Twisted, Every Sue

By Deep Roller

A/N: OMG CHAPTER TWO! OH NOES! Yeah, I don't know why I wrote this either. Trying to make sense out of it will only hurt worse.

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Not even me.

Chapter Two: The Fanon of the Opera

Everything was settling down quite nicely in Erik's house upon the lake. Christine was in her room eating her pudding contentedly and Erik himself was tidying up the mess that the strange invaders had left behind. Candles, paper, cloth, it was all strewn everywhere. Really, the unwelcome houseguests had been terribly untidy. Erik had just re-shelved the last of his books when he heard splashing and yelling in the lake.

Immediately on guard after such a traumatizing experience, he strode out to see who was causing all the commotion. Christine had heard it too, and she reluctantly put down her bowl of pudding and made her way to the lakeshore as well. The sight that met her eyes caused her to scream. Raoul was staggering through the shallows of the lake, his clothing in tatters and his face and body a mass of bloody scratches and bruises.

"Raoul!" Christine ran to him and began trying to help him out of the lake, heedless of the fact that whether or not Raoul was wearing any clothes at all was rather debatable.

"My God, boy," Erik remarked tersely as he pulled Raoul from the murky shallows with one tug, Christine tagging along as she hung onto his arm. The young man tumbled to the shore, and Christine, still attached, tumbled with him as she emitted a startled 'eep' of surprise. "You should know better than to attempt to enter this domain by the lake. There are things in there that-"

"Not…not the lake," Raoul gasped, propping himself up on his elbows as he tried to focus on anything. It was rather hard with two black eyes, and the fat lip and swelling nose didn't really help his appearance either. "Not the lake."

"What was it, then?" Christine looked anxiously and tenderly at Raoul, a look that made Erik glare at the vicomte in utter jealousy.

"A pack of…of girls! They all but burst down the door and they were on me…like rabid wolves! Some of them were yelling for my blood, and some of them were yelling for my body," Christine blushed modestly at this, earning another jealous glare from Erik, "and they were all over me! There were too many of them! They tore my clothes and pummeled me and I just barely escaped." He was panting, wild-eyed as a hunted deer, and bleeding.

"What a tale," Erik remarked coldly, advancing on the pair, "however did you escape?"

"Well, two of them began fighting over who would get to possess my-" Raoul shot a nervous look at Christine, and an even more nervous look at Erik, "shoes," he finished wisely, "when I saw an opening. I bolted, and had to jump out the window to avoid them. I landed in a tree, thank goodness, but climbing down I nearly tore my…shoes. "
"But you're barefoot!" Christine protested, pointing to his very bare feet. Raoul ignored this and continued.

"After that it's a blur, but I managed to get here, though they were climbing right out the windows after me and hot on my trail."

"He's led them right to us!" Christine exclaimed tactlessly, suddenly glaring at Raoul and giving him a sharp rap on the head. "Raoul, how could you?"

"I…you know about this?" Raoul asked, rubbing his poor, assaulted head. Erik nodded solemnly. Christine just glared at Raoul, in that pouting sort of way she could get sometimes.

"They tied me up and stuck me in my closet, sir. Of courseI know about this." Suddenly, the somehow sinister sound of girlish giggling echoed down the cold winding passageways. All three of them froze for a moment as footsteps drew nearer. Erik suddenly recalled something, and he beckoned to Christine.

"Come," he whispered. Rising to her feet, Christine followed Erik, glancing back at Raoul. She swung her gaze back to Erik, infusing her most piteous look as she gestured to the battered and bleeding vicomte still on the sand. "Oh, all right, but be quick!" Erik muttered, knowing he could never refuse Christine anything. The three of them slipped silently back into the house, and Erik led them to a small closet. He opened the door and gestured grandly to Christine to go first. She hung back, biting her lip and shaking her head. Sighing, Erik went first, Christine following him. Raoul, who was very wistfully looking at the bureau that was no doubt full of clean, dry clothes that covered one's chest, went last.

"And again, I am in a closet. But look at all this closet space!" Christine remarked, tracing her hand along the smooth brickwork of the wall. "Erik, you're needlessly clever."

"I think it's a secret passageway…" Raoul remarked, his voice distorted by his swelling top lip.

"Even better!" Christine clapped, the sound crisp in the quiet. Erik glared for what was possibly the thousandth time that day, and she immediately fell silent, leaning against Raoul in her timidity. This caused yet another glare before Erik turned a crank by his side of the wall. A thin scrim-like sheet descended before them, and Christine exchanged a puzzled look with Raoul. But both knew better to talk when Erik was throwing his glares left and right. Then the sounds of giggling and chattering, sounds Erik had come to dread, filled the house. Soft thuds were heard as candles were knocked over and music was ruffled. The pipe organ clanked and groaned as though being tortured, inexpert fingers plunking the keys in interrogation.

"He can't have gone far!"

"Let's just go. That pudding thing was beyond creepy."

"Yeah, I have the Vicomte's pants, that's enough." Raoul twitched at this, and even Erik looked at him with some sympathy.

The closet door swung open, and a thin-faced redhead peered about, joined by the rosy face of a curly black haired girl, and the color-changing gaze of a young woman with silver hair. They whispered to one another and cast about in the closet for any sign of life. Erik put a bony finger to his lips, and mouthed 'They can't see us', which proved to be true as the three girls soon gave up and closed the door again. Erik sagged against the wall in relief, his thin frame weary from all of this confusion.

"I've got a cape!"

"I have the Don Juan manuscript!" Erik groaned at this, and at the thought of cleaning his entire house again.

"I have the Japanese bronze!"

"I have pudding!"

The voices were beginning to fade away as Erik turned to head further down the passageway. Christine caught hold of his sleeve, as it was pitch black, and Raoul caught hold of hers. They made a seemingly endless trek through the darkness and cobwebs until the corridor began to seem awfully familiar to Christine. "You have a passageway from your closet to my dressing room." It wasn't a question, but was infused with something like amusement. This statement caused Raoul to glare at Erik, though Raoul's fetchingly handsome glare was no match for the death's head regard of the Opera Ghost himself, as Erik proved by glaring back. Christine, who had no one to glare at, settled for glaring at the wall.

After first making sure the coast was clear, Erik turned the mirror and all three tumbled out into Christine's small dressing room. They all stood about awkwardly for several minutes before Erik held a finger to his lips, his head tilted as he listened. "I hear someone coming. Quick, into the closet!"

"Not again!" Christine wailed, reluctantly following the men into her tiny closet. It was awfully cramped in there, and they packed in shoulder to shoulder. Christine murmured apologetically "I don't get much room here," adding a small shrug which caused everyone to groan with the squeezing and cutting off of air supply it caused.

"Everyone stop moving, please," Raoul said in a tight, strange voice, "I think my ribs were already crushed before this…"

"And I was in here all day," Christine added as if anyone had forgotten.

"Shhhh…." Erik silenced them, listening. Two people, coming straight into the dressing room. But who could they be?

"You were fabulous tonight, Christine. All of Paris knows so," came a male voice that was somehow whiny and simpering.

"Oh, Raoul," sighed a female voice that was at once airy and lacking intelligence. Christine's eyes went wide, and she struggled to peer through the keyhole to see what was going on. This caused more squeezing, and everyone tried not to groan.

"I mean it, Christine," the man said as the owners of the voices entered the room. "Now, it is time for me to celebrate with you!" Christine thought he oddly resembled Raoul in a vague way, though the cast of his features were somewhat untrustworthy. His eyes kept darting to the side and his hair was…well, it was just plain strange.

"I can't, Raoul! The Angel of Music is very strict! Angel of music, guide and guardian, you know. He grants to me his GLORY!" The whiny, airy voice belonged to a girl who was and wasn't Christine, she realized with shock. The hair was dark brown, and was somehow brittle and curly at the same time, and the eyes! The eyes weren't blue as her own were, but brown. Her dress was much too tight, and revealed enough that she might as well wear no dress at all. Really, something below the neckline and above the ankles! A whore's dress! Also, the girl seemed…not all there. As though some key component was missing.

"What's going on?" Raoul hissed, nudging Christine with his elbow. In the tiny space, the force of his nudge caused her to lean heavily against the door. So heavily, in fact, that the door popped right open, tumbling the three into an odd sort of pyramid, with an unhappy Christine on the bottom. Her long pale arm and hand waved in distress as she scrabbled about to get free. The two people masquerading as Christine and Raoul did not even notice. They continued right on with their conversation, oblivious to the pile of people who had just burst from the closet. Carefully, Erik and Raoul disentangled from the heap they had been in, revealing Christine looking decidedly ruffled as she rose to her feet.

"They can't see us?" She asked Erik nervously, gravitating towards him as though he might protect her.

"I don't think so." Erik answered, still watching them talk.

"Are they…are they us?" Raoul asked, a question no one seemed able to answer. Christine suddenly quailed, feeling reality slip from under her feet like a rug.

"Something is wrong here…" She muttered, watching the Raoul look alike leave the room. The Christine look alike sat down at her small desk and began to sob, loudly. Christine was distressed and before either man could stop her, she ran to her counterpart and laid a comforting hand on her. "Don't cry!" She exclaimed, hating to see anyone upset. When nothing happened, and the Christine at the desk continued to sob, the real Christine stood back and looked in consternation from Erik to Raoul. "I don't understand, what is she crying about?"

"Christine." Came a voice from the mirror, a voice decidedly lacking in the hypnotic power and wonder of Erik's voice, "come, Christine." Immediately, the girl at the desk snapped her head up, her eyes glazed over with enraptured happiness.

"What's going on here?" Raoul asked, muttering. "And why is all this smoke filling the room"
"Is the room on fire!" Christine exclaimed, watching as the smoke rose alarmingly high.

"No, I think it's the mirror emitting all the smoke, though it's never done that before…" Erik answered, stepping forward to take a closer look, his steps taking him inches from the imposter Christine. "And there's someone behind it! Is that…?" Though he couldn't get a good enough look at the darkened figure to see who it might be, Erik had a sickening hunch. At his voice, the imposter Christine turned her head about as though she had heard him, but then after a few moments she happily sank back down into being entranced through the mirror. The fog engulfed her, and in seconds the three were again left alone in the room.

"What's going on here?" Raoul asked again, looking about and feeling utterly ridiculous and cold. It was hard not to feel cold when one was in Christine's drafty dressing room wearing only one's most covert of undergarments, as Raoul currently was.

"We're going to find out," Erik said resolutely, stalking up to the mirror and manipulating it open. Suddenly, he turned and regarded the other two with a fixed stare. "Do you realize that this room, much like the two people who just vacated it, is slightly amiss?"

After a moment to digest Erik's words, Christine nodded. "It's my dressing room and then…it's not. It's too full of flowers. And it's too red."

"We're going through that mirror to find out what's going on here. This is-"

"Ewww, what's that?" Christine gently toed a large, garish envelope with a rather horrific seal on it. The seal had been broken, and then hastily reattached.

"It's for you, I think." Raoul bent and gallantly handed the note to Christine. Wrinkling her nose at the seal, she opened the note and began to read.

"Uhm…gentlemen? It's a bit hard to read with you two peering over my shoulders at such close space." Christine said in her nicest voice when Erik and Raoul leaned in close. "Please, back up just a few steps." Abashed, they did as she asked, but both watched her intently.

"It says: 'Christine, I will come for you at seven this evening. Please do not tell anyone, especially not that vicomte. We will practice for your upcoming leading role in 'Il Muto'. Sincerely, the Phantom'." Gazing straight ahead for a moment, Christine tried to puzzle it out. Turning to Erik with a confused look on her face, she blurted, "Who's the Phantom and what's Il Muto?"

"I think it's me," Erik said, turning the letter over and inspecting it. "Though why I'd send you a note rather than just talk to you is beyond me. Or sign it in such a ludicrous manner."

"You apparently have a habit of leaving roses about, too," Raoul said flatly, picking up a red rose tied with a black ribbon. "It IS very pretty, you know."

"Oh, do be shut up, boy before I remark on the color of your underdrawers." Erik tossed out grouchily before gesticulating as he made his way through the mirror. "Come, let's get to the bottom of this."

"What about the color of your underdrawers, Raoul?" Christine asked curiously as she bobbed along the corridor.

"Never mind that," Raoul brushed off, flustered beneath his black and blue bruisings. "Look, there they are, up ahead! Why is she singing, too?"

"Andwhat are they singing?" Christine asked, wrinkling her nose. "That isn't any opera I've ever heard."

"Who on earth is that?" Erik all but shouted as he saw a handsome man carting the imposter Christine about. That this man could be an imposter Erik did not cross his mind, there was no resemblance whatsoever. At the sound of his voice, both the imposter Christine and her abductor paused, as though listening for something.

"I think they can hear you, Erik. Well, sort of." Christine proposed, adding, "you'd better keep quiet if we're to get anything done here." Boldly, she took the lead in retracing the imposters' steps. Looking back over his shoulder, Raoul saw his imposter coming down the steps. Not bothering to worry about it, he turned his back.

"That…that can't be me. He's wearing a mask but.." Erik muttered in disbelief as the three stared at the imposters. "It just can't!"

"Oh, I think he's rather handsome," Christine said dreamily, "even more handsome than…" she caught Raoul glaring at her, "César." Erik was too much in denial to be amused, looking from Christine to the imposter Christine, and what had to be the imposter Erik were singing to one another. He assessed his imposter with something akin to horror. This fellow was tan, he looked quite warm and lifelike. He had hair, and it was shiny hair at that, as well as a rather mediocre voice that actually made him cringe. The mask barely covered anything, as though it were there for some kind of silly adornment. And the shirt, the shirt was the worst as it looked as though it were to come half off. Not to mention the fact that the imposter Erik had his hands all over the imposter Christine. Erik cast a sidelong look at Christine, and she returned the look with a negating glare. There seemed to be a lot of glaring going on around the lair that day.

Raoul was watching the proceedings with some morbid fascination, when he remembered that his imposter was hot on the heels of these two. He quickly forgot it when Christine cried out at something that was happening.

"Oh! Oh look out! Oh, don't do that!" She advised her brittle-haired counterpart as the girl snuck up behind a rather oblivious organ playing Erik. When the mask was pulled away, Christine whirled and hid her face in her hands rather than see another death's head, and watch her imposter getting mauled by a furious Erik. But when she heard the real Erik laughing aloud, and heartily, she looked, and had to laugh too. A deformity? Oh dear! Poor Raoul's face looked worse than that of this fellow. But still, she feared for her counterpart's life, though that proved to be a fear in vain, for the imposter Erik shouted half heartedly and then wailed, covering his face with one hand and sinking to the ground in sobs. Imposter Christine was sobbing as well. The real Erik was laughing too hard to do anything else for a moment, and his laughter didn't subside for many minutes. When it finally did, the figures were still huddled on separate sides of the room, both still sobbing. He couldn't believe it, and he strode up to his imposter.

"That's it?" He demanded harshly, kicking the other man's boot with a heavy foot. "You're not going to kill her? She UNMASKED you, by God!"

The imposter sobbed, words barely audible through his tears. "Oh Christine could you ever forgive me I am so alone and sad and alone and it is dark, oh the darkness Christine. Oh I am so sad! I just need one kiss and I will be forgiven and…"

"Disgusting." Erik spat, giving the boot a final kick. This time, the imposter looked straight into Erik's face as though seeing him. But then Christine's imposter was upon him, smothering him in kisses. Erik cast another look back at Christine, but Christine was blushing too furiously to do anything but hide her eyes. Erik looked back and gave a startled cry before he too hid his eyes. It would be difficult to say with his wasted flesh and pallor, but he was most likely blushing himself. Only Raoul watched the spectacle with eager eyed wonder, until Christine sensed his interest and pummeled him into covering his eyes too.

"Is it over yet?" Christine asked tentatively, her eyes still covered.

"Ye-, I mean, I think so." Raoul supplemented.

"And just in time for the show!" Erik announced, watching as the imposter Raoul staggered through the lake shallows, much as the real Raoul had done earlier. "But…where's my torture chamber? Why didn't he get caught in that?" Casting about, Erik realized for the first time that his home had become little more than a drafty lair piled haphazardly on the lake bank. There was no house upon the lake to speak of. It was all too upsetting, and getting worse by the second. If there were any more 'surprises' today, he wouldn't know what to do, though it would most likely be bad for all involved.

The lake drama unfolded and the three of them watched the other three as though watching an opera. Erik was continuously disappointed with his imposter, and Christine was continuously in awe of her imposter's ability to cry loudly. Raoul was distressed that his didn't stop whining and wailing, and all three agreed it couldn't end too soon. And with a kiss, it did end, imposter Erik crawling off to the depths of his lair and the other two getting on the boat, which was rather fancy for a boat of Erik's. After discerning that all Erik's imposter was going to do was huddle in a ball and cry, the three of them waded out and began following the boat with the other two on it. It wasn't hard, as the lake all around was shallow and empty of danger, another disappointment for Erik. But soon the boat reached the other dock and the two began their long trek back to the surface world, trailed by the elusive ghosts of reality.

"Oh, Raoul, I am so glad to be free of that darkness!" Christine cried happily, burying her face in Raoul's battered coat. Instead of reassuring her, Raoul forced Christine's chin up to have her look him straight in the eye.

"You loved him, didn't you?" Raoul's voice was cold and angry. "You LOVED him, more than you love me!" Now he was crying, though his voice and his grip on her arm were rock hard.

"Raoul…I…you're hurting me!" She squirmed in his grip, and though this wasn't the real Christine, Erik and Raoul both railed against the treatment.

Suddenly, the imposter went reeling, and both of the fakes gasped as the real Erik shimmered into view, standing over the fake Raoul with a snarl twisting his face even further. Raoul stepped up beside him, fist raised.

"Don't. You. Touch. Her." They said, almost as one. Exchanging a look, they both bore down on the imposter, one very mad opera ghost and one nearly naked nobleman.

"Whoare you? Who's the scary one? And why is the other one in his underwear?" The imposter Christine shrilled, her mouth agape as she huddled against a nearby wall.

"We're real. Why is my hair like that…?" Christine answered, leaning close to study the horrified imposter's hair. Meanwhile, the fake Raoul stumbled to his feet, confused and still angry under the regard of Christine's furious suitors.

"She's a lying tramp! She's slept with everything in this Opera House!" He shouted, the sound coming out a half whine. Christine gasped and blushed her most furious crimson, but the fake Christine shoved her aside, scowling at the fake Raoul.

"I can'thelp it, since you beat me every night and lock me in that closet! Then with the prostitutes!" She stormed up to him, completely ignoring Erik and Raoul, and slapped him. Hard.

"Goodness!" Christine cried, unsure whether to be offended or horribly embarrassed. Erik and Raoul were both, in equal measure.

"We have to get back to that closet passageway. It's our only chance to return to our own world." Erik announced. The fakes continued to fight tooth and nail, rolling around on the ground and beating each other up. "Come ON, Christine," Erik chided when he saw Christine lingering to watch her fake self fighting, eyes wide at the colorful language the girl was using.

"I don't think I'd ever call you a bastard, Raoul," she said with confirmation as they made their way back through the opera house to Christine's dressing room.

"Why thank you, Christine." Raoul said gratuitously, not even bothering to ask about it. "Who.." before he had time to ask, a black cloaked figure descended into their path, flourishing a cape and glaring at them.

"Oh, dear." Erik muttered under his breath. "Can they all see us now?" The figure was instantly cautious, covering his face with the cloak.

"Who, or what, are you?" He asked, sizing Erik up with some trepidation. Erik drew himself up proudly and announced himself.

"I am Erik!"

"Who?"

"Never mind. Who might you be?"

"I am The Phantom of the Opera!" The imposter announced grandly with another cape flourish. When he saw they were not impressed, he gestured. "I have a terrifying deformity! That is why Christine left! I am so upset!"

"Then…why are you out and about? Shouldn't you be dying in your coffin?" Erik asked, wondering just how upset he could be if he was strutting around.

"Oh, no. I am crying on the inside, a very black soul indeed, but I have found another who sets my heart aflame. I have already sent her several notes on the matter. Her name is so exotic, her eyes are so…"

"You forgot already?" Christine asked in disbelief. "You forgot me already?"

"You? You're not Christine." The imposter was puzzled but reached out to sensuously caress Christine all the same. He stopped only when Erik shoved the warm, living hand away with one as skeletal and cold as death. Trying to compose himself after this odd sensation, the imposter regarded Erik, "and why are you wearing a mask?" He added, gazing. "A black mask…are you mocking The Phantom?"

Wordlessly, Erik pulled his mask from his face and grinned his skeleton's grin. Christine hid her eyes, and Raoul turned away. The Phantom didn't speak, but his countenance seemed to shrivel as he reeled back. "Now, if you please?" Erik gestured elegantly, indicating he would like to leave. His imposter nodded in mute horror, and Erik replaced his mask just as elegantly, resuming his walk.

Soon, they were walking down the corridors again, and everyone's feet were pretty tired by this point. Christine stumbled and fell to the floor, crying out as her palms struck cold stone. Erik and Raoul knocked heads as they bent to pick her up. They stared at each other for so long that Christine cried out,

"Could someone please get me up off of this cold stone floor?"

"You're stronger than I," Raoul admitted manfully, standing back, "she'd exacerbate my wounds, in the state I'm in nownow."

"Not to mention you looking like some jungle man from father's stories," Christine piped up merrily as Erik lifted her into his arms.

"Thank you, Christine." Raoul muttered as he continued to bring up the rear as they plumbed the depths of the opera house once more in search of their true home. "I hope this works," Raoul added sometime later, feeling the ache set upon him. As they approached the closet passageway again, all three fell silent, Erik treading quietly and Raoul trying his best to tread quietly as well, his bare, sore feet slapping on the ground. Setting Christine down into Raoul's embrace (and trying to ignore that that was what he was doing), Erik cautiously lifted the disguising scrim and snuck into the room. It was in disarray again, but empty. Literally, there were entire folders of music gone, candles were gone, pillows, rugs, everything! It was like he had been robbed. And on the table was a scrap of notepaper. Curiously, Erik bent over to read it.

"Christine," his distracted voice called into the closet, "get that boy some clothing and show him where he can bathe. He stinks of the lake now more than ever."

Christine obeyed, tiredly leading Raoul to the bureau. She cast a look at Erik, but he was still studying the note with quiet concentration.

'Dear Erik the Lord Phantom (Angel of Pudding?),

We decided that if we cannot have you, or Raoul, we will take anything we can get. Please accept our apologies because we took pretty much everything in your house, and all of the Vicomte's clothes. We're sure that with your salary, you can buy new things. And the stupid vicomte can do whatever he wants, like drown. (OMG THAT'S MEAN ARYSTAL I LOVE HIMMMM!) Like drown.

Also, since we cannot have you and you are no longer dark and mysterious, we have made our own world and a new Phantom, and a new Raoul and Christine too. We can do anything, and if you don't like it, please stay in your own world. We don't want to see the real Raoul or Christine, either. We have made a new house for our new Phantom, too. Maybe we will see you again someday!1

Sincerely With Love Your Obedient servants,

Isabella

Anana SilverRoseWater

Arystal de Chagny

Myana Depp

Julia Kauffman

Marie

Sahiraa Veydraya

Darkblood Rose

The fuTure mRs gErrY butlER (GERRY IS HOTTT)
….. (et. All the other roughly 3,000 of us who couldn't sign our names because it would take forever)

The End…

But wait Erika! I'm confused! What is fanon? Are you insane and can't spell?

What is fanon, dear reader? Fanon is the fanfiction writer's twisting and bending of canon to fit their ideas, it twists characters out of themselves, and it sometimes mangles things very badly, as you've seen here.