When Writers Go Bad: Chapter Twelve
Shadow had been up half the night searching the entire cloud for that one grey bag of anti-fluff dust. As it turned out, the plot bunnies had been using it for some sort of game they'd invented, and were more than a little miffed when Shadow took it. However, it was quite apparent that the stress and lack of sleep were getting to her. Every few moments she would start laughing, finding some private joke hilariously funny, and Lita would eye her nervously, backing away very slowly.
However, a quick nap made her ready to tackle the immense task before them. Since Christine tended to be very reasonable, they decided to start with her. Carefully, they entered the room, locking the door behind them, sitting in chairs across from Christine, who sat on the bed.
The first question out of her lips, to Shadow's disdain (she'd hoped she'd have improved overnight), was "Where's Javert? When can I see him?"
"Yeah, about that," Shadow began, opening the small grey bag. "You see, we feel that-" She didn't bother to finish the sentence. She just tossed the grey, sparkles dust in the opera singers eyes. She girl shook her head, surprised, and after a moment (long enough for the necessary amount to sink in) she rubbed her eyes.
"What on earth did you do that for?" she asked, brushing it off of her dress.
"Never mind that," insisted Lita. "Don't you want to fly to Raoul's arms and have some sort of romantic duet or something? Kiss on a rooftop? Anything?"
Christine blinked. "Raoul? Why on earth would I want to be with him?"
Shadow paled quite visibly. "Wh-what?" she stuttered.
"I'm in love with Inspector Javert," Madame de Chagny insisted.
"No! No, no, no, no, no, no!" Shadow cried, taking a much larger handful and tossing it at Christine, who was now coughing. It ought to be working!
"Stop that!" she cried, trying to get the stuff out of her hair.
"You're in love with Raoul, you're in love with Raoul, you're in love with Raoul!" Shadow and Lita insisted/prayed.
"Why do you keep saying that? I'm not in love with Raoul! He's very sweet, but my heart belongs to one man alone!"
Ellen made a tentative guess. "Erik?"
Christine shuddered, a good sign, so far as Shadow was concerned. At least Shadow13 wouldn't pulverize them for making her fall in love with the Phantom of the Opera. "That monster? Never! Now, I insist that you unlock that door and let me fly to my love's embrace!"
"Raoul's embrace?" Shadow begged.
"For the last time, no!"
They all fell to the floor, crying out in despair. Christine ignored them, and told them, once again, who she was in love with.
"Javert!"
"You don't even live in the same decade! He's fifty two, and he's dead!" insisted Shadow. "You can't be in love with a fifty two year old dead man!"
"Yes I can!"
"Might I remind you," Lita tried, "that he takes snuff? Nasty habit, that snuff."
"I don't care! I think he's wonderful, and perfect, and-"
"And nuts!" Shadow cut her off. "He throws himself off a bridge, child! Do you want to love a man that relentlessly hunts down ex-cons and shows no mercy? That inadvertently kills prostitutes? That tosses himself off of a bridge?"
Christine ticked off the things Shadow had said on her fingers and responded in turn: "I'm sure the convict was a very terrible man. The prostitute's probably happier wherever she is. And he wouldn't throw himself off of a bridge if someone cared enough to stop him! And I do!" Time for an opportune song break: "All I want is freedom, a world with no more night. And him, always beside me, to hold me and to hide me!"
"Stop that!" Lita shouted. "You're only allowed to sing that song with Raoul!"
Christine angrily stamped her foot on the floor, starting to cry, throwing a temper tantrum. "I think you're all very mean! I don't want to sing with Raoul, I want to sing with Javert! Why are you trying to stop true love?"
"Because he's not your true love!"
"But he is, just ask him! We love each other!"
Lita now wheeled on Ellen once more. "Look what you've gotten us into! Do you know what's going to happen when Emily finds out that Christine doesn't love Raoul anymore?"
Ellen, frankly quite terrified, shook her head no and gulped.
"She's going to have Chauvelin guillotine us, that's what's going to happen! She's going to parade our heads around on a stick!"
"I don't want to be an Ellen-cicle!" Ellen sobbed, clinging to Christine's ankle. "Please, singing lady, love Mr. Viscomte guy again!"
"But I don't love him!"
Finally, grinding her teeth, Shadow pried Ellen off of Christine's ankle and dragged her two companions out of the room. "Daae, we'll fix you later. Now, stay here, and – don't you give me that puppy dog pout, young lady! You can just forget it! No fifty two year old inspectors for you!" With that, the alter ego slammed the door, leaving Christine to sob her heart out, flung across her bed.
…
The gentlemen of the cloud, for the most part, weren't throwing temper tantrums, and Shadow had them locked in the gaming room. Erik was whistling happy – he was a wonderful whistler – and clipping his nails in a very superior manner. Javert was skulking. Chauvelin was skulking. Marius and Raoul were sobbing inconsolably, whilst Valjean did his best to comfort them. Percy had always been, by far, the most level headed when it came to love, comparatively speaking. And by comparatively, I mean compared to Marius and Raoul. The oddest thing he'd ever done was kiss where his wife had just trod, and while that might be the sign of an unhealthy fetish, it was a guilty pleasure he had earned. But due to the "Fluff Dust Fiasco," as it had been named by the bunnies, even he was a little starry eyed and sigh-y, only not over his wife. That was the central problem.
"Christine! Christine! What will I do without you? I love you, Christine, come back to me!" Raoul pleaded, though his beloved could not hear him. Used Kleenexes and the boxes they'd come in were scattered all across the room. Erik ignored the common outburst, and did the other common thing: bragged.
"Hey," he said to no one in particular. "You know the dark haired one? She's in love with me!"
"Not now, Erik," sighed Valjean.
"Shut the hell up, already, Erik! No one cares! No one wants to hear it!" Chauvelin snapped. A dark cloud was hanging over the heads of both the officials of France.
"You don't even know her name!" Marius sobbed.
Erik, in the mood to give the knife a little twist, replied, "She's cute."
"Stop it!" sobbed Marius. "Her name is Cosette, and I love her, and she's my wife, and-"
"Oh, will you shut up, you pansy!" Javert snarled, covering his ears and sinking in his chair.
"-her favorite color is lavender, and-" Marius continued, unperturbed.
"Christine looks so pretty in lavender!" Raoul wailed.
"-she likes puppies, and enjoys chamber music, and-"
"Christine loves puppies!"
"-and she's funny when she's had too much to drink, and-"
"Christine's funny when….wait….no, she isn't….."
"-and I love her!"
"Nobody cares!" cried Chauvelin.
"She loves me!" Erik insisted.
"Everyone, stop pestering them!" pleaded Valjean.
"A heart full of love! A heart full of song! I'm-"
"An idiot who's neck I'm about to ring!" snarled Javert, starting from the chair. Marius made a frightened squeak and retreated behind Monsieur le Viscomte. They then continued sobbing.
"I miss her!"
It was going to be a long day.
To Be Continued….