Oh No She Didn't!
Another short chapter. Sorry. I do intend for them to be rather long for the most part, but the last one was to be strictly for those two brief gap-fillers in the movie and I decided that this particular scene should be a chapter all in itself. Very important info is given out in this one, y'see. I'll make up for the shortness in the next chapter, though, I swear. After all, I've got the flashback, "Notes," "Prima Donna," and Il Muto to fit into it. :)
♪ ♪ ♪
The Scary Monkey Music Box leered down at the petite ingenue that was being swallowed up by a sea of purple velvet. Her chest rose and fell evenly with each intake of breath, indicating that she was enjoying a deep and blissful sleep. The monkey scowled. The girl was lying in his bed, and that just wouldn't do.
So, he decided to follow his dear mother's dream for a brief moment and become an alarm clock instead of a music box. Clanging his little brass cymbals in an irritatingly cheerful fashion and glaring menacingly all the while, the Scary Monkey gifted the diva with a rather rude awakening.
"Wah?" Silvie sputtered, bolting upright.
The monkey smirked inwardly and continued to play its pleasant tune.
"Dundundun…
Dundundundun,
Dundundun…"
Silvie gaped. Then, without warning, she reached behind her and hurled a mauve pillow at the music box.
"Dundun – CLANK!"
Pleased with herself, Silvie pursed her lips and glanced around, taking in her strange, new boudoir. The bed, which was, from what her hazy mind could decipher, shaped like a bird of some sort; possibly an ostrich. The room itself was capacious enough and lit by dozens of candles, all of which were halfway melted and obligingly dripped wax in a most eerie way. Giving the room a rather funeral air, the walls were covered in gauze so thick and black that Silvie could not possibly tell what lay on the other side.
Swinging her feet around so they dangled over the side of the bed just inches above the stone floor, Silvie made to stand up only to conk her head on yet another inconveniently placed tassel. This time, however, hitting her head turned out to be a good thing, as the tassel proved to be a pull-cord. Silvie eyed it thoughtfully.
"Hmm…"
♪ ♪ ♪
"So," Erik began conversationally, "when do you suppose the young lady will arise to thwart your master's plan and thus make everything much more miserable for us all?"
"Mmmmm…" the small, silver robot began, his electric blue eyes narrowing in concentration. "Soon!"
"Yes, I imagine so," Erik agreed vaguely, looking lost in thought. "Would you care for some more tea?"
"Pleasekaythaaaanks!"
"If your master is foolish enough to believe that he has the most miniscule chance of succeeding after Mlle. Silvie…" Erik sighed and shook his head, filling the robot's cup. "Sugar?"
"I got it!" the robot replied and he promptly dumped the entire contents of the sugar bowl into his mouth. Erik's yellow eyes widened behind his mask, but he said nothing, choosing to stir his own tea rather than question the eccentric robot.
"If that absurd little tyrant continues with this ludicrous scheme of his…" Erik shook his head gravely. "It will be a bad lookout, M. Gir, a bad lookout for us all."
"Lookout!" the robot screeched as he sent a small, stuffed pig sailing through the air.
Erik merely sighed and leaned slightly to the right as the toy came whizzing by.
♪ ♪ ♪
Giving the tassel a mighty tug, Silvie watched with mild interest as the black gauze rose from the ground, leaving a lake and several comfortably decorated and well-lit grottos in its wake. Silvie started to get up and explore, but the moment her feet made contact with the slick, damp stone of the floor, she let out a yelp and jumped back into bed. The floor was freezing – a fact that seemed odd since she distinctly remembered falling asleep wearing a pair of warm, white stockings. Now, however, it appeared as though they had gone missing – an unfortunate occurrence, as it was quite frigid outside the warmth of her bed.
Her eyes bugging out as she stared at her bare legs, Silvie began,
"O…M...G…Where are my socks?
Could've sworn I went to bed with them on…"
Stepping cautiously onto the floor and wincing slightly as the cold stone made contact with her naked feet, she began milling around the caverns of her new home.
"I'll bet somebody stole them –
A sneaky, creepy, socky thief!
Wouldn't mind if I weren't cold…"
Her gray eyes lingered on the misty lake for several seconds before moving on to the boat…the candles…the enormous pipe organ…and then, finally, to the masked man stationed at it. Silvie gasped. The ghost! His green head perking up at the noise, the ghost glanced around to find his minion standing just feet away from him. Shuddering involuntarily at the sight of the hideous human, the ghost gritted his teeth and turned back to his work.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the ghost, Silvie began to inch toward him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"I'll bet that guy is the culprit!
I'll bet he has got my socks!"
Slowly, yet determinedly, she reached out a hand and, index finger extended, gave the ghost a gentle poke in the ribs.
He squeaked.
At once leaping to his feet, the ghost rounded on the young singer. Caught off guard, Silvie let out another gasp and stumbled backwards, landing most ungracefully onto her rear. The Opéra Ghost raised a gloved claw, perhaps intending to bring it down upon the fallen girl's head, but as the fist descended, it, however lightly, knocked the side of his mask. The white disguise remained in place for a precious few seconds and then tumbled to the ground. But it was not the only thing, Silvie noted, for as the mask hit the stone floor, two other, unfamiliar objects joined it shortly after. White and oval-shaped, they looked like twin halves of a very large egg. Terrified, Silvie raised her eyes to meet those of her captor, only to shrink away in horror at the gruesome sight before her.
Of course, the author cannot tell you what it was exactly that Silvie saw. We are only halfway through Act I and what lies underneath the ghost's mask cannot be revealed until we are all but a quarter of the way through Act II. By telling her readers now, the author would be ruining the effect. So, let's just say that the ghost was not the prettiest painting in the museum and leave it at that.
The ghost took one look at the fallen objects and let out a bestial cry of anguish. Silvie cowered but could not help but notice how much shorter the ghost looked, now, and that his strange, silver arms were suddenly no where to be seen.
♪ ♪ ♪
Erik looked up at the anguished cry that the author described just a paragraph before. He cocked his masked head toward the sound and listened for several seconds, his sensitive ears taking in everything and his logical mind working it all out.
"Oh dear…"
"Whassa matta, beau?" Gir asked, before devouring a plate of scones.
"Listen," the real Opéra Ghost implored.
The robot stuck out his tongue and listened as his master let out a ringing cry of "Curse yoooou!"
"Oooh…" he said, realization dawning.
"It sounds as if she's removed his mask, doesn't it?" Erik asked sadly.
"Uh-huh!" Gir replied happily.
"Oh dear…" Erik said again, worry lining his angelic voice.
Gir took no notice of this, too busy partaking in shoving one of Erik's teacups into his metal mouth.
♪ ♪ ♪
"Curse you!" the ghost raged, shaking a furious fist at Silvie.
"You sniv'ling little huuuuuman!
You smelly stink-pig!"
He whipped around and began storming throughout his secret spooky lair of DOOM. He thrashed about, taking his rage out on several unsuspecting objects. After taking the time to chuck a random book at a full-length mirror, he snarled at Silvie,
"What ever could have possessed you?"
Silvie shrugged helplessly and the ghost fumed.
"Curse you!
You drib'ling little monkey!
You filthy hair beast!
Prepare to meet your horrible DOOM!"
He ran a hand over his odd, pompadour-styled hair, having discarded his hat hours ago while Silvie slept. He sighed wearily, taking only a small amount of comfort in the thought that his wig had at least stayed in place.
"Curse you…" he seethed, knocking over a lit candelabra, which was perfectly fine because it was not as if the action would be a fire hazard or anything equally dangerous. The ghost let out a feral growl and spun to face Silvie, shaking a fist at her.
"CURSE YOOOOOOOOOOOOOU!"
The ghost clenched his fists, quivering in barely suppressible fury. Then, very slowly, he turned to face Silvie who lay crumbled on the floor in very much the same position as before. She looked up at the ghost, her gray eyes growing misty with tears as he loomed over her, and she noticed that he had swapped his cloak for a black robe that was now billowing out around him by an unseen wind. The image was quite foreboding.
"Great," the ghost sighed, "I've been thwarted.
You just had to go
And wreck it, so
My plan is ruined."
His claws curled into a fist and Silvie raised a hand for protection, but the movement was unnecessary. The ghost merely began to pace.
"All of that plotting
Has gone to waste
All thanks to you.
It's been destroyed
Thanks to you,
Thanks to you..."
He spun abruptly and his oddly colored eyes landed on the Silvie bridal doll, which stood just as motionless and eerily lifelike as before. The doll blinked. The ghost jumped back at once. He eyed the mannequin suspiciously, but it merely stood there wearing its blank smile as it always had. The ghost stared for several seconds, but when the doll showed no sign of movement, he turned back to the real Silvie, blaming the hallucination on his human slave girl's recent actions.
"Ahem," he started uncertainly, taking care not to look at the doll. "See, Silvie…
"I'm not all I seem.
With my amazing brain
I planned to gain
Control of Earth.
But since you've seen me,
It's been pointless.
All thanks to you
Hope has been dashed
Thanks to you,
Thanks to you…"
He glared at the teary-eyed girl, who, in turn, gazed back at him, looking…well…teary-eyed. The ghost sneered.
"Stupid human."
Silvie pouted and looked shamefully at the floor. That is when her eyes fell upon the mask and strange, oval disks. Unsure as to whether or not she was doing the right thing but quite lost as to what else to do, Silvie reached out and picked up the three objects, proffering them hopefully to the livid ghost. He looked from them to her, as if debating whether or not it was a trick (or, more likely, whether or not they were safe after being touched by filthy human hands). At last, he decided that there was not a major risk of them being contaminated or him being hoodwinked and he snatched the mask and ovals out of Silvie's hand. The singer waited patiently as the ghost, with his back to her, put each object in its proper place. When at last he faced her again, Silvie saw that the strange oval disks had covered his creepy eyes, making them almost…normal. She was about to make a mention of this when one of the ghost's metal appendages shot out and took her by the wrist.
"Come," the ghost hissed, still not quite over his anger. "There is much to explain."
And without another word of explanation, he hauled her off into the depths of his lair.
♪ ♪ ♪
"I am not one of your filthy race," the ghost explained, standing before a massive, black square of glass. This part of the lair was unlike the rest. Silvie could not see a single rock or even a hint of the stone floor. Odd, metal devices covered the walls. The ceiling was a web of purple and gray cables, making it impossible to see the stalactites of the cave. The stone floors had been covered with smooth, green slats. Everywhere Silvie looked there were gigantic pieces of machinery that she could never have dreamed of even if she had tried.
"You're not?" Silvie asked, tearing her eyes away from the foreign equipment.
The ghost glared. "No. My leaders sent me to your filthy planet on a secret mission."
"A secret mission?" Silvie repeated.
"Yes," the ghost replied, looking quite pleased with himself. "They gave the mission to me because no one else was worthy of such an assignment."
"Um, what was the assignment?"
"Become master of the human race and have the earth prepped in time for my Tallests' arrival," the ghost answered as simply as if she had him what two plus two was, which was just about as simple as you could get.
"I still…I don't really get what you're saying, buddy, sorry."
The ghost sighed wearily and turned to push several buttons on the weird metal table behind him. At once the massive black screen from before flashed to life.
"This should help," the ghost explained. "Watch! And learn…"
Silvie stared as six brilliantly pink words appeared on the screen and an overly cheerful man's voice read them for those who were blind, illiterate, or just plain lazy.
"So, you've been marked for conquest!"
The image changed to a picture of a frowny face.
"But don't feel bad!"
The picture instantly became a smiley face.
"You should feel honored! Because you, yes, you have been hand-selected by the Irken Empire! Don't know who they are? Why not?" the narrator demanded, at once becoming as harsh and fierce as the fiery pits of hell. Yet in an equal amount of time it became pleasant and chipper once more.
"You should! After all, they took the time to get to know you! How did they do this, you are wondering? Hahah…well, turns out, you've been spied on! Yes, spied on. The Irken Empire sent one of their top-raking soldiers – or 'Invaders' – to pay your planet at little visit in order to get to know your species better."
The screen showed a picture of an Irken soldier dressed in a crude chicken costume and standing amid a group of towering, salivating space poultry.
"He's been taking notes on you and your planet for quite some time, figuring out your weaknesses so he knows exactly how to attack when the Irken Armada arrives. That way, the Armada can quickly conquer your planet and convert it into one they actually have a use for."
Images of a planet of useless souvenirs, a planet of nachos, and a planet of hot pants flashed upon the screen.
"By now, you might be wondering what exactly is going to happen to you," the narrator continued. "You might be worrying that you will becomes slaves to the Irken Elite. You might be panicking. You might be ripping out your hair, fur, antennae, or other such epidermal filaments. But there's no need for any of that! Oh no! You'll be perfectly fine and much, much happier than you were before once you serve the Irken Empire. On Irk, we think 'slavery' is a harsh word, and it doesn't even come close to what you will be!"
The screen flashed to a picture of a group of sea monkey-like people who, despite their filthy rags and haggard appearance, were smiling cheerfully and waving for the camera.
"Rather than turn you and your people into slaves," the narrator went on, "the Irken Empire will give you all brand-new jobs!"
Several of the sea monkey people were shown doing backbreaking labor: From holding pickaxes that were five times too big to moving massive boulders by hand.
"Cushy accommodations!"
Next, a group of the same monkey people was seen being crammed into a small pit in the ground.
"And top-notch food and beverages!"
The tape then cut to the monkey people staring down at a plate of dirt and a glass of murky looking water.
"So turn that frown upside down!" the narrator said enthusiastically. "Stop worrying and bow! Bow to the Irken Empire! Because chances are, if you're watching this video, galactic conquest is already on its way!"
There was a light, jingly fanfare and then the screen went blank.
Silvie stared up at the black square for a beat before turning to stare questioningly at the ghost.
"They're not on their way," he said uncomfortably.
"Why not?"
"Do not question me!" the ghost ordered, pointing a threatening finger. "It has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with incompetence on my part. I have been following Invader protocol exactly! No mission is too difficult for meeee! Everything was going perfectly No one suspected a thing! And then…" He paused, gesturing to his masked face. "This happened. And suddenly the entire human race knew of my existence, knew what I really was!"
"An alien?" Silvie whispered timidly.
"Yes, you puny-brained female, yes! So I had to go into hiding. Don't ask why I chose this place; it was for reasons that would make your filthy head explode they are that impossibly difficult to comprehend. But this proved to be another problem: How was I supposed to carry out my mission if I could not go out of doors to observe human activity? How? How?"
Silvie watched as he began to pace once more. Suddenly, he stopped, his back to her, and said quietly, "It was under this…Opéra House…that I reached a solution. I was replacing a camera in Box Eight – I won't bother to explain what that is; you wouldn't understand – when you walked onto the stage." Now he turned and smirked. "Foolish human. You thought you were alone. But you were not!"
Silvie blinked.
"I heard you," the ghost went on. "And no matter how filthy your skin may be, no matter how tiny your brain is, no matter how utterly repulsing I may find you…your voice is far more superior than that stinky Calamari-human's.
"As I was listening to you, my amazing brain was already formulating a plan. Posing as your 'dear little pixie,' I would train you and make you into a singing sensation. With your amazing voice –" his now-violet eyes glittered "— I would be able to brainwash the entire human race. For, as I'm sure even your weak little mind knows, if there is one thing that holds absolute control over a human being, it's a popular singer. They decide everything. What a human wears, what filth they eat, who they obey…"
Though slightly unnerved, Silvie could not deny that he was right.
"So…so you heard me singing, liked my voice, and decided to use me as a pawn in your scheme?" she demanded quietly.
"…yes," the ghost replied simply.
"And you," she breathed rapidly, looking slightly crazed. "You're an…an…"
"It is true, Silvie!" he hissed, whipping his black robe around him. "I am not a pixie, nor a human, nor a ghost…I am ZIM!"
"Zim…" she whispered faintly.
"Zim…" he repeated, relishing in the name.
"And…and you lied to me," Silvie accused. "You lied and manipulated and filled my head with thoughts of joy and all that jazz. And now…now you want me to be your ally?"
"Yes," Zim answered with a haughty toss of his green head.
Silvie scrutinized the arrogant subject for a time, a million thoughts running through her head at once, which was quite draining considering that a person of Silvie's intelligence normally only has about a quarter of that number running through his or her head. Then, after eight seconds of tacit debate, eight seconds of staring at Zim's egotistical pose, eight seconds of thinking about his even more egotistical attitude, eight seconds of milling over the lies and wild stories and traumatizing experiences, and then, finally, eight seconds of going over the alien's unexpected request, Silvie looked at him and uttered the only words that are expected of one in her position.
"You jerk."
♪ ♪ ♪
Next chapter will take a while longer, unfortunately. Like I said, the flashback, "Notes," "Prima Donna," and Il Muto all need to be rewritten. Also, the following week appears to be a rocky one. I have several papers due and many tests coming up, and education comes first around house, no matter how lame that sounds. Trust me, it's a heck of a lot easier than slacking off and having my computer privileges withdrawn.
Notes
...shaped like a bird of some sort - I'm just curious since there have been several debates about this: Was the bed in the movie supposed to be a swan or a peacock? Personally, I thought it was a swan simply because that would be more fitting. Y'know. Christine's a beautiful swan and all that jazz.
"Would you care for some more tea?" - I told you that Erik and Gir would have a tea party.
"It will be a bad lookout, M. Gir, a bad lookout for us all" - in the original novel, Erik is talking to his friend the Persian (who hardly ever gets any credit, the poor guy) about interfering with his, Erik's, plans. He says to him, "...and then they will be after Erik themselves and they will discover the house on the lake... If they do, it will be a bad lookout for you, old chap, a bad lookout!" And so I decided to have the Erik in this parody, who is indeed based on the original, quote...himself...somewhat. All in all, I don't really mind it when people use quotes from the TV show/movie/book in their fanfiction, as long as they don't do it all the time and as long as they don't quote the person exactly. Like if someone has Captain Jack end every sentence with "savvy?" in their Pirates of the Caribbean fic, I and people like myself will find that tiresome and unoriginal. Just a note.
"O…M...G…Where are my socks? " - aha...ahah... okay, this has been the topic of debate on PotO sites ever since the new movie came out. If you noticed, Christine is wearing long white stockings throughout the mirror scene, the title song, and "Music of the Night." They aren't that hard to miss; they go all the way up to her thighs and are held up by garters, people. Anyway, after the gap fillers with Meg and Buquet, we return to the Phantom's lair just as Christine is waking up. She sits up, gets out of bed, and...GASP! Her stockings are gone! And no explanation is ever offered as to why this is, though several theories have come up: 1) They filmed the scenes on different days and just forgot the stockings, 2) Joel Schumacher left them off on purpose cuz he's a perv and he also wanted to see if anyone would notice, or 3) Gerik stole them while she was sleeping cuz...c'mon, he did so much groping in MotN. You tell me he didn't want her stockings. Anyway, rather than ignore this or simply write a funny little paragraph that would be very similar to the one above, I decided to write an entire song about it! Yay! I actually would like to bring this topic up in the future and have it be, like, the ground on which the entire plot stands, but...eh. Ya never know.
He squeaked - dude, Zim totally does. "The Halloween Spectacular of Spooky DOOM" and "Lice" are only two examples of this. And it's always a dare to see who can poke Zim and live to tell about it in the RPG I'm in. So, yeah, I threw that in. Besides, Silvie really didn't have a reason to rip off his mask. She only wanted her socks back and she needed to get Zim's attention.
White and oval-shaped, they looked like twin halves of a very large egg - how many stinkin' anachronisms have been in this fic already and yet contact lenses are unfamiliar to Silvie? I don't know why I decided to do that. I really don't.
...how much shorter the ghost looked - he was using his mech. legs before so he could tower over Silvie. He wanted to be imposing, y'see, but in his moment of anger he...kinda...forgot about 'em. Just in case that wasn't clear already.
"Whassa matta, beau?" - pronounced "boo" because it's a cute thing for Gir to say, even though rappers and others have tarnished the original, French pronunciation "b-oh." -.e;
...he seethed, knocking over a lit candelabra - which, as I said in the fic, was totally fine. It didn't matter if he set the lair on fire. He could always get another one. 9.9 I just thought it was a funny thing for Gerik to do in the movie. Understandable, he's ticked and someone with the Phantom's temper is prone to destroy things when they're feeling angry, but still...he could've set his bloody lair on fire! That candelabra was lit, ya know!
...billowing out around him by an unseen wind - those sure are handy, unseen winds.
Stranger Than You Dreamt It/My Plan is Through - just like to say that I hope it wasn't too difficult to follow. I had a heck of a time getting the correct rhythm down, and then I found out that parts of the song rhymed , which I obviously did not notice before hand (and I've been a PotO fan for how many years?) and thought nothing of since ALW has a tendency to write non-rhyming songs.
The doll blinked - that thing was freaky . Even freakier than the one in the stage show, and that one kinda reaches out and grabs Christine. o.o;; And I don't care what anyone says, that had to be Emmy Rossum. They probably just put her in the wedding dress and filmed her standing still for several seconds. I'd bet money on it.
"Stupid human" - much more endearing than that weepy "Oh, Christine..." don't'cha think? ;D
"...it was for reasons that would make your filthy head explode they are that impossibly difficult to comprehend" - and since Silvie is an exaggerated reincarnation of myself when I was thirteen...I cannot explain it either, although I can confidently say that I am much more intelligent now than I was at age thirteen. u.u
"...if there is one thing that holds absolute control over a human being, it's a popular singer" - it's the sad, sad truth for a majority of the world. Or at least America. 9.9 Really, this is one of Zim's better plans, when you think about it. Only thing is, he's forming it during the 1800s -- at time where any and all theatre folk were considered sexually promiscuous, vulgar, and sometimes Satan's right-hand guys. People wouldn't mind being entertained by them, they just didn't want anything to do with them afterward the show was over. 9.9
"I am not a pixie, nor a human, nor a ghost…I am ZIM!" - God, I have wanted to have him say that for so long! It's just so...so...Zim . Ah, allow me to explain. In the original PotO novel, after Erik takes Christine down to his lair and she learns that he is not her Angel of Music, he says "It is true, Christine! ...I am not an Angel, nor a genius, nor a ghost... I am Erik!" He doesn't say it in the typical Zim-style, of course, but a IZ/PotO fan such as myself could easily hear it said that way. :D
"...filled my head with thoughts of joy" - I'm just gonna run that joke into the ground, aren't I?