressed, she's good. She could certainly give the Extreme Makeover people (a show of which she very critical but he knew that she watched it when no one was looking) a run for their money. And he'd tolerated it all with the remarkable amount of patience that one might expect of a newly married man, so hopelessly infatuated that life itself seems brimming with newfound logic.

That is, until, well, it happened.

"Look," said Cosette, holding something flat and fluttery under his nose one evening. He looked down; a sea of delicate lace trimmings greeted his eyes, folding elegantly beneath the edges of a carefully scalloped sheet of parchment paper. In carefully scripted writing that reminded the reader just how much the scribe was probably paid, there was the following:

Are you a young, handsome, roguish literary character seeking fascinating, enlightening company besides your spouse?

Look no further!

Marius was intrigued.

"FASHIONABLE OPERA PATRONS" screamed the large, curly sign. "A club for those who love high-class art."

President: Monsieur Legolas Greenleaf

Vice-President: Vicomte Raoul de Chagny

Secretary: Mademoiselle Eponine Thernadier

Treasurer: le Comte Philippe de Chagny

Join us for spirited excursions to the Opera House!

"Well?" Cosette demanded. "Doesn't it sound pleasant?"

"Er—"

"You'll make such nice friends," she said happily, "I hear Monsieur Greenleaf is quite the authority on the latest fashions—"

"I—"

"Oh, Marius, I'm just so thrilled! I've let you become more independent by finding efficient recreational activities for you!" She was overjoyed.

Marius stared. Ignore the gorgeous blue eyes, ignore the rosebud mouth, ignore the dimples, ignore the lustrous hair—she's taking bleedin' advantage of you, damn it! Pull yourself together, man!

But Marius wasn't going to ignore it. He couldn't; Cosette looked positively radiant. Perhaps this would make her happier...it did sound a bit bourgeois to him but what the hell...one had to sacrifice in a stable marriage. Besides, Eponine Thernadier was in it...it had certainly been years. It would be interesting to see her again.

Cosette smiled at her husband, achieving subtly, effortlessly, what women have over their lovers: complete control. Now he'd be making some good friends! And opera; one hardly got classier than that. A little voice in her mind said: "Your husband—Fashionable Opera Patron!"

Cosette hugged herself silently in delight for a job well done.

Over a glass of brandy later in the evening, Marius felt a sense of unexpected anticipation. Perhaps this would be worth his while. A little voice in his mind said: "Marius Pontmercy—Fashionable Opera Patron!"

Not bad. Not bad at all.

The words sounded nice together. This might be the beginning of a bright new future.

What new surprises lie in store?

RANDOM DARK, SINISTER MAN: in a soft, spooky voice little did HE know....demented laughter

A note to Raoul lovers: I will NOT BASH HIM...I swear! I think Raoul is cute...I am a fan of his )...and I certainly do not believe that he is unintelligent. You'll just have to wait and see...

less logical than before?? yes? IT WILL ALL MAKE SENSE!! mwahahahahah!! coughcough please review, folks!