A/N: Sorry this took so long to get up. I make no excuses, but my reasons are as follows: A. General peevishness. B. Slight mental breakdown. C. A strong desire to hit someone with a club. Anyway, I've gotten past that now— basically— but really its all bloody crap isn't it, which sounds painful, and I AM NOT INSANE (she said as she hit herself over the head with a club). At any rate, the list of Writers is now on my Author's Bio page, and reviews are (somewhat) replied to on my blog (of course if you don't review, I can't reply, neheh). Have a nice day.

Chapter Three: In Which There Is Self-Inflicted Violence

Whispers were going around the room, concentrated mainly in the Eriks, who were flabbergasted, shocked, horrified, alarmed, dismayed, and appalled, which leads us to this undeniable conclusion: seriously repressed Opera Ghosts are easily undone by young women in states of undress.

"Dear god, its her!"

"She's here!"

"And she's wearing a towel!"

"Things are getting worse by the minute!"

Random stopped grinning and scowled abruptly. "I think I resent that."

Kay Erik smacked his hands on the table demandingly and stood up, demanding, "Mademoiselle Battlecry, I demand to know—"

"You sound so demanding," said Random, blinking up at him. "Hold that thought a minute, lemme get dressed." She ducked back into the bathroom, and Kay Erik heaved a sigh and sat back down.

"There's no reasoning with the woman, is there," he said rhetorically.

"You can try," offered Stalker Erik. "I mean— it'd be fun to watch."

This nearly prompted a discussion on what, exactly, 'rhetorical' meant, but Gerry Phantom, his gaze framed on either side by the girls in his lap, looked at the table— or, at least, as much of it as he could see— and said, "I suppose this has something to do with that bargain we made at the end of Whose Lair?"

"Bargain?" said Kay Erik. "We made no bargain. Nothing was signed, no grasp of hands was given. It was a tentative verbal agreement, that is all, and I for one feel no shame in promptly forgetting about it."

"After all," said Celtic Heart philosophically, "a verbal agreement ain't worth the paper its written on, right?"

She smiled at the looks that this earned her, and jiggled the infant she held against her hip.

"—Right," said Kay Erik finally, a bit baffled, and turned back to the matter at hand.

"Still," said Gerry Phantom, "that would explain why she brought us here."

"She looked mad," put in Crawford Erik.

"Oh, no, she always looks like that," said Hoshi.

"No, I mean, she looked angry."

"Oh."

"What of it?" said Kay Erik imperiously. "Is she an Erik? Is she a Phantom of the Opera? I think not, gentlemen. What could she possibly do to us?"

There was a quiet pause as a few hundred pairs of Erik eyes looked down at the table, thoughtfully. Then Crawford Phantom said,

"I remember how she was in Whose Lair, and I for one do not want to be on her bad side."

There was a general murmur of agreement.

Circe Rose leaned over to Mademoiselle Phantom.

"Does Random have a bad side?"

"I don't know," whispered Mademoiselle Phantom back, "but I don't want to find out. Short people are vicious when they get riled up."

"You sound like you speak from personal experience."

Mademoiselle Phantom glanced down at her vertically challenged self. "I do."

"Maybe we're going about this all wrong," said Kay Erik. "Perhaps there is some other reason she brought us here."

"Very possibly," said Gerry Phantom, squinting in thought. "There's very little I would put past her teeny, twisted mind."

Kay Erik stared at him for a minute. "Teeny?" he said disbelievingly.

Leroux Erik looked up from the staring contest he had been having with Le Chat.

"The random one knows— oh yes, she knows! She knows!"

They all looked at him, but after a moment he shrugged slightly and went back to staring at Chat.

"That's all, apparently," said Crawford Phantom, and patted Leroux Erik carefully on the shoulder.

Chat reached out a paw and touched Leroux Erik's mask. Within two seconds they were both purring. Obviously some sort of concordance had been reached— he wouldn't scream if she spoke, and she wouldn't sneeze all over him. Of such little compromises life is made, lived, and done away with. At least, it makes things easier if you compromise. You may be one of those individuals who stick to their guns no matter what and never come out of their tower; in which case, screw you, Rapunzel.

She sneezed on Crawford Phantom instead, and when he looked rather offended, said apologetically, "I'm sorry, its just, the death smell kind of gets to you after a while. And I have a very small nose."

"I see," said Crawford Phantom. From a pocket he produced a voluminous white handkerchief, which he held to Le Chat's nose. She sniffed into it a few times and thanked him.

Kay Erik, who had been watching this exchange in utter disbelief, said, as he watched the Phantom of the Opera help a cat with allergies, "Has the world gone mad?"

"I like to think so," said Random airily, entering the room again. The towel had been replaced with grey-green cords and a black t-shirt, while her hat perched on her wet and snarled hair. She smiled at everyone. "Madness makes things better."

"We have been debating," said Kay Erik icily, "what possible reason you could possibly have for doing the impossible and bringing us here."

She blinked at him. "Is there some sort of word shortage in your part of the world?"

"Answer the question, please."

"Because you seem to say the same word a lot."

"Answer the question."

"I'm the one who asked it, though. You answer it."

"Answer the question that I asked."

"I'm sorry, what was it again?"

"What reason do you have for bringing us here?" said Kay Erik, his voice low and dangerous, his eyelids dropping down to half cover the molten pupils that stared at the young writer as though to sear her very soul.

"I need a reason?" said Random blankly. "What? I need a reason? Crap!"

Kay Erik sighed deeply.

"I've never had a reason before! What will I do with it? Will I know it if I see it or will someone more logical than I have to point it out to me?"

Kay Erik sank low in his chair, put his hands on the wooden surface in front of him, and very slowly and deliberately, began to bang his head against the table, every blow carefully aimed straight between his hands. His fingers arched, gripping the table tightly, pulling him forward with every nod so that his forehead hit the table with punishing force.

And now that we've analyzed exactly what he was doing, lets analyze everyone's reaction to this.

The Eriks stared at him as though he were mad— which, really, if you take the time to think about it a little, or even if you don't think about it and just know the legend basically, because it's a fairly well-known fact, really, you don't even have to read the books, all you have to do is listen to the laughter on the Original Cast Recording or take a good look at the Phantom's interior decorating in the movie, with the red velvet and the gilt, and the peacock bed, or whatever the heck that was, that should be enough to convince anyone that he is not entirely sane, never mind all the murders and the apparent fascination with women who can't keep their mouth shut, and never mind the fact that the Eriks have allowed themselves to be represented in Whose Lair and other phics in the most abominable manner, because I'm sure if they were real I'd be punjabbed by now, in fact I think Stalker Erik called in an assassination attempt on me just on general principles, or if you've been living on avocados for the last three weeks, or if you're a Writer at the gates of dawn and you take no prisoners, or even if you skipped over this paragraph because its completely pointless in the end, much like everything I've ever written, with the possible exception of some of my real stuff but this isn't really the time for self-promotion, so just let me say that when the books come out I hope you buy them, and I'll sign them for you, or something, or bake you brownies, but, getting back on subject, allow me to tell you about my seven children, and if you believe that then I've got a tomato farm in Antarctica I'd like to sell you, he was.

I dare you to read that paragraph again.

Some of the Writers laughed, some of them sighed, and Celtic Heart rushed forward and said, "Don't do that, hon! Its bad for you!"

And Stalker Erik nodded significantly and said, "I know how you feel, brother, I know how you feel."

"Jaez," said Random, still pacing worriedly, her hands behind her back. The tails of her black coat trailed along behind her on the ground. "How am I supposed to come up with a reason on short notice? Anyone got one I can borrow?"

"I thought you brought them here because of the deal you made at the end of Whose Lair," offered Mithril-who-shall-be-called-Boomer.

Random gestured briefly with her hand. "Too logical, that doesn't sound like me at all."

"Maybe you just wanted help writing a phic?" suggested One Who Walks With Pigeons.

"Again, a bit too logical for your average Random production."

"Its Erik," said Adison with a shrug. "There's a whole bunch of Eriks in your office. Who needs a reason?"

Random glanced up at her and pointed a small but definite finger. "That one I like."

She kept pacing however, and that's when disaster struck, in the form of her tripping over her coattails, falling hard, and striking her head against the wall.

There was a brief period of silence.

There was a brief period of noise.

There was a brief period of silence.

"I'm alright," said Random, staggering up from her position on the floor. "I— I think—"

She lost her balance and tripped again, this time hitting her head against the table leg. There was less of an uproar this time, and some stifled giggles; evidently it couldn't have hurt too much the first time if all she did was go and do it again. Kay Erik looked down at her and sniffed.

"Clumsy, aren't you?"

She looked up and him and said, "Oh, screw you."

Oddly enough, his eyes looked genuinely hurt, but she was too busy staggering up, then tripping, then falling down again to notice.

This time she banged her head into Stalker Erik's knee on the way down. He yelped and clutched at it. Random lay with her head on his foot and was terribly, terribly still.

Stalker Erik nudged her with his toe.

She didn't move.

"Dear god," said Celtic Heart.

"Oh no!" said Mandy, putting her hands to her face.

"Check her pockets for loose change," said Stalker Erik.

But it was at this point that Random finally stirred. She shifted onto her back and looked hazily up at the ceiling.

"My— brain hurts," she said.

"Oh yes?" said Stalker Erik, tilting his head to look down at her. "No harm done then."

"Brain?" said SarahBelle in the tone of one who's never heard the word before.

Willing hands were offered to help her up, but when she answered the question, "Am I in your will?" with a resounding, "No," she was left to fend for herself. She groped her way up the table leg quite a ways before opening her eyes to discover that it was, in fact, Kay Erik's leg, and he was glaring at her.

Then she groped the rest of the way up, just because.

Finally she was standing somewhat shakily on her own two feet, and looked around at everyone.

"I've been struck on the head," she said, "three times."

They all, nearly imperceptibly, nodded.

"I wasn't all that normal to begin with."

They, more perceptibly this time, nodded.

"Life sucks," said Random, "buy a vacuum."

They all nodded, very definitely, and she held up a finger and grinned to herself.

"I think," she said, "that this will be a very interesting episode indeed. Hand out the party hats and lets tango with wolves— cha-cha with caterpillars— lambada with llamas—"

As she slowly sank to the floor again listing alliteratives, Kay Erik looked down at her, then up at the Writers, who were watching with amusement. People bashing their heads into things was one of their favourite forms of entertainment; fortunately, it happened quite a lot when Random was around.

"Has she gone mad?"

Stalker Erik's voice was a bit faint.

"What," he said, then had to clear his throat and start again. "What a stupid question."