A/N: -sings Imperial March- Alright, for those of you who have been living in a hole (no offense, Erik darling), Star Wars Episode III comes out this evening, and I am one of THE biggest Star Wars geeks ever to walk the planet! –squee- So for the next week or so, I have obligations to that galaxy far, far away, and I'm afraid PotO will have to be pushed to second place momentarily. Hence, the SUPER QUICK UPDATE! –gasp- OMG! LOL. So enjoy, don't hate Raoul too much, and remember that it's all Christine's fault!
Disclaimer: Gaston's, Gaston's, Gaston's, yada yada yada… -makes a face- You know the drill!
Carlotta finished sniveling her way through her exaggerated accusations, turning a puffy, pouting red face to the increasingly bewildered Firmin. With the conclusion to the diva's prolonged recollection, murmurs began to break out among the gathered staff. Sorelli's sobbing had only increased in volume since her rival began the tale; she was capable only of shaking her head in denial.
Swallowing several times and wiping at his sweaty brow, Firmin finally turned his head to the hysterical prima ballerina. "Mademoiselle Da Gama," he said as calmly as he could manage. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
All eyes shifted to Sorelli as she lifted her beautiful, tear-streaked face from the stagehand's shoulder. "They are l-lies, Monsieur!" she sobbed, shuddering violently and glaring daggers at Carlotta. "I did nothing of the sort… I c-came to see what the f-fuss was about in the auditorium, and returned to find my room in sh-shambles!" Her voice broke, a fresh stream of tears cutting its way down her cheeks. She pointed a trembling finger at Carlotta, narrowing her piercing green eyes. "Her name was written across my mirror in her own lipstick!"
"Vich you STOLE vrom my vanity, you zittle lying twerp!" Carlotta crowed indignantly, stomping her foot.
"I did no such thing!" Sorelli screamed, lunging at the diva before the man who had been comforting her grabbed her arms in restraint. Positively seething, the ballerina turned her blazing emerald eyes to Andre, who was still curled in a ball, oblivious to the conflict around him. "Ask him!" she cried desperately, her eyes flashing in triumph. "Ask Monsieur Andre where I was yesterday morning! He knows I was not snooping around that Italian bitch's dressing room!"
All murmurs were suddenly hushed, eyes swinging collectively to the weeping manager.
A muscle in Firmin's neck twitched as he, too, looked upon his partner. "Andre?" he pressed, his voice tight and abnormally high-pitched. "Can you indeed verify that Mademoiselle Da Gama was not capable of vandalizing the Signora's dressing room?"
The frizzy-headed manager did not appear to hear Firmin's question. The vicomte, who still knelt before him, sighed and prodded his shoulder pointedly. Andre jumped as if startled from a deep sleep, looking wildly around the room.
"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, his entire body shaking uncontrollably.
"That's what I'd like to know!" Firmin nearly shouted, a vein in his forehead beginning to bulge. "Answer the question! Were you in the presence of Mademoiselle Da Gama yesterday morning prior to rehearsals?"
Andre's face suddenly drained of color, his eyes bulging slightly. For a moment, he looked as if he might faint, guilt plastered across his sagging features, before he sucked in a shuddering breath. His eyes darted wildly from Sorelli to Firmin and back again. His mouth fell open and closed several times, but the only sound that came from his pooched lips was a strangled squeak, like a mouse being crushed by a boa constrictor. I came very close to having to leave, for I was sure that my lungs would burst at any moment from withholding screams of laughter. I bit the inside of my lip until it filled with the hot, metallic taste of blood, grinding my teeth to loosen the pain in my clenched jaw.
"Tell them!" Sorelli demanded suddenly, breaking the deafening silence. "Tell all these sons of bitches, Andre! Tell them what you told me last night!"
"I would advise you to hold your tongue, Mademoiselle!" Firmin spat, his jaw tightening in fury. "Andre, I grow tired of asking this. We all know your bloody secret, so humor me and answer the question! Were you or were you not having sexual relations with Mademoiselle Da Gama early yesterday morning?"
A pin could have dropped in the auditorium, and every one of its two hundred occupants would have heard it clearly. A few mouths fell open in shock, and several of the seamstresses crossed themselves dutifully. I was almost positive that they could all hear my wheezing breaths as I tried very hard not to fall off the rafters from the impact of the laughter that seized my entire body. Clamping one hand over my nose and mouth, I wiped my tear-filled eyes with the other. This was too good to be true!
Andre's loud, ragged breathing only intensified as his wild eyes roamed the room for any sign of help, of escape…
Finally, it was Madame Giry who lost her temper. Her cane came slamming down onto the wooden floor, making everyone jump. "Enough of this!" she commanded, ascending the steps to the stage where she could glare around at everyone involved. "This has gone on long enough." She pointed the tip of her cane at Carlotta, then at Sorelli, and each of the managers. "You, you, you, and you!" She then jabbed her cane toward the back of the auditorium. "The managers' office! Everyone else, kindly remember that we are working on a schedule. I will not allow our rehearsals to be delayed another minute for this frivolous squabble. Stagehands, to your stations. Chorus girls, line up in the wings. Monsieur Reyer, kindly assemble the orchestra members." She glared at the bruised and bloody ballerinas condescendingly, her blue eyes flashing dangerously. "As for my girls, I will not tolerate such reckless and violent behavior. I am extremely disappointed in you." She sighed sharply and gestured to the dormitories. "You are exempt for rehearsals for the rest of the afternoon. You are to practice the entrechat quatre and ballotté until I come and instruct you otherwise. Meg will supervise. Wounds and complaints will not exempt you. I want those moves to be flawless by tomorrow morning. No excuses." She exchanged nods with her daughter, and watched as the petite blonde ushered the stunned and silent girls offstage. "As for the rest of you," she continued, "Craftsmen, seamstresses, grooms… you have no business lingering onstage. Back to your own departments immediately!"
The entire stage burst into action at her relentless tone, and the mass of onlookers silently slunk back to work, the spectacle concluded. Even the managers and prima donnas filed sullenly to their designated office, unwilling to challenge the ballet mistress' confident authority. Soon, only Giry, Reyer, the vicomte, the chorus girls, orchestra members and subdued stagehands remained, waiting patiently for instructions.
I sighed contentedly, slumping back against the wall with a lopsided grin. Well, it had been fun while it lasted. My gaze roamed the wings directly beneath me for any sign of Christine. I frowned when I could not place her— had she gone off to assist Meg without me noticing? My brow only furrowed deeper when I realized that I had not seen her all morning…
Apparently, I was not the only one to notice. Madame Giry rapped her cane on the ground once more, and the chorus girls stiffened.
"Where is Mademoiselle Daaé?" she demanded, her steely gaze scanning the wings for any sign of the absent girl. I wondered briefly if I had imagined the frightened quiver to her voice…
I don't have her, I thought bitterly, willing her to hear my thoughts. Who don't you ask her precious vicomte?
Evidently, the vicomte was much better at telepathy than Giry. He stepped forward, bowing his head slightly. "She felt a bit ill this morning, Madame," he offered. "I suggested that she stay in bed…"
The tension between Madame Giry's shoulders slackened almost imperceptibly, but her hard gaze only intensified. "Kindly refrain from directing my students in the future, Monsieur le Vicomte. As you will recall, that is my job." Without another word, she turned sharply to the chorus girls, and began to tap her cane rhythmically on the ground, calling out instructions and corrections as they began to dance immediately on cue and in sync.
Raoul and I turned to leave at the same time, and I growled softly as I noticed the direction in which he was headed. With a twist of my cape, I ducked through the nearest trap door, running as quickly as I dared through the dark passages. I ended, panting, in the narrow wooden tunnel just above Christine's bed.
Memories surged up from the depths of my mind at the familiar scene… many an evening had I sung my brilliant little student to sleep from that very spot, waiting and listening all night for any sign of distress. Often, in those first few years after her arrival in the ballet dormitories, my poor little Christine would jolt awake from a nightmare in a cold sweat, calling out in choked sobs for her deceased father. Each time, without fail, her Angel of Music would be there to comfort her, to sing a gentle lullaby and soothe her back to sleep. Sometimes, even before she awoke from the dreaded dreams, I would hear her writhing and whimpering in bed, and begin singing to her. Within moments, she would cease to thrash about, and slip into calmer dreams with the Angel of Music singing songs in her head.
She was asleep now, I supposed, as I couldn't hear her moving about in the room. I could see nothing from my dark hiding spot, and sang out experimentally,
Christine, Christine…
Below me, the gentle brush of sheets and squeak of springs alerted me to the fact that she could, at least, hear me. Whether she moved in her sleep or if she was actually awake, it took me a moment more to discern.
Christine…
I poured as much emotion into the name as my vocal chords would allow, and smiled softly as her whispered answer reached my ears. "Mon ange?" With my eyes closed, I could picture her chestnut lashes fluttering gently open as the words slipped from her rose petal lips. My own lips parted of their own accord as a song rose in my chest, but before the first note could leave them a quiet knock came at the door.
Now she was undeniably awake. I heard her sigh softly, and my heart gave a slight jolt of hope—was that disappointment I heard in her tone, knowing that it was Raoul, and not her Angel, waiting on the other side of the door? I waited, hardly breathing, as her bare feet landed on the cold wood floor with a dull thump, and listened as her padding footsteps approached the door.
"Raoul?" she asked quietly, her voice thick with sleep.
"It's only me, Little Lotte," the sickeningly sweet reply came. I clenched my teeth at the nickname, digging my fingernails into the flesh of my palms. The door handle clicked, and I heard the heel of Raoul's boots as he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. I could sense—rather than hear—them embrace, every hair on the back of my neck standing on end. Christine let out her breath in a sweet sigh… I squeezed my eyes firmly shut, imagining the moist air on my shoulder instead of the boy's.
Patience, I chided myself. She will soon be yours…
"I heard shouting," Christine said softly, her voice muffled by the boy's shirt.
"Carlotta," Raoul sighed. "She and Sorelli had a falling out. I'm still not quite sure what happened."
You wouldn't, my mind retorted. You don't have half enough brains to stuff that pretty head of yours…
Christine only murmured her acknowledgement. I cringed at the sound of his foul lips on her perfect skin, the familiar boiling beginning in the core of my gut.
"Mon Dieu, love, you're burning up!" he exclaimed a moment later, followed by two sets of footsteps approaching the bed beneath me. I heard the mattress sag and sheets rustle as he tucked Christine in. There was a long pause, in which all of us remained silent. I held my breath, praying to the God I didn't believe in that he wouldn't begin to serenade her again…
Unfortunately, what he did do was much worse.
"Christine," he whispered before kissing her again. I shuddered, trying as hard as I could not to picture his lips covering hers.
"Mmm?" she murmured.
"I've been thinking a great deal lately…"
A great accomplishment for you, the voice in my head growled.
"About what?" Christine asked dreamily. My heart clenched in pain; I could hear the smile in her voice.
"You," Raoul breathed. I nearly gagged. "Me… us." He sighed softly, kissing her again. "What we said on the rooftop that night."
My heart stopped cold in my chest.
The sheets rustled as Christine propped herself up. "I've been thinking about that night, too," she admitted. I stopped breathing.
"And?"
"I haven't changed my mind, Raoul. I meant what I said."
The vicomte let his breath out in a sigh of relief, while the lack of oxygen began to burn my lungs. "So did I." There was a small clicking sound, and Christine gasped. "Let's make it official."
Christine's breath began to grow uneven and choked, as if she were crying. Tears formed in my own eyes as I squeezed them tightly shut, begging and praying with my entire soul that it was just my imagination, just a nightmare…
"Christine, angel," he whispered as her sobs grew heavier. "I have loved you since the first time I saw you…my Little Lotte by the sea. You were my first and only friend as a child, and I never thought… never dreamed that I would be so lucky…" His own voice broke, and for a moment the only sound in the room was their unsteady breathing. Their lips met, and I felt my senses start to fade, but didn't dare to breathe, didn't dare admit that I was actually witnessing…
"Dear God, I love you more than life itself," Raoul continued finally. "Christine… my beautiful Christine, make me the happiest man alive… let me love you until the day I die. Christine…will you marry me?"
Darkness tugged at the corners of my mind, and I willingly gave in to its comforting embrace, slipping from one nightmare into another with a strangled choke for air.
A/N: Dun, dun, DUN! I know, sap fest, but come on, it's RAOUL. Haha. Review please, but remember that I do think Raoulie's adorable and that the whole leaving Erik ordeal was entirely Christine's fault because she's a trampslut whorebitch. K?
Haizea: Ooh, I'm glad you're enjoying "Phantom!" Glad I could be of help. Thanks so much… it's so nice to have you back as a reviewer; you make me blush. Haha. Run away! Naughty!Erik on the loose! –giggles-
Hriviel: -tackle hugs- THANK YOU! I love getting specific pointers as to what the readers like... it's very useful in writing future chapters. As for the last comment, you'll just have to wait and see, now, won't you? I won't stray from the storyline, I promise! They'll still all be in a great mood for the Masquerade.
Alli Lynn: LOL… AAH! Not Carlotta! She gives my beloved Phantom migraines! –cracks up- Happy you liked it:)
Daydreamingturtle: Really? A lot of people have said they've never seen a story done from this perspective, and it surprises me… I mean, it's the Phantom of the Opera, and miraculously I'm the only one who's thought to write a phanphic about the Phantom of the Opera from the point of view of the Phantom of the Opera? LOL. Apparently! –giggles- Thanks so much! And ooh, you reviewed my puny little one-shot too! –huggles- Aww, I've made a friend! THANK YOU! –beams-
RainsPhantom: Yes, we all love mischievous Erik, and yet so many writers have him so heartsick and brooding over Christine or falling in love with an OC that they forget this glorious side of him! It's a sin, I tell you! Lol. Yes, yes, I know you want hot and heavy EC fluff… hey, Point of No Return isn't TOO many chapters away! ;)
Just a phan: Ay, que interesante! Sí, claro, si es más facil hablar español, por supuesto, habla español! Awwww, eres muy amable! Muchas gracias! Mi cuento no es nada espectacular, pero estoy alegre que lo te gusta. Y otra vez, no me importa si hablas español o ingles— hablo y me gusta a los dos! (y todos otros de ustedes también!)
Jinxd n Cursed: Thanks:) YAY for new reviewers! –does new reviewer dance-
Joanieponytail: -glomps- Joanie, it's official. I LOVE you! I was laughing for a good ten minutes at that Surgeon General's Warning… Too. Funny! Yes, I was rooting for Erik while writing the corset ordeal… someday, darling! Hey, that IS a good excuse… er, my pants are a little snug today. –glares- Erriikk! LOL. Yes, I did try to plan ahead with the makeup, because I know he'll need it for the Bal Masque and then yet again in DJT. Just doing my duty as authoress! I'm sorry about the loss of the chocolates; I'm sure it was nothing personal. I do wish I had the time to get Carlotta's reaction to the tainted sweets; that'll teach her to be so picky! –happy sigh- But seriously, you're so great… thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart! I adore you!
Rosalyne: Another new reviewer! –waves ecstatically- Hiya! Thanks for reading, and thanks even more for reviewing! We're all in love with PotO; it's such a great story! Glad you're enjoying my version!
Opal Gimstone: LOL, to be completely honest, I can't picture him saying that either, unless he was mocking someone. The tone of voice in which I imagined him saying it was such an Erik-esque half-growl with that naughty, sexy little smirk… it just worked. I just wish you guys could see what's in my head. I try! Ooh, yes, Piangi most DEFINITELY needs makeup application lessons from Mr. Depp (whom I love), but I don't know if it would help… he's still a slimy tub of lard with no singing voice. Lol. No apologies necessary; I'm just lucky to have such loyal reviewers! –hugs-
The Singing Fox Demon: YAY! SO glad I didn't kill that for you. –wipes brow- I know, why IS it that he's always moping over that trampslut whorebitch (excuse my… French)? Unfortunately, the fun couldn't last… he IS Erik after all, therefore he must mope! Lol
Kim Sparrow: UPDATING! Where's my sexy Phantom pictures? LOL. NEW REVIEWERS GALORE! How did I get so lucky? –beams- Aww, no you don't wish you could write like me… -coughs- I suck! –coughs- But thank you:)
Hicdracones: Yes, we all need some humor amidst the angst every once in awhile, or Erik's story becomes unbearably depressing. Awww, I made you grin? I feel special! –grins back- I can't wait for the Bal Masque… it should be very exciting, indeed! YAY for the sexy Red Death costume (complete with black makeup, of course)!
LePetiteChristine: I was thinking of you as I wrote on and on in that last chapter—oh god, Hil's gonna kill me if I write another shortie. Accck, I hate writer's block… Kessie's been good lately –knocks on wood- Feed your muse pudding! It works wonders, I swear!
Shadow Fox Forever: Shankya. Where have you been? Haven't seen you on AIM in FOREVER! Happy birthday! –sings sweet sixteen song- What's your birthday wish? (other than being seduced by Erik, silly!)
Venus725: Oh good, I'm glad it was worth the wait! (-coughs- it was not! –coughs-) I love devilish Erik too… and "superbulous" is going into my list of awesome words! ;)
JennAnn: Yeah, I still have quite a ways to go with this story… I'm at least going to have 40 chapters, if not more. Unfortunately, no, it's not going to be different from the movie—I will eventually write an E/C though, I promise! Thanks… -blushes- Chapter 23 is probably my favorite too. –grins-
AliciaRoseM: Thanks! Was this quick enough? Lol.
Squirrel Maiden of Green: Well thank you so much for reviewing! I know there are plenty of people out there who read my story regularly and never get around to reviewing, so –HUGE HUGS- and thank you again! I'm so very glad you like it! –gives you a cookie- LOL, yeah, yay for Spanish speakers! It comes in handy! ;)
LoveroftheArts: Erik? In character? In MY story? –giggles- You must be joking! Haha. And yes, all reviews make my day, but yours in particular put a big grin on my face. Thanks!
Sakume: Ooh, I applaud your Spanish speaking skills, m'dear! I'm sure you'll ace that test tomorrow. HAPPY BIRTHDAY! –glomps- Lots of birthdays! Make a wish, and I'll see if I can grant it! –hands you a buffet table of sweets-
I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH! I get more reviews and newcomers with each chapter! –gives you all a big hug- You'll never know how much I appreciate it!