I'm going to reply to everyone, because I'm nice! Except of course when I'm not nice, and when I'm evil, but that is another story, which someday I will probably write. However, when I can't think of anything interesting to say to your review, I am going to pick a random phrase to put instead. Have fun figuring out which is which... :)

Estee W: I healed your headache? (looks down at own hands in awe) Awww... oops wrong kind of awe. Wow.

sparklyscorpion: Would you like to be the official Raoul-protector? I can confer those kinds of titles. you know, the kind that doesn't actually mean anything and that you can put on PFN in your signature... "Official Raoul-Protector, as conferred by Random," that sort of thing.

Rue Marie: The consensus seems to be, do not read this in a public place. (shrug)

babymene17: Yess the Raouls...

THELadyRedDeath: One more word: Thanks.

Baffled Seraph: Sure Dario Argento is there, all versions are there, I just can't write them all in cuz I've never even heard of most of them...

NightFallsSoftly: The elephant in the cardigan wants his chewing gum back.

flamingices: You are hereby added to my list of people in the phic. Do you want to be a Gerry phan, Crawford Phan, Kay phan, Leroux phan... say the word. And gimme my muffin.

Dimac99: I'm so pleased people are getting the Mandy inclusions and everything... wow Mandy you must be incredibly popular... as if you didn't know that already, what with your five zillion reviews... (grumble)

LuvinLivnReadn: Another thing, along with not reading this in public— don't read it when you might wake people up. (shrug) Someone ought to make a rule-book...

Velf: They have triplets... BECAUSE. It was a running joke on PFN... Seriously you people should go there. Its becoming vital to understanding anything I write. They encourage me, they squee for me, one of them married me... wonderful place.

Misty Breyer: Snarkiness is a great word. Thank you. You are now a minion. Rejoice in your minion-ness. I'll be posting a list on my bio.

Tango1: The three eyes part cracked me up harder than anything... why? I kept asking. Why why why?

Willow Rose: Yes he did! And I get to hug Erik? Aww... thank you. So where's the update then?

Favourite: Ah, a Raoul-fan. (discreetly checks Favourite off the list of people she's best friends with) No, no, I'm kidding. Even the fop must have fans. I guess. :)

EriksAngel1870: Thank you for cowering... you can get up now. :)

EmailyGirl: I talk in foreign accents without thinking all the time! I think I was meant to have been born in England, and not in Redding, California. There's something so unglamourous about my accent...

The Maiden Amorisa: Don't look down while ascending a ladder, you might trip over the stars and then where would you be?

Songwind: I knew a man once named Fred— he's dead now. I didn't kill him, but I went to his funeral.

YoukoElfMaiden: A minion you are then.

ChristineX: Glad I made you laugh! Your story is awesome...

La Foamy: What I'd really like to see? Gerry Phantom, Crawford Phantom, and Kay Erik doing "Three-Headed Opera Star." (wicked laugh)

Musique et Amour: Dear Erik, you get a CHAPTER DEDICATION for letting me make fun of you. Oh, wait, you didn't know I was going to make fun of you. Then you get a chapter dedication for not suing me. At least I didn't use your last name... :)

Mandy the O: Oh dear, Erik and Genn are on the organ bench again. Shoot and after I just gave them a lecture on modesty! Erik, would you button your trousers please. Thank you. Erik, put Genn down. Erik! Put Genn down now and back away slowly! Erik! No, not the pout! Anything but the pout!

ENTR'ACTE: Men in Tights? TIGHT tights? Matthew Porretta? Swoon.

VegaOfTheLyre: You finally show up in this one... happy?

ElfLover: Your favourite humour phic? Ever? (very cool) That's pretty good... (dancing inside)

Angelus Musici: Evil is stirring in Mordor. Sauron is making a cake.

Christine Persephone: Three eyes! What did I tell ya, three eyes! It's the best bit in the whole chapter!

phantomzgerl: Another minion! Yay! I'm racking them up now... now that I'm famous...

Renee17: I am only four foot seven. You'd think by now my body would have said, Hey, I'm sick of being short my whole life, I'm gonna grow some. But nooooo. Apparently I have to make up for it by having a dry wit, an evil side, a cruel streak, and semi-ambidextrousity— oh, no way is that ever a word.

Killthefop: Oh man do I ever love your name. Oh man are you ever going in here to be the Chief Overseer of Fop Killing (another meaningless title that I can confer.)

A/N: A nice long chapter. Stalker Erik from PFN is gonna like this one... :) For all of you who aren't in this and who don't post on PFN, tell me if its getting to in-jokey to understand and I'll tone it down a little. Maybe I'll do a PFN version and a FF version... nah. Just let me know what I'm doing wrong. In the nicest way possible, of course.


Chapter Five

In case you're just joining us, lets have a quick recap of the situation.

Leroux Erik was enjoying a nice cup of tea and angst in his lair, which was abruptly inundated by several hundred other versions of himself, followed by several hundred versions of Christine, followed by several hundred versions of Phictionalized Christines along with their Writers, followed by several hundred versions of Phictionalized Eriks, followed by the Raouls, both Phictionalized and Real, for, of course, a given value of real.

Got that?

Oh, good.

As the Raouls rushed haphazardly into the lair, half the Eriks froze, wide-eyed, and the other half immediately began to contemplate ways to kill the fops.

A few of these were put into action with commendable rapidity, and it wasn't until ten fops had bit the dust that the Writers were able to bring the carnage to a halt. Most of them didn't try very hard, as a matter of fact.

Two Raouls made their way to the little group of Main Eriks and Christines, fighting their way past the ring of Writers that surrounded them. These two intrepid pony-tailed adventurers were Raoul from the original book, AKA Leroux Raoul, and Raoul from Susan Kay's novel, AKA Kay Raoul. Stage Raoul had, thankfully, apparently perished in those few delightful moments of fop-killing in the last paragraph.

Kay Erik and Kay Raoul glared at each other.

"As I'm four-dimensional," said Kay Erik, "in my infinite four-dimensionalism, I will decide not to kill you at the moment. Hundreds of Phic-Writers will thereafter muse on what was going through my head."

Kay Raoul said, "I've had your child."

There was a general chorus of guffaws from the Eriks and Writers alike, and Slash reared its ugly head for a moment (being quickly kicked in the groin and sat on by alert E/Cers) before Kay Raoul explained, "I mean, Christine had your child— I brought him up as if he were my own."

"Ha!" said Gerry Phantom, now cradling one of his three children. "So its not just me, now, is it?"

"How," inquired Emmy Christine breathlessly, "does one go about breast-feeding?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, though I imagine it has something to do with one's chestal area," answered Gerry Phantom. "Here, have another muffin."

"Can one eat muffins while breast-feeding?"

"One can," said Gerry Phantom, watching her with interest, "if one is reasonably coordinated. Oops," he added as the muffin hit the floor.

"Christine?" said Kay Erik, in an admirably bewildered tone of voice. "Christine had— my child?" He paused. "How?"

"In the usual manner," answered Kay Raoul, who was inclined to take things literally. "We feared for a while that she would have to undergo a caesarian section, as they call it... or do I mean salad?but—"

"No, I mean— how could she possibly have had my child? We never actually— I mean—"

"Ha!" said Gerry Phantom again. "Join the club."

There was a general chorus of agreement from the Eriks in earshot.

"You never did?" said Kay Raoul, looking bemused. "But— at the end of the book, I thought—"

"Oh, did you?" snarled Kay Erik, demonstrating his fully-developed-character-ness.

"Yes! I mean— that is— you spent the night together, did you not?"

"I—" said Kay Erik, and then paused. "Yes, I remember, she did stay by my side. But for God's sake, man, I was dying— what makes you think I had the energy to—"

"I don't know, but all this time I thought—"

"Well, you were wrong!"

"Well, its not my child!"

"Well, it certainly isn't mine!"

They were silent for a while, staring at each other. Then they both yelled, "Christine—"

Gerry Phantom started laughing and couldn't seem to stop. Kay Erik advanced on him, ripped the punjab out of Mandy's hand, and began to choke him. Eventually the laughter stopped.

Leroux Raoul began to do what he did best— snivel.

"You're all so, so, so cruel and insane," he said, sniveling. He said it in French, however, so only Kay Erik and Leroux Erik understood. The French origin of the other Eriks had been, mostly, overlooked— most of them spoke with British accents, except for Gerry Phantom who, as has already been mentioned, spoke with a Scottish one. To give him credit, he was trying to do a British one; he simply wasn't very good at it. The issue of how the film industry went from a French Phantom to a Scottish one isn't nearly as interesting as the issue of how the character went from being a horrifyingly-deformed hell-beast to an extremely good-looking man with a bad sunburn, and so shall be totally ignored.

Now, he looked blankly at Leroux Raoul and said, "What?"

"He wasn't talking to you," said Kay Erik tiredly. "Or rather, he was, but in a non-personal way." He glared at Kay Raoul. "It is quite lucky for you that this young usurper is here. With him to get on my nerves, the likelihood of my finding time to kill you is dramatically decreased."

"And, er," said Kay Raoul nervously, "that's good, is it?"

"Not really," growled Kay Erik.

"I say," said Crawford Phantom, "what happened to our version of Raoul? I didn't really mind the chap— I hope he has not come to harm—"

Wordlessly, Kay Erik pointed to the small pile of bodies that had been Raoul, versions 6, 9, 246, and 301-305.

"Oh dear," said Crawford Phantom irritably. "You're the one responsible for that massacre that went on, then?"

"Not exclusively. Leroux Erik helped some, as well."

Leroux Erik looked wildly about him before allowing a smile to cross his thin lips. Quickly Real Christine grabbed him by the hand and began pulling him towards the bedroom again.

There was, after a while, a rather interesting sub-plot going on in the room behind the rest of the Eriks, but they were focused on their own problems, and apart from knowing grins and a voyeuristic listening, they ignored it.

The Phic Writers, which group had grown bigger in the interval between the last chapter and this one because people keep saying they want to be in this story, surrounding our small band began to pay attention— no, not to the bedroom scene, to the fact that Kay Erik was admitting to killing some Raouls. They had no use for the Vicomte de Chagny except as a villain, monster, truncated plot point, or point-and-laugh purposes. Musique et Amour in particular perked up, as the lone non-fictional man in the lair—

"Are we killing fops, now? I'd like to help. I'd be good at it," he added anxiously, "I've done it a lot in my imagination."

A few of the nearer Writers edged away from him slightly.

"I do a lot of things in my imagination—"

They edged away further.

Crawford Phantom threw his hands up in the air. "Look, Kay Erik, killing stagehands named Buquet is one thing— killing the husband of my beloved Christine is quite another."

"I don't see what you're complaining about," grumbled Kay Erik. "It means that she is free to be with you, as she apparently wishes to be— though for the life of me I cannot imagine why."

"But she had a good life! I think," said Crawford Phantom, somewhat uneasily. He looked at Brightman Christine, who took a deep breath preparatory to making a long-winded speech. It was a bit too deep, as a matter of fact, and she knocked herself out from lack of oxygen before he could ask her exactly how good her life was. She slumped into his arms.

"Christines faint easily, don't they?" remarked EriksAngel1870 to no one in particular.

Crawford Phantom glared at Kay Erik. "Honestly! To think that another version of me would be such a cold-blooded murderer!"

Kay Erik snorted. "To think that another version of me could delude himself into believing that he himself isn't a cold-blooded murderer—"

"Well, perhaps I've mended my ways! With the love of a good woman behind me—"

"MeeeeEEEeeEeEeEeEeEe?" inquired Brightman Christine, waking up.

"Yes, dear, of course you. Who else?"

Brightman Christine scowled and sang something.

"What did she say?" asked a breathless Writer (VegaOfTheLyre, in this case.)

"Well, roughly it translates as 'You were staring quite interestedly at some of those Phan-Girls,' though I can't imagine she meant it," said Crawford Phantom, frowning at Brightman Christine. She sang something else. "My dear, that was uncalled for!"

"What else did she say?" Another Phic Writer— flamingices this time.

"I'd rather not repeat it, as the language was a bit— strong." Crawford Phantom deepened his frown at his recalcitrant Christine. "I wasn't aware that you knew those words, dearest— I presume your fop taught them to you?"

"Ha!" said Kay Erik, and then scowled because Gerry Phantom had already said that twice already. "So it isn't just me who harbors resentment towards the Viscomte, hmm?"

"Yes, I daresay, but I didn't kill him— or any of them, for that matter."

"But you wanted to."

"But I didn't."

"But you wanted to."

"But I didn't."

"Would you, if you got the chance?" Kay Erik held out a punjab towards Crawford Phantom enticingly. Crawford Phantom looked at it, hesitated, and then sighed.

"Doesn't the phrase 'Live and let live' mean anything to you?"

"Yes," said Kay Erik acidly, winding the punjab around his arm again. "It tells me you are a cliche-spewing moron."

This made Crawford Phantom rather mad, and he dropped Brightman Christine onto the ground without ceremony and put up his fists. Kay Erik laughed at him.

"Honestly, my good man, here we are surrounded by fops and you want to fight a phantom! Obviously you are not thinking through the situation in a clear and rational manner."

"Well, I am insane," offered Crawford Phantom with a shrug, keeping his fists up, and delivering an unexpected left hook to Leroux Raoul's face, because he wouldn't stop crying. The Writers clapped and cheered as Leroux Raoul hit the ground.

"I say we organize them all into a mass cock-fight," suggested Musique et Amour cheerfully.

The women surrounding him gave disgusted sighs at his typical male attitude, and then returned to staring speculatively at Gerry Phantom's biceps.

"He lifted Christine easily enough," ventured Mandy the O. "Do you think he could—"

"Should we ask him?" suggested Willow Rose. They exchanged glances.

"Yes!" shouted EmailyGirl, genuinely startling everyone around her.

And so the love-struck Phic Writers ventured forth and accosted Gerry Phantom with the following imposition.

"Give us piggy-back rides!"

Gerry Phantom looked up from his children, all three of whom now nestled in his arms. At the sight of the shining young faces of his Phangirls, a flirty grin appeared on his own countenance, and without ceremony he shoved the babies at Emmy Christine, who took them and began to try to rock them to sleep, despite the fact that she was standing up. She quickly lost her balance and fell over. Babies went flying everywhere.

Meanwhile, Crawford Phantom and Kay Erik were having a bit of a face-off, whilst Musique et Amour was quietly kicking the crap out of Leroux Raoul, who lay still prone on the ground.

"You're not really me," snarled Kay Erik. "I don't believe that any version of me could ever be such a pansy. Deep inside, I regret saying that."

"I regret it too," snarled Crawford Phantom too.

"But you didn't say it."

"Yes, but I heard it."

"Where did Leroux Erik go?"

"Over there." One of the Writers pointed at Leroux Erik, who, having concluded activities in the bedroom, was now in a flush of triumph holding forth in a corner with Real Christine, systematically killing all the Raouls he could get his hands on.

"Whoo-hoo!" said Musique et Amour, then looked slightly embarrassed at the looks that the other Writers turned on him. "What, a guy can't whoo-hoo every once in a while? I play guitar, you know. I'm not bragging— its just a fact."

"You know," said Mandy the O through her teeth, "I don't even know what you're doing here. You're not a Phan-Girl— you're just a stalker."

"Guilty," said Musique, holding up his hands with a disarming smile.

"What would we call you anyway?" asked Adison. "I mean, since phangirl obviously doesn't fit, and phan-boy lends an image of plastic capes and acne. Do you write phan-phiction?"

"Poetry," admitted Musique, with a slight cough.

As if moved by some mysterious gravitational force, the eyebrows on the Phic Writers slid up, except for the Maiden Amorisa's, who couldn't do the one-eyebrow thing and was scrunching up her face with the effort. Musique hid a smile, then decided there was no reason to hide it, and laughed out loud.

"You laughing at me?" said the Maiden Amorisa, annoyed. "You're the one who writes poetry, buster. You're the one who's hanging out with a bunch of girls in the Phantom's lair. You stalker, you— you— phan-man!"

There was a brief period of silence that this kind of comment deserved, and then Musique et Amour said, "As to what I'm doing here— I bribed Random Battlecry."

"What with?" said Mandy suspiciously. "Because if it involves chocolate, you are out of here. I know your stalkerly ways."

"No, reviews actually."

The Writers digested this.

"You really know how to get to a girl," sighed Mandy, going all misty-eyed at Musique's romanticism. Musique gave an elegant bow.

"Who are you, anyway?" asked ElfLover curiously.

"I sign in under Musique et Amour— I'm on PFN as Masque de Nuit— and in real life, I—"

"Quit pausing," snapped Mandy, "its getting on my nerves."

"Really," agreed Bundles 'o Joy, "the suspense is killing me."

"Well— Erik."

They all did the eyebrow thing again, except of course for the Maiden Amorisa, who tried, failed, and said a bad word.

"Your name is— Erik?"

"Yes," said Musique, folding his hands behind his back. He did an admirable attempt at clicking his heels but failed miserably because he wasn't wearing shoes, succeeding only in hurting his feet. A brief wince later, however, he was fully recovered and smiling gently at the Phic Writers, who then began to laugh at him.

"Erik," repeated VegaOfTheLyre. "Your name is Erik."

"Yes."

"Right." Vega gave an undignified snort.

"No, really it is," said Musique, anxious to assure them. "It is— has been, for years— I'm not going to say how many years exactly, but— my name really is Erik."

"Right," said Vega again, and there was a chorus of snerks.

"What— why are you laughing?"

"Why would you expect us to believe your name is Erik?" asked Willow Rose, tearing her gaze away from the back of Gerry Phantom's head. "I mean, isn't that just the sort of thing a stalker with a Phantom fixation would say in order to lure us innocent Phangirls into his web of deception?"

"But—" said Musique, then finally got it and got a bit irritated. "I swear to you, it really is. Why would I make something up like that?"

"Who knows?" said phantomzgerl, spreading her arms. "You write poetry. There could be any number of reasons."

"Poetry!" chortled Sarah Crawford.

Eventually the guffaws faded out, but there was definitely a bit of tension between Musique and the other Writers.

"Well, what do you suggest you call me, then?" he finally snapped.

"Oh, no, we'll call you Erik— 'Erik,'" said Mandy the O.

"Oh, yeah, no problem— 'Erik.'"

"Would you kindly stop putting quotation marks around my name? Its bloody annoying!"

"Whatever— 'Erik.'"

"And don't think I can't hear you doing it!"

It was at this point that they realized about half the Raouls had been killed while they were fighting over this. With an obscure Moose-Lodge curse Musique et Amour abandoned his fellow Writers and rushed to assist— not, as they had thought, to protect the Raouls, but to get as many of his bloodthirsty urges out as he possibly could.

As he explained later, panting and with a worn punjab over his shoulder, it was the only sane thing to do.