I'm really sorry that I hardly update. I promise I'll try to do it more. But I really only have weekends to work on.

Songwind: No, he doesn't have his Red Death mask. Heaven forbid he wear it on the beach and scare some other unsuspecting child. Each chappie is one day, and since this trip (Hawaii and Paris) is two weeks, it'll be fourteen chapters total. Maybe one more if I can think of something for it.

Goddess of the Neon Rose: …How can you be allergic to raw tomato? If you cook it, are you no longer allergic? O.o

Javert's Suicide: Hi Rio. Love the name. He doesn't really have anything against it, they were just shoving it on him.

I would also like to let you all know that the stories by Willow Rose that I have been posting under my name are now going to be moved to another account - Willow Rose 3.

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Erik awakened the next morning to the sound of his own overture blaring through the cabana.

"Hi Erik!" called Hana happily from the vicinity of the stereo. "It's your turn to cook breakfast today. Get dressed and get cooking." She moved happily to the beat of the music.

Erik managed to get out of bed without falling. The organ of the overture had sufficiently wakened him up…if that's correct grammar. He made his way to the bathroom, reluctantly taking his jeans and a white T-shirt with him.

"Don't forget your swimsuit!" Hana reminded him. "We're going to the beach today!"

He picked up the swimsuit as well, and went to take his shower.

Then he had second thoughts. What had he done during the night to merit a shower? Did sleeping make him dirty? And he was going swimming anyway…or maybe just sunbathing, if he had anything to say about it. Forget the shower. He decided to just change into his clothes.

Not comfortable with the swim trunks alone, he put them on first and managed to fit his jeans on over them. Then he added the shirt, and resigned, wore the flip-flops. They felt comfortable…until he started walking. And discovered how the got their name.

Not daring to lose the mask, he left it on. So attired, he returned to the main room.

"Sexy!" screamed Hana, promptly glomping him. She stood back to get the full effect.

Erik's arms were delightfully muscled (but still thin) from the constant poling across the underground lake. Though he was very pale, they looked great with the short sleeves. He was forced to turn up the bottom of his jeans twice to keep the legs from dragging, but it showed his feet. Depending on one's personality, this could be quite attractive. The shirt also accentuated his narrow chest. Skeletal or not, Erik was very strong and well built. It was the full dress clothes that had always hidden it.

Erik edged around Hana, headed for the kitchen, and tripped on his shoes. Okay, so a lot of the Opera Ghost grace and flair was lost in twenty-first century casual, but he was still Erik.

In half an hour, he had a plate of pancakes topped with strawberries set on the table.

"Wow, Erik, this looks great!" exclaimed Hana. Erik proudly sat down across from her.

They quickly finished breakfast, left the dishes in the sink, and Hana ran into the main room to get their things ready. She put all the beach supplies into one of the big paper bags they'd brought home yesterday. She was already in her swimsuit, a pair of jean shorts on over it, and, pulling Erik by the arm, hurried out the door.

"It's not as if the house isn't thirty feet from the ocean," muttered Erik, as he headed back to retrieve one of his flip-flops, from where the sand had devoured it.

The day passed quickly. Hana had him out there until lunchtime. It was a secluded part of the beach, and no tourists flooded it. They had the seaside all to themselves.

At first, Erik remained in the shade of a palm tree, wearing lots of sunscreen to protect his pale skin and finishing off the last few pages of The DaVinci Code, relaxing while Hana splashed around in the waves. It wasn't until Hana came and dumped a bucket of water on him that he chased her into the ocean for watery revenge.

Well, she had achieved her goal. He was now standing in the middle of the ocean, fully clothed, in sopping jeans and shirt. One solitary abandoned flip-flop was slowly floating out to sea. Hana rescued it, as Erik swam back to shore to strip off his wet clothes, whether he wanted to or not.

"Thanks for that," he said sullenly, returning to the water in only his swim trunks.

Hana grinned and tossed his flip-flop onto the sand with its partner. She then proceeded to begin a game of two-player Marco Polo. That didn't last long, as they only had two people to work with. So they raced each other into the waves over and over again, bodysurfing back to shore. It took Erik a while to get accustomed to the waves – there were none in his lake. But he got the hang of it eventually.

By then, the sun was high in the sky. They swam back to the beach for lunch, and Erik reapplied his sunscreen. He spread out beach towels on the sand while Hana went back to the cabana for food. She came back with another bag with sodas, chips, sandwiches, and a large package of cookies.

"Lunchtime!" she sang. And she placed a small radio found accompanying the stereo beside the towels, playing the beginning of the POTO soundtrack. She skipped the first track though.

"No one wants to listen to the stupid auctioneer," she scoffed. "Not when the rest of it is so good."

She handed him a sandwich, and pulled open the bag of cheese Doritoes. Erik peeked into his sandwich.

Tuna. Lovely. "Are all the sandwiches tuna?" he asked, trying not to sound disgusted. But Erik wasn't much of a seafood person.

"Oh, no. Sorry," said Hana. "But I still don't know what you like to eat, so I made a bunch of different ones."

"Do you have anything with beef?" Erik rarely ate sandwiches, but he did rather like a roast beef one he'd made in a rush one day while late to one of Christine's lessons.

"Er…there's ham and cheese."

"That will be fine," said Erik, trading in his sandwich and taking a handful of Doritoes. They got stuck in his teeth, but they were strangely addictive.

"Oreo?" asked Hana, offering him the package of cookies.

"No thanks," refused Erik. "I don't like cookies." He'd already told some people this, but Hana still didn't know.

"How can you not like cookies!" she gasped. "And Oreos at that! I mean, they're America's favorite cookie! The bag says so!"

"Yes, but technically I'm from France," reminded Erik, pushing away the cookies Hana continued to force on him.

"Which reminds me," Hana began thoughtfully. "When do we leave for Paris?"

"Aislin said she'd come get us Monday, and that's tomorrow."

"Oh, I hope she comes late," said Hana, finishing up her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and taking a handful of Oreos. "We've hardly had any time on the beach. We'll have to be sure to fit in lots of time tomorrow."

After lunch the day went slowly. They spent two hours building a huge, three-story sandcastle, complete with towers, arches, seashell ornaments, and a driftwood Apollo on the roof. Erik even dug out a cellar underneath it and put in a lake by filling a large shell with water and embedding it in the sand. Hana ran back to the cabana for a camera, while Erik finished landscaping the 'front yard.' He wanted it to look perfect, as the moat they had attempted to install refused to stay full of water.

They swam leisurely as the sun went down – until Hana dared to splash Erik.

Spluttering and spitting out salty water, Erik floundered for a moment, then gave chase. Hana dashed through the water, onto the beach, and into the cabana, leaving Erik to clean up the beach supplies. She laughed loudly from the cabana.

Erik sighed, and collected their belongings. Throwing the sandy things into the bag, he walked barefoot back to the cabana.

There was something to this casual attire thing.

Hana already occupied the shower, and he felt rather too sandy to be inside, so he headed back out, depositing the bag on the floor.

Though it really hadn't been a stressful day, he decided to spend some time in his Hana-free hammock zone. After all, it was all his, and he was leaving tomorrow. Might as well get some use out of it.

He settled down into the hammock, taking his violin with him. He played a few bars of Mozart, then fell into a melody of his own. Nothing special, he didn't really know where he was going with it yet.

"I could use a drink," he murmured to himself. Then he thought of what Aislin's note had said. Someone will always be here to serve you… He wondered what it meant.

"Erm…hello?" he called.

The leaves beside the hammock rustled, and a girl with a white towel over her arm and a tray came out.

"Oh, no, not you…"

"Hi Erik!" she said happily. "I got a part time job! Now I get to be a worker at the Opera. Aislin suggested I come here first, though. Only a few days, she says. But I think it's worth it. Oh, can I get you anything?"

Erik stared at her. He couldn't believe Aislin would hire a phangirl to serve him. And Hilary at that!

"Uh, yes," he said. "Wine, if you please."

"Okey-dokey!" She skipped off, returning with a glass of wine, which she set on the table. "Call if you want anything else!"

Erik sighed. Sipping his wine, he returned to his tunings. In twenty minutes, he'd found a melody that pleased him. Before he could forget it, he pulled out one of the lined sheets and wrote it down. Sadly, inspiration failed him after twelve measures. He decided he'd get back to it later. Brushing sand off the violin case, he put it and the unfinished music back inside.

Eyeing the trees where he knew Hilary lingered, he went back inside.

He slept that night with dreams of his precious cellar where he would soon return.

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I know it wasn't all that funny, but I hope it'll get better. One element of the story won't appear until we're back at the Opera, and I can't wait to use it. It's a person, you'll all see in two chappies. Oh – Hilary, I hope you're okay with me using you. Review!