Disclaimer: I take full credit for what me and my mind come up with – things such as characters, bits of exploding scenery, etc. – the rest I give due credit to Andrew Lloyd Webber, Gaston Leroux, and Susan Kay.
Enter: The Daroga
A swarthy complexioned man by the name of Nadir came around the corner of a tunnel leading to one of the many entrances of the underground lake. He looked quite pleased with himself for some odd reason (ahem…disabled Erik's "doorbell" and floated across the lake on a piece of heavy cardboard he found in the prop room of the theatre…ahem). As he entered the sitting room he stopped abruptly, craning his head around to get a better view of his surroundings.
Something was wrong – his Phantom Senses were tingling.
He rushed around the rooms checking for Erik but he was nowhere to be found. He checked in the tiny kitchen off the sitting room and then went through to the eating nook branching off into the hallway. He went into the Louis-Philippe bedroom and also looked in the bathroom adjoining it. He went into storerooms, the music room, and even Erik's bedroom, but all that he found there was a veritable explosion of the Phantom's closet and a huge pile of clothing on the bed.
Going back into the sitting room he plunked down onto a sofa and started massaging his temples.
There are only two things that might have happened judging by the state of his bedroom, he reasoned. He has gone on a mad rampage through the opera house or is currently hiding out somewhere in this house using one of his tricks and is having a mad laugh at my foolish antics.
A chill ran down his body as he hunched further down into his chair suddenly realizing that those were not the best options to be faced with.
When he comes back or crawls out of wherever he is hiding he is going to be in a mood.
On full alert he waited for the Phantom to come swooping down on him. Eyes narrowed he looked around the room ready to bolt to the nearest corner if he saw any danger.
He waited…
And waited…
And waited…
Nadir looked up from his hunched over position on the sofa towards the clock.
It was over an hour later and still no sign of Erik.
He snorted, Might as well go since he is obviously not going to show up. Maybe I should go up to the surface to see if he terrifying the ballet rats.
He sighed, stretched, and then made to get up, but before he could a loud moan escaped from the direction of Erik's bedroom. Startled, the Persian jumped at least two feet into the air, coming close to knocking over a very expensive Chinese vase before almost collapsing again onto the sofa.
Recovering, he quickly made his way out to the hall and then towards the source of the noise. Passing the other doors silently he stopped and pushed open the one he was sure the sound came from behind. As he stepped into the room the clothes on the bed quivered and then another moan was emitted, this time sounding as if the source of it was in extreme agony.
Cautiously, Nadir approached the gigantic mound on the swan bed. He wasn't quite sure if this was a trick of the Phantom or not. As he neared what would have been the head of the bed he caught some movement. Leaning closer he saw a solitary piece of fabric puff up and then gently settle back down. He watched as this action was repeated a few times and then realization dawned.
By Allah! Erik is sleeping underneath all this.
He plunged his hands into the mound, flailing them around wildly until they met a solidly built shoulder.
A shout went up, "Erik!" and then the Persian began to throw clothing off the bed at superhuman speed, adding even more haphazardly strewn clothing to the mess around the room.
It took about twenty seconds before Erik was completely uncovered, his long form sprawled out on top of the crimson sheets. His head was resting sideways on a pillow; half covering one of his hands and his mask was askew, showing just a hint of what was underneath. The other hand was clenched tightly in the fabric by his side and was slightly shaking from the strain he was putting on the muscles.
As Nadir watched he heaved in a huge breath and then let it out in a hiss, muttering something about a cloak.
Worried now, the Persian shook the Phantom awake.
With a strangled gasp the Opera Ghost came to, quickly flipping his body over and clamping his hands around his friend's neck.
"I hate clothes!"
"I hate them, I hate them, I hate them!"
With each exclamation Erik's hands tightened drastically. Nadir's eyes bulged out of his head and he started clawing at the vice like grip around his neck.
All the wile Nadir's face was doing some very interesting things. It turned from white to red to purple and then settled on a very peculiar shade of olive green. His lips developed a twitch and spittle flew out of his mouth and covered the oblivious Phantom.
Erik continued the actions of squeezing the Persian's neck to smithereens and hissing like a demented adder until by an extremely large amount of luck Nadir buried his nails in the exact place that the Phantom had his battle wound from the tirade with the cloak.
Erik froze as his face drained of all color.
Then he opened his mouth and emitted a high-pitched, keening (and rather girly) scream and snatched his hands away from Nadir's neck as if scalded.
The Persian slumped down relieved, but before he could gasp in a shaky breath, leather clad hands grabbed him again. This time they were latched on to his suit jacket and cravat.
He got out a pitiful whimper before he was tossed clean across the room, landing in one of the larger piles of clothes.
They puffed up about him and landed, making it look very similar to the position the Phantom was in about five minutes ago.
Meanwhile, after the throw that would make Hollywood stuntmen drop their jaws in openmouthed awe, Erik sunk down on to the bed cradling his left wrist.
Now fully awake and in pain, his brilliant mind was in full throttle, peeling through his predicament.
He looked good.
He admitted his body wasn't in bad shape, but that was not a good enough reason to ignore his face.
Could it be his clothes? That was his number one option so far. Maybe he should get a second opinion.
He glanced over to where the Persian was floundering around in the clothes trying desperately to get up.
No, definitely not.
He shook his head and scooted off the bed, stood, then headed for the door.
As he reached the threshold his footsteps slowed, then stopped. Reluctantly, he craned his head back to where the Persian was now sitting picking off the last of the clothing that had twisted around his form.
He harrumphed and then turned back, approaching Nadir, who looked up at him with extreme caution.
"Erik what has possessed you?" he spluttered, punching a fist into the fabric at his side.
He unconsciously scooted back as the Phantom came closer.
"Clothes are what have possessed me, Daroga, clothes."
He turned to the side, allowing the Persian to get a full view of his lengthy profile.
"I want your opinion on this."
"W…W…What?" the Persian gasped out. "Erik, I don't think…"
"I didn't ask you to think, you damned Persian," his tone dripping sarcasm, "I want to know how the clothes make me look." With a flourish, he swept an arm in front of his chest.
Realization dawning, Nadir scrambled up and raked his gaze over the black clad spectre.
Must have gotten a new cloak.
He frowned,
Odd, he has never worried this much about his appearance before.
I mean, in a sense he has, but he has never worried what people thought of his clothes.
He is usually ranting on about his face.
His brows furrowed,
I always thought that the ghost apparel was just part of his theatrics.
The Phantom stared on, amused.
It looked like the Persian was having a conversation with himself.
It's not like I haven't had those before, he thought.
He raised an eyebrow at Nadir's expression. It had settled an a look of absolute befuddlement
Now highly amused, Erik raised the other eyebrow and snickered.
This brought the Persian from his revere and he shuddered at the evil sound before plastering on a sickly-sweet grin and saying,
"You look stunning, Erik, absolutely stunning."
With this, a look of unadulterated glee formed in the Phantom's eyes.
The Persian took a sidestep towards the door, feeling an extreme need to get as far way from the man standing next to him as possible.
"Where are you going, Daroga?"
"To get some tea?" he stated while scuttling further away.
"Come now, Nadir, don't you want to stay and observe my stunning self?"
"Ah, Erik…"
The Phantom held up his hand for silence,
"I think I will wear my new navy cravat today."
He disappeared into the closet and the Persian could hear him rummaging around.
A couple of handkerchiefs flew from the closet and landed a few feet from Nadir. One piece of fabric caught his eye. It was made of lemon silk with bright green polka dots on it. Curious, he reached down, plucked it up, and carefully approached the opening to the closet.
"Erik, may I ask exactly what you are doing with this?"
The Opera Ghost raised his head and stared at the piece of fabric.
"That was acquired on a rather…disturbing…trip to Italy." He reached up and grabbed the swathe of fabric and stuffed it into a corner. "I have no desire to go into details but if memory serves me correctly it came to me in a rather interesting turn of events involving an old wine bottle and a pair of lederhosen."
After hearing this, the Persian whipped around and hastily fled the room.
A few minutes later, the Phantom emerged from the closet cravat-less and scowling.
Psychoanalysis of Erik 101: You see, according to his nature, the Erik can go from jumping for joy (highly unlikely, but it makes a good comparison) to psycho murderer in exactly .012562 seconds (believe me, I've timed it). This is partly caused by his imagination, which is prone to jumping to conclusions, his morbid and pessimistic attitude, and his Phantominess in general. While the two examples stated above are extremes there are milder mood swings that he can undergo. For example, if he was writing a letter to the managers he might be in a jovial mood but if while he was sealing the letter he managed to accidentally fling some wax onto his pants from that gigantic skull seal he might be plunged into a mad fit of rage and then start destroying everything around so he could vent his pain onto…(That didn't turn out very well, did it?) (…ahem…) Generally speaking, the Erik does not have small mood swings. He tends to go from one extremely passionate mood to another. Therefore, it was only inevitable that the Erik would set his sights on the Persian.
"Daroga," the Phantom's menacing voice broke through the silence of the lair.
The Persian's head snapped up from where it was bent over a tea tray in the kitchen.
"You evil, deceiving, little worm! You lout!"
He was practically screaming now, and Nadir, sensing danger, decided to make a run for it.
The poor dear got as far as the kitchen door before he was snatched up by what seemed to be a living shadow and roughly deposited onto a couch in the sitting room.
"You said I was stunning." Erik was pacing in front of him. He stopped and faced the Persian, "Did you not say I was stunning?"
Warily, he answered, "Yes."
"You lie!"
Nadir tried to scramble up, but the Phantom shoved him back down.
"Erik, please be reasonable."
"Why should I?"
He took a few steps forward and leaned in, placing his hands on either side of Nadir and lowering his masked face in front of him.
"I have caught your bluff, sniffed out your deception. It is very ungentlemanly of you, Nadir. I am surprised."
By this point, the Persian was cringing.
"Erik, I have no idea what you are talking about. Why would I deceive you?"
"I have come to the conclusion that I cannot possibly look good. I don't know what came over me, but I was most certainly deceiving myself into thinking that I looked anything but a monster. And since I now know what I did I have realized that you cannot possibly have told me the truth."
He narrowed his eyes and glared at the Persian.
Nadir had sunk down into the cushions, his rational detective's mind taking over.
"Erik I didn't lie to you."
The Phantom snorted and made to say something but the Persian cut him off, saying in a reasonable and logical tone,
"I merely stated the obvious. You really do dress impeccably."
The Opera Ghost hissed,
"And what about my face?"
"You never asked me about your face, Erik. All you wanted my opinion on was how your clothes looked."
Erik, deflated, pushed himself away from the couch and stalked over to the fireplace on the opposite wall. He leaned against the mantel, appearing to Nadir to be deep in thought.
In truth, the Phantom was floundering. Grasping at excuses to keep his anger afloat, he rescued one of the few ideas that were nosily banging around in his head at the moment. Without turning around he said,
"How did you get into my house Daroga?"
"And," he said, turning his head in the Persian's direction, "more importantly, how did you get across the lake?"
Nadir reddened but refused to say anything.
"How?"
The now irate Phantom turned and began to slowly pace toward the man sitting very uncomfortably on the sofa.
The Persian, who was looking down at the carpet muttered,
"You didn't answer your doorbell."
"Didn't answer my doorbell, eh?"
Nadir could now see Erik's shiny black shoes in front of him.
"So that's your excuse." He snorted disdainfully.
"I would like to see this contrivance that got you across my lake."
The shoes twirled around and the Persian looked up in time to see Erik walk through the door. He gave a shout and hurried after the now absent figure.
He found him on the shore of the lake waiting, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, and foot firmly planted on a soggy piece of cardboard. The anger weighing down his features before was replaced with an amused expression.
Nadir came forward, intent on rescuing his cardboard, but stopped short as Erik spoke,
"How embarrassing. I have to wonder why you would go through all this trouble to get to my humble abode."
"To spy on me perhaps?"
A dark look passed over the Phantom's face.
"Or did you have a more innocent reason?"
Nadir looked even redder.
"Well?" the Opera Ghost said staring intently at the Persian.
The only sound for a few expectant seconds was that of Erik's fingers tapping a rhythm on his arm. Then Nadir spoke,
"I just wanted to surprise you, Erik."
Both eyebrows were raised this time.
"I thought it would be nice for a change for me to catch you off guard rather than the other way around."
He silently added, and to do something without you knowing about it, too.
In .012562 seconds flat the Phantom's expression went from amused to extremely frightening.
"Why would you do something with that idiotic of an intention, Daroga? You know I value my privacy."
He took a menacing step forward.
"If I ever find you wandering around here without a very good purpose I can assure you that you will find yourself at the end of my lasso."
For good effect, he stealthily took the lasso out of his pocket and dangled it in the Persian's face. Nadir gasped and backed up, a shaking hand held above his head.
The Opera Ghost shot a death glare at the Persian and, giving the piece of catgut one last violent shake, made it disappear.
"Now, I think I will let you get all the way back on this."
He kicked the cardboard in Nadir's direction.
"And don't worry," he glanced at the dock, "I've removed the little obstacle of the boat," he snickered, "just incase you are tempted."
With this he turned and walked away, leaving a very distressed looking Persian behind.
Nadir went to the water's edge and looked around.
No boat.
He turned back and looked for Erik. All that he saw was the silent darkness of the lake.
The Phantom had disappeared.