Disclaimer: Still, own nothing but these original characters and my stuffed wallrus, Wilcox...awww fuzzy.
Halleluiah! I'm back! FINALLY! Wahoo, that was far too long of a break, no? Well, glad to say I am back with an update. Watched the Phantom Of The Opera today (latest one) and got the juices flowing again, and so here is the result of me getting over writers block. Hope it comes out well. Thanks yall and all that jazz!
A Few Thanks:
Charlemaine- One, thanks for the compliment, means a lot to me knowing someone likes my writing, and two, I so agree with you on the drooling over all that is sexy Erik. Although I am still a school girl, I can truly admit I have only acted giggly like the stereotype when it comes to this sort of thing. I so agree though, when it comes to Erik, you can not deny the pleasure of giggling. French is always attractive- the language of love, no? And yes, the girls will come to know his name; in fact they do in this chapter. Hope you enjoy it and look forward to hearing from you again. Thanks!
Juilette Delphe- Lol! Sum, you're funny…and odd…and yes we are both guilty of that. But hint to Summy, let's try making updates sooner, shall we?
UCEva87- Hey girl! hugs Glad you commented, and glad you like it! I miss you and love you cousin of mine! Hugs!
And without further ado…
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Chapter Five: To The Magic Shop! Part One- The Morning After
Why couldn't it have been a nightmare?
It was the first thought that crossed Erik's mind when he woke, the cold reality of what had actually happened tearing at the pit of his stomach. The second thought that crossed his mind was that oddly every part of his body ached like never before, even more than if he had somehow fallen asleep on the stone floor of his lair. His hostess had not lied when she said that the cot he had slept on was harder than a rock, and the sheets that were already arranged on it had been so firmly pressed that he had to literally use almost all his strength to loosen them. The pillow she had provided for him was like a week, old potato and stew soup, lumpy and disgusting with an odd mildew smell to it. Least to say, it was far less than homely.
The rest of the room had some hope for it. The walls were a starch white, and the carpeted floor was an eerie clean that looked to have been literally brushed towards the door. There was an antique, mahogany dresser against one wall and a small writing desk of the same wood against another. The room would have been reasonably neat if it weren't for the various easels scattered about, surprisingly of breath taking art work tossed carelessly and unloved aside. Painting that should have been framed lined the floor, and the ones in progress sat upon easels with dried paint that looked like it hadn't been touched in weeks. Erik had actually taken the time last night to save a few of the discarded masterpieces from their lonely corners, lying them out carefully on the desk and placing anything he could find as weights on them to straighten out the edges. Beautiful pieces, it was a shame they had been so thoughtlessly abandoned.
Erik scanned the paintings once again that morning, and gathered a few more that he decided were worth straightening. Perhaps he would make them frames, if heaven forbid he would be stuck here long enough to do that. There was no mirror in this room, to Erik's relief, but at the same time to his disappointment. No matter what his predicament Erik almost felt inclined to look presentable, and without any way of seeing his retched image he could only guess how his hair set or his attire looked. Normally he would have at least changed, but with no access to his wardrobe he was stuck to the same frumpy dress clothes he had worn and slept in. No matter, from what he had seen the night before, proper appearance meant little to these... twentieth- century children.
Suddenly, Erik's ears caught the sound of a short but sharp scream, a feminine wail of pain coming from the other side of his quarters door. Instantly, Erik reacted out of sheer instinct, rushing towards the door and rapidly flinging it open. He didn't know what to expect from these girls, and whether or not such a retched sound could mean the distress it did in his time, but he prepared himself anyways. He tightened his muscles, ready to spring on whatever threat could cause such a noise...
What he saw was that blond girl leading a vicious attack on her friend, fencing beautifully, forcing the brunette into a corner of the flats small kitchen. She was a damn good fencer, that much was apparent by her smooth thrusts and brilliant footwork, but her weapon of choice was more than a little unusual. In her poised hand was a large, wooden... cooking spoon.
Erik growled, letting his body relax as his face changed to a stern frown towards the girls. With more grace than before, Erik walked out from his bedroom, closing the door gently behind him before turning to watch the girls with earnest curiosity. What were they doing? And why were they in... men's clothing?
The blond one-Ryder he thought her name was- was wearing a completely inappropriate white shirt which had no sleeves, and a square cut neck. She wore baggy men's paints covered with a pattern of women dancing exotically that wore nothing but grass skirts and flowers around their necks. Her hair was pulled back into a messy pony tail that was tied near the bottom of her neck and laying lazily down the rest of her back.
The brunet, Olivia was her name, was dressed just as ridiculously. Her shirt was a short sleeved, thin piece of white fabric that came about even to her belly button, with a strange looking carriage and words that read, "Get Your Kicks On Route '06." The shirt was a little short, or her pants were too far down because a small strip of flesh was flashed about her thin stomach. Below that were a pair of sky blue pants that resembled men's night garments, which must have been a size too big for her because they barely clung to her hips. Her hair was a wild mess, the outrageous curls barely being held back by the hair clip that was failing to do its job.
Ryder had managed to corner her strange friend near the counter top, the wooden spoon extended like sword towards her friends throat. Olivia was cornered, she had no more attacks, but a sly grin crossed her face that suggested otherwise. With what room she had, Olivia swung her leg up in a rather well done spin kick, knocking the spoon clear out of her companions hand and sending the wooden piece flying out of the kitchen. After that Olivia bolted while her companion was momentarily stunned, lunging into the small hall between kitchen and dining room. She poised herself then, her knees bending to give her more leverage as she brought her spoon back up to ready position.
Olivia then smirked lightly and said with cocky smoothness, "Defend yourself."
Ryder stared at the broken spoon on the floor-she was still holding the handle. "You broke another one!" She screeched, tossing the handle aside before reaching behind her and grabbing a whisk from a small basket near the stove. She launched her attack then, chasing after her friend. However, Ryder tripped over her dying spoon, and launched herself into the air. Conveniently, the couch stopped her short, taking her long legs from the knees down, and with a sickening crack she fell over the back of the couch, flipped her feet over and slid to the ground.
Liv gasped and immediately abandoned her weapon, bolting across the room to assist her friend. She lunged over the couch and landed near her fallen friend, her voice a strong concern as she questioned, "Oh my God, Ryder, are you ok?"
Ryder looked at her friend, catching her breath. She pulled her whisk out from under her and in a pitiful voice said, "I bent it." True, the whisk was now a useless piece of tangled metal with a broken black plastic handle.
Liv took the whisk, eyed it, and then placed it on top of her head. She said to make her friend smile, "Look. Now its an accessory."
Ryder laughed and pulled herself up. Her knee was definitely going to bruise, and she winced slightly but managed to continue with the joke, "It's a very lovely accessory."
Liv nodded and the whisk fell off her head to clink upon the ground. She gave a shy grin, "It's got a few kinks to work out."
"More than a few I'd say," Ryder added, "You want food? I'm hungry."
"Well then eat child. My God, no wonder you are skin and bones," Liv laughed and poked Ryder's flat stomach, then turned to head back to the kitchen. It was then that she noticed the Phantom had emerged from his cave and she froze instantly. Her eyes grew wide like a deer in the head lights with surprise. She had almost forgotten about him being here. For almost a minute she stared and then suddenly her body loosened and she spoke to him with the same comfort as if they were long time friends, "Good morning Erik. Did you sleep well? Did you sleep at all?"
Erik responded, "It was rather hard on that thing she calls a bed. It's harder than stone," he paused as Olivia's words sunk in. Suddenly, his tone became cautious and wary as he asked, "How did you know my name?"
Again the stiffness returned to Liv's form and her eyes bolted fleetingly to Ryder. "Uh..." She groaned, searching for the right answer. Would it be wise to tell him the truth? That he was practically a legend in their time? She looked again to Ryder, unsure of what to say. Her eyes asked "should we tell him"?
Ryder, as usual, bluntly stated the truth, "We've both read the book, and seen the movie...in fact we both own both. Oh yes, and the play. You're quite popular now-like most artists...except Shakespeare-the lucky bastard."
Liv looked at her friend sideways, as she always did when Ryder got into her jealous of bald old poets moods, before returning her gaze to a rather confused looking Phantom. "Maybe we should try to explain this further," Liv said, folding her hands as she said gently, "There was a man named Gaston Leroux who became very interested in the myth of you and after spending sometime researching you, wrote a book called Le Fantome de l'Opera in 1910. It was a book that brought him international fame, and along with it, your tragedy. Years later, a rather brilliant man named Andrew Lloyd Webber revived your story by transforming it into an actual on stage Opera, which to this day is the most adored and view Opera in the world. People fell in love with your story, and you for that matter, and you became unbelievably famous, or I believe that's the order it went in. Anyhow, several renditions of your life have been made into films, of which we will explain what those are later, and... well... least to say... you're kind of adored by almost every female of the human race."
A look of even greater confusion crossed his face. "I'm famous because someone wrote a fictional book about me?" He asked trying to sort through all of this.
Ryder responded bluntly as she limped to the kitchen and began fiddling with something in a skillet, "Yes."
Liv nodded, "It happens often, just so you know... and by the looks of you... his story wasn't all that fictional."
"I should probably read this story, at one point" Erik commented, as Ryder dished out a plate of eggs, and shoved it into the oven to keep it warm.
Casually, Ryder skipped on to the next subject, "Liv-how do you want your eggs?"
"Scrambled please," Liv said pleasantly, then returning her attention to Erik she said cautiously, "Just so you know, it doesn't have much interaction with you in it... it's pretty much a story told by the view of the people in the Opera... and Christine Daae."
The name revived his heart, and brought back her memories-and the pain and the anger that came with them. He gave the girl a hard look for mentioning her name, but was drawn out by the other's annoying questions. "Erik, how would you like your eggs?" He gave Ryder a light glare, and was surprised to find her give it right back-a momentary test of wills. He responded with something he thought she would be unable to make, "Over easy-and solid, please." He was slightly startled to see her shrug, and proceed to make them as he ordered.
Liv chuckled and said almost mockingly, "Thought you got her there huh?" She smirked Erik's way and then headed towards the kitchen, laughing to Ryder, "You're such a show off."
Ryder looked at her friend innocently, "All I want to do is feed him. It's not my fault my mother managed to teach me how to cook-properly."
Liv laughed, "Yea- god, you'd think I'd know how to cook with such a feasting family like mine- but then again, YiaYia is the eldest and therefore the kitchen belongs to her and we Greeks are bound by tradition."
Ryder nodded, "But she's a damn good cook."
"You bet your bottom," Liv laughed and kicked her friends butt lightly.
Ryder caught her friend's leg, "Hey now, not while I have a hot skillet in my hands."
"Damn," Liv pouted and pulled her foot free.
Ryder slid the eggs on to the last plate. She handed Erik's eggs to Liv, and then pulled the other two plates out of the oven. Shortly followed the home baked bread-which had been toasted in slices with a caramelized butter and a touch of cinnamon sugar.
Liv chuckled, "Always the fancy one." She walked into the living room and placed Erik's plate upon the small dining room table. There were conveniently three chairs and places prepared for them. Liv had set up the silver wear, napkins, and drink glasses ahead of time. She gestured towards the plate, "That's yours."
Erik dipped a nod, "Merci Mademoiselle." He made his way towards the table, first stopping to pull Olivia's chair out for her, habit for a gentlemen, of which she sat with a mixture of gratitude and confusion on her face. Apparently, it wasn't as frequent for such polite actions to be practiced in her time. Erik ignored the urge to question what polite actions her generation did practice, and took his seat where Olivia had placed his plate.
Shortly after, Ryder emerged from the kitchen with two plates. She handed one across the table to Olivia and placed the other on the table before the empty chair. "Mom and dad are coming, so I have to brush up and hide the Spaghetti," She said, taking her seat before Erik had time to rise and pull her chair out for her. She gave him an odd look when he began to get up and then plopped right back down when she was seated.
After placing her napkin in her lap like she had been taught, Liv looked to Ryder and asked, "Do you think they would mind if Erik was here, or should I take him today?"
Ryder looked at Liv as if she was crazy, "My parents would skin me alive if they found him here-living her especially. And the skinning would be the beginning."
Liv nodded, "Alright, well I'll take him then. I'll just inform my father and put him up at my place."
Erik had taken a bite of his eggs, and to his surprise they were quite good, with a quirky mixture of spices that pleased the palate and was still full of taste. He listened to the conversation between the girls, curiously, with a bit of irritation as they discussed his future-without even asking him. It was extremely rude and he intended to make it apparent. "Do I get a say in this, perchance? Seeing as it does involve me," He told them tersely.
Both girls looked at him sideways and then said together, "No," before returning to the conversation between the two of them. Once settled what they were going to do with him, Ryder indulged in her eggs as Liv moved onto the next subject. "So," Liv said, swallowing a bit of spiced eggs, "I was thinking, today would be a good day to drop by that magic shop you found on 78. Maybe we can get some answers from the owner."
Ryder nodded, "That's the game plan-with or without the proof?" She nudged her fork towards their guest.
Liv looked him over and nodded, "With, she might not believe us if we don't... but we are going to have to do something about those clothes."
Ryder looked him over, "Same build as Grant, I've got some of his leftovers..."
Erik suddenly looked appalled, "What's wrong with my attire? It's perfect formal evening wear. How can that be wrong?"
Liv's eyebrows raised and she lightly smirked as she explained, "It's not wrong... if you are going to a ball... but you are going out into twenty-first century metro Atlanta. In that outfit you will stick out like a sore thumb."
He looked disgusted at her, "How so?" He was shocked that his attire would be out of place.
Ryder jumped in, "Times have changed, people don't dress as properly-or be as conservative as they once were. And they're not as formal. Thus, we must dress you appropriately-so that people don't get suspicious. Otherwise you'd probably get locked up in the nut house, and there's no chance in hell either of us could get you-" Suddenly Ryder froze, her mouth stopping in mid sentence as if she noticed she had made a terrible mistake. Her eyes surprisingly filled with dread before cautiously edging Liv's way.
Liv's eyes were locked onto Ryder as if she could burn a hole through her friends skull. Her hand went limp, releasing the fork to fall upon her plate with an ear shattering clank. For a moment Liv's face held to Ryder, expressionless and cold, but just as rapidly she shook herself and looked away. A shaky hand grabbed her fork up once more and silently she continued to eat her eggs.
Cold hard realization bitch slapped Ryder... hard. How could she be so stupid? So careless of her best friend's emotions... of her secrets. Ryder was truly sorry, and she kicked herself internally for it. "Oh Liv! I'm so sorry. I just got stupid and forgot! I'm such an idiot," She watched her friend carefully, feeling horribly terrible and insensitive, and then added with slight hesitation, "You can slap me if you want. I deserve it."
Liv coldly shook it off, "Don't... I'm fine." She cleared her throat and straitened her shoulders, forcing a look about her face as if nothing happened. With a forced cheeriness she said to Ryder, "So, what should we dress him in? Boxers or briefs?"
Ryder quickly joined her friend's cheeriness, carefully walking on shattered eggshells, "I don't know. He looks like a boxers guy to me. What do you think?"
"Boxers, most definitely," Liv said, grinning his way.
Erik looked at both of them with the deepest confusion. Between the rapidly appearing, then vanishing tension and the mention of things he didn't understand, Erik couldn't think of exactly how to react. Placing his fork carefully down beside his plate and then folding his hands thoughtfully, Erik asked with caution, "What... what are boxers?"
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Ryder slipped on her Birkenstock sandals over her bare feet. Her hair was still wet from the shower, but it didn't matter, she'd just pull it back into a messy pony tail anyways. Her tank top was a violent shade of bright purple, which oddly, she could pull off in small quantities. Her blue jeans were tattered and torn from various camping trips, and other things that made for interesting stories.
Tossing her soaking hair over one shoulder, Ryder rose from her seat at the couch and glanced at her friend seated at the opposite end of the sofa. She brushed a strand of drenched bang and questioned to her friend with slight impatience in her tone,"Ready?"
Liv nodded, slipping on her faded old tennis shoes over her always mismatched socks. Her shirt was an old, black t-shirt she had for years with the faded capitalized words RENT printed on the front. Her light blue jeans were fitting and shapely, with a few scuffs here and there and fabric that flared out from her calf muscles to her feet. Liv adjusted the bottoms of her pants, rolling them up a bit so they wouldn't drag along the ground and then looked to her friend with a smile and replied, "Ready."
Ryder laughed as a bouncy curl fell in Liv's face at that precise moment, Liv giving a small growl of irritation. She attempted once more to tame her mane of hair with an enormous clip, but like usual it didn't work, so Liv gave up and allowed her hair to hang free as it obviously wanted to. With a frown Liv placed the clip on the coffee table and sighed to Ryder, "It's official, my hair has a mind of it's own."
Ryder shrugged, "Who's doesn't?"
It was then that they heard the light creak of the spare room door, and both girls eagerly snapped their attention towards the Phantom's temporary room. Ryder, with the impatience of a starving tiger, was the first to speak, asking quickly, "And you? Ready to go?" She surveyed him one more time.
The Phantom of the Opera looked strange in her eldest brother's old blue jeans, which had been dyed a deep blue-at one time or another- and the obviously run down Nike tennis shoes that had completely lost all of it's original white coloring. He was wearing a gray 'go army' t-shirt beneath the "Army Recruit" black hooded sweatshirt, of which the hood had been pulled up to hide his mask. It didn't hide the look of absolute hatred on his face though, and Erik stiffly nodded before speaking in a tone that sounded like he was straining from shouting, "I... look... ridiculous."
Liv suppressed a snicker and attempted to console him, "You don't look ridiculous... you look...uh... dashing."
"It's just not what you're used too," Ryder replied, trying to sound soothing-she never had been good at that, she was too blunt for this sort of thing. For a moment they stood in tense silence, and then Ryder slapped her hands together, signaling that it was time to go. She made her way to the front door, grabbing her purse up along the way, and then opened the door to her apartment-key in hand. Ryder glanced back at the two and tapped her foot impatiently.
From across the room Liv called sarcastically, "Coming mother dearest!" In one swift motion she gathered her own purse, a black and red bag with an extravagant picture of dancing girls and finally dressed men on the front. It read all about the bag, "Moulin Rouge, Moulin Rouge, Moulin Rouge. Concert Bal, Tous Les Soirs. La Goulue. le Mercredis et Samedis Bal Masque. Moulin Rouge." Liv held it gently in her arms, the purse obviously of some sentimental value. Glancing to Erik, she nodded towards the doorway and headed out.
Erik growled, and once again itched at the annoying fabric draped across his body. How on earth could men have the audacity to appear in public like this? It was embarrassing, and more than enough of a blow to his pride, but what other choice did he have? It was no surprise that Erik wanted to speak with the supposed witch responsible for this trick himself, as well as see what had become of the future, and these girls had made it clear that he could not appear in his normal, more fashionable attire. As embarrassing as it was, the simple fact was he indeed had to suppress his emotions and deal with it. So with a releasing sigh, Erik drew himself up into his dignified stature and followed the girls out.
Once outside, Ryder had locked her apartment door behind them and the three of them headed down the stairwell, which this morning smelt of a mixture of mold and dried piss. Like normal, Liv tucked her nose inside her t-shirt and held her breath, while Ryder had grown used to the smell over the past year of living there. Erik wrinkled his nose in disgust but made no comment. Least to say, all three were more than relieved when they exited the stairwell that lead out directly into the parking lot in front of the apartment building.
A clear day's sun greeted the three as they stepped out onto the smoldering black top. It was already late May; the dawning of a long and steaming summer for the great state of Georgia, and the air had already begun its rise to the scorching heat. Erik felt it hit him in one solid wave, the heat washing over him so quickly that he was momentary light headed. Apparently the heat did not have the same affect on the girls because they seemed to have no reaction at all- he assumed because they were used to this kind of weather. He, on the other hand, was used to the cold and dark catacombs of his Opera, not the harsh light of day. The sun burned at his night adjusted eyes and smothered his lungs with thick and heavy air. Erik squinted and took shallow breaths just to move about moderately well, while his two hostesses trotted along casually, chirping cheerfully with their usual random conversations.
Erik followed them after a moment of allowing his body to adjust to the new weather, trailing after them across the odd black roadway and past several of the strangest looking carriages he had ever seen. These carriages lined the roadway in some orderly style, all various shapes, sizes, and colors gleaming with metallic beauty. Oddly, Erik noted that he saw no place to hook the horses, and with the curiosity itching at his mind, he quickly strode to catch up with the girls.
Erik waited first, being sure not to cut either of them off as he waited for a window in their conversation to ask his questions. When it finally came, Erik spoke quickly as to avoid them starting another odd conversation, asking almost as if it was a reminder, "Excuse my intrusion ladies, but might I inquire as to where we are to latch the horses? Or perhaps where the horses are kept? I can retrieve them if you wish."
At that moment both girls abruptly stopped in their walk, Erik coming to a screeching halt to avoid impact. Both their eyes were on him then, for a moment glazed over with the utmost confusion, and then very gradually they were overcome by laughter.
"Horses?" Ryder snickered, "No, no, no. Liv, we forgot to tell him."
Olivia's bouncy curls nodded and she grinned Erik's way. There was gentle explanation in her voice as she spoke to him, saying vaguely, "Erik, we don't use horse drawn carriages anymore. Now we use automobiles, more commonly called cars, that are machines powered by fuel to operate a whole system of parts and move on it's own without the assistance of animals. All we have to do is put the key in, switch on the engine and go… and no… you can not dissect one to find out how it works."
Erik frowned and replied almost defensively, "I wasn't going to inquire if I could 'dissect' your contraption."
Liv simply gave him a knowing grin and said with mild humor, "Sure you weren't."
"I wasn't" He growled in response, but it was more than obvious she didn't believe a word because she simply grinned before returning her attention to Ryder.
By that time Ryder was already sitting prepared in her green automobile with the engine cranked, tapping the steering wheel irritably as she waited for the two to come along. Liv stuck her tongue out at Ryder, of which the notion was quickly returned and then followed by an impatient hand gesture that ushered them to hurry.
After a second, Liv momentarily glanced back to Erik and said with a half grin, "Come sir, our MASTER beckons us… don't worry, it's quite simple to operate and Ryder hasn't crashed in months." Liv smiled, an obvious joke, but Erik didn't find her words amusing as the ball of nerves suddenly tightened in the pit of his stomach. Liv turned then, looking to Ryder and crying triumphantly, "To the Batmobile!" before charging to the opposite side of the car.
Erik had to ignore the mass confusion as he followed Olivia's path, coming to the other side of the automobile just as she took hold of the metal panel on the cars body and pulled open the front passenger side door. "See," She said, "This is how you get in," and with that she lowered into the machine to plop down upon leather seats and closed the door. Erik followed her actions and opened his own door into the back seat, entering the car cautiously before slamming the metal door to a close.
Ryder flinched in the front and shouted back to him, "Don't slam the doors! They are delicate."
Erik opened his mouth to apologize, but Olivia oddly spoke up in his defense to say bluntly to her friend, "They're pounds of solid metal Ryder, I doubt they are fragile."
"Don't doubt anything with this car, it has a tendency to surprise you in the worst ways," Ryder growled, taking hold of the gear and switching it into reverse.
"I have no doubt," Liv laughed, and then tugging at the leather strap hanging from the walls sides, shouted to the back, "Seatbelt Erik, click in the buckle at your side."
Erik figured the contraption out with no trouble, but once the machine suddenly lurched backwards he found himself clutching at the flimsy excuse for protection before calling to the front, "What is it doing?"
"Backing up," Ryder spat in response, then in a kinder tone, asked Liv, "Magic Shop then?"
"To the shop James, and make haste," Liv said with the well acted tone of a high class snob.
Ryder put on her best Igor impression and gurgled creepily, "Yes master," before throwing the car into drive and taking off towards the street.
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That's it for now everyone, but I am working on the next update as we "speak", so please leave a review and I will be back with a post soon to show my appreciation. Thanks everyone, and ciao for now!