Disclaimer: I luff you all for sending in all those questions! Sadly, I probably won't be able to use all of them, but most I will find some way to toy with!

Now, I received a PM earlier from someone (not telling. Nya) who was like 'you're a funny writer! Why don't you try writing Phantom Fluff?'

And I'm like say wha? Writing fluff evolves a real plot, a good pairing, and, oh, I don't know, a PLOT! I'm not good at thinking up Phantom plots. But if you mail me a plot of like, anything (if I know about it) sure, I'll write it. I'm down with that.

PEACE!

Insane: Uh, Rose, you like, forgot to thank the reviewers.

Veng: Uh-oh. She's already mentally gone again, with 'That Look' on her face. Shall we completely ruin her reputation by dissing her reviewers!

-both girls mauled by 'BTR fangirls'-

Uh…okay. I'm going to drinking that coffee Insane told me to drink, and just…simply…thank the reviewers…

Kloolk: Yes yes, I am luffed. All should bow to me. And yes, she's persuasive. And she SCARES ME!

Love your new story, PS!

Celixir: A one-night stand? Oh, very nice. Scar our readers.

Although…I'm surprised I didn't think of that.

I blame Eliz and Luke for my poor disturbed mind.

Supergirrl: Now that's addiction. Stupid name, that P guy. Who's Blunk?

Songstressgirl07: Oh God that's brilliant! YES YES!

The Magic Pickle Fairy: Christine has stockings? –blinkblink- She's not one I pay attention too…at all. Her hair makes me want to hurl…it's like watching a fan spin.

Moonservant: Oh course! If it made sense, then it would have a plot (see rant de plot above). And I can't have that! Welcome to the fanclub!

FemmeLoki: We can all die in peace now. Except me, because I haven't published a book yet.

Oh yes, my one track mind.

Okay, I do remember promising to do that graveyard one next, but this was so perfect.

How does Erik keep his half-mask on with no visible means of support?

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"No freaking way, Taller Giry." Erik refused to turn around as he sat cross-legged, his arms crossed also, and pouting childishly.

"Mama, maybe you should just leave Monsieur Destler alone," Meg spoke up, cowering next to her mother.

"No Meg. He can't go around with his mask," Madame Giry snapped, before shooting an awful glare to the Phantom.

"What happened to his old mask?"

"The phangirls stole it," both old people (sorry Erik lovers) answered sourly.

"…All three?"

"Yes."

"Then…just make him a new mask!" Meg smiled, trying to calm down the feud that was sure to come. And it would be a bloody battle.

"We can't. The porcelain-maker happened to meet a certain 13-year-old, who showed him something called 'Chronicles of Narnia', and now he keeps running around screaming 'THAT'S A GIRL'S COAT!' and 'BADGER!'" The ballet instructor sighed, flicking her braid over her shoulder. Twice.

"I refuse to pour boiling wax on the right (It's right, isn't it?) side of my face just to create a mask."

"But in the book you have no feeling on that side of your face, so it doesn't hurt!" she persisted, only to get another odd look from her daughter.

"Maybe the world is ready to accept my face," the Phantom said hopefully, completely out of character.

"Turn around, Monsieur, and why don't you test that theory?"

He did so, and the second he did, Meg began screaming hysterically, looking utterly horrified. She continued until Madame Giry walked over to her friend and slapped her hand over the deformed section of his face, facing Meg.

She stopped immediately.

"Wow," Mme. Giry said quietly. "It's like silencing a record."

Did they even have records back then?

She lifted her hand, and the shrill shrieking continued. Then she covered his face.

Silence.

Hand lift.

Scream.

Hand cover.

Silence.

"You're poking my right eye out, Madame," Erik grumbled, turning around sharply and crossing his arms again. The woman paused a moment, then had a silent spaz attack where she wrung her hand continuously, a look of disgust on her face. When Erik peaked over, she stood back up straight like nothing ever happened.

"Maybe it's just Smaller Giry…"

"Erik, if you think that, then turn towards the camera."

"Uh…what cameras, Taller Giry?"

"The ones the phangirls installed a few days ago. It's right over there," Madame Giry pointed to a tiny blinking red light a few yards away, attached to the wall.

Erik turned his head towards the blinking device, and instantly the Something Something Then You Dreamt It song came on.

"SOME SOMETHING THEN YOU DREAMT IT? Oh come on, you insolent little child, get my songs right!" he yelled at the narrator/authoress.

The narraration sighed loudly. "Fine. Whatever."

Erik turned his head towards the blinking device, and instantly the Stranger Then You Dreamt It song began playing.

Screams of both horror and joy came from the camera.

Meg shifted from one leg to another. "I think I have a solution to this problem."

They all looked over at the young blonde ballet girl, who was smiling sheepishly. From behind her back, she pulled a white porcelain mask.

Erik stared in disbelief at his mask. He snatched it away and hugged it tightly.

"So, um, how do you exactly attach it to your face?"

"I just connect it to my toupee," he said calmly, reattaching his precious mask.

"You wear a wig?" gasped both women. He nodded dully.

"Well obviously. I mean, I'm like, 40 years old. I don't actually have ebony-black hair. That's why when my mask gets torn off in the PoNR scene, I have really ugly stringy grey hair."

Madame Giry's jaw fell open, and Meg looked completely disgusted.

"You know what," Meg grumbled. "I'm just going to leave. I don't feel like listening to this. I have a headache, you're a stupid creepy stupid old stupid man, and the phangirls want to go back to spying on your ever-waking moment in peace."

She walked off, soon to be followed by her mother.

Erik pouted. The narrator couldn't think of anything witty to end the story by.

"Darn you for getting sick, Rose," he growled, then turned towards the camera. Since he had the mask now, the shrieks were all for joy.

"GO AWAY!" he yelled, swooshing his cape and storming off, smashing the mirror, then walking into his secret room and closing the shattered remains of his mirror-door, being PO-ed.

…….

Fear children of the cornchips.

0o0o0o0o0o0

A/N: If that story does not convince you to never get sick, I don't know what will.

I feel like crap right now, 'ight? So um, don't be like 'THIS STORY SUCKED!' My head feels like it's going to explode.

I still luff you all, guys! And I want 70 reviews!!!