Phantom of the Opera - Behind the Genius.
Chap 2.
Entry twenty-five.
Someone is cranky when she wakes up.
It's almost cute.
Did I just say cute? Certainly not. C'est impossible. Anyway, I made her breakfast in bed. …How was I supposed to know she didn't like rat fillets?
Entry twenty-six.
Sigh. Why do people insist on removing my mask? She could have just asked for crepes if she didn't like the rat. Or an omelette.
I feel so… Emo. Current mood: Emoville. Is it not enough that they get my inner, hypnotic sex appeal? Do they have to try to find my outer, physical sex appeal, too?
Entry twenty-seven.
Maybe I should have put that mannequin away while she was passed out. Oh well, too late now.
Entry twenty-eight.
She's STILL gasping. Geez, get over it, already. It's just my face. I need it to give my sexy mask a purpose. And to terrorise the corps de ballet. Anyone would think she'd just seen the spoilers for the Pirates of the Caribbean sequels posted online, or something.
That reminds me, I need to flame the managers about not paying my salary.
Chers Richard et Moncharmin,
Just a brief reminder – my salary has not been paid. Send it care of The Ghost or your ass is toast,
O.G.
That ought to do the trick.
Entry twenty-nine
Christine seems to be getting cabin fever. I should probably take her home, soon. Plus, earlier she said something about redecorating.
She wants to get rid of the coffin. I tried to explain that it's important to me, but she just doesn't understand.
"Isn't that a little morbid?"
No, I need it to threaten Nadir with.
I need it to remind me of my own mortality, ma belle fleur.
Where is Nadir, anyway?
Entry thirty.
I bet he's upstairs trying to flirt with Meg.
Good luck with that. If a mask didn't work, his little Persian fez sure as hell won't. That girl isn't getting into bed for anything less than a diamond.
Christine's better than Meg, anyway. Meg can't sing for crap. Sounds a bit like a moose, really. Poor child.
"And you could use a lighter colour scheme – maybe some pastels like lemon and seashell pink!"
What? That's it, she's outta here, even if I have to persuade the good Messieurs that she'll be singing as prima donna.
Entry thirty-one.
Look guys, it's not that complicated. I write all my letters in blood red ink and sign them as O.G. There's no need to argue over who sent what to whom.
Entry thirty-two.
Oh. My. God.
I can twitch my pectoral muscles.
Look at them go. Left, right, left, right…
Entry thirty-three.
Okay, I clearly claimed that I had the lovely Christine under my (hot muscular body) wing all week long. There's no need to insinuate that she was off consorting with the Viscomte de Chagny.
For one thing, he'd be too busy washing his hair to ever make a disturbingly lifelike wax figurine of the object of his affection.
And for another, he wouldn't know a soprano if one hit him in the face.
Entry thirty-four.
I stand corrected. Carlotta sure packs a punch. Maybe I was too quick to judge her.
…Nah.
Entry thirty-five.
Chers Messieurs Richard et Moncharmin,
Cast Mlle Daae as the countess in Il Muto, or a disaster beyond your imagination will occur.
Like I'll be forced to put up pastel curtains.
O.G.
Entry thirty-six.
Left, right, left, right…
OH MY GOD. I can do it with my buttocks as well!
I am too, too sexy for my Opera House.
I should get some leather pants.
Entry thirty-seven.
Chers Messieurs Richard et Moncharmin,
Okay, I have by now sent you several letters of the most amiable nature, and I really, really mean it this time. Carlotta better not be singing a-lotta, or a disaster beyond your imagination will occur tonight. In fact, you'd better give her the silent role. Quelle humiliation for our former star, eh?
O.G.
P.S. Where are my 20,000 francs? I can't live on ratmeat forever, you know.
Entry thirty-eight.
I just heard that Buquet called me a fag.
What the hell? He is SO punjabbed. Dead man walking.
Entry thirty-nine.
Cher T.V. Guide,
Quite frankly, I am appalled by the screening time of the latest season of The Antiques Roadshow. Eleven o'clock on a Wednesday is a terrible timeslot for such compelling viewing. The television needs more wholesome, family-friendly shows such as the Roadshow, and to see it resigned to an unfavourable time is extremely disappointing. Please inform the network that unless this situation is remedied, a disaster beyond their imagination may occur.
"Fantome de l'Opera,"
Paris.
AN: Use of the word 'flame' in reference to OG's letters – see Kat097's A Defensive Situation. Hey, stalkers. I know you're out there, I can see it on this new'hits' feature. Reviews make the world go 'round. Pretty please? Look, you've reduced me to begging for approval.