Disclaimer: I hope this isn't mine.
A/N: Wow. The reviewer responses have been overwhelming, to say the least. I'm touched and honoured, as this is my first real humour attempt. Trust that I have other funny stuff up my sleeves too, and by stuff, I mean I have a wicked cool idea to screw with King Lear. Mostly based on discussions with Nicki and Caylla during English Lit class. Anyhow, the responses, along with various contributing ideas from my friends who read this site, have spurred me to write a chapter 3! You lucky, lucky people!
Note to Lavendar: Honey, there is no easy way to say this…but…the songs? They don't go away. EVER. You might think they will, but they won't. Trust me on this one. I was in the show 2 YEARS ago, and to this very day, all I have to do is hum a couple of bars for "42nd Street" or "Lullaby of Broadway" and half of my acting class bursts into the chorus, with at least 3-4 dancers performing the choreography. This lasts about 15-20 seconds, but is scary nonetheless that we can all remember this. (btw I was Andy Lee. Well, Andrea Lee. My character was a man, but I was a chick…so yeah. It was muchos awkwardos.) Anyway, the songs. Oh the songs. What they do is slip into the stream of your subconscious, then lie in wait until your present yourself in a vulnerable moment of Broadway nostalgia, then they leap from the corners of your mind from whence they'd been banished and rape your ears.
Rose awoke slowly, stretching lazily like a cat. She snuggled cozily into the thick, silky covers, and only then did she glance over and see Erik lying asleep beside her. She sat bolt upright, clutching the sexy duvet to her chest, her blonde hair spilling like pale gold over the silk of the sheets, curling endlessly, it seemed, shimmering in the light thrown by the low-burning candles. Rose knew it must be morning, but the lack of natural light was dampening her efforts to appear ethereal and radiant. Stifling a disgruntled sigh, (Mary-Sues do not get disgruntled. They get disappointed. And even then, not for long.) Rose got up, fashioning a sexy toga out of the sheet she still clutched to herself, covering her naked body in a last-ditch attempt to maintain her chaste appearance.
Readers: So she and Erik…
Author: Uh-huh.
Readers: But that's so…
Author: Yeah it is.
Readers: But we never…Author: I don't care. Shut up and watch.
After tripping over the monkey musical box and ripping the sheet as it caught on the edge of the organ's keyboard, Rose dropped the sheet, repressing the urge to swear or break something. (A Mary-Sue always keeps her cool unless she is being kidnapped or raped or something else traumatic.) Taking a random sword she found lying around the lair, she began to poke at the wall and ceiling of the lair.
Readers: A random sword?
Author: Its Erik. Knowing him, he must have SOME kind of pokey weaponry lying around.
As Rose worked at her task, she finally cut away the wall to reveal a boarded up window. (Because Mary-Sues always know what they're doing and how to go about doing it.) Reaching up, she wrenched away the boards, opening the low-lying window. Sunshine and fresh air streamed in, and the sound of birds…
Readers: Erik's lair is in a cellar.
Author: I SAID the window was low lying!
Readers: Guh. +give up+
Author: As I was saying…The sound of birds singing sweetly entered the dark sexiness of the lair. Rose quickly retrieved her sheet and pulled a small chaise longe over to where the sun fell in a single, wide beam. She arranged herself upon the chaise, tucking in the sheet to cover up her naughty bits. Flinging her hair back, she closed her eyes, pulled her shoulders back, thrust her boobs as high as they would go, and adopted a seductive pose upon the reclining chair.
The first thing Erik saw upon waking was the love of his life basking in a ray of sunshine. As he stirred and sat up, rubbing his eyes, Rose blinked, opening her eyes, and looked over as if she was surprised he was awake.
"Hello," she said, shyly, summoning a little blush. She moved slightly, and the sheet fell back to reveal her legs…again.
"H-hello…" stammered Erik, the masterful man of mystery disappearing as he beheld the most beautiful woman alive.
"So," she purred innocently, standing and slowly swishing over to where he lay, sitting on the bed next to him. "I suppose this means we're forever entwined."
"Excuse me?"
"Our souls. We gave each other all we had last night. And it was amazing. We're bonded for eternity."
"Terrific."
"I mean, it was astounding! It's a given that you were a virgin, and yet you know exactly how to make the most perfect love EVER. And me, well, I'm a Mary-S—I mean I'm perfect, so naturally anything I do would be perfect. And even though I was perfectly chaste and all that, it didn't hurt one bit the first time because you and I are both THAT good and our love erases all pain and then we made sweet, sweet love all night long and it was amazing and lasted until dawn. Or at least I think it was until dawn. What time is it?"
Erik, whose head was reeling a little from Rose's chattiness, glanced around, nothing for the first time the open window. Of course he'd seen the sun shining on Rose's silky tresses and golden skin, but the source had been secondary to the effect. Now he drew back a little.
"When the hell did I get a window? Isn't this the cellar?"
Readers: EXACTLY!
Author: Just wait…
Rose giggled and ran a hand playfully over Erik's bare chestedness.
"Well, see, I thought, that maybe your lair all the way underground was a teensy little bit too far to go every time we want to sex things up and the author's mildly claustrophobic, so…while you were sleeping we moved your lair up a few floors."
"How far is 'a few floors?'"
"Um…something like we'reontheroofnowokayIgottagotoOperapracticebye!" Rose was gone before Erik could manage a stunned little gasp. Then, remembering how much he loved Rose and how he'd finally gotten some lovin', he lay back on the pillows, smirking.
"de Chagny will never think to look for us here!" Rising, he went to go get some pants on…
Readers: And legions of Phangirls despair!
Author: No worries, I have, like, a thousand different ways to get him out of his pants in the future.
Phangirls: HOORAY!Once Erik was dressed, he sat at his organ, thinking. Then, in a flash of divine inspiration, it came to him. He hadn't written anything since Christine's leaving, and he'd burned everything else to obliterate all memories of her and the time before. Thus he began afresh as he listened to his muse, Rose, singing her heart out on the grand stage at the Opera. Dipping his quill in some ink…
Readers: A-hem. Talk about your bad euphemisms.
Author: …or maybe he's actually going to write something down?
Readers: Oh.
Author: And you guys give ME a hard time for having a dirty mind…geez.
Erik began to write, the words and music flowing from him almost faster than he could compose them on paper. Erik is SO GOOD at what he does that he finished the entire opera score in the next couple of hours, entitling it "Beauty and the Beast," drawing a small rose at one corner of the title page.
Readers: Oh geez…you thought it couldn't get any worse…and more cliched…
Author: AND THEN IT DOES+laughs with evil maniacal glee+ Guess who he wants to star? Besides Rose? And himself? NO ONE!The forgettable manager of the Opera received the opera score on his desk later that afternoon. After reading it over, he took it out to the stage.
"I have just received," he said, "a score for an opera with the strange and unusual title of Beatty and the Beast."
"What, like Warren Beatty?" asked Meg Giry.
"Uh, oh, no…" he put his glasses on his nose and read it again. "Ah, excuse me, BEAUTY and the Beast. I received this score along with an insistent note that Mademoiselle de l'Angelle play the lead, Beauty. Of course, I don't see how we could pick anyone else to play Beauty, seeing as all of you, including myself, are comparably hideous."
"Why do I get the nagging feeling this has happened before and I should pay attention to all mysterious happenings?" said Raoul, half to himself. Rose batted her eyes at him, innocently alluring him now that she knew the gloriousness of the sexing up. Why burn her bridges? She hiked up her skirt a little and waggled her ankle in Raoul's direction. Raoul began to pant. Rose pulled the neckline of her dress as far down as it would go and began to randomly drizzle honey all over her lips, neck, and rack.
Readers: Where'd she get the honey? And why is she doing that?
Author: If she's being sexy and alluring and needs any props whatsoever, those props shall instantly appear for use at her discretion. Now hush.
Raoul took a step in her direction, only to slip in the puddle of his own drool. He clambered back up and ran over to Rose, catching her in his arms. He licked the honey off her skin and began humping her right on stage.
"Awwwwwww," chorused the chorus, smiling at the cute little PDA between their diva and their patron. Little Meg Giry burst into tears and ran from the stage, going to throw herself off a bridge into the River Seine because life was just so friggin' unfair and that Rose got everything.
And although Meg's death was tragic, let us remind ourselves that this story is about ROSE, first and foremost, and ERIK after that, and Meg's death is just an espresso-shot of angst to give the story the darker kick it needs. This can't all be sweetness and light, people. We need death.
Author: But I can't kill Rose. It's harder than it looks. Plus she's, like, immortal, or something.
Rose immediately began rehearsals for the show, and for the sake of collapsing a week into a sentence or two, we'll say that we zipped ahead to the opening night of the Opera a week or so later.
Readers: Didn't she learn the other Opera in a day?
Author: Yeah, but since when is consistency a goal of mine? Besides, I need some time to pass.
Readers: Can't you just describe Rose's mundane activities for the next few days?
Author: Oh my dears, I haven't the strength. And Rose, you should know by now, never does anything mundane. She's always exquisite.
As Rose prepared to go out on stage on opening night, she felt cool, poised, and ready in her glorious costume made of bright blue silk with gold tassle-y trim. As she whirled out on stage and began her first aria, she noticed that the man in the Beast mask looked familiar. As he lifted her in his arms to begin their passionate dance of passion, she realized that it was none other than Erik who held her.
Readers: This never happened in the movie Beauty and the Beast. There dance was chaste as the Mother Abbess in the Sound of Music if nothing else.
Author: Cartoons ain't got nothin' on opera.
Walt Disney: GAH+spins in his grave+Rose gasped, although she had no reason to be surprised, really. Erik had been the one running through her lines with her without having to once look at the script. She'd been sexed up by him countless times in the past 24 hours alone. But…he was afraid of crowds…!
"I'm making a point," he whispered as they danced, as though he could read her mind. "I did it all for you…all to seduce you…"
"Uh. Been there. Done that," hissed Rose, a little nonplused.
"A-hem. Right. Well then to make your other lover there jealous."
"Who?" Rose looked into the audience. "No! Not Raoul! He's just a fuck buddy!"
"Hey! I'M your squeeze toy! And if that isn't good enough for you, I can just blow up the Opera house and take half of Paris down with me!"
"Um…no…no I wouldn't do that," said Rose.
Readers: How they are managing to conduct this conversation in a clandestine manner while dancing and singing on stage is amazing.
Author: I just love artistic license.
"Then what?" asked Erik, tilting the Sexiest Left Eyebrow In Movie History.
Quick, thought Rose. A distraction.
"I'm pregnant!" She whispered.
"Huh-buh-wha?" said Erik, collapsing in a swoon.
Author: OMG READ THE CONCLUDING CHAPTER OR DIE!
