The Phantom of the Opera versus the Scarlet Pimpernel!

Erik vs. Chauvelin!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera or the Scarlet Pimpernel. Or Oklahoma (the musical, not the state, although I do not own that either). So NYEH.

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Oh, what a beautiful mooooooorning! Oh, what a beautiful daaaaaaay! I got a beautiful feeeeeeeeling everything's going my way!

Sorry, random lapse in judgment. Won't happen again.

...maybe.

Aaaaaanyway, it was a bright sunny morning, and all was well at a certain television studio.

Okay, who am I kidding? It was chaos. It's ALWAYS chaos. But that's why we love it so.

TnF was storming around the studio, looking for someone to destroy, because she was enraged. Nothing stressful had happened recently, so no one knew exactly what she was enrage over. Possibly, she was enraged over having nothing to be enraged over.

It was not a good situation for the interns.

One particular nervous intern had huddled into a corner, rocking himself back and forth while remaining in the fetal position. The other interns almost felt bad for him, knowing full well that if TnF spotted him, he would automatically become her one and only focus. But, on the other hand, this meant that the other interns got off easy. So nobody gave him any warning.

Just as TnF was finished shredding her third throw pillow using only her teeth, a voice came on the station's loudspeaker. "Showtime, folks! In ten, nine, eight..."

And with that TnF was off to begin her duties as MC, and the intern was safe for yet another day. Or, at least, until someone forgot to refill TnF's coffee. It was only a matter of time.

TnF ran onstage as a rather disappointed audience looked on. The audience members had been quite frustrated that 1) the Reign of Terror had finished two hundred years ago, 2) there were no more French people having their heads chopped off publicly, and 3) it was impossible to take the Metro bus all the way to Paris.

So they sat there, glumly, hoping that today's episode would pull them out of their sadness. Until then, they ate ice cream by the gallon.

TnF smiled warmly at the cameras, hoping that she would appear friendly to the viewers. The viewers, meanwhile, though she seemed reminiscent of a wolf stalking prey.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to another episode of Musical Matchup: The Phantom of the Opera versus the Scarlet Pimpernel! Today's round is: Erik versus Chauvelin!"

And with that, the two villains came onstage to be greeted by half-hearted applause from the still-depressed audience. To try and induce enthusiasm, Erik began twirling his lasso above his head. However, in the process, he hit one of the poor cameramen across the face, thus knocking him unconscious. No one would notice his unconscious self until five hours later, when, for unknown reasons, he was robbed of all his possessions and stripped naked.

After the initial applause, the two villains sat down and TnF began to speak again. "Now, before we begin, allow me to introduce our two guest judges!" She turned to Chauvelin and Erik. "I believe you two will recognize these familiar faces from your past. I hope you'll be happy to see them, because they're dying to see you..."

The doors to the stage opened, and the two villains paled visibly upon seeing that their two guest judges were none other than Joseph Buquet and the Marquis St. Cyr (who was carrying his head around, as it had parted from his neck some years back).

As the two guest judges sat down, TnF smiled sweetly. "Now, Erik, I'm absolutely POSITIVE that you remember Mr. Buquet from the Opera Populaire?"

Erik nodded slightly, then began twirling the Punjab lasso aimlessly in order to deter TnF from asking any more questions. Sadly, she did not take the hint.

"Well, from what I've heard, you two are quite good friends, isn't that right, Mr. Buquet?"

"Ab-so-LUTE-ly." Buquet had somewhat of a sadistic look on his face, but Erik continued to ignore it.

"Yes, I'd heard there was a bit of an incident between you two involving a certain piece of catgut shaped like a noose, but why should juvenile antics split up two good friends like you?"

No one answered.

"A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-anyway, let's move onto Mr. Chauvelin and the Marquis St. Cyr over here. Now, wasn't there a little incident between you two as well?"

Chauvelin, getting more and more annoyed by TnF, replied grimly: "He was a political prisoner AND a fugitive AND a member of the aristocracy. So I had his head chopped off."

St. Cyr looked slightly miffed. "AND those of my entire family."

"Well, don't mess with the French Regime! Maxilimilian Robespierre is not one to be trifled with!"

"Didn't HE have his head chopped off some two hundred years ago?"

"Oh, do SHUT UP."

TnF decided to intervene before this got out of hand. "A-a-a-a-a-and it's time for Round One! Why doesn't everyone go get ready while I explain what's going on to the audience?"
As they did so, she turned to the audience, smiling.

"This first round will be a test of both contenders' musical prowess AND their seductive abilities."

The women in the audience were suddenly intrigued.

"Each of them will sing a seductive song, and the better of the two wins. For the sake of clarity, Erik will be accompanied by Christine during his song, while Chauvelin will be accompanied by Marguerite during his song. Is everyone ready?"

When she was sure that, indeed, everything was ready, she announced: "And first up, with his rendition of "Where's the Girl?" is Monsieur Chauvelin!"

The curtains parted to reveal Chauvelin and Marguerite in a sort of one-sided embrace. A single spotlight illuminated them, and would follow them as they dances, ballroom style with a sensual twist, throughout the song.

"I remember days full of restlessness and fury.
I remember nights that were drunk on dreams.
I remember someone who hungered for the glory.
I remember her, but it seems . . . she's gone . . .

Where's the girl?
Where's the girl with the blaze in her eyes?
Where's the girl with that gaze of surprise?
Now and then I still dream she's beside me . . .

Where's the girl?
Who could turn on the edge of a knife?
Where's the girl who was burning for life?
I can still feel her breathing beside me..."

Throughout the song, you could tell the Chauvelin was getting horny for Marguerite. You could also tell that the females in the audience were getting horny for Chauvelin, although, anatomically, it was less obvious.

"And I know
she remembers how fearless it feels
to take off with the wind at her heels—
She and I took this world like a storm!

Come again!
Let the girl in your heart tumble free.
Bring your renegade heart home to me..."

This was the part where Chauvelin pulled out the big guns, the two lines that no female who has ever seen the Scarlet Pimpernel has ever forgotten for a single fleeting second:

In the dark of them morning
I'll warm you, I'll rouse you. . ."

It was then that the women in the audience discarded their Chauvelin effigies (from all the way back in Chapter 1) and suddenly began paying rapturous attention to everything that came from that man's mouth.

The men noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

At this point, Chauvelin's dancing with Marguerite onstage had become a frantic tango of sorts, though they both managed to keep in step quite nicely. Those members of the audience who were both observant and intelligent were able to figure out that the dancing was a symbolic representation of their erotic desires taking a physical manifestation that was not, technically, erotic.

BA-AH-AA-A! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Who am I kidding? This was an audience to a CRAPPY DAYTIME TV SHOW! These people had the IQ of a SOAP DISH! Bahahahahahaha! XD XD XD XD XD

(ahem) Sorry, lost control for a second there. Won't happen again.

Maybe...

A-a-a-a-a-anyway...on with the song.

"Marguerite,
don't forget I know who you are.
We were cut from the same surly star,
like two jewels in the sky, sharing fire.

Where's the girl,
so alive and still aching for more?
We had dreams that were worth dying for.
We were caught in the eye of a storm!

Come again!
Let the girl in your heart tumble free.
Bring your renegade heart home to me."

Here it comes again, folks...

"In the dark of the morning,
I'll warm you, I'll rouse you . . ."

And thus the women of the audience swooned. So did Marguerite, but that was only because she needed to for the purposes of the song.

When Chauvelin finished the song, he and Marguerite left the stage just as Erik and Christine were entering. Chauvelin hissed at Erik: "Beat THAT."

"Amateur." Erik hissed back.

Christine and Erik took their places and the curtains rose to reveal the setup for Erik's lair, and the background music for 'Music of the Night' began to play.

(A/N: The version of 'Music of the Night' that is shown here is the one found on the Phantom of the Opera's Highlights CD, not the regular cast recording, because I like this version better.)

"Nighttime sharpens
Heightens each sensation
Darkness wakes and stirs imagination
Silently the senses abandon their defenses
Helpless to resist the notes I write

For I compose the music of the night..."

Several audience members swooned. Mostly females.

"Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor
Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender
Hearing is believing
Music is deceiving
Hard as lightning
Soft as candlelight
Dare you trust the music of night?"

Close your eyes, for your eyes will only tell the truth
And the truth isn't what you want to see
In the dark it is easy to pretend
That the truth is what it ought to be"

Somewhere, Gerard Butler was watching this on TV and saying, "Oh, THAT'S how people sing."

"Softly, deftly, music shall caress you
Hear it, feel it
Secretly possess you
Open up your mind
Let your fantasies unwind
In this darkness which you know you cannot fight
The darkness of the music of the night"

Erik continued on like this with Christine, eventually reaching the point where the mannequin reaches out to Christine, causing her to faint. Sadly, this did not work as well as it was supposed to. The mannequin, having grown tired of only being onstage twice, and having absolutely no speaking parts, decided to attack Christine in the hopes that she would become a major character. Christine, having about as much muscle as a piece of string, was overcome by the mannequin's wiry strength. Erik, trying to save her, roped the Punjab lasso around the mannequin's neck. Sadly, the mannequin was not technically ALIVE, and this did nothing.

After a full half-hour, some bouncers, a few black-and-blue marks, and a dismembered mannequin later, all was well. TnF, sweaty and out-of-breath from the tussle, resumed hosting duties. "Well! Let's see what our judges have to say about this round of the competition! Buquet?"

Buquet, pretending that he wasn't completely prejudiced against Erik, folded his hands calmly and took a deep breath. The audience wondered why exactly he had a noose around his neck all the time. It wasn't a flattering accessory.

"Well, I'd have to say, it wasn't exactly Erik's best performance, even ignoring the mannequin incident. And Chauvelin was quite charming during his song."

St. Cyr's head, sitting in St. Cyr's lap, objected. "Actually, I believe Chauvelin's song was rather unoriginal, relying on sex appeal, while Erik had more of a hallucinatory, soothing quality."

"That's not true. They both relied on sex appeal, but Chauvelin did better at getting the audience to pay attention to him."

"I disagree. Erik produced a haunting quality that caught the audience's attention better than Chauvelin..."

"That's incorrect..."

And so on and so forth. The audience, TnF, Chauvelin, and Erik all fell asleep, listening to the two ghosts/corpses/zombies/whatever-they-are drone on and on. After about three hours, the two of them lost their voices, and thus had to resort to a fist-fight, which did work very well, since they were both dead and could feel no pain. However, it did manage to rouse TnF from her slumber.

Twenty minutes later, the two dead people had been separated, bound, and gagged, and TnF had woken everyone else up. After a few minutes of eye-rubbing, yawning, and promises of 'five more minutes', the audience sat in their seats, grumbling about the wonderful dreams they'd been having.

TnF, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary, continued with the judging for the two villains. "Well, it's very difficult to decide between two very convincing villains, singing two very good songs. So I'm going to have to judge this round not on merit, but on how well the song worked within the context of the musical."

The audience simultaneously scratched their heads.

"You see, when Chauvelin sings 'Where's the Girl' in the Scarlet Pimpernel, Marguerite kicks him out of her house and tells him to never come back. But when Erik sings 'Music of the Night', not only does Christine seem to fall for him, but she ends up spending the night. Okay, granted, it was because she fainted when the mannequin grabbed at her, but she stayed nonetheless. So I think Erik wins this one for pure effectiveness."

The audience remained confused. They decided to fall asleep again, and their snoring would overwhelm any other dialogue for the next several minutes.

"Alrighty then! Time for Round Two! In this round, we will judge the effectiveness of these villains at what they do best: killing people for no reason at all, yet getting people to love them anyway! The topic is: weapon of choice, and weapon of choice's key weakness. Chauvelin?"

"Well, my weapon of choice would have to be the guillotine, since, you know, I did work during the Reign of Terror."

"Uh-huh. And what's its chief weakness?"

"Wax figurine heads."

"Come again?"

"Wax figurine heads."

"...are you making this up?"

"CAN WE PLEASE MOVE ON?"

"Alrighty then! Erik, what's your weapon of choice?"

"The Punjab lasso, of course, as Monsieur Buquet knows well."

"And its chief weakness?"

"People holding their hands at the level of their eyes."

"Come again?"

"Just move on to the judging already."

"Alrighty then! Since I am the only judge that is not 'tied up' at the moment, I get to make the final decision. Whee!" TnF proceeded to do a small dance, thus confusing and horrifying those in the studio who were still awake.

After about fifteen minutes she stopped, since she was getting a little winded. Pretending that nothing unusual had just happened, she sat down in her judge's chair and smiled sweetly.

"Well, I have to say, this was an easy judging. See, the thing is, as long as they're informed, ANYBODY can hold their hands at the level of their eyes, thus stopping the lasso in its tracks. But, you know, mannequin heads are a little more difficult, and not everyone's a close friend of Madame Tussaud. So I'd have to say the Monsieur Chauvelin's got the more potent weapon of choice, so he wins this round."

Chauvelin began making whooping noises, which made everyone else feel very uncomfortable.

As soon as he had finished, TnF quickly resumed her hosting duties. "So! Now it's time for Round Three, which, for our two contestants, can only mean one thing: hand-to-hand combat!"

Chauvelin quickly turned pale. "W-w-wait...what!"

"Hand-to-hand combat. Y'know, fighting."

"B-but I don't FIGHT: I have HENCHMEN. You can't honestly expect me to-..."

He was cut off by Erik's Punjab lasso, causing him to sputter a little, and quickly pass out. TnF cheerly concluded, "Erik wins this third round, then! Next week: The battle of the big-production numbers! Toodle-oo!"