A/N: As always, I'm sorry for the atrociously long delay.
Muse!Erik: -glances at horde of angry readers- They're going to kill you. You realize this, don't you?
C.C.: -panicked look towards the horde- Um. . .I love you? -holds up a huge chocolate cake as a buffer- My computer was stolen at a café last month and I had to put Tale on hold until I could get it replaced.
Anyway, the Bullwinkle reference was a badly done shout out to the Rocky Horror Show. It's a line that the audience shouts during a scene of the play/movie where the characters are repeating each other's names.
Oh, and I apologize to all my EC readers in advance. You'll see what I mean. As always I hope y'all enjoy.
You Most Humble and Obedient Servant,
S.P.
Disclaimer: Whoever said that money was the root of all evil had yet to encounter the copyright for Phantom. I don't own Erik. If that's not evil, I don't know what is.
Chapter 18: Curiosity and Its Casualties
It is a well-known fact throughout the world that curiosity is quite perilous to felines. It is a well known fact throughout the Paris Opera House that it is also detrimental to the health of ballet rats, musicians, chorus girls, prima donnas, protégées, and particularly stage hands. However, the world had yet to discover the devastating effects curiosity could reap on time travellers and opera ghosts.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Erik, what does this lever do?"
"Don't touch that!" Erik snapped as he turned to see his house mate eyeing a cast iron lever he thought had been cleverly disguised as a torch rest.
"Why not?" C.C. asked, taken aback by the Phantom's almost panicked tone.
"Because I said so. You are never to touch that lever nor any other like it!"
'Because I said so.' had never been a good reason for the Authoress. As a child it had annoyed her to no end, as a young adult it drove her to defiance. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't pull it right this instant." She demanded, placing her hand threateningly on the iron structure.
"Because it will release the trap door we are both standing on, sending us both to our almost certain deaths."
C.C.'s hand shot back form the lever as though it had suddenly grown fangs and bitten her. "Oh."
Awkward silence followed as she glanced sheepishly between the floor, the lever, and the Phantom. "I guess I'll add 'Pulling Strange Levers' to my list of things never, ever to do during my stay." she said, shooting him a look that begged forgiveness in the sickeningly adorable way that only cute young girls can manage.
"That would be wise." Erik offered, pretending to be completely unmoved by her nearly nauseating display of cuteness.
"Good, now that we've got that settled, which way is it to the manager's office?"
Erik looked at her suspiciously. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I'm in dire need of paper clips and thought that would be logical place to pilfer office supplies." Erik gave her a quizzical look, causing the Authoress to roll her eyes. "Documents." she said simply. "I'm, we're on a time line here and I need to get some studying done. You know, I need to dig up some dirt, memorize a few time lines and schedules, take notes on interesting facts and figures that can be squirrelled away for future use. In case you haven't noticed it's gotten rather late, and if there's one thing I've noticed about the current management, M. Lefevre seems to leave rather early," she smiled wryly, "perhaps from fear of meeting a ghost. Now is the perfect time to breaking into your well trained little monkey of a manager's office."
It didn't take a genius to see the logic in the girl's plan, and since Erik was, in fact, a genius, he saw no problem leading her to the management office as long as he stayed near her side to prevent the mishaps and minor disasters that seemed to constantly occur in her presence.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"It's amazing what you can learn from comic books!" C.C. beamed with pride as she opened what had moments before been a securely locked filing cabinet.
Erik squinted his eyes at her, trying to decipher how the girl had navigated the lock. He had watched her take a small can from the black bag she had taken to carrying around, fit it with a straw of some sort, spray the contents of the can into the lock's key hole, and then use a pin from her hair to turn the lock without any effort or positioning. The Authoress tossed him a quick grin. She knew full well that curiosity was killing him, but he was far too proud to ask her how she had managed the feat.
"Graphite," she explained as she held up the can, "it's in a pressurized can that can spray the metal into the lock, then it's weight pressed down the tumblers, allowing the lock to be turned with pretty much any slim little object you happen to have on you. It won't work on cars, deadbolts, or any other of the more complicated locks, but there don't seem to be a lot of those in this delightful little period in history."
Erik's scrutiny continued. "And just where did you learn this little trick? You hardly strike me as a criminal mastermind, my dear."
C.C. blushed a little as she confessed the well-guarded truth of her secret nerdom and how it had led to her lock picking skills. "I already told you, I learned it from a comic book, The Adventures of Spider Boy, I think, but that's not important." She hefted a leather bound logbook from the drawer. "This is."
Flipping to the last entry in the book she read the words printed neatly in the flowing script.
27 February, 1881
Othello has been well received on its opening night upon the stages of the Populaire, the performance saw only the flaws inherent to any live art form. The third lamp from stage left refused to light during the entirety of the performance. I shall send someone down to inspect the lamp's piping first thing tomorrow. It is a well-know fact that a leaking gas pipe can be hazardous, indeed. As to the performance itself, I saw only a successful show, but it is not MY opinion that matters when it comes to the success or failure of the performers, it has not mattered for quite some time now. It is odd. I seem to matter very little in the grand design things here, yet despite my apparent pointlessness, the doctors insist that it is the stress of my job that plagues my stomach so. Perhaps I should reconsider their suggestions and look into retiring. There have been plenty of offers from the more. . .less informed members of society. I rather pity the man who will step up to take my place.
C.C. nearly dropped the ledger. "Erik?" she asked, her voice taking on a hint of hysteria. "You have this season's productions memorized, correct?"
Erik nodded slowly. The Authoress gnawed delicately on her lower lip, afraid to ask the question that needed asking. "What opera is scheduled after Othello?"
Erik answered without hesitation. "Hannibal, it's a relatively new work, but the lead is practically tailored for Christine's voice, I think. . ."
He seemed to show no reaction to the fatal opera's name. Apparently when he turned to his music to "forget the horror" of something, it was an unbelievably effective mental block. However, the three syllable utterance was enough to send the Authoress into a full scale panic.
"Erik!" she cut him off, ignoring the glare he shot her. "Think! Think about what you just said! Remember the movie!" After a moment realization flooded Erik's face. "Yeah," C.C. confirmed, "Hannibal equals lots and lots of bad. Well, it actually equalled lots of good until the fop showed up and you decided to employ My Size Barbie Christine in your seduction plan."
If any passing stranger had glanced upon Erik's face in that moment they would have described look spread across his features as absent-mindedness, perhaps even boredom. However, C.C. was not a passing stranger. She recognized the look on Erik's face for what it was: the calm before the storm. The wheels in the Phantom's genius mind were turning with a speed most human minds could not begin to aspire to. He briefly shut out the outside world as his brain pieced together facts and figures to draw out brilliantly extreme conclusions and possibilities.
C.C. realized she had to act fast. If Erik was allowed to formulate a plan things would probably end very badly for everyone involved. It was a well known that once Erik decided on a plan of action, come Hell or high water, he would see the plan through to the end. It was also a well-known fact Erik's plans, especially those involving Christine, tended to be rash and misguided, making the situation worse than it had been to begin with. And, unfortunately, any physicist could tell you that it was a well-known fact that the universe strives to correct itself. The universe was striving for the story to end with disaster and a broken hearted Phantom. All these facts shot through C.C.'s head as she allowed raw instinct and panic to use whatever means deemed necessary to deviate the Phantom from his plotting.
A resounding slap echoed through the manager's office.
C.C. gaped in horror and stared at her stinging hand, horrified at what the appendage had done of what was surely its own free will. Certainly she would never have had the gall to strike the Phantom. For his part, Erik seemed to stunned to respond. He had been struck more times in his life than he would ever care to recall, but never like that. Normally, the blow would have driven him into a rage, but in that moment he was too shocked to react.
Finally, after several moments of her staring at her hand and he staring at the Authoress without really seeing her, he spoke. "What the devil was that?" Instead of the bark or snap she had expected, the question was one of pure and honest puzzlement. It was as though he had just experienced something nearly beyond believability and wanted to be reassured of its reality.
"I'm not sure." C.C. answered truthfully. "I'd say my hand was possessed by the devil, but I'm pretty sure that only happens to Seth Green characters." She paused for a moment, finally gaining the strength to look Erik in the face. She winced as her eyes took in the quickly reddening mark on his uncovered cheek. "I'm sorry, it, um, uh, it won't happen again." she finished dumbly.
Erik scrutinized her for a minute longer. "It better not." C.C. grinned at the touch of malice that had reentered his voice. Malice is not normally a thing to grin at, but she was a phan, after all.
Suddenly C.C. perked up and grabbed Erik by the hand, her previous awkwardness instantly forgotten. "Come on, let's go to the stage!" She commanded, dragging him towards the door. Erik resisted.
"Why?"
"Because I want to." It was a perfectly good reason to her. "Now come on, come on, come on!" She was nearly bouncing up and down in her excitement to get to the opera's expansive stage, despite her lack of a reason and the number of times she had visited it before. Relenting, Erik allowed himself to be drug out of the manager's office.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
C.C. was able to think best when she was moving. Her best friend often joked that her best speeches and essays had been written either while in ballet rehearsal or while jumping his horse. Perhaps that was why she was struck by the sudden urge for movement. Certainly now was a time she needed to think, and there was no better place to move than on the floor of a grand stage.
As soon as they reached the stage, C.C. dropped her bag and Erik's hand and sprinted off towards it. As soon as her feet touched its smooth surface she threw herself forward in a tumble and landed into the splits. Her muscles vaguely protested such movements without previous stretching, but she ignored them, too caught up in the rush that came of freely flinging herself about.
Leaping up from the floor, she lifted herself onto the balls of her feet and began running through some simple dance exercises to whatever music chose to run through her head. Her thoughts began to clear as she twirled about the stage. Her story was fast approaching a critical point. Certain precautions would have to start being taken, certain lessons would soon have to be taught. She cast a glance at Erik. Ever the Phantom, he was hidden deeply in the shadows at the wings, barely visible. C.C. took a deep breath. A critical point was approaching and it was time to take the ghost out of the shadows and bring a gentleman into the light.
Erik started as the Authoress grabbed his hand and used it to twirl herself into his chest. She looked up at him and beamed. "Monsieur, might I have the pleasure of this dance?"
When Erik only frowned in reply, she stepped away from him. Keeping his hand in hers, she grabbed the hem of her skirt and half bowed in the starting position of several classical dances. "Please, Erik," she begged prettily, "dance with me."
"I don't dance." He stated flatly, but she would not be deterred.
"A gentleman never denies a lady a dance."
"Then it's a good thing that I am no gentleman and you are no lady."
"There's a coat of arms on my father's mantel that begs to differ in my case. And as for you," she paused for dramatic effect, "you will be by the time I'm done with you. Now, you're out of excuses, so let's dance."
Erik still didn't respond to her tugs on his arm, but instead of the arrogance of the moment before, he was staring hard at the floor, his brow creased like a shy child.
"I can't."
C.C. stopped tugging on his arm for the moment. "What was that?"
"I can't dance." He elaborated.
She threw a smile at him that managed to be both sweet and wry. "Ah, the truth of the matter comes out at last." She took a step closer to him and gently knocked his chin up with the back of her hand so he was forced to meet her gaze. "Chin up, big guy, no one was born with their feet on the dance floor. You're just gonna have to learn like everybody else." This time he didn't resist as she led him onto the stage.
Once firmly on the stage, she began to walk him through the starting position of a simple three step waltz. "In this hand," she grabbed his right, "you'll hold my hand in yours. And then you'll place your other hand on my waist. No, just here," she corrected," I have to enough room to lift the hem of the gown I'd be wearing from the floor. That's good. Now we can get started. I'll lead you for the while, but once you get the hang of it, I want you to take over. You got that?" He nodded in the affirmative. "Good, lets go."
C.C. began to sing the beats with a practised precision as she attempted to push the Phantom across the floor. She occasionally paused for corrections, but was careful not interrupt the count. "1,2,3. . .1,2.3. . .loosen up, 2, 3 . . ."
Sadly for the Authoress' poor feet, Erik's first dance was not the whirlwind fantasy that many phanphics make it out to be. However, the steps soon became familiar enough to give him confidence enough to take the lead. He absentmindedly tapped the beat against her waist as he voiced the thought that had been weighing on his mind for the past several minutes.
"You never told me you sang."
C.C. stopped counting as the words hit her. Without her singing the beat, Erik stopped moving. The dance was effectively ended, but neither broke from their position, their right hands were still entwined and his left still rested on her waist. They simply stood there for a moment before she responded.
"Well, my mother was an opera singer, I know I've mentioned that. It only makes sense that I'd pick up a thing or two."
"You have a lovely voice."
C.C. blushed, with her mother's voice to compare her to, people rarely complemented her ability. "It's not as good as my mum's though."
He placed a hand under her chin and brought her gaze up to his, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "It could be. I could teach you."
"No." Hurt flashed across Erik's face for a barest fraction of a second, before a cold steeliness began to creep into his eyes. In a desperate attempt to stop his fact approaching anger, C.C. grabbed his hand and held it in place against her cheek before it could drop as she attempted to explain herself.
"There's nothing in the world I could ever want more than to have you teach me, but I can't." Erik only looked puzzled as she tried to explain something she didn't understand herself. "I. . .There's some fundamental thing that changes in people when you teach them. Don't ask me to explain it, but every phan knows it's true. I mean, just your presence is nearly overpowering, but when you teach. . .it. . .things. . .you just kind of take over. And I can't let that happen. I can't," she took a breath and stared deeply into eyes, "I can't fall in love with you."
Of all the things Erik had been expecting her to say, that had not been one of them. The words had struck a cord in a little used part of his heart, and he suddenly found himself acting on instincts he had never felt before. The hand that had lightly rested on her waist moved to her low back as he closed the distance between them.
C.C. was a big girl. She knew what was happening and that she should stop it, but her mental voice's screams of protest were silenced as his grip on her cheek tightened and he raised her face closer to his. She closed her eyes and her lips parted gently in anticipation. She could feel his breath on her lips when suddenly. . .
. . .BANG!
Erik and C.C. jumped apart as a crash broke whatever spell they had been foolish enough to weave. The two masked figures turned in unison to see what had caused the interruption they were both blessing and cursing.
Their eyes met with a rather stunned Madame Giry, her now extinguished candlestick rolling to a stop on the ground.
"It was CPR lessons!" C.C. nearly shouted the first thought that passed through her guilt-ridden mind. The outburst, however nonsensical, seemed to give Mme. Giry her strength back. Her back straightened and her expression turned from a look of utter shock to a stern gaze that demanded answers. C.C. swallowed hard. This was not how she had planned to make her first impression on the ballet mistress. In an attempt to find her senses, she turned to Erik and began trying to string words together in a logical order.
"Erik. . uh. . you go and play with your organ. . .Oh, god! Gutter! I mean, go play music. Or, no. You know what, go watch Christine sleep! I have to see about un-ringing a bell." When he did not move she became more sure minded and authoritative. "You! Go! Atone! Now!" she snapped.
Erik hastened to obey. With a quick flash of swirling cloak he was gone, leaving the young theatre haunt to face the weighty gaze of the opera house's elder Giry. Drawing a pattern on the floor with her toe, she looked up at the older woman and gave her a shamefaced smile.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Madame Giry. I'm one of your biggest fans." She chewed her lip nervously before continuing. "I bet you have some questions you'd like to ask, right?"
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A/N: Sorry again to all you EC shippers, I just had to get that out of my system before I could start focussing on the relationship y'all really want to readabout. Don't worry though, the next chapter will further that relationship. Anyway, on to the replies. I know that's the only reason you're skimming through this A/N.
Muse!Erik: Must we return to this degrading practice?
C.C.: Yes, you've had a good long holiday. Now, buck up and flirt with my readers, assuming I have any left.
Bek: Sorry, hun, that was definitely the wrong Bullwinkle, but you're a special case. If you want some time with my muse, I can have him on a trans-Pacific flight by sundown. I would have thought your own muse would have burst through that cabinet by now, though.
Muse!Erik: For his sake I hope he stays in the cupboard. After meeting your brother I'd choose a blissful state of nonexistence any day.
Trier1974: I assure you that your flattery is misplaced, but if you insist on giving it anyway. . .-revels-
Muse!Erik: Must you continue complimenting her? I assure you that this household has room enough for only one big ego, and that would be mine.
Cassiopeia Lily: I guess this long period between updates means no fudge for Erik and I, huh?
Muse!Erik: So now I'm being punished for some petty thief's crime as I have been innocently blamed for the crimes of so many others?
C.C.: Innocent? Ha! Remind me again, which one of us was too busy enjoying a latte to punjab the creep who ran right past them, clutching my computer?
Just Plain Insane: I suggest you thoroughly punjab that pesky Voice of Reason. All they do is ruin your fun and give to depressed urges to do strange things like clean and bake things you don't actually want to eat.
Muse!Erik: For once I agree fully. All reason is is a ridiculous code of conduct ingrained by a brainwashing traditionalist society intent on forcing abstract thinking into extinction.
C.C.: Ah, you're just upset that your therapist said that rationalizing yourself loudly and in the third person didn't count as a moral compass.
Muse!Erik: Erik cannot help what the world makes him do!
PMEL: I pushed, but apparently it was in the wrong direction. Oh well, at least I now know from personal experience that he has the will, now all I need is to get the girl. . .or possibly some scented candles and a warm tow-
Muse!Erik: Before you finish that sentence, allow me to remind you that your very young niece is reading this phic. I'm rather sure your brother would like to keep her. . .education limited at the moment.
C.C.: Oh, right. I keep forgetting that. Oh well, little Anna is going to be banned from reading the new phic I'm working on. ;-)
Pawfoot: When has a lack of skills ever stopped any EC-shipper from a happy dance?
Muse!Erik: Never, but on occasion I wish it would.