(Raoul works his way through a crowd of Depps and taps the Authoress politely on the shoulder.)
Raoul: Um... Miss Authoress? Excuse me...
Authoress: Yo.
Raoul: Well... I just thought you should know... it's kinda hard to... move... in here. There are a lot of these new guys.
Authoress: Seriously, icklekins, there're only sixteen.
Raoul: Which is a lot. Not to mention Carlotta's new Italian and the little one who's in the show now.
Authoress: Toby?
Raoul: Yeah, him. And... I'm a little concerned about the guy over there... (he points at a Depp)
Authoress: You mean the one who stole your hair? Your pretty Patrick Wilson hair?
Raoul: Um... sure. That one gave Erik some stuff and then Erik starting laughing a lot and kind of... acting weird.
Authoress: Normally, since it's Erik, I wouldn't be very concerned that he was acting weird, but considering that's George Jung, famous drug lord... well, I'm a little concerned.
Raoul: Famous what?
Authoress: You've heard of... say... opium, yes?
Raoul: Er... I know it's something bad...
Authoress: Yeah, it is. (She hurries over to George Jung and Erik.) Oy! Yeah, you, George! I don't care if you alternate between Patrick Wilson and Javert hair throughout the movie, I demand you leave.
George Jung: What? I have a visitor.
Authoress: Yeah, I know ya do. Don't sell him that stuff, okay? Go on, get out!
(George Jung vanishes.)
Erik: Dude... that dude, like, totally disappeared! (laughs stupidly)
Authoress: I'll bet those fangirls never thought they'd see Erik stoned...
Susan Kay readers: (disagree)
Authoress: Boo to Susan Kay... that Raoul-killer.
Raoul: What?
Authoress: Don't worry about it.
Raoul: Okay...
(Erik is now thrusting the score of Don Juan Triumphant into Don Juan de Marco's face. The latter does not seem to be too pleased about this turn of events. Ed Wood has, it seems, disappeared.)
Authoress: Okay, who's confused? You know what I think we need?
POTO Characters: (somewhat reluctantly) What?
Authoress: A Johnny D role call! I'm gonna do it, just to un-confuse myself. So... we'll go in order, ey? Tom Hanson?
Tom: Look, can I go now? You already made me miss my bowling date with Amy!
Authoress: Haha, your girlfriend's gonna die.
Tom: What?
Authoress: Next... Edward Scissorhands?
Edward: I'm here.
Authoress: You should see my Halloween costume, Edward. It's you, but there's definitely something wrong with the hair. It's like, Cats hair or something. See, I bought this mullet wig and cut it and doused it with mousse and hairspray to make it stick up...
(Edward looks profoundly confused.)
Authoress: Never mind, dear. Sam?
Sam: Hello.
Authoress: Great. I need to buy Benny & Joon, you know. Gilbert Grape? Look, all the sensitive quiet guys in a row!
Gilbert: Hi.
Authoress: Good. Ed Wood? Oh, right, he disappeared. No big loss, really. That's my second least favourite of all the Johnny movies I've seen. Don Juan?
Don Juan: I am heere.
Authoress: Yes you are, oh sexy Zorro Depp. Um... Spencer Armacost? Oh my God, get out.
(There is a poof in the corner; Spencer Armacost has clearly disappeared.)
Authoress: Whoo, okay. I'm scared to death of him. Icky Crane?
Ichabod: Present.
Authoress: Mm, yay. Roux?
Roux: Heya.
Authoress: What a boring character you are, m'dear. Let's see... I already kicked George Jung out for... well. So next is... Jack Sparrow!
Jack: Captain, if ye please!
Authoress: I think we may have already had this discussion. Sands?
(The Depp with sunglasses and blood streaked across his cheeks steps forward, but a roadrunner-esque blur whizzes past and he is gone.)
Authoress: Okay, I'm gonna assume that was H. Sibelius... you can have him, dear. That's my least favourite of all his movies I've seen. Mort Rainey?
Mort: What now?
Authoress: There you are, psycho Johnny number two. Sir James Barrie?
Carlotta: Madame Aut'oress, dis ees de one 'oo 'ad de crazy acceent?
(Everyone marvels at the deterioration of Carlotta's own accent, which managed to somehow combine Spanish, French, and Italian all into one sentence.)
Authoress: Yup.
Carlotta: Ah, 'ee was boreeing-a my Pirelli to deat', and I 'af keeled heem.
Authoress: Okay... fine. Willy Wonka?
Willy: Ah, here.
Authoress: Sweet. And Victor Van Dort?
Victor: Why am I here?
Authoress: Because you're so cute.
Willy Wonka: Hey, little girl?
Authoress: Yeah?
Willy: Uh, he doesn't... look like us.
Authoress: I know. He's made of clay.
(The other Depps look intrigued by this. Sam pokes Victor.)
Sam: I... I left a mark.
Mort: What? Oh, look, you put a little dent in him!
(Edward reaches out and pokes Victor's arm. Victor screams as the arm is lopped off and falls to the ground.)
Bahorel: Isn't that the second arm that's been detached during this story?
Authoress: It may well be. But, look, you can just stick it back on. (She does this.)
Mort: I think I'm gonna like this guy.
Authoress: You know what I'd like? To actually finish this God and Authoress-forsaken story. Where were we? I don't even remember. Let's see... Oh, look! We're all the way up to A Little Fall of Rain. Do you know how many reviewers have asked to do this song? Many said they'd do it if Erik were Marius, although it's clear that Raoul is Marius. Plus, a lot of them have stopped reading because of my terrible belated updates.
Raoul: Um... do you mind if my daughter does it?
Authoress: Does what? Éponine?
Raoul: I want her to be an actress like her mother.
Authoress: A tenor and a soprano got together and had an alto baby? A baby who can sing Les Misérables music?
Raoul: Well... um. She's not a baby anymore. Consider how long it's been since your last update...
Authoress: Couple of months, why?
Raoul: My daughter... she's sixteen now.
Authoress: Sweet, we're the same age! Hey, how come you guys don't get any older? Wait... Raoul, buddy, you're asking your daughter to perform opposite you in a love song. Well, it's not really a love song, if you consider that Marius doesn't love 'Ponine... but still, that's kind of creepy. Where is your daughter?
Raoul: She, Christine, and Meg went to a play on floor forty-six.
Authoress: Forty-six? That's my Rob Marnell floor. They must be at West Side Story. Sweet.
Raoul: Maybe Erik could play my part.
Authoress: Haha, you're so funny, seriously... no.
Raoul: I don't want to do it.
Authoress: I'm sure you don't. But you're gonna have to, pal.
(Raoul starts to pout.)
Authoress: Quit.
Raoul: But if Christine isn't here I don't wanna do it!
(The Authoress raises an eyebrow and turns to the Depps.)
(Several readers groan.)
Authoress: You can't tell me it won't be fun to see Edward Scissorhands cradle Victor Van Dort as the latter dies of a gunshot wound and they sing a love song!
ElfLover: Well, it would be fun... to see it. But this is a fic, remember? You're writing a script, really.
Authoress: Augh, blast. Well, in absence of Christine I could always use... Erik! Muahahaha! Muaha... um... Raoul...? Shouldn't you be screaming in terror now?
Raoul: Why?
Authoress: You hate Erik, remember?
Raoul: I do? Oh, shit. I mean, OH NO PLEASE DON'T!
(The Authoress stares at him with big watery cartoon eyes.)
Raoul: What?
Authoress: You swore!
Raoul: What?
Authoress: You swore! You said curse word and you swore and you're Raoul!
Raoul: Um... no I didn't!
Authoress: Yes you did!
Raoul: NO I DID NOT.
Authoress: (blankly) You didn't what?
Raoul: There we go.
(He turns. The other POTO characters and all the Depps are watching him suspiciously.)
Raoul: What?
Authoress: Hey, I have an idea! Why don't we make... Raoul and Erik do A Little Fall of Rain? Christine's not here! Muahahaha!
Raoul: What, Erik? NO! I can't sing a love song with Erik!
Authoress: Look on the bright side, icklekins, he'll have to die at the end.
Buquet: Um... what about me? And Madame Giry, Meg, Christine, Carlotta... where are André and Firmin?
Authoress: Egad, I haven't seen them in ages? I dunno, let's just get through this song.
Raoul: We couldn't wait until Christine comes back?
Authoress: Nope. Do it.
Raoul: (sighing) If I must.
Erik: Um... don't I get a say in this?
Authoress: Nope.
Erik: Gee, darn.
(Raoul elbows him.)
Erik: I mean, Gah, I hate the fop!
Authoress: Okay, go. Don Juan can be Joly.
Don Juan de Marco: Hwhat?
Authoress: Just go.
(Don Juan climbs to the top of the barricade. There is a gunshot.)
Don Juan:
Dere's a boy climbing te barrhicate!
(Erik, wearing trenchcoat and Hat, appears and Don Juan helps him over the top. Raoul comes forward and helps him down.)
Raoul:
Good God, what are you doing?
'Ponine, have you no fear?
Have you seen my beloved?
Why have you come back here?
Erik: (disjointedly)
Took the letter... like you said
Met her father at the door
He said... he would give it...
(collapsing into Raoul's arms)
Don't think I can stand anymore.
(Raoul shows little or no discomfort. The Authoress looks upset.)
Authoress: Stop! Okay, that's it. Raoul, you're out. Carlotta, you're in.
Carlotta: But-a Pirelli...
Pirelli: Dat-a ees okay, mia cara. Continue wit-a de play! Eet-a must-a go on, after all-a.
Authoress: Listen to the barber, dude.
(Carlotta rolls her eyes and slouches over to the stage, sitting on the floor. Erik falls into her arms and she shudders in disgust.)
Authoress: Much better!
Carlotta:
Ey-ponine-a, what's-a wrong?
I feel-a dere's someting-a wet
Upon-a your 'air.
Ey-ponine-a, you're-a hurt.
You need-a some-a 'elp!
Oh God, eet's-a everywhere!
Erik:
Don't you fret
Mademoiselle Toad
I don't feel any pain other than my ears
A little fall of rain or collapse of pitch
Can hardly hurt me now.
You're here!
That's all I need to know to kill me.
And you will keep me moaning
And you will keep me writhing
And pain will make my eardrums blow!
Carlotta:
My voice ees-a fine, you jerk!
I hate-a you all-a!
By God-a, I will-a rejoice-a
When-a you fall-a!
Erik:
A breath away from where you are
I wish I could run very far...
Carlotta:
Don't-a you fret
My-a dear Opera Ghost
You won't-a feel any pain-a
Until I crush-a your brain
And then it all goes-a dark!
My voice
Erik:
Is ruining my ears!
And you will keep me moaning
Carlotta:
I will-a hate-a you, until your-a dying day!
Erik:
And you will keep me writhing
Carlotta:
My voice
Erik:
The pain
Will make my eardrums... blow.
(He goes limp. Carlotta ignores the Authoress's gestures to kiss his forehead, and simply dumps him out of her lap, gets to her feet, kicks him, and stomps away.)
Authoress: I guess now would not be a good time to tell her that her beloved Pirelli is really Irish.