A/N: Seeing as we're now forbidden to reply to reviews, I shall have to answer any questions in the form of a series of interpretive dances. Either that or e-mail, although quite frankly the dances would be more entertaining. So if you seriously have a question about something, let me know in the review if you want an answer, because otherwise I won't. Thanks!

Chapter 11: Gory Details

Phoenix Angel collapsed on the floor, pillowing her head in Gerry Phantom's lap. Celtic Heart moved over to make room for her, though not by much; loathe to give up her extremely comfortable position leaning crossways across Gerry Phantom's chest, his arms supporting her, she shifted about an inch and a half, and Phoenix Angel had to content herself with laying her head on his knee.

"This bites," she moaned. "He's doing what I tell him to, but he's also doing it... oddly. Why won't he pay attention to the spirit of the words and not just the letter of them?"

"Because he's an Erik," suggested Mariel Yuy from her position seated cross-legged on the floor at Stalker Erik's knee, actively working on a new couch picture featuring SE, Hardcore Erik, and a ragged-looking tarp.

"Good point," muttered Phoenix Angel, sinking lower against Gerry Phantom's knee and staring malevolently at Dance Erik, who was living up to his name and trying to convince Brooke to tango. He was not meeting with marked success. He had, in fact, narrowly avoided being kicked in the kneecap by an outraged Brooke. "I can't believe him, he's totally screwing up my storyline! And not just him, either, it's the entire cast..."

Brooke looked up at her. "The entire cast?" he repeated blankly.

"Shall we move on?" suggested Random. "Or would we like to sit here and wallow in a little more self-pitying rage for a while? Kind of fun, actually, wallowing." She took a bite of Cherry Garcia, ignoring the envying looks she was getting from Leroux Erik. "Good for the soul and all that."

"Wallowing?" said Polly Moopers from the general vicinity of Chaney Erik, whom she had decided to stalk. "I thought that was an animal..."

"No, that's a whelk."

"No, not that even, something much larger than a whelk..."

"Walrus?"

"That's it."

Random frowned and considered this. "Depends. Is it possible to walrus in self-pitying rage?"

Everyone else considered this as well. There were debates on the subject for about an hour, at the end of which Phoenix Angel felt sufficiently irritated enough with the Writers to tell them to shut up and let her get on with her job.

It didn't go very well.

"I'm, uh, looking for Christine," said Brooke.

"She has been placed in the costume department," answered Christine de Chagny, who was now willingly leading the Writer/Actors in knocking the extras out and taking their places.

"The costume department?" he repeated blankly. "What's that?"

"Will you stop repeating things blankly?" stormed Phoenix Angel irately.

"Repeating things blankly?" he repeated blankly. "What's that?"

"That's it! I give up! Someone want to take over here? I am now the Executive Producer."

Random looked up from her ice cream carton long enough for Leroux Erik to stealthily slip it from between her fingers. After a moment staring at it, he stole the spoon as well. "Wait," she said, frowning. "You're giving up your story line? You can't do that!"

"I'm fed up with it!" said Phoenix Angel angrily. "Fed up with it all! I should have started with Gerry Phantom or somebody, Kay Erik even, should have gone a totally different direction! They're taking my genius and reducing it to farce!"

"Yes," said Random musingly, "I can see where that would be upsetting."

"May the farce be with you," hollered PJ from across the room, not for the first time.

"Shh, PJ," shushed Nite. "Its alright. Get a hold of yourself."

"I'd rather hold Darth Vader—"

Nite glanced towards Random, who shrugged and made a note on her notepad. A split second later PJ was being partially choked by Darth Vader, and with every evidence of enjoyment. "Thanks!" she called, except it sounded a lot more like, "Thnngxz!"

"Anything to keep you off your medication," said Random in a don't-mention-it sort of tone.

Monkey sidled towards her. "You know, since you went that far already—"

Random eyed her. "Don't you think people get annoyed, what with me putting so many in-jokes in here already?"

"Do you really care?" asked Monkey innocently.

Random sighed and wrote something else down. Very shortly afterwards, a crowd gathered around the spectacle of Darth Vader beating Carl the Comic Relief Friar from Van Helsing with an oversized chocolate bar. Random sank backwards into the Cherry Garcia-covered Leroux Erik, who was looking happier and also stickier. "Hope no one expects me to explain that one," she mumbled.

Ridel approached Phoenix Angel with a slight smile. "I'd like to volunteer to take over," she said, "if you don't mind."

Phoenix Angel eyed her. "What are your qualifications?"

"I speak softly and carry a big stick," Ridel answered simply.

"And this is useful how?"

"Well, the stick is good for hitting people—"

"Hey!" screeched Random, who had just then realized that her ice cream was gone. The rest of the conversation was lost in the bit of hubbub that followed, accompanied by uproar, brouhaha, to-do, tumult, furore, and of course chaos. Somehow things were ironed out between the two authors, and when the dust subsided, Dance Erik was in position.

After a while, he was talked out of that position and into a less obscene one, and an inquiry was started into who, exactly, had given him rum. Eventually, Capt. Jack Sparrow was discovered hiding underneath Mongie's dress. He was enticed out by the promise of a parrot-free room and incessant adoration and was shortly disappointed to find that there was, in fact, a parrot. Random watched him as he slowly accumulated admirers until they surrounded him in a big clump, and shook her head.

"You know, there are times," she said, "when having a Depp character harem really gets in the way. I mean, never mind the overuse of drool buckets, and getting lost in staring at Sands— it's downright hazardous to my mental health." She flashed a rueful grin. "Not that there's much left of that to protect, really."

"Excuse me," said Mariel Yuy, waving to attract people's attention. "I need some help convincing Stalker Erik to come out of the closet."

Random's slightly sad expression turned slowly into a gleeful smile. "What a nasty rumor," she said.

"No, its just he went in there when Erin started poking him again—"

"Erin!" said Jennyfair to Erin, who was looking almost but not quite apologetic. "Stop poking Erik, you know he doesn't like it."

"I do know it..." said Erin.

"Here," said Jenn, handing her the Stalker Erik Wind-Up Action Figure (Almost Life Size!). "Poke that."

She did. It smacked her.

"Plot, please?" prompted Ridel hopefully.

"Terribly sorry," said Random, with all evidence of cheerfulness. "Shall we carry on?" She gestured towards Dance Erik, who took a deep breath and tried to stop swaying.

"Who are you?" said Christine. "I mean, who are you exactly?"

"I am Erik," he said, stepping into the light. Christine's eyes went wide.

"Oooooh," she said, pointing at his head.

"Don't be afraid, my dear—"

"No, just— what is that on your head?"

His eyes flicked up, then down. "Ah. That would be the hat."

"Ooooh."

"Note to self," said FAB, watching with fascination. "Never underestimate the sex appeal of headware."

"You are quite lovely, you know," said Dance Erik sincerely.

"I am?" asked Christine, batting her eyelashes and getting them tangled with each other.

"Yes. I have never seen such perfection."

"Really?"

"Yes, well, I do tend to go around with my eyes closed. Two seconds, my dear, the pop tarts are done." He walked off and, after banging into the wall a few times, made it through the door.

"Oh dear," said Ridel, and Phoenix Angel said something rather harsher. Ridel glanced at her. "Problem?"

"Lets just get this over with," growled Phoenix Angel, eyes set like silver gimlets in a baleful glare that rivaled Kay Erik's.

"Is that a duck with horns on your little boat?" inquired Christine sweetly.

"It's a dragon," said Dance Erik.

"It looks like a duck."

"It's a dragon."

"Oh yeah? Then why is the name of your boat the Ugly Duckling?" she exclaimed triumphantly.

"I just happen to like ducks, okay?" he snapped. Tempers were running a little high, patience a little thin, and the story was getting farced to pieces.

"Eef my boobs could seeng," shrieked Carlotta, "dey could headline a show in Vegas!"

"Question," murmured Satoshi. "Did they have Las Vegas then?"

"Well, not in France, obviously," said Phantom's Heart.

"Wait, this is France?"

"Aha!" said Inspector Ledoux. "I will now attack you— unexpectedly!" So saying, he lunged, missed, ran into a wall, rebounded, fell sideways and bounced down a flight of stairs, getting his own nose caught in his pants zipper on the way.

"Cut!" shouted Ridel, who couldn't take it any more. "How exactly did our chief inspector get replaced with Inspector Closeau?"

No one would admit to being culpable for this, although Random was seen sitting on her notebook rather hurriedly.

"Can we just get on with it?" muttered Phoenix Angel. "They're supposed to have a picnic now. A, and I quote, tender and intimate scene in which we discover something drastic about Erik that we did not know before."

"I knew it!" shouted Brooke excitedly. "He is a woman after all!"

"No! And shut up!"

The two of them sat side by side on the blanket, yet somehow managing to face each other. It was, in fact, a rather confused day for physics. They gazed deeply into each others eyes and ignored the fact that they'd just eaten salami sandwiches with onions.

"Grant me one favor," she whispered.

"What is it?" he said. "Anything for you, my Christine."

"Will you— let me see you? I want to see you."

Dance Erik appeared to be thinking about this. After a moment he bit his lip and said hesitantly, "If— if I take off my mask— will— will you put on a fireman's outfit, sing 'It's A Small World After All' and spank me with a ruler?"

Christine considered. "Well—"

"Please."

"Okay."

"Alright." His hands went behind his head to undo the string. "I have to warn you though, my face is kind of— red."

He pulled off the mask, and there was that terrific sort of music sting that accompanies all such mask removals. Christine stared at him with wide eyes.

"Look," she said eventually, "that is so not worth the embarrassment of singing "It's a Small World—"

"But we had a deal!"

"I don't care! It wasn't an equal sacrifice on each part!"

"Grr," said Dance Erik, ineffectually.

Phoenix Angel looked out from between her fingers as her hands covered her face. "Is it over yet?" she said desperately.

"Nearly," said Ridel.

"Just tell me when I can look."

"Cough cough," said Dance Erik. "I think I've got the black lung, Pop."

"Can it," snapped Gerard. "You've only been down here a day."

They stopped and blinked at each other in surprise.

"Stop ripping off Zoolander!" shouted Ridel. "Get with the program!"

"Maybe it wouldn't be so difficult if we had a script," said Dance Erik snidely.

"What's difficult? You just jump off a roof and die. How hard is that?"

Dance Erik sighed and took a running jump.

After a few angsty moments and a non-Random/SE forehead kiss, Ridel and Phoenix Angel stood over the characters and surveyed the carnage.

"It strikes me," said Ridel thoughtfully, "that he looked entirely too happy about dying."

"I know exactly how he feels," said Phoenix Angel emphatically.