A/N:

C.C.: Wow! This blackmail thing really works!

Muse!Erik: Of course it works! Why do think it's my main MO?

C.C.: Good point. Now, since yall have been such great fans, Muse!Erik and I are going to give our first shot at review replies.

Muse!Erik: Don't encourage them! Think of what they could do to me. . .on second thought.

C.C.: You're a figment of my imagination, so hush! Starting from the top:

Trier1974: Hysteria is a serious charge, but I'll try not to disappoint.

Muse!Erik: Hysterical, no. But I'll grant her insane.

Gomen-ne-Yami: Original, eh? No one's ever accused me of that before. And don't Don Juan Pants just make you want to do a happy dance?

Muse!Erik: Original? Ha! If I a franc for every obsessed phangirl who burst into my lair and drooled over my pants I wouldn't need to terrorize the managers. I'd still do it, but I wouldn't need to!

C.C.: Erik! Give it up already! You don't have a lair! You are my muse, just a figment of my imagination that lives in my closet!

RoseMisre: It better be innocent, cuz if not I've got a clingy, but absolutely adorable, Irish lad with a bone to pick with you. LOL ;)

Muse!Erik: Yeah, because skinny guys who play the violin are so incredibly terrifying.

C.C.: Hey, Genius! You're a skinny guy who plays the violin!

Muse!Erik: Oh, right.

Darth Squishy: I thought Erik was going to kill me too, but then there would be no authoress, so I got to live.And if you want to write fluff uninterrupted try distracting your anti-muse with something shiny, it works with Freddy sometimes.

Muse!Erik: I was definitely going to have him. . .me. . . the other me kill her, but then I realized I would cease to exist and I love me more than I hate her, just barely.

C.C.: Yay for Erik's ego!

Elf Of Rohan: The 'Hebrews' thing wasn't actually mine. A friend emailed it to me in a joke, but I'm glad you liked it.

Muse!Erik: See! I told you she could never come up with anything original!

MasqueradingThroughLife: Doesn't blackmail smell great? Sort of tangy and darkly sweet. And 'spubble' is one of the many words in my everyday vocab that I made up, much to the annoyance of my friends and family.

Muse!Erik: Yes, she really is quite annoying. I find myself fingering my Punjab lasso every other time she opens her mouth.

C.C.: Hey! Don't make me sick the army of marshmallow peeps on you again!

Everyone Else: Thanks for the review, but I'm replies are running a little long and so I only replied to people who responded more than once or wrote more than one sentence.

Muse!Erik: She doesn't love you.

C.C.: Do so! -to reviewers- Ignore him. He's quite evil and insane.

Disclaimer: Yes, I do own Erik! No, wait, that's just in my phantasy world. Darn! I don't own Erik or anything else that Leroux, Kay, or The Really Useful Group beat me to. -pouts-

Chapter 6: How To Fry Pants

Several hours later, C.C. was down in the lair, engrossed in a serious mental debate over how exactly she could find a possible way to vaporize Erik's pants. The problem was that it was difficulty to the utmost degree to find a way to incinerate the pants off a person without harming any of the . . .um, special parts.

'We could throw a crazed, hormone driven phangirl at him.' C.C. suggested.

We want him to survive the experience with at least some semblance mental competency remaining.

'Fire?'

You're insane.

'Rather,' C.C. thought for a moment. 'but I do see your point. How about a freak sun flare? It worked for Daffy.'

First off, when was the last time you heard of O.G. going out into the sun. Secondly, ERIK IS NOT A CARTOON DUCK!

'Okay, okay! Just a suggestion. No need to scream at me in italicized capitals!'she huffed. 'I don't hear you coming up with any ideas!'

Alright, how about Marvin the Martian? He has all those nifty little ray guns. Her mental voice sounded smug. It was probably pulling stuff out of a certain orifice too, but it sounded smug doing it.

'Didn't he already do that to Brendan Frasier in the movie?' C.C. asked.

No, you dolt! That was a belt thingy/grappling hook! Marvin's still available. Her mental voice seemed just a touch over protective of its answer.

'Just the same, lets stay away from Warner Brothers' cartoons all together. They tend to bring in large, overpowered weapons from Acme Inc., then they always explode, and I have this sneaky suspicion that Erik just might frown upon his opera house being blown to smithereens.'

Good point.

'But the whole borrowing from other media thing does have potential.' The Authoress mused.

What are you thinking? Her mental voice asked.

C.C. grinned. 'Beam me up, Scotty!' She was met with confused silence. 'There could be a transporter malfunction.' she explained. 'Only instead of showing up inside out or with his head on all backwards like, he'd be pantless!' She stopped momentarily to drool at the mental image.

Great plan, Genius! Now all you have to do is find a way to build a transporter in the year 1881!

(Note: I'm using the year in the musical (1881,) versus the year in the movie (1870). Why? Because the Paris Opera wasn't even operational until 1875! Bad Joel! Bad! Bad! BAD!)

'Oh, right. Uh. . .tear in the time-fiction continuum?' C.C. gave herself a quick mental pat on the back for her quick and clever thinking, a rather uncommon occurrence with her caffeine riddled mind.

That's a good idea, but you should probably save it for later.

'Idea!' The Authoress instantly brightened. 'You have one! I know it! Spill! Spill NOW!'

The word "vaporized" is relative, right?

'Actual vaporizing would insure more hilarity, but I'm getting desperate, so I guess so. I mean, as long as the pants come off.'

Good, here's the plan. At this point her mental quieted to a low whispered. C.C. wasn't sure how it could do this, being mental and all, but it was important to her there-is-no-plot line. . . . trapdoor. . .rusty old nail. . .splash. . .pantless. The plan was set in motion.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik stormed through the basement levels of the opera house. How dare this girl barge into his life, invade his inner sanctum, only to jeopardize its very existence with her flippant games. He was so focused on his infuriated rampage that he became far too busy to do things like remember were all his nifty little trap doors were hidden.

Normally this wouldn't have been a problem seeing that Erik made quite sure that all his secret trapdoors and passages were kept shut and securely fastened at all times. Anyone passing- or rampaging- over would never feel a difference between the hidden door and solid ground. Unfortunately for the Phantom, thanks to a scheming authoress, today things would be a little different.

Exactly one floor above the lake sat a little used escape route. Erik had built the trapdoor in case he ever needed a quick escape from that floor. However, due to his aversion to dropping down a floor into an icy underground lake and then swimming halfway across in his clothing, he had never used it. Due to lack of use, the damp lake air, and the tromping of stage hands in heavy boots the latch had become weak and rusted . All it need to give was the forceful raging of a someone in thick leather boots.

With the reverberating sound of tortured metal the latch tore clean from its hold in the stone wall, sending Erik plummeting down below. Or, it would have sent Erik plummeting down below if it hadn't been for a single rusty nail. The nail had torn into the seam of his trousers and for the moment he hung suspended in the air. He hung in this limbo for several seconds before hearing a popping sound as seams tore and buttons went flying. This time Erik plunged head first into the lake, but minus a rather, ahem, interesting article of clothing. (Insert squeeing and fun mental images here!)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At the sound of the splash C.C. jumped up and ran as close to the portcullis as she could. If this had worked the way she thought it would than there was no way that she was going to miss a second of it. Leaning against the wall she tried to fight off the guilty grin that sought to plaster itself across her face. A couple of minuets later Erik emerged from the lake sopping wet, his cape tied securely around his waist. (I know y'all wanted to see Erik run around naked, but I don't want to up the rating, so you'll have to deal.)

"Oooo!" she teased. " You're naaaaked!"

"What do you know about it!" he snarled at her as he tripped the mechanism closing the portcullis.

C.C. feigned a look of pure shock. "What makes you think I had anything to do with it? Do you honestly think all I do is spend my afternoons thinking up ways for you and your pants to part ways?" she hadn't lied to him, technically.

Erik growled in response and stalked off into the back rooms, leaving a trail of water big enough to make Sea World jealous. As soon as he was safely out of ear shot she burst into a fit of giggles. Normally, a half naked Erik in clinging wet clothing was not cause for hilarity, but there are exceptions to every rule.

She managed suppress her giggle fit just as Erik skulked back into the room wearing a clean shirt and a pair of black pants identical to the ones he had worn earlier. Now that she though about it, except for the masquerade and the performance of Don Juan Triumphant she had only ever seen him wear one style of pants. The Authoress decided that this was worth investigating and made a mental note to ransack his closet the next time he left her alone in the lair.

"I would appreciate if you spoke of this to no one." he said stiffly.

"Sure thing." Posting the entirety of the incident on the internet wasn't speaking, exactly. Erik glared at her. He knew there was something she wasn't telling him. "Hey!" she protested. "It's not my fault that Mr. Trap Door Lover can't keep up with the maintenance!"

"How did you know that?" he snapped.

Oops! Why couldn't she have been born with that mechanism that keeps everything that came into her head from spilling out her mouth! Thinking quickly she answered, "Uh, hello! I was standing right there!" she gestured toward the portcullis. "I saw the whole thing!"

Erik seemed to buy it. After scrutinizing her for a few more seconds he turned and sighed. "Right, how could I have forgotten?"

"So," C.C. asked with the sweetest smile she could manage, "can I go haunting now?"

Erik gave her another tired sigh. "We'll see."

A/N: There it is! How to part a brooding phantom from his pants. Not as funny as finding a way to actually vaporize them, but my brain was starting to hurt and Muse!Erik told me he'd run around naked with a hat of ground beef before he helped me figure out a way to vaporize his pants.