It Was An Accident, Really It Was!

A/N: Bored, hyper and sugar high! YAY! And seeing as I'm such a klutz, I felt that I needed a klutzy companion! Voila, this fic! Based on the 2004 movie. Be warned: Erik is not how you remember him. At all…

It was an accident, I swear. All of it was.

It all began the day when the new managers of the Opera Populaire came calling at the door of, well, their Opera house. They brought along a charming, gallant and good-looking patron that made me sick to my stomach. Raoul, his name was. But that's not what I heard.

I've been half deaf since my good aunty Caroline threw a brick at my head after I sat on her crystal vase at age four (long story). When the new managers were introducing the patron, they said his name to the waiting crowd, as one normally does when introducing someone. "This is our patron, Raoul le Vicomte de Chagny."

But my half deaf ears heard, "This is our patron, Rolly the Hiccup de Champy."

Naturally, this did not make much sense to me.

"Rolly?" I asked aloud, forgetting that I was up in the rafters of the Opera House. You see, I had gone up about two hours earlier, on a mission I'd been planning for weeks. I had made up a beautiful banner thanking the retiring manager, M. Lefervre, for all of his great work at the Opera Populaire, and wishing him a good retirement. I was thinking that if I was quick and crafty enough, I could string it on to one of the ropes that held the props, and I could bribe Joseph Buquet to release it during the gala that night. But then I heard about Mr. Rolly the Hiccup, and dropped the rope in my hand to listen to the conversation below me.

Anyway, back to the present.

"Rolly?" I asked aloud to no one in particular. I said it quietly, or at least I thought I did, but that ridiculous Giry girl heard me and started up some squawk or other about this Phantom she'd made up in her sad little mind. The girl next to her, by the name of Chrissy Day or something, listened intently until Mr. Hiccup happened to glance her way. Then she proceeded to go on and on about him to the point of swooning.

So I was standing in the dusty old rafters, watching the Opera go about its rehearsals for Hannibal, when that peacock of a woman Carlotta started rampaging again. Her accent makes her words extremely difficult to decipher, especially to a person of my hearing capability.

She was talking so fast I couldn't catch even a word of what she was saying, and before I knew it she was singing. My goodness that woman can blow. I was holding the rope, determined to get back to business, when I heard her hit an extremely bad note. I winced, and through my slick black gloves the rope began to slide. I tried to catch it, really! But it just kept sliding and before I knew it, down came the poster, right onto that unfortunate Carlotta's head.

Damn.

With a guilty look on my face, I swirled my cape and turned to go. As I was running back to my lair, cursing my clumsiness, I heard that Giry child starting up on that Phantom business again.

Young people these days. What on earth goes through their heads?

So then there was that gala. I had primped my wig and shined my shoes, all ready to go, when I surfaced to the performance hall and realized that there were no empty seats. I didn't want to be rude and ask someone to leave, of course, so I decided to go back down to my lair, make up some nice tea, and just listen to the gala above me. I hadn't been able to string up my banner after the whole falling poster incident, so I just made M. Lefervre a nice card and some homemade truffles which, if I do say so myself, were quite delicious.

I sat on my little swan bed and listened to the gala, remarking to myself about how good that little Chrissy girl was. When it was over, I decided that since I was quite lonely and had some extra truffles left over, I would pay Miss Day a visit and congratulate her on her extraordinary achievement. I gathered the truffles and I even found a pretty red rose to give her, although one of the little thorns caught onto my cape and tore off a long strip of shiny black fabric. I tried to remove the fabric, but the thorns hurt even through my gloves, so I just tied it in a bow and hoped that Miss Day would think I put it there purposely. I wonder even today if that part of my plan worked.

So I started up the stairs to make my way to Miss Day's dressing room when I encountered that horrid Mag (is it Mag? Perhaps they call her Maggie. I myself would much prefer Maggie to Mag, but who am I to comment, for my name is Erik and not Mag or Maggie. I confuse myself) Giry near the top of the fourth flight. She pointed and screamed and made a great deal of fuss, even though I greeted her quite politely and asked how her evening was. She shrieked on and on about encountering this Phantom person whom she was quite obsessed with, and soon I heard the footsteps clattering down the steps to see what the matter was. I figured that with all of the people making their way down the steps, the traffic would be very tight, so I just stuffed a truffle in Maggie's mouth and hurried back to my lair to find another way to Miss Day's dressing room.