Unwilling: OK, since Unsworn does not know this fandom (sighs) I'd better do the Author's Notes.
We got the idea for this after writing the first few chapters of our OTHER Lyra and Greenpeace story, situated in the Eragon place of things.
Lyra and Greenpeace are us. Well, our alter-egos. And, just to avoid confusion, I'm Lyra. Greenpeace is exclusively the property of Unsworn.
We don't own anything. Unfortunately. Because, you see, if I owned Erik, I wouldn't be writing about my alter-ego glomping him... I would be doing it. Me. Myself.
Nineteenth century Paris at night. An idyllic scene—if one discounted the prostitutes littering the streets. Two cloaked and hooded figures walked swiftly in the direction of the Opera House, bickering.
"So how come you get to wear men's clothes and I don't?" asked the one who was lagging behind and walking rather uncomfortably.
The other person turned, said, "because," and continued power-walking, this time dragging her friend with her.
"Because what?" asked the first woman.
"Because you don't know this canon. I do. And because I know how much you love wearing urple dresses."
The first woman growled something, which clearly stated her position on urple, dresses, andthe Phantom of the Opera. "Look, Lyra," here she shook the other woman's sleeve, "I'm all for psychopathic sadistic bastards, but explain again why I should be glad to meet this one?"
Lyra stopped and turned to face her companion, a Punjab lasso appearing in her hand as she did so. "Never, " she stated in a flat voice, a voice that promised horrors that only a professional sadist could imagine, "never call Erik a bastard...ever!" She hefted her lasso, and the first woman nervously raised her hand to her eye. Lyra sighed. "Damn, I trained you too well."
"Do I get a reward for remembering what to do?"
Rolling her eyes, Lyra produced a packet of sugar. Tossing it to her companion, Lura said, "Good Greenpeace," and continued walking.
Lyra and Greenpeace had by now reached the Opera house. Lyra grinned and ran inside. Successfully navigating several maze-like corridors, Lyra led Greenpeace into a drafty room dominated by a large mirror. Lyra then pressed a spot on the wall and, after a space of several minutes, the mirror swung open.
Contentedly humming under her breath, Lyra cautiously led Greenpeace through several more maze-like corridors, and stopped once she reached the lake.
"Whasamatter?" Asked Greenpeace.
"Nothing," Lyra replied. "I was just admiring the scenery."
Greenpeace facepalmed.
Rowing across the lake proved a problem for the two. Since none of the actually knew hot to row the damn boat, their journey across the lake was more circular than straight.
Upon reaching Erik's lair, Lyra squee'd. Greenpeace winced as the high-pitched noise reverbated around the cave, causing a minor rockslide.
Erik stalked out, a Punjab lasso in his hand. He said something, but neither girl could hear him as Lyra was staring dreamily at her idol and Greenpeace's ears were still ringing from the squee.
Lyra then cast off her cape, revealing herself to be a teenager with faint red highlights in her hair and cat-eye contacts wearing impeccable (male) evening dress. With a crazed gleam in her eye, Lyra glomped Erik.
"Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing here?" asked the (normally) mysterious and polite Phantom, his beautiful voice rather muffled and at odds with the harshness of his question.
"Who the hell am I? I am Lyra, and my companion here is Greenpeace. As for what the hell we are doing here, I wanted to see you, glomp you, sing with you and have sex with you. She just likes meeting sadistic psychopaths." Greenpeace beamed and waved.
"Pleasure. Now get off me."
Lyra considered. "Give me five more minutes. Greenpeace," she extended a mobile phone, "snap a picture, would you? I need proof that this really happened."
Several minutes of intense photo-taking followed. Lyra wanted to get a picture of Erik without his mask, but her common sense finally spoke up, saying that doing so would shorten her life expectancy rather drastically. Once the photo-session was finished, Lyra helped Erik back onto his feet, marveling at his skeleton-like fingers.
Greenpeace wandered off to explore the house, but her movements were rather hampered due to her urple dress. Muttering, "Ah, screw the canon," she clicked her fingers, changing her clothes via a large puff of smoke, showing her to be around Lyra's age, with jeans and a purple top. Her eyes were, like Lyra's, altered by custom contacts, this time to a startling purple. Lyra quickly followed suit, changing her outfit to jeans and a black t-shirt.
Lyra then turned to Erik and said, "Where will she sleep?"
Raising an invisible eyebrow, Erik asked, "Just her? What about you?"
"Oh, I'm sleeping in your coffin with you." Erik flexed his left hand. Lyra quickly changed tracks. "I mean, where will we sleep? After all, we don't want to disturb you."
Erik gestured around the room. "Like I care where you sleep? Lie down anywhere, just don't touch the organ, my coffin, or me."
Lyra pouted, then obediently lay down on the floor, grabbing her discarded cape to use as a blanket. Greenpeace lay beside her, and the phan and her friend were soon asleep.
Unwilling: Meheheheheh. I glomped Erik!
Erm... seeing that I wrote this over the course of the week, a lot of things have happened, like me listening to MC last night! Whoot! Go me!