Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, but I own the idea of the gloriously glorious Frankish. Hot stuff!

Dammit! I was wrong! That stupid little poodle, Christine Daae can sing! I have my suspicions, let me tell you, I did see pictures of her everywhere in the "love cave" last time Erik and I had a "love fest" and…I know about the mannequin with the wedding

dress and the perfectly shaped holes in shady places. And by shady, I don't just mean where the sun don't shine!

I asked Erik about this, as he was lying gracefully on my swan bed, shirt and pants removed in a pile on the floor, having been hurriedly cast away in a moment of passion. After I pried my curious eyes from his luscious body, his large "package" covered teasingly by the velvet blankets, I submissively asked my question, his seductive blue eyes boring into mine.

'"Erik, can we go to your coffin again?"'

Ok, so maybe I got a little side tracked, (who wouldn't!), and didn't ask him. Bid deal! I know what that mannequin is for! And yes, I'm jealous! A mannequin of me would look so much better in that dress!

I digress, however, from the situation at hand. The fact was that I did have to perform my dance on stage, and that Piangi and his little fellow groped me, and that Mommy Madame Giry punched me in the ribs when I declined Piangi's invitation to go to his dressing room cough BROTHEL cough after the show. I did not want to become another of his living trophies, the only perks being a ten dollar gift certificate at Victoria's Secret. Why would I want to join the other ballet rats when they are shopping for risqué undergarments that won't stay on for more that five minutes? I do have morals…

I was figuring my nipples lovingly as I was trying to evade Buquet, he was rather drunk and staring fixedly down the dresses of Nest Head and Barbie (Christine and Meg if you aren't sophisticated enough to understand my sense of humor) when my beautifully sculpted ears caught the sound of Erik and Mommy Madame Giry chatting in a corner.

'"So you'll watch the door?" Erik's deep voice asked silky.

'"Yes, just make sure you take a while locking the door, ok? And wear the black gloves."'

'"Ok. What about a cloak?"'

'"Oh yes, and you've practiced the swishy cloak removing routine haven't you?"'

"'Yes, what would I do without you, Suga Momma?"'

That was enough for me to hear, and the fact that Mommy Madame Giry started going into detailed descriptions of rather questionable rounds of leap frog told me it was time to leave.

My fuzzy little head was buzzing with the information that I had just discovered. Erik and Mommy Madame Giry are planning on kidnapping someone! And who is that someone? It must be me! I knew that Erik hadn't forgotten our games of Marco Polo in the lake…with no clothes…and that it usually only lasted one go…

I scurried to my dressing room, all the ballet rats weren't there yet as I had passed most of them snogging in the corridors with random men, and quickly changed into my night ensemble of silky red boxers with little white half masks on them, (Erik has a matching pair. They came in a set with loofahs!), deciding to ditch the customary harness, as my nipples were ever so golden and shiny.

Knowing that any second now, I would pretend not to hear the pathetic door to the dressing room lock and be some what surprised that all the candles in the room just happened to blow out at the same time, I sat on the edge of my bed which is conveniently placed across from Erik's portal, which is a strangely positioned linen closest, impatiently awaiting the arrival of my lover…

Five minutes later I found myself traveling down the rooster print carpeted path to Erik's "love cave". I just didn't want to wait anymore, so I pushed through the contents of the linen closet, but not before near death by a wad of used gum, damn that Victaw, and kicked the bunny picture covered wall down, allowing me to reach the rooster printed path.

Why roosters? I have no idea. When asked about this, Erik just mumbled something about the insanity of farm animals. I didn't question further as he had begun to sing "Ol' MacDonald" in an extremely high voice with an out of tempo rendition of the chicken dance. Must be a subject he isn't keen on.

Any who! As my fascinating mind contemplated this question, my gorgeous Bod wandered into the clutches of Grubb, the rat catcher. Now rat catchers…can be very unclean and UN appealing to men of taste such as myself, but Grubb was different. He was STANKY! He smelled of bleach and parmesan cheese and anything other smell that could possibly be deemed nauseating. But that wasn't the worst part. He was in love with me.

"Frank ISH!" he called loudly with an extra emphasis on the ISH part which is why I wrote it like that, "why haven't you been returning my calls! Does your phone not work?"

"I suppose not deary," I said between gritted teeth as I thought with dread about the extremely long list of missed calls on my phone, all from him about 20 seconds apart from each other.

Then the unspeakable happened. In the extreme quiet of the catacombs, the only sound being the muffled drip drop of water falling on the rooster carpet from the ceiling echoed the fabulous "Bootylicious" ring tone from my cell phone, the one that was supposed to be broken. Grubb angrily pulled the tiny silver phone from my pocket, snapped his teeth at it a few times, and silenced the beeping melody by tossing it into the lake.

"Hey!" I screamed, crossing my arms and tapping my foot furiously, "that might have been my stylist!"

But before I could even jerk my head from side to side and snap my fingers, Grubb came towards me menacingly, stanky as ever, and I remember no more.

HEYA! Here's a shameless plug for my other story To the darker side she goes, which will also have a shameless plug for this story! Please review! Love and Peace! Kupo!