Mr. Brightside
by
IChooseTheScorpion
Disclaimer: Well, I know Gaston Leroux isn't reading this, unless they have internet access where dead peoples' souls go (if there are such things as souls, and assuming religion isn't just a manifestation of the human mind created to deal with the thought of death and non-existence...), and I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume that Susan Kay isn't a huge phan/fanfiction reader. I know for a fact that Andrew Lloyd Webber is in the process of bitching out Joel Schumacher for totally jacking up his awesome musical and making it into a realtively good movie that at times had bad singing and was a cheesefest. Feel free to leave me a lovely review about how you disagree with that opinion: it'll make the numbers go up. Yeah, I totally on Phantom of the Opera! Erik is mine for having wild, orgasmic sex with every night of the fcuking week.
Summary: Not EOW in a romantic sense at all...just enough for our lovely O.G. to have an equally lovely son, who falls in love with possibly the most obvious of women. But daddy doesn't like the thought of his flesh and blood in a relationship with what should have been his own progeny. SK, GL, and ALW combined.
A/N: Hi! I have a buncha pen names, including Padfootz-luvr, Sugarcult Babe, and CapnJacksBonnieLass, but this is my first story under this particular one. This phic is based of of the plot of ALW, with that Erik's half-mask, but underneath it he is all SK and GL-ish. Nadir is in it, and the whole SK scenario is totally into play, just not anything after Erik is all in his lil Opera home underground and falls in love with Miss Cheating BitchSlutWhoreTramp Daaé (jk, I kinda like her...sometimes...) Monsieur Le Fantome has fallen into this sort of...twisted...whore-ridden...sex-fest of drugsand stuff, but then he leaves France for a little bit. He returns...but his fav courtesan has had his kid. Read to find out more and I swear I will share Erik on Mondays and Wednesdays when I have play practice.
Ooh, Ooh, VISIT MY SITE! (Self-promotion rox my sox) It's in my bio/profile-y thing!
With all of this I know now
Everything inside of my head
It all just goes to show how
Nothing I know changes me at all
Again I wait for this to change instead
To tear the world in twoAnother night with her
But I'm always wanting you
Use me Holly come on and use me
We know where we go
Use me Holly come on and use me
We go where we know
With all of this I feel now
Everything inside of my heart
It all just seems to be how
Nothing I feel pulls at me at all
Again I wait for this to pull apart
To break my time in two
Another night with her
But I'm always wanting you
Use me Holly come on and use me
We know where we go
Use me Holly come on and use me
We go where we know
She's all I need
She's all I dream
She's all I'm always wanting
She's all I need
She's all I dream
She's all:
I'm always wanting you
Yeah I'm always wanting you
I'm always wanting you
"All of This" by Blink-182
Chapter One:
All of This
He stared down at the woman below him. She was staring back at him with her large, innocent blue eyes. Yes, even now, as they performed the most sacred act of love outside of holy matrimony, she looked innocent. He had taken that innocence. But she was never truly innocent, he reminded himself. At least, not since I've known her...not since her father died...
Her innocence was a façade, a visage, a masque, much like his own, that hid what lay beneath. And beneath her own mask lay a devious, cunning feline...and to her cat he was the mouse. Always being toyed with, confused. She would pretend to be kind and innocent, to love him as he loved her, then she would scratch out and delight in the way he was tormented by the thoughts of her and another man.
The Vicomte. Just the thought sent Erik's mind reeling, and he felt anger, rage, jealousy, and a thousand other dangerous emotions flow through his veins, even now, as he was loving his beloved both physically and emotionally.
The Vicomte de Chagny...the epitome of elegance, gallantry, nobility, chivalry, and, worst of all, handsomeness.
The man's teeth gritted and he tried to purge his brain of all thoughts of his rival, the exact image of what he would never, could never be. She had chosen him, the Vicomte, after all Erik had done to ensure her happiness, talent, success, and fulfill every want and need she could possibly have, she chose the man who she hadn't seen since she was a small child.
Why...why? His mind screamed at him, and he didn't notice whem the woman below him cried out in pain. His blood was surging through his veins with such an insane intensity now, his mind was elsewhere...
Then suddenly his thoughts were suspended, and everything came to a stop as he shook from the sensation and his mind seemed, for one glorious, unfathomable moment, completely blank, without thoughts of his horrid past, his abysmal present, or his inevitably bleak future.
Christine was below him, his Christine, and she was willingly allowing him to love her as he had always longer to love her.
He didn't even realize he had said her name until he collapsed upon this woman below him and lay, breathing heavily, all of his skin, even the malformed flesh under his mask, was slick with sweat.
He lay there, basking in the afterglow of the miracle that had just occurred, until the woman he had so unceremoniously fell onto moved from under his long, lithe body to roll over onto the side of the bed.
Christine's large, cerulean eyes vanished, leaving in their place a pair of almond-
shaped, brown ones. The lush chestnut curls and waves that fell down her back shortened, turned a coppery auburn, and the creamy-white skin became paler and pallid.
Nevertheless, this woman that was now pulling back on her dressings was very beautiful, with her nearly flawless features and voluptuous body. However, she was not his Christine, and that was all that mattered to the infamous Opera Ghost.
"Who's Christine?" she murmured softly and cautiously.
Erik's head snapped to her. She had never before questioned the fact that he would say Christine's name.
"It is not your business to ask questions," Erik replied coldly, his beautiful voice, as always, startling her slightly.
"It is not my business to sleep with men for money either, but there you go," she snapped.
It was true, it wasn't her business. She was, in fact, a lowly factory girl that needed some food for her brothers and sisters. Nonetheless, she was lying with a man she had met only two weeks ago in exchange for a payment, which was basically the equivalent of a common whore.
Erik bit back the hurtful comment on the tip of his tongue all the same, recalling how he had hurt her just a few minutes ago.
"Did I hurt you?" His question seemed nonchalant, as though he hardly cared, which, as a matter of fact, he didn't, but it was a big step for him.
"Not much, mostly my dignity, as always," she sighed sadly, strapping the old boots she wore back into place.
"Have you told your family yet, Aurore?"
"'Yet'?" she echoed, snorting. "I am not going to tell them at all, Monsieur! This will end soon. I just need enough money to stabilize, or at least sustain, us until Marq (the eldest of my younger siblings, you know) can find proper work..."
"Of course," Erik agreed, though he knew well enough that her brother Marq, who was only 19 (3 years younger than Aurore herself) was in dealings with dishonest men that were often caught up in dangerous, even deadly games and bargains.
"Can you pay me up front, Monsieur?" Aurore's timid voice invaded his thoughts like ink bleeding through parchment.
"I didn't bring the money with me," Erik lied. He pitied this unfortunate soul, though he knew he was in no place to be pitying anyone, let alone a beautiful, young girl. He brought only the usual 50 francs, which he knew was not nearly enough to feed, let alone clothe, the family of nine.
The youngest child in the family, he had discovered after following his favorite mistress home one night, was only three years old. The father of all the children had been killed by a carriage before the three-year-old was born; furthermore, the mother had died giving birth to that same infant, leaving the eight younger children in the care of the oldest child, Aurore, broken, spent, and moneyless.
Aurore startled Erik out of his revere as she began speaking again.
"I really need that money, Monsieur...my youngest siblings are near death from starvation and the cold. Please, if you can bring it to me as soon as possible..." she trailed off, not meaning to sound so pleading, or desperate. Then again, she was having sex with a mysterious masked man for money. Oh, god...she was no better than the courtesans at the Moulin Rouge!
"I'll bring you the money by midnight," he promised. Not that the Phantom's promises should be truly trusted. He didn't know why he was making promises to this girl; he barely knew her. Sure, he knew about her, but he didn't know her for a person. Of course, when had he ever really know a person for who they were, except for perhaps Nadir...even Christine, whom he thought he had known, had betrayed him in the end.
"Alright...Merci, Monsieur," she said softly, before standing up to take her leave of the old hotel room.
Erik sighed before leaving the hotel to return to his "home" to retrieve the money. He took the pocket watch from his pocket as he hid in the shadows of a building. It read 11 o'clock. He had an hour. That was plenty of time, especially with all the shortcuts the Opera Ghost knew.
He quickly obtained the money and an envelope to store it in, and began to make his way towards Aurore's tiny, dilapidated home in the slums.
Just as he was about to leave a dark alley for the open, moonlit street, an elaborately decorated carriage rolled by leisurely, the curtains parted so that it was easy to see that laughing, happy young couple inside.
Erik froze as he recognized the bell-like tinkling of her laughter. He caught sight of her creamy skin, flawless face, and large azure eyes that, at the moment, were nearly closed as she laughed her beautiful, musical laugh...
A/N: Hope you like it. If you didn't: deal with it. I'm not big on whiny bitchin about 'This story sucks my dad's friend's third cousin's (twice removed) dogwalker's uncle's balls..' this or 'OMFG I can't believe you were so stupid...' that, but it racks up my review tally, so I'm all for it.
Reviews rock my green and black socks. Flames rock too, I'm a pyro.