Disclaimer: I don't own POTO…
Mademoiselle Phantom: Oh, Anna and Brooke are Americans. I think I mentioned them being of Scottish descent in one chapter, but they were "born" in the United States.
Pleading Eyes: You are so cool that I am going to give you a cameo anyway. You shall be Ballpoint Pen of Doom, since OneWhoWalksWithPigeons was awesome enough to let me borrow it. And your color shall be hair ribbon pink. in honor of your phantastic phic.
All right—here it is: the last of the cameos. Thank you to everyone for the creativity of you answers. Wow, you guys really took the details seriously, which is good, that way I can differentiate between every particular shade of midnight blue. This is probably one of the weirdest cameos you will ever make (I'm sure some of you have figured out what I am going to do to you.) I have taken some artistic license; if you listed more than one color I chose the one that best suited my purposes (same w/ names) and if your name was too long, I shortened it a tad.
I think there was some misconception about the cameos. I mean to give everyone who answered the questions a cameo, not just one person (Savvy: I even tricked you! That has to be a first. smirks w/ pride). Anywho. I really had fun with this chapter (a little too much fun, hehe) and I hope you will enjoy it. I have to admit that I am worried this will be too confusing and that you won't like it, but I am willing to take my chances.
Sorry, about the lack of review replies. It's 1:00 a.m. and I am tired.
WARNING: Utter random chaos erupts somewhere in the middle. Be prepared!
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THINGS GO BOOM!
When Anna and Brooke bounced into their closet, they had been lint-covered Victorian ladies (unconventional, yes, but whatever), when they reemerged half an hour later, they were transformed back into 21st century college women in jeans, hoodies, and worn out chucks, ready to pull the ultimate prank. Gerry noted with a quizzical stare the phrase One if by land, two if by sea imprintedacross the front of the hoodies.
Their hair, which had grown out past their mid sections, was French braided and weaved with red, white, and blue ribbons. Black kohl lined their eyes and sparkling pink lipstick painted their lips. Spicy clouds of Curve perfume surrounded their persons. They were sultry at the same time they were playful. Brooke had the Poppins Bag slung over one shoulder.
Be afraid, it whispered to Gerry, Be very afraid.
Taking this cryptic warning to heart, Gerry gulped as he slowly inched his way toward the door. Too late. The girls spied his slight, Phantomly movement and, without warning, pounced him. Anna sat on his legs while Brooke pinned his upper half to the floor. The brunette leered at him, leaning down to ask:
"Gerry, you like us more than Christine. Right?"
Gerry nodded wordlessly.
"Then you're not going to stop us are you?"
Gerry shook his head frantically.
"Good." After smothering him with a few kisses (just for good measure), the cousins released him. Staggering to his (big) feet, the Phantom smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt and Don Juan pants. Once he reassembled his composure, he turned to address the girls.
"What, exactly, is your plan of action?"
Brooke stood on tiptoe to whisper the answer into the Opera Ghost's left ear. He smirked in approval (it was an unbearably sexy smirk).
"Very good. And do I have a part to play?" he asked. Anna whispered into his other ear. He smirked sexily again.
"I think I can managed that. You two are endearingly wicked. You'd make excellent Opera Ghosts."
The girls grinned as they replied in unison, "We do."
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Madam de Pouf could not have planned better weather herself. The briny smell of the sea seeped through the balmy summer air. There was a comfortable chill in the breeze that made the sky shiver in delight as he settled his navy blue body down beside the warm curve of the earth. A sliver of ruby red sunlight on the western horizon was all that remained of the day, melting onto the hills and staining the water. Selene and her glittering attendants rose from the east to frolic in the heavens whilst Helios was asleep.
Every summer the plump, good-humored landlady hosted a wild party on the seashore. Madam de Pouf, being young at heart, was the maestro who conducted a fantastic symphony of scandal, imprudence, and broken taboos. Her annual bonfire was the event of the summer for the restless youth of aristocratic Parisian society and the dreaded terror of their parents.
At sunset, all of the elements were in place. Bonfires roared; wine flowed from bottles and flasks; wool blankets sank beneath the weight of picnic baskets; and local musicians launched into playful diddies that tickled the ears and the hearts of the merry-makers. The landlady and her tipsy husband observed the unruliness with amused eyes.
Annette and Max chased each other round a smoldering fire. Cecily managed to escape her brothers and mischievously kicked up water with her friends, drawing shrill shrieks from anyone who came too close. Hillarie and Lizette cheerfully employed themselves at flirting with some young noblemen, who had arrived for the weekend. Others joined in dancing a reel.
Peering into the darkness beyond the firelight, Madam de Pouf surmised that Christine was nearing success in her efforts to seduce the Vicomte de Changy. The old gossip had heard delicious rumors that Mlle. Daaé was a rising star at the Opera Populaire and was supposedly connected with some very mysterious happenings there. Second to the family Leroux, she was the most intriguing tenant of the summer.
Speaking of the Leroux, Madam de Pouf noted with disappointment that Mlles. Anna and Brooke had not yet appeared with M. Gerard. (She hardly expected M. Leroux to show up). Her musings were cut short when her husband drunkenly jostled her with his shoulder.
"Tis a fine evening, eh, Isabelle?" he rumbled like a bear with a pot full of honey.
"Yes, it is," she replied, " I am glad I had the good judgment to hold the party early this year. Did you set up someone to light the Roman candles, mon cher?"
"Yeeeesh…I got a few of the boys up there on the ridge. Should be in a few (hic!) minutes," he slurred.
Satisfied with his answer, Isabelle de Pouf took a swig of the bottle herself and settled back to watch the revelry, silently congratulating herself on her decision to host the party on the fourth of July, rather than a week later. Little did she know she had two very patriotic Yankees on her hands.
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High upon the grassy ridge overlooking the beach, the patriotic Yankees had quickly established a base of operations. The ridge itself was the front line; HQ was nestled with the heavily armed birch grove behind them. With the help of the Authoress and a couple of hobbity stable hands, Anna and Brooke wired the grove with some of their traditional favorites. Saturn missiles nailed to trees, raptor eggs planted like landmines, and flying saucers lying undercover of fallen leaves were all set and ready to detonate when their intended victim (guess who) tripped the wires.
However, the extent of the cousins' pyrotechnical weaponry reached far beyond road stand staples to a limit that would have turned the Weasley twins Slytherin-green with envy. In addition to the Montanan variety, the girls had procured—via the Poppins Bag—a familiar cartload of Gandalf's fireworks, which were to be saved for the finale and were now being guarded by Pip and Que at HQ. The Authoress herself had invented a bizarre new breed of firecrackers especially for the occasion. These were crammed into the aching, over-worked mouth of the miserable Poppins Bag, which was stationed beside the girls at the front line.
Anna kept tabs on the activities below through a pair of binoculars. They waited with bated breath for the right moment to strike. Everything had to be perfect. This was to be their magnum opus, their masterpiece, their tour de force. To put it in POTO terms, they were going to drop the chandelier tonight. The muffled whimperings of the Bag broke through the electric silence.
Ay ate mwff.
"What?" Brooke snapped.
AY ATE MWFF!
She shifted the load of fireworks to one side and asked the Bag to repeat itself once more.
I HATE MY LIFE! MMF!
Brooke let the fireworks tumble back into place. "Is that all? Don't be so Marvinish," she snorted as she rummaged through a small, wooden crate containing the de Pouf's twelve Roman candles. (The girls had taken the precaution of sabotaging M. de Pouf's appointed pyrotechnical engineers and stealing their meager supply of explosives.) Anna's eyes remained glued to the binoculars.
"When should we start?" she asked.
"Depends. How is Gerry getting on with Christine?"
"Difficult to say. It's a very dark down where they are, but I don't think the fo—I mean the Vicomte is leaving her alone. Gerry needs a distraction."
"Gerry is a distraction."
"Very true. All the same, I think we should set some of these off." Anna turned to point at the Authoress' fireworks.
"But…won't these distract Christine as well?"
A parchment airplane zipped into view, with the answer carefully printed inside. Brooke unfolded it and read:
Rule #42 in the POTO handbook: A Christine will always latch on to the sound of an Erik's voice to exclusion of all else. The trick is to get her away from any interfering Raouls.
Brooke blinked. "All righty, then. Shall we?" She gestured to the fireworks with a gallant sweep of her arms. Anna frowned thoughtfully. No doubt those drunken vacationers would be in the line of fire eventually.
"Give 'em fair warning. Fire off those Roman candles first."
"Aye, aye, Admiral Boom!"
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Gerry cursed under his breath. That stupid fop hadn't moved since Christine had lured him beyond the last bonfire and into the quiet solitude of the darkened seashore. They lounged on the sand, wriggling their bare toes in it, and talking quietly.
The invisible Phantom smirked to himself as the soprano leaned into the Vicomte, whispering in his ear and tracing his hand with one dainty, white finger. To Gerry's surprise and ultimate satisfaction, Raoul refused her bait. Either the young aristocrat was intent upon upholding his virtue or he had another petite brunette on his mind. Perhaps it was both, but Gerry hoped it was more the latter.
Christine was getting frustrated. She withdrew her body and sat pouting for a while, saying things like "You never pay attention to me!" and "Why are you so distant?" Raoul begged her forgiveness, even groveled at her feet, but he still didn't completely succumb to her. At last, Christine took a page from Erik's book and began to sing softly into Raoul's ear, finally captivating his full attention.
Gerry seethed with rage. His innate nature as a Phantom dictated that he be furious whenever a Christine sang for someone other than a Phantom. He knew that the "real" Erik would have been screaming his head off by now, but Gerry had a more delicate task at hand and so he contented himself with twisting a slimy vine of seaweed into a Punjab lasso.
Groaning and swearing, Gerry kicked at the sand beneath his feet. The fop would never move whilst Christine sang. Glancing up at the ridge, he silently prayed that the girls would do something soon or the whole evening would be wasted.
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Madam de Pouf shifted her bulky weight impatiently from foot to foot. What on earth was delaying those firecrackers? She was anxious to impress her guests. Just as the lady determined to investigate the matter, the first glittering flower exploded overhead in a brilliant burst of red. It illuminated the sky and elicited oo's and ah's from the crowd on the beach. Satisfied with this reaction, Madam de Pouf sat back to enjoy the eleven remaining Roman candles. Her smug smile began to sag into perplexity when the explosion count reached thirteen and still did not stop. Not only that, but the fireworks were becoming increasingly bizarre.
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(A/N: Okay, here go the cameos. In case you haven't figured it out, you are the fireworks! And very rambunctious fireworks at that. The Weasley twins would be proud. Enjoy the show!)
Anna carefully selected a group of firecrackers with impressive names and promising pictures on their shells. With a loud whoop, she sent up the first volley of the Authoress' custom-made rockets.
Admiral Mad Kat the Salty Eye exploded first, producing a shimmering purple blossom, with little orange polka dots erupting from the tips of her tendrils. Like a normal firework, the purple blossom faded away, leaving behind nothing save a smoky shadow of her form, however, her orange spots remained. Not only did they remain, they took to skipping themselves across the sky like pebbles on water.
This was the innocent audience's first clue that something was amiss. Or at least, it should have been their first clue. As they had each downed one bottle of wine minimum, it would take a little while for everything to register properly. In the meantime, they were actually enjoying the bizarre display.
ExplosivesEly flew into the sky, her shattered shell belching out a dozen fluttering shapes, as black as the velvet sky woven betwixt the stars. The faint shimmer of fire soon exposed the shapes to be large bats. They snapped and crackled as they swooped through the sky, silhouetting against the moon for an eerie moment.
Itty Bitty Killer Kitty Phanatical Phan's brigade of black, sparkling cats leapt into the air, yowling and clawing at the moon. They pranced and skulked in and out of the stars and when they turned just right, their fiery fur glistened like silver.
ShinyThingsRuleSupreme exploded next. The onyx flames, licked with iridescent emerald and sapphire, quickly molded themselves into a thousand black beetles. They scittered to and fro over the sky, playing chase with Admiral Mad Kat's orange dots. Their creepy bugness gave the cousins the heebie-jeebies.
"OMOG! Anna, it's those little scarab thingys from The Mummy!" Brooke shrieked. They shivered in horror as the bugs joined in the pyrotechnical fray.
The bats and the cats and the bugs did not fade, but they blended so well with the night sky that the drunken vacationers on the beach were not seriously alarmed. Instead, they remained amused.
"Look, there it is!"
"Did you see it? No, no, it's over there!"
"You're drunk!"
"So are you."
Flying Sorceress of the Misty Isles twisted and spiraled like a bullet before exploding into a glittering deep blue pin wheel, which then began to cart wheel around her fellow fireworks. People swore they heard a soft maniacal giggling emitting from the strange blue starburst.
They began to worry.
All at once, they heard a sound like thick cloth being ripped apart. Turning in circles, checking under baskets, the vacationers spent a good minute or so searching for the source of the sound, when at last they thought to look at the sky a hair-raising spectacle met their bewildered eyes.
A particularly morbid firework called Sister Killer of Doom had erupted in the sky, popping and dripping like a newly opened wound, complete with blood red coloring. Each one of her bone-chilling splats oozed so convincingly that several of the foppier tenants passed out while their sweethearts screamed shrilly.
M. de Pouf shouted, as coherently as possible, for everyone to be and clam and begin to slowly make their way up the path to the inn and safety.
"No use upsetting the little devils," he yelled over the crowd.
"What about them?" someone called back. The shivering group turned to regard the various fops and dandies sprawled at their ladies' dainty feet.
"The fire creatures might require a sacrifice before they are appeased," Cecily volunteered as she prodded one of her unconscious brothers with her toe. Everyone thought this was a reasonable idea.
Struggling to keep hold of their panicking minds, the vacationers scooted along the winding path. Sadly, Shadow Crawler had beaten them to it.
If Gandalf could have bottled up a ring wraith and sent it rocketing into the air, the result would have been Shadow Crawler. The sinister black firecracker was more like a puff of smoke than anything else, She hissed and swirled and crept softly over the ground to block the vacationer's only hope for escape. As if her mere presence wasn't enough to push the vacationers off the last precipice of sanity to which they barely clung, she gave loud, angry screech.
The unholy scream sent the vacationers tumbling back down the hill in all-out hysteria, like decapitated chickens. This frantic activity had the same effect as the thrashing of a wounded fish in shark territory—it caught the predators' attention.
Flying Sorceress rallied her fellow specters together and organized a blitzkrieg.
Brooke regarded these antics with unabashed amusement. "I think they've got good personality!"
"Crap!"
Brooke turned to her cousin, who was peering through the binoculars. "What is it?"
"Raoul still hasn't left Christine. We've got to get him out of there if this is ever going to work. Any suggestions?"
The rambunctious brunette flashed her cousin a mischievous grin and held up a beautifully decorated firework, with a horse painted on its side. "How about this?"
"Brilliant. Hi, ho, silver!"
"Uhem," Brooke cleared her throat and lifted a disdainful brow at Anna. "I believe the proper phrase is EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
With that, Mustang's Revenge rocketed toward the unsuspecting couple.
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Gerry was seriously considering some desperate measures. Christine was moving in fast. The Phantom fancied that the eager glee in her eyes and the wanton parting of her lips gave her the appearance of a vampress, preparing to open her victim's jugular.
A quick series of explosions ripped through the air, cutting the soprano off in mid crescendo. The childhood sweethearts leapt apart and gaped at the crazy firework figures darting across the night sky.
Gerry's elation over the blessed interruption was short-lived. No sooner had the lovers recovered from their initial shock, then Christine threw herself into the Vicomte's arms, seeking shelter.
"Damn it!" Gerry hissed. He glared at the cuddling lovebirds, then in an effort to restrain his urge to vomit, turned his beautiful Scottish eyes to the heavens. The inventive fireworks duly impressed the Opera Ghost, smirking at Misty's handiwork. He especially enjoyed the sinister color palette. Still…if immortal black fireworks shaped like bugs or cats or whatever did nothing to separate those stupid, puppy-eyed children huddling on the beach, then they were of no use to him.
Closing his eyes, the Phantom breathed a silent prayer for help to come soon. The next explosion delivered his answer.
A sizzling streak of royal blue whizzed overhead, making a beeline for the soprano and her puppet. Mustang's Revenge somersaulted over the terrified Christine and Raoul and erupted on the stretch of sand between them and the sea. The sulfur haze cleared and there stood a magnificent royal blue stallion, its fiery mane and tail billowing around it like the aura of a Patronus.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Gerry smirked, Christine blinked, Raoul whimpered, and Mustang glittered.
Then, Mustang charged…at Raoul.
"EEEEEEEK! SAAAAAAAAAAVE MEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeee!" the Vicomte squealed as he bolted down the beach. Mustang whinnied with maniacal glee as she joined in a delightful game of cat-and-mouse.
Christine stood on the sand, completely abandoned. She didn't know whether to be angry or scared. A valuable opportunity for seduction had been destroyed and Christine was getting fed up with uber-bizarre occurrences fouling up her plans. Thus, she felt like throwing a hissy fit. At the same time…to her left, a horse-shaped fireball was chasing Raoul, and to her right, their friends were being mercilessly bombed by living pyrotechnics. It was extremely scary, especially when Christine realized who was behind the outrageous display. In that case, she felt like curling in a fetal position and mewing like a lost kitten.
As the singer pondered her next course of action, she slowly became aware of soft violin music floating out from the darkness behind her. Her spine tingled with ecstasy as a man's sensual voice rose with the song.
Wandering child,
So lost, so helpless,
Yearning for my guidance…
Christine's bulging bug-eyes glazed over and her abnormally large mouth fell open in an expression of…vacancy.
In the shadow of the ridge, Gerry pulled a sour face. What had he been thinking when he fell in love with her? Shrugging it away, the Angel of Music leaned into his violin and concentrated on luring his prey up the ridge and into the woods.
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Meanwhile, upon the crest of said ridge, Brooke set off a group of fireworks, which had struck her as rather piratey. She settled back to drink in the mayhem.
Captain Amelia of the Dark Aardvarks, One Eyed Limey, and Twitchy Eye leapt into the air and exploded valiantly in a blaze of color. Captain Amelia took the shape of an aardvark (what else?) the same shade of blue that follows sunset and wearing what appeared to be a Captain Crunch hat.
One Eyed Limey formed herself into a forest green eyeball and Twitchy Eye took shape as a sunny yellow starburst, which seemed to have a bad case of muscle spasms (don't know how, but hey, does any of this make sense?).
Flying Sorceress thought a group of sea-faring scalawags would make a splendid addition to her little army. Swooping like a great ghost, the deep blue sparkler approached the new comers.
"Hey, would like to be in the army of specters? We're dive-bombing the little people right now, but there'll be tea and crumpets afterwards," she offered.
Captain Amelia and her crew stared at Flying Sorceress for a moment before answering her with a song:
We are the pirates who don't do anything!
We just stay home and lie around
And if you ask us to do anything,
We'll just tell you…
Twitchy Eye jumped forward to deliver the last line: We don't do anything!
Flying Sorceress blinked at them as best she could, for unlike One Eyed Limey, she didn't possess even one eyeball.
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"FINALLY!" Anna crowed as she tracked the progress on the darker side of the beach.
"Did it work?"
"Mustang's got Raoul on the run. That ought to keep him busy for while. Gerry's making good head way with Christine. We'd better hurry up and finish the rest of these fireworks if we plan on getting out of here by the time he's led her up the ridge."
"Righto, already got the next batch lined up," Brooke quipped. She bounced excitedly as she set a flame to the wicks. Anna regarded her with a quizzical stare.
"Aren't the least bit worried about Raoul? I mean—not that I care—but he is being chased by a giant firework right now."
Brooke shrugged. "He had it coming." She smiled wolfishly as she added, "I'll make it up to him later."
Anna had no desire to contemplate the innuendo. Instead she concentrated on the fireworks.
Master of Chaotic-dark Sithly Darksabers had transformed into a double-bladed lightsaber, deep purple in color, like an African violet, though not nearly as innocent. She had challenged Shi, a twilight hued streamer, to a duel. Shi had solemnly accepted and the two were engaged in an intense battle.
Floating nearby, the lone spectator at this epic struggle was an interesting being. Vernichtungs Wahnsinn had all the appearance of a huge sea urchin, her emerald green spikes glittering with streaks of silver. A few of Admiral Mad Kat's orange dots buzzed by to view the duel. Something about them pissed off the German sea urchin fireball. Vernichtungs attacked, snarling and hissing like a Pomeranian with a chest cold. The orange dots found this very entertaining.
So did the cousins.
"Who do you think will win?" Brooke asked. She was willing to bet on the orange dots. As for Sithly Dark and Shi, it looked like a tie.
"Don't know. What is with all of these dark colors?" Anna grumbled. She took over as pyrotechnics engineer, rummaging through the miserable Poppins Bag until she had assembled a satisfying group of fireworks.
Giggling madly, she sent them on their way. The resulting blast of color was so intense that all other activity ceased momentarily.
Celeste, neon orange and green, Psychadelic, aqua, Daeguruth, glacier blue, and Sockeo Majorio, sunrise purple took the sky by storm.
"Hehe, they look like an enormous tie-dye shirt," Anna observed. She smirked with smug pride at her work. The "hippie" group, as she lovingly called them, had taken her words to heart. Joining bright, flaming tendrils, Celeste, Psychadelic, Daeguruth, and Sockeo Majorio spun in a circle of whirling glitter, singing loudly:
This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius,
Age of Aquarius, Age of Aquarius!
"I like singing fireworks," Brooke said.
All at once, the girls were pelted by a shower of discontinued aqua M&M's. A quiet whisper hissed over their heads: "Skittles. Taste the rainbow." The dynamic duo looked up to see Kendall the Incredible Ruthless Killer Ninja Pirate floating past, the same color as the candy she produced.
"Um, excuse me?" Anna called. Kendall turned around.
"Yes," the firework replied politely.
"I don't me to criticize, but I believe you've got the wrong candy." The redhead held up a handful of M&M's to demonstrate her point. Kendall considered this astounding revelation for a moment.
"Yes, I see you are right. M&M's. Taste the aqua. How does that sound?"
"Much better." Kendall seemed pleased and floated on her way. Flying Sorceress quickly recruited the candy-spouting flame puff when she discovered that the candy bullets were especially disagreeable to the poor vacationers.
Ah, yes, the poor vacationers. They were having a bad time of it. Though most of the fireworks abstained from attacking them directly, the sight of the strange shapes and electric colors did nothing to help the humans' constitutions. And there was something particularly maddening about a sunset blue aardvark in a Captain Crunch hat. Now they were being shot down by discontinued aqua M&M's. Life really sucked donkeys.
Meanwhile, Mustang had succeeded in cornering Raoul in a shallow tide pool infested with sea slugs and hermit crabs. Of course, it could have been the result of the ocean spray, but the Vicomte's pants looked suspiciously damp. And in other news, Gerry had nearly coaxed Christine to the foot of the ridge. There had been a minor set back due to the screamingly bright hippie fireworks, but being a Phantom, Gerry had made a soon recovery and Christine was still under his spell (as are we all).
M'kay, back to the chaos and firework cameos.
The next group disgorged from the Poppins Bag promised to be especially violent. The cousins like that idea.
A series of cheerfully colored rockets bounded into the sky, cackling and giggly madly. There was Bringer of Bedlam, of a frightening mauve shade, Immortal Death, a shocking electric blue, Leet Master O' Doom, an alarming violet, rabidflyingmonkeyofDOOM, of a disturbingly peaceful sunlight-through-leaves green, Queen of Rumbles and Grumbles, a surprisingly similar color to Christine's cotton candy masquerade gown, and Grand High Empress of Random Annoyance and Destruction, who was simply pink.
Together the group formed a troop mercenary type renegades, who hired themselves out to Flying Sorceress, on the provisions that there be double portions of tea and crumpets reserved for them and that no questions be asked. If the vacationers thought they had seen all the madness the world of Erik-imitating phangirls had to offer, they were dreadfully, horribly, terrifyingly wrong.
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Erik emerged from his room.
"Anna?" he called, tentatively scanning the sitting room. One could never be too cautious when it came to the cousins. His brows furrowed in concern when he didn't receive a reply. He glanced once at the game of Star Wars monopoly, abandoned on the table, and crept to the girls' bedroom door.
"Anna? Brooke?" Erik threw his soft voice into the room. Still no answer, not even the sound of movement.
"Gerry?" he hissed through gritted teeth. Nada. At last, Erik pried the door open. The room was completely empty. They had gone out without so much as a "Good bye" or a "We'll see you when we get back." Erik was about to dismiss it with a forlorn heave of his shoulders when he noticed something seriously amiss.
The Poppins Bag was gone.
At that precise moment, as Erik stood gaping at the empty closet floor, an ecstatic Ophelia Isabella, Great Royal Wife of Dracula shrieked past the window in all her sinister, crimson glory, banshee wail trailing behind her like an auditory comet's tail.
Erik didn't even blink.
With slow, deliberate movements, he approached the window, pulled back the curtain, and opened the pane. His drop-dead gorgeous blue eyes widen in shock at the site before him. All hell had apparently broken loose in the skies over the beach. Wretched screams of fright from the cornered vacationers and the crackling laughter of the fireworks filled the air with a spectacular cacophony.
"Oh, sweet heavens above."
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Somehow the scrimmage between Vernichtungs and Admiral Mad Kat's orange dots had escalated in to an all out war between nearly all of the fireworks. The pirates had been motivated into action and even the army of specters had ceased tormenting the vacationers to join in the fray. The hippies cried for peace and were promptly attacked by the mercenaries. The sky was on fire. Only Mustang stayed on course.
The haggard crowd on the beach thought their chance of escape had come, but the next volley of firecrackers were not about to let them get off that easily. As if sensing Erik's approach, Masquerade, Discombobulated Diva, and Danica of the Devilishly Determined Divas, all went to work preparing a worthy tribute to their favorite Opera Ghost.
Masquerade, an Italian blue cloud of sparkles, swept through the crowd, curling her sulfuric form about each person in turn, leaving them all bedecked in spectacular masquerade costumes. Danica, a velvety rose red blossom, danced across the sky, spreading rose petals wherever she went. Discombobulated Diva tried a few warm up choruses of "Masquerade", but being discombobulated, she sang abysmally and eventually, Masquerade stationed the golden yellow willow at the entrance to the path. In this way, not only did Discombobulated Diva cut off the vacationers—or rather, masqueraders' only escape route, but she also made a beautiful curtain with her threadlike limbs of glittering gold.
The phantomastic display succeeded in luring Erik away from the ridge and away from Gerry and Christine, who had at last begun the ascent up the hill. While the real Phantom was distracted by the shining homage to his legend, Brooke and Anna were amusing themselves with a troupe of extremely comical rockets.
The rollicking gang was led by the bottle green Mad, Merry Wielder of the Magic Flyswatter. The Authoress shall leave her clever readers to imagine the purpose of a firework shaped like a flyswatter. Let's just say, that Mad Merry had the other fireworks skittering like bugs.
Apparently the color green had suddenly become all the rage. Following Mad Merry, there was light green Lady Nameless, bright green Sputnik, who immediately took to orbiting the immediate area, simply green Duddits, Hutspawn, who wasn't really green, rather turquoise with a strong hint of green, and Kelly green Mandy.
"Oh my goodness, Anna, check out these next two!" Brooke held up the rockets in question and the redhead burst into a fit of giggles. These were gonna be good ones.
Out of the first rocket sprouted a blue, shimmering shadow of the swashbuckling Spainard, Ingo Montoya. The fiery apparition did not join in the firework war, or in the frolicking of his own troupe. Instead, he glided down to the beach, which now resembled the leftovers of the ALW movie set, and approached the first human in his path.
"I do not mean to pry, but do you happen to have six fingers on your right hand?"
"Do you always begin conversations this way?" Erik replied.
"My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man." Soft, sad flute music, from an unidentifiable source, wafted across the seashore. Erik held up his right hand in response to the Spaniard's question. Ingo nodded and let him pass.
The second of the much-anticipated rockets was a beautiful tribute to the Weasley twins of Hogwarts fame. Ballpoint Pen of Doom took to the air like an eagle quill, scrawling nasty words across the sky in hair ribbon pink. Most of the words were directed at a certain dim-witted soprano and are unsuitable for a phic of this rating.
Anna was still in stitches when the last of the large groups was released into the air. It was a finale worthy of such a bizarre show. Vixen, an amethyst firework in the shape of a fox, slinked her way across the beach, sniffing out any and all unopened bottles of alcoholic beverages. The combination of the nitrate based fireball and the alcohol sent fuchsia flames spurting up between the masqueraders' legs like geysers. Mayhem exploded on the beach, shattering the carefully constructed Phantom shrine.
Salty Siren was not only immortal, but also waterproof. The sparkler detonated just above the grey water. She took on a woman's voluptuous figure, a glittering silhouette of flamingo pink, with purple highlights in her hair. Every man on shore began to fight his way through the icy sea to reach her.
Meanwhile, the spectacular azure explosion that was Fantasy Frenzy had somehow distracted Mustang from her fop hunting. The royal blue steed reared and tossed her mane and went galloping off to join Fantasy Frenzy in chasing the orange dots.
"Blast and botheration!" Anna swore as she watched Mustang abandon her duties, leaving Raoul to interfere with Gerry's delicate façade. Brooke had seen it, too.
"Crud. Better wrap this up and get back to our posts. Let's see. Adrienne. What kind of destructive name is that?"
"Don't complain! Just ignite it and pray it does something useful!"
Adrienne's wick sizzled and fizzed. The girls waited anxiously. Nothing.
"It's a dud!" As soon as the words left Brooke's mouth, the plain black shell began to shudder and quake like a hatching egg. A hairline crack opened and a cloud of electrical storm grey smoke seeped out. Adrienne slithered her way down the beach, passing over each dog-tired, scared-out-their-wits, definitely-need-a-stiff-drink vacationer, so that they all fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
"Wow," Brooke whispered. "That was cool. Okay two left. Bloody Jack and Crimson Specter. Where shall we send—HEY!"
Anna roughly pounced on the last of the Authoress' fireworks. She hastily shoved them into the ground and lit the fuses. The rockets sped straight for the Vicomte de Changy, who was just a shout away from breaking Gerry's spell over Christine. The fireworks did their work well, Bloody Jack's orange fireball walloping Raoul's stomach and Crimson Specter's Caribbean blue (o0) pinwheel flipping him on his back like a turtle.
Brooke had little time to cry out in dismay. Only one more round of "Wandering Child" remained betwixt the crest of the ridge and Gerry and Christine. Snatching up the Poppins Bag, the girls dashed into their bobby-trapped forest, carefully following the only safe path. They ran hard, stopping only when they were well concealed amongst the shadows of the trees. Anna brought the binoculars to her eyes.
Brooke pressed her for a report in between ragged breathing.
"Gerry just slipped away. Christine is following him into the forest…oh, no."
"What?" Brooke grabbed the binoculars. Peering through them, she saw the bed-draggled form of her precious Vicomte stumble over the south tip of the ridge. She also saw the lithe, panther like shadow that swept over the northern tip. Both of them were following the soprano into the trap.