Author's Note: Er, I wrote this when I was really tired, so please forgive me. And about the nose thing...just don't ask. Read at own risk.
Disclaimer: Don't own it. Only thing I own is the lame plot. Yay me.
Chapter 3: Erik's Confusion
The music was awful. Without inspiration, Erik had created what could possibly be the worst opera he had ever written. Including the time he had allowed himself to indulge in the pleasures of alcohol and written a song about Madam Giry's nose. He tried again, but the notes of the organ emitted an awful sound that grated against his ears. Frustrated, he ripped up the latest song he had attempted to write. Damn Christine. When that girl ran into the arms of the young viscount she took with her all his inspiration. How was he supposed to write an opera about passion if he had none? Don Juan Triumphant was getting increasingly worse. Sighing, he started over again. His quill paused over the cream colored page as he tried to envision anything that would get his imagination flowing. Apparently that wasn't going to happen. He groaned as he threw the quill to the floor, about to rip out his own hair. The idiots who ran his opera house had arranged a masquerade which would take place in less than a month, and he planned to deliver his opera to them then. Unfortunately, at the moment he had no opera to deliver. As he bent down to retrieve the quill, he heard the echo of a thump. It wasn't too far away if his hearing was anything to go by, and it definitely wasn't a rat. Grabbing his punjab, he made his way to one of the passages near his private entrance to meet the intruder.
As he quietly ascended the stairs, he heard voices. "Should we go after him?"
"Of-Of course. He deserves more than what he got. You first." The man's voice was full of fear and Erik smirked to himself.
"Are you two crazy!? This is the phantom's lair." A third one.
"Yeah... he's a dead man anyway. We should just leave him."
"You're right. Let's just leave."
Silence reigned for a moment before Erik heard footsteps walking away. He made his way to the top of the stairs, greeted by the familiar stretch of stone that allowed him to get in and out of the vent without landing on anything unpleasant. What was not familiar however, was the man who was currently sprawled on his territory. Apparently, the young viscount had taken it upon himself to make his life a living hell. Erik would have strangled him right there if the man were conscious. With the little light allotted to him by the vent, he could see the viscount was in bad shape. He was oddly reminded of how he had first entered the opera house, seeking sanctuary with the help of Madam Giry. What remained of his heart softened slightly, and he decided to hold off on killing him- at least until it was a little more of a challenge. After all, aside from the theft of his most promising student, he really had nothing against the man; or hadn't until his trespassing. Growling, Erik realized he was thinking too much about this boy for his own comfort, and swiftly picked him up. With the deadly swiftness he had acquired over the years, he brought the deChagny to his lair; settling him in the bed he had set aside for Christine. Disgusted with himself for helping him, he turned away. Why was he doing this? His mind quickly came to the conclusion that he was looking for a distraction from his failing opera. He briefly wondered why the viscount was here, of all places. If the boy was desperate enough to seek shelter from the opera house and not able to go through the front door, he obviously had nowhere to go.
'Perhaps he could be of use,' the phantom pondered. As much as he hated to admit it, the boy did have a wonderful voice that could be trained and used to test out some of his songs. Horrified at even his consideration of it, he quickly cut off his train of thought. He would get the patron help, and when he was healed would either kill him or send him on his way. More irritated than usual, Erik stalked off to find Madam Giry.