This is the longest chapter yet! Yay!

...So please forgive me for the slow update.

Not only does this one have Evita and A Chorus Line, I also managed to use Avenue Q...Twice! Yay!

Oh, yes, and I went back to an old joke, since I'm using the minor characters now. Plato's foot adoration. Sorry.

I still don't own it, but I like root beer.


"He's…so…CUTE!" Electra squealed. Mistoffelees sat in front of her, dwarfed in Erik's cape, his adorable little face hidden behind the mask. Erik sat sobbing in the corner with his hands over his face.

"But I don't WANNA BE CUTE!" Misto sobbed. "I wanna be a magician!"

"And I want to be a dentist. Come on, you look like a little furry Phanty!" Argued Victoria, her little paws on her little hips, or as close as is possible for a cat.

"My ears aren't like that!" Erik whimpered. "And I don't have a tail. Or, for that matter, want one."

"But tails are so cool!" Munkustrap sighed, flicking his tail back and forth. "How could you not want one?"

Suddenly, a grating, scratching, scraping, perhaps even numerous sound came towards them, like thousands of nails on a chalkboard. Erik cried out in fear and shrank back against the wall. Munkustrap looked to Mistoffelees, both of them raising their paws to their ears and twitching involuntarily. Nearly instantly, all noise stopped, and silence overwhelmed the torture chamber.

Several voices—mostly high-pitched—burst into song.

"God I hope I get it! I hope I get it! How many people does he need?"

"How many boys?"

"How many girls?"

"How many people does he need?"

A red, floating ball of flame came into view as a single voice began to sing.

"I really need this job, please God I need this job! I really need this job!"

Erik stood up angrily, his skeletal hands on his hips. "Hey, rat-catcher, I thought you and your rats moved to the fourth cellar?"

"Yeah, we did," The flaming head spoke, his voice a rough baritone. "But it's become so crowded by now…My rats can't breathe. We heard you guys were putting on a production of A Chorus Line, and we were just starting up to the auditorium to audition."

"Actually, I think they're doing Evita…" Erik said.

"Oh, okay, thanks." The rat-catcher mumbled, and his head bobbed up and down as if he were shrugging. "We can do that too."

"Don't cry for me Argentina!" The rats sang passionately as the horrible scratching noise began again.

"Wait wait wait," Mungojerrie cried. "Your rats look mighty tasty."

"Um…Don't move! Don't move!...Whatever you do, don't come after me!...I am the rat-catcher!...Let me pass, with my rats!..."

"But we want to eat them!" Rumpleteazer wailed as Mungojerrie shushed her.

"What do you have against my rats?"

"Everyone's a little bit racist," Mistoffelees began to sing to himself quietly in the corner. Rumpleteazer was scurrying around, and some of the rats were screaming, but not for long.

"I got some, guys!" She screamed. She held some dead rats up by their tails. A lot of dead rats. All the living rats screamed, and were hurriedly rushed out by the rat-catcher, who was cursing Erik and mumbling about hospitality.


Coricopat and Tantomile—in unison, of course—walked into the torture chamber and slammed the door shut.

"Okay, Misto," The pair said threateningly. "You were supposed to make a little rainbow thing around your feet. You say Presto, and we're all in some weird place with masked freaks, guys in dresses and suicidal managers. Fix it."

"And quickly," Munkustrap added as he chomped noisily on a dead rat. Mistoffelees fumbled with the tie on the cape/cloak—paws aren't very useful in untying things—as he flicked the mask off his face with his tail.

"I can't send everybody back unless they're all in here,"

Coricopat and Tantomile twirled their tails and threw their paws in the air, producing a microphone. Mistoffelees reached for it, speaking clearly as his little kitty voice filled the opera house.

"Everyone into the torture chamber in the fifth cellar, please,"


"Is everybody here?" Munkustrap called. The torture chamber had filled to the brim, quite literally. Pouncival was climbing around on the ceiling, searching for "the spring" that had driven the Persian mad.

"I think so," Mistoffelees mumbled. "Either way, I'm not waiting."

Silence filled the torture chamber.

"Presto!"


"Oh my dear lord," The black cat flicked his tail, and, upon realizing he did so, instantly stopped. "This isn't fair." He paused, swallowed his tears, and calmly said, "Misto, when I find you, I am going to wring your neck like a scrawny little gerbil's, stomp on you repetitively, cut off your tail and Punjab you with it, sing something from Avenue Q, eat a pancake—only one!—and then do it all over again."

"You…have the sexiest…paws…ever." Plato drooled, staring at Erik's feet—or, actually, paws.

"Get away from me, you moron!" Erik screamed, trying to strangle the cat but, instead, leaving a large claw mark across his face. The younger cat scampered away, screaming.


"So where did you go?" Cassandra asked Mistoffelees, stretching her legs.

"France," He mumbled. He does that a lot. Talking isn't one of his favorite things to do.

"The junkyard down the street?"

"No, uh—" Misto paused, looking at the thoroughly confused cat in front of him. "Yes. Yes, the junkyard down the street."


Didja think it was gonna end there? Huh?

See, Masque, it's a shiny twist.