"Has he come out yet?" Mr Y asked Gerik, indicating to the closed door. Since the Meriks had pounced on Harley the previous week, the man had barricaded himself in his-well that is to say Jerik's unused-room.
"No," Gerik frowned, "He seemed like he was in pretty rough shape though, probably better to let him lick his wounds, physical and mental."
He sighed, "But probably best to leave him be. It looked pretty bad, I was roughed up sure but he had the whole second floor on his tailcoat."
Mr. Y nodded. "They seem like quite the crowd of ruffians at best."
"It's better to stay out of their way. And I mean I honestly can't be too upset, some of them have good reason."
Mr. Y noticed a small blush creep up over Gerik's well toned cheek.
"Are you alright?" The older man asked.
"Um yes! Don't mind me, fine." The movie adapted gentleman replied, keeping this thought in particular to himself.
Why was it the thought of one masked Merik in particular made his face feel so flushed? Especially when said man had throat punched him just a few weeks ago.
"DAMN! NOT AGAIN!" Kerik shouted, spinning around to snatch his mask back from a grinning Carpenter. "That's the second time in a week!"
"Then maybe you should be a little more aware of your surroundings!" He snickered.
Coming upstairs after a regular meeting with Erik, Crawford and Lerik watched the grumbling Kerik refasten his mask back onto his face.
Removing a small handheld board from under his cloak, Lerik began scribbling.
"What's going on?" The board read, Lerik's eyes under the mask quizzical.
Crawford sighed, "A rather trivial game it seems. Some of them have taken to finding clever ways to unmask each other. Most of them have dubbed it 'Getting Christined.'
Erasing the words, Lerik began writing again.
"Why?"
"Who knows why half of them do what they do. I don't see the point in it but best not to let Monsieur Fantome catch word of it."
"NOOOOOOOOOO!" A screech came from the second floor.
"Well it would seem Karimloo was next," Crawford said with a tired groan heading upstairs toward the noise and prevent further commotion.
Meanwhile on the main floor Jones heard a muffled sob behind an ajar door.
Peering inside, Jones frowned and lightly tapped on the door. Receiving no response he inched the door open, sitting down next to a sniffling Cherik.
"Monsieur, what seems to be the matter?" The Merik asked.
Cradling his head in his hands Cherik wiped at his eyes. "One of them. They…they took off my mask."
Jones frowned sadly, he knew the game was going too far with some of the residence.
Putting a comforting arm around Cherik, Jones tried to calm the strawberry blonde down.
"It'll be alright my friend. I'll try and talk to the others, I do apologise on their behalf friend."
Cherik whimpered in his throat, leaning his trembling head against Jones shoulder.
Down the hall in the parlour, Destler was sprawled out on one of the sofas, leaning his head against a propped up arm. He chuckled aloud watching yet another slasher film, he seemed to relate surprisingly well to a nightmare inducing man with knives for gloves.
At the organ, Winslow was drafting up a new piece. Phoenix had sent him a copy of her latest performance, and he felt inspired to write something new.
He was so focused he didn't notice Jerik slinking behind him, long clammy hands reaching for the mask. Even from the confines of the trash the long haired recluse had overheard talk of their little game.
But before he could lay hands on Winslow's helmet, he was pulled back by the scruff of his filthy shirt. Destler wheeled him around holding a sharpened knife to his throat, the blade gleaming in the candlelight.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Destler sneered, "I wouldn't use your filthy flesh even if my whole face came off, but I won't hesitate to skin you like the filthy rats you sleep with."
Releasing Jerik, the long haired man slunk off, mumbling choice words uncomprehending under his breath.
Winslow turned, "Thank you."
Destler nodded, "No thanks necessary. I hate to be disturbed whilst working, especially by such vermin."
He was going to go back to his spot when his eyes couldn't help but glance over Winslow's work.
"Have you considered extending this note?" Destler asked, as Winslow glanced over at him. "I don't mean to question your work, but it seems like it would flow more eloquently."
Winslow didn't say anything but Destler noticed him make a correction on the parchment.
"You seem to have a keen eye for music, any other suggestions you may have?"
Leaning over, Destler let his fingers brush along the parchment.
"I mean it's all there, every soaring note coming together. But it needs something, there's drive but it needs more...passion." He mused aloud.
Winslow watched Destler's hands move over the keys, his music coming to life as his fingers pressed down on the keys.
Winslow smiled watching the man play, already he could feel that growing passion.
Panaro looked all about nervously, closing the door to his room behind him. It was the dead of night, and he had good reason to be sneaking about.
"Why do you seem so nervous?" Panaro jumped, seeing Crawford step out of one of the many secret passages.
"No, I'm fine." He stammered.
The older man raised a brow, "Do you think me that daft to believe that?"
"I'm just going finish my work is all, there's no crime against that."
Suddenly the two men heard scratching sounds behind Panaro's bedroom door, followed by low whining.
"What is that?" Crawford asked.
"I um…well," But the other man was already reaching for the door handle, "No wait-!"
As soon as the door opened a black shape zoomed through the door with an ecstatic bark. Wagging his tail the canine stared up at the men, still barking.
"Hey hey, shhh. Stop that now, I know you're excited." Panaro said.
Doors were opening up at the commotion, sleepy eyed and curious.
"You know how Monsieur Fantome feels about animals in the house," Crawford said with a sigh.
Wrapping his arms around the dog, Panaro shook his head.
"He's not getting rid of Soot!" He said defensively whilst petting the canines head.
"What's going on?" Karimloo asked, Soot's head perked up as he trotted over to the taller man. He chuckled, scratching behind the dog's ears. "Aw who let you out again?"
"You knew?" He asked bewildered.
Panaro clasped his hands together pleading, "Crawford please. You and that mute meet with him, I'm just asking for this one favour. I can't get rid of him, he let Kerik keep his cat! Soot's absolutely harmless, I give you my word."
The older man smoothed down his wig, heaving a sigh.
"I don't want you to get your hopes up, but I will talk to him. Just for now keep him out of sight."
Panaro sighed, at least it was a start.
Leading the dog back to his room, Panaro cocked his head to the sound of a door swinging open, noticing a rather under dressed Carpenter stumble out of Kerik's room.
Leaning against the doorframe Kerik smirked blowing back a plume of smoke, the Merik could smell the novelised man's hookah from here.
Gaines stumbled past Kerik, also looking quite dishevelled and unkept, attempting to button up his shirt.
"My door's always open gentlemen!" Kerik called chuckling aloud.
Wordlessly, Panaro shook his head stepping back inside his room.
-Yes Destler is watching Nightmare on Elm Street movies, the joke stemming from Robert Englund playing both Destler and Freddy.
-Soot was Hugh Panaro's dog in real life, whom sadly passed away a few years ago. He was featured on behind the scenes interviews Hugh did and was often alongside him in the dressing room during Hugh's run on Broadway as the Phantom. And so I'm keeping Soot's spirit alive here in the House.
-In the novel "Phantom" Kerik was known to smoke with Nadir from a Persian hookah, and is still an avid user.