A/N: Hiya, everyone! I would ask how you're all doing, but seeing as though Phantom came out on DVD Tuesday, I think I already know the answer. –grins-
Okay, this chapter has been an immense headache for me. It's gone through about three drafts, and I finally settled with this one, much as it will drive you, the readers, insane. Haha. The major problem is that I could have extended this chapter for EIGHTEEN PAGES, or broken it up into two chapters… unfortunately, the second option (far easier for me) leaves you on a cliffie. –grins devilishly- So if it seems that this entire chapter is setting you up to hear one whopper of a tale, it's because it IS… you'll just have to wait until next time to hear it! We'll just say that Erik had QUITE a bit of fun causing chaos; he is the source of all the trouble you will hear about. Alright, done talking… read on, and please don't kill me! –cowers-
I was convinced, by that point, that Eris herself could not have wreaked such glorious havoc among the Opera's inhabitants. Shaking with suppressed mirth, I stared down from the rafters at the tumultuous spectacle below me. Never before had my brilliance manifested itself with such staggering clarity, but the best part of this little game by far was that not one of the bumbling imbeciles had thought to blame the morning's calamities on the infamous Opera Ghost. For the first time in nearly a month, I found that I was actually enjoying myself... and without Christine, to boot!
Within half an hour, the auditorium had miraculously transformed from a theater into a three-ring circus (appropriately, I developed during that time a maddening craving for popcorn and roasted peanuts). My senses feasted on the glorious sights and sounds that poured from the chaotic mob below me. I leaned back against the wall with a soft, contented sigh, one leg dangling carelessly over the edge of the rafter as I soaked it all in.
The prima donnas, unsurprisingly, were the main attraction of the little fiasco. La Carlotta and La Sorelli stood on opposite sides of the stage, each sobbing and gesturing dramatically to one another, as if their bloodcurdling wails did not adequately express their woe. The Italian diva sniveled into Piangi's shoulder, while he, in turn, exchanged crude threats with the burly blond stagehand who coddled Sorelli. Crowds of supporters huddled around each of the starlets protectively, offering sympathy and condolences— which was, needless to say, precisely what the drama queens desired. Each prima donna explained her side of the story (neither of which was remotely true) at least a dozen times, the details of which grew more extravagant and utterly implausible with each retelling. At one point, Sorelli became so indignant upon overhearing one of Carlotta's accusations that she stormed over to the diva and dealt her a solid smack across her makeup-caked cheek. A horde of Carlotta-devotees flew at her in a rage, only to meet Sorelli's gang of enraged loyalists. A stage-brawl unlike any the Opera Populaire had ever seen burst out shortly after, growing in intensity and populace until nearly every tenant and staff member within earshot had taken a side.
Meanwhile, the ballet rats swarmed into the auditorium in clusters, their round, red little faces locked in enraged scowls. They knew nothing of the prima donnas' woes, nor did they particularly care. Ducking between the legs of their superiors or merely elbowing and shoving their way through the gathered crowd, they collided in the middle of the stage in a tangle of limbs, teeth, tousled hair, and sharp pink nails. For a moment, the elder chorus girls (who had huddled in the wings, deciding to stay out of the divas' scuffle) looked on in shock, exchanging puzzled glances. Suddenly they broke out of their incredulous stupor, breaking into the raging battle. The younger girls, however, refused to be parted. They clawed and bit at the intruders' flesh like rabid animals, no longer capable of distinguishing friend from foe. Yelps of pain erupted from the chorus girls as they retreated quickly back to the wings, their eyes wide in incredulity at the strength of the small army of ferocious ballerinas.
Above the stage, yet another violent brawl had broken out not twenty feet from me. I was cloaked in shadow, tucked securely in the far back corner of the stage, but so caught up were the men involved that I highly doubted that they would have noticed me had I stepped directly into their circle and begun screaming right along with them. The stagehands had formed a ring around the gripper, Dante Marcella, who stood, flustered and shifty-eyed, in the eye of the storm. Another young man, Francois Amer, circled him like a vulture closing in on its prey, occasionally shoving Dante's shoulder or cursing at him, attempting to get a rise out of the younger boy.
"Lascilo solo, maiale!" the gangly Italian spat after a particularly harsh blow to his forearm. "I don't want to fight!"
Francois snarled, grabbing the boy by his shirt collar and lifting him slightly from the ground. "No? Well perhaps you shouldn't have been kissing my girl, then, pretty boy." With that, he spat in Dante's eye, and the Italian boy finally fought back, throwing a punch at Francois's face. I watched intently from my spot just above and behind them as the other young men began to cry out triumphantly, boo and hiss as each hammering blow was exchanged. Two of the more scandalous boys began to collect bets as to the winner, their eyes glittering with greed as crumpled notes were tossed onto an upturned prop piece. I was simultaneously fascinated and disgusted by their nonchalance in the face of such brutality, before remembering the same look of excitement in the eyes of young boys as the gypsy's whip cut into my flesh.
I shuddered, and promptly looked away.
The ringleaders of this turbulent spectacle huddled in the orchestra fit, screaming at one another and flailing their arms like drowning men. Reyer and Giry stood face-to-face, their noses mere centimeters from touching. The maestro had gone extremely red, every last vein in his forehead protruding in rage. Giry, however, would not be intimidated; she spat orders at him, trying to get everything under control, and trembled with fury when she was told to be silent, as a woman had no right to order about a man. Meanwhile, Andre was curled up in one of the seats behind them, his arms curled over his fuzzy gray head, rocking back and forth while sobbing pitifully. The Vicomte crouched beside him, desperately trying to tell Andre to get a hold of himself, that his conduct was most unmanly.
I snorted softly. You are one to talk, Monsieur le Fop. The thought brought a grin to my face.
Yes, it had been a very enjoyable morning, indeed.
My satisfied smirk only broadened as a bemused Firmin appeared in the doorway to the auditorium. He halted in his tracks, his mouth hanging slightly open as he took in the outrageous sight.
"Wh-what is the meaning of this?" he squawked after a moment of stunned silence, dropping his luggage at the door and bolting down the center aisle. No one paid him any attention, of course, and after several vain attempts to calm the storm, he finally barged past his squabbling colleagues in a huff. He squatted on the organ bench, glowered around the chaotic room, and suddenly slammed his clenched fists down on the keys, producing a deep, booming chord.
"The Opera Ghost!" the ballet rats shrieked collectively, immediately abandoning their hair-pulling, pinching, scratching, kicking and biting. I had to remind myself not to laugh. I didn't have much time to be flattered, though I gave a mock bow at the recognition (if wrongly credited). Suddenly the riotous staff fell silent, turning to the source of the noise.
Everyone's eyes, including my own, settled on the enraged Firmin. He stood up on the organ bench, glaring at each and every one of them, a vein in his neck bulging with fury.
"ENOUGH! THERE IS NO BLOODY OPERA GHOST!" he bellowed, slamming his palm down on the top of the organ. A heavy, incredulous silence hung over all of them as they stared at this strange, furious little man as if he had sprouted tentacles. "What," he panted, his beady black eyes fixating on the blubbering Andre, "In God's name is going on here?"
I sighed in mild disappointment. Why does God get credit for everything?
Still, no one spoke. For a moment, I believed that no one could even remember the reason they were here, squabbling like rabid alley cats. I was about to open my mouth and sing I'm here, the Phantom of the Opera, just to throw them all into a fit again, but Carlotta thrust the back of her hand to her forehead dramatically and let out a nasal wail before I could get the chance.
"Señora Giudicelli, explain yourself!" Firmin demanded, little flecks of spit bursting from his lips with every crisply annunciated syllable.
I leaned against the dusty wall again with a smug grin, my arms crossed casually over my chest. For awhile I had forgotten the satisfaction of haunting, but now the tingling, rewarding sensation flooded back to me full-force. Sad as it was, I found significant pleasure in causing others pain; I did not feel quite so alone when others were forced to suffer unjustly, if only in small doses as compared to my own torment.
Of course, Carlotta was normally my first target, and this instance was no exception. One of these days she would learn that her incessant exaggerations and egotism did her more harm than good. She wanted the limelight? I was happy to give it to her—at a price.
With elaborate gestures and a voice elevated even more than usual, the Italian diva sniveled her way through the morning's jarring events (exaggerating every detail along the way, of course) while I relaxed in the rafters above her, listening intently to "her side" of the story.
The true story, of course, was quite different from the eyes of the all-seeing, all-hearing Opera Ghost.
A/N: OMG! OVER 200 REVIEWS! –smothers you all in a huge hug- I LOVE YOU PEOPLE SO MUCH! –open buffet of all the goodies your brilliant minds can imagine-
Venus725: Yeah, I'm in love with "No One Would Listen." –sobs- Poor, unhappy Erik! Well, not in this chapter, at least. I was sick of the angst; the poor guy needed to have some fun! Of course I had to bring Madame Giry back… I adore her. I know, it was supposed to be a bit of foreshadowing, and poor, desperate little Erik just can't listen to reason, even from a woman as wise as Giry. –sigh- Ah well, off to watch PonR! –swoons-
Hriviel: Yeah, we did! Yay for updates— you, of course, are much more consistent than I am. –hangs head in shame- Not to mention a better writer. Haha… No, I wanted to make it BLATANTLY clear that Erik is not normally a drinking person… the circumstances just called for any means of escape he could find, and he wound up completely smashed and miserable as a result. Tssk, tssk! LOL.
Inkie Pinkie: I know; hard to picture. Sorry if I portrayed it badly; happy to say I've never been hung over. –grins evilly- Ooh, you'll see what he does to Carlotta… it's very impish of him, and deliciously wicked! Muahaha!
Joanieponytail: -scrunches up nose- Yes, WAY better than the morphine addiction. I'm purposely ignoring that little detail from Kay, pretending it doesn't exist. It's bad of me, I know, but I just hate it, and would rather not acknowledge it. The occasional drinking spell seems much more tame to me. –shrugs- And thank you… I think my own maternal side came out in Madame Giry subconsciously. He needed to hear that, even if he wouldn't listen. –sighs- And believe me, Christine isn't going to get off easy. I'll continue the story a few chapters after "Down Once More" to conclude, ending in her death and funeral. –sniffles- Well, you'll see…
Shadow Fox Forever: Mmm, yes, drunk Erik… ooh, the possibilities! LOL. –snaps fingers- Drat, if only I'd been there! Haha. I can't wait for "Masquerade" either; he's so great in "Why So Silent?"… that arrogant little stride of his… -swoons-
Opal Gimstone: LOL… -huggles- There, there, dear. We all have computer troubles at one point or another. Mine, for example, has been rather fussy about the internet connection lately. –sighs- But I would trade a fussy computer for a compliant muse any day! Kessie has been lounging on the couch drinking Cherry Coke slushies and watching Julia Roberts chick flicks for the past week and a half. –shakes head- Yeah, poor Erik, mean Madame Giry… haha, that's about the gist of it. She's not trying to be mean, though… just trying to be helpful in an overly-intrusive and maternal way.
RainsPhantom: Aww, well thanks. –calms down- I feel bad when I take forever to update. Haha, I'm such a hypocrite, constantly yelling at other authors to update while my story sits in the corner of my computer gathering dust. –shakes head- I'm so bad… lol.
Marianne Brandon: -still gaping incredulously- I can't believe you're actually tolerating this horrible little story, but wow... um, thanks? LOL… As of yesterday evening, I've seen Phantom six times. –grins and does "obsessive compulsive" dance- I'm crazy, I know, but what can I say? I love it!
Sakume: -sniffles- Wow, that was beautiful… LOL! You're a poet! –giggles- Aww, you make me smile. Not cheesy at all; I appreciate it! –hugs-
Sperry Dee: Auugh, this thing hates me! Sure, I'll email you as soon as I update. Thank you… -blushes- Amazing, no, but I'm still flattered. :)
Noni-Noelle: -dodges the flying objects while cackling- LOL, yes, yes, my dear, I know you think I'm crazy, but REALLY, I mean, come on, this story is terrible! Tee hee! –takes it back before you hold Erik captive and never let me see him again- Alright, alright, not terrible, but not good, anyways. –grins- Better?
The Singing Fox Demon: LOL, well thank you! Glad I could make your day. –shakes head in disbelief and mumbles something about all of you being easily amused- I know! I want more E/C moments, but I believe my line at the end of chapter 23 prevents it… he can't lay eyes on Christine until the Masquerade. –sobs- So I had fun letting him haunt everyone else… kills the time, anyway. ;)
BumbleOBee: -smiles secretively- Oh, you'll see… I'm sticking to canon, but the story will continue… I'm not promising anything, but… well… you'll see. –clamps mouth shut and refuses to say another word-
Alli Lynn: -eyes bulge- This cannot POSSIBLY be happening! Another new reviewer? With friends who read my story? –passes out cold- I-I-I'm in shock. Th-thank you? Wow. Just… wow. Yeah, you don't have to be a member to review… thanks so much! I appreciate it more than I can say.
Sandy: -cuddles- Well, you said if I updated it might make you feel better… here it is! I love you, sweetie… You're my bestest friend and favorite cousin! –blows a kiss- Thank you so much for taking the time to read this –cough-lousy-cough- phic of mine… I'll make a phan out of you yet! Just wait till I get to your house this summer, babe… Moulin Rouge and Phantom, all the way! Plus, you still have to see the rest of the Star Wars movies. ;) –bribes- Ewan's in three of them… -grins-
LePetiteChristine: Haha, yes, thank you, m'dear. I'm still shocked at your writing ability… I still say you write as well as someone twice your age. –groans- I need to finish Kay, like, really bad… I just got to Nadir. –sighs- Maybe after I've posted…
Anonymous: Wow, I think you were my 200th reviewer, and I have no idea who you are! –sobs- Well, thank you SO much… -hugs you anyways- No, never heard of it… but I'll go check out the lyrics as soon as I'm done here. Thanks again!
Asia1st: -GASP- Omg, you're right! –slaps hand- BAD ME! I need to check my historical facts, huh? –blushes and grins- Alright, I'll go back and change it… plenty of other operas which debuted earlier. Thanks for the notice! I always need people to catch little errors like that.
I'm still in shock, guys… over 200 reviews, and more reviews in this last chapter than ever before. –shakes head in disbelief- THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, a million times and more!