Disclaimer: Don't own POTO…but I do own the 2-disc widescreen DVD! SQUEEEEEEEE! It's as close to having Gerry at my beck and call, as I'll ever be. sigh
I LIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! authoress emerges from finals week in triumph and does an insane victory dance, complete w/ capers and cavorting…all that fun stuff Yeah! Summertime is here and that means more frequent updating! WOOT! Oh…and to add to my happiness: EPISODE III, baby! After the horrors that were Episodes I & II, this final SW installment was AMAZING! Y'all need to see it ASAP…although it is very sad authoress huggles her cardboard Luke for comfort
Anywho…onward!
Tian Sirki: You are so awesomely considerate! Yes…twas finals! (See above paragraphs). I appreciate the German Rubber Ducky song dedication. And you wanted to know if I got the movie (oh, yes!). That is so nice of you! Seriously!
lady summoner2: Here it is!
Pickle: At the time of your review you were on Ch. 13, so I hope you have read further and discovered my mutant plot, which has been gradually taking form. I never meant to have a plot, just random absurdity, but the characters decided they wanted one. Also, about the whole Phantom + silly girls ludicrous thing, that's why it's fiction and why it's under humor…as an entertainer, I ask you to indulge in willing suspension of disbelief.
OneWhowalksWithPigeons: You make me laugh!
countess kes evenstar: Oh, Gerry is MY precious!
Little JC: Tisn't annoying (hey, it still counts as a review, heehee)…I hope someone answered your question. I got mine at Wal-Mart. Oh, and about the Christine bashing, it just fits in with my storyline and my own characters. Someone has to be the bad guy.
Heather Lynn: Wow…your review style changed as fast as Superman in a phone booth. In regards to your review of chapter 1, I really do appreciate serious critiquing, however, you did hit a nerve. You began the review with something about "an abundance of spelling errors and typos" but neglected to point them out. I am very picky about making errors in my writing (unless it's 1 in the morning and then I just don't care)—not saying I'm perfect or anything—but when I reread that chapter I only found one error…so if you find them, please, point them out.
Shakespeare's Love: That is so cool that someone actually recommended my story to you! I'm glad you liked it!
PiranhaWomanOfTheAvocadoJungleOfDeath: Love the name. Love the suggestions. Way ahead of you on the paintball guns…but the ice cream and super soakers…hmm Misty strokes chin in a thoughtful, contemplative gesture I shall definitely keep that in mind. Erik: Oh, dear.
Musique de la nuit: Sandlot rocks!
Mademoiselle Phantom: Hee,hee…you know what Gerry's Don Juan outfit makes me think of (besides the obvious): a giant (sexy) gingerbread man.
Silent Masquerade: Welcome back (to you and me!)
Solecito: Ahh, yes the orange dots. I just loved the idea of these little things just buzzing about like flies.
Pleading Eyes: I'm glad you liked your cameo. I haven't been on for a while so I'll have to go check on your story. (which I absolutely luff!—long live the pink hair ribbons!) Little Erik: Grr…
Erik's Girlfriend: Ah, I'm a not Texan, but I know people from Texas.
CoolGirlEmily: What does ROFL mean? I just can't figure that one out.
TheGreatSporkWielder: OH! Spork of Approval! So cool. Sporks are friggin' awesome. I'm glad you—and everyone else—enjoyed the little AE fluff moment. I'm glad it brightened your day!
Phantress: 'ello darlin'! I love the Gerry. I have no idea why that amuses me to no end. Your reviews are so much fun. They shall be back in the lair soon…no worries.
Marianne Brandon: SQUEENESS! You love the puppy-eyed Colonel too? luff to Alan Rickman for being Colonel Brandon Did you see Hitchhiker's yet? That movie was pure genius! I LOVED Zaphod!
Savvy The Pen-Nameless: How perfect is this day? Saw Episode III, had my last final, sighted a Wal-Mart truck AND the PONY EXPRESS CAME THRU! YAH! Yes…beware the dud fireworks!
Wishmaster: Sorry the update took so long…but I loved the Hitchhiker's line! VAT? You do not know the meaning of SQUEE? Tis a phangirl's phavorite phorm of expressing her phantom obsession.
SaraBee: I have no idea how many more I'll write. As I have said, I'm making this up as I go.
To all of my fireworks! Yeah! You guys liked your fireworks! I had fun with those.
Okay…on to the chapter. Sorry, no Erik or Anna or Brooke or Gerry in this one.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
ERSTWHILE
Erstwhile…or should it be meanwhile? Misty pondered the puzzling question. Her brows knitted together in stern concentration and she glared at her keyboard. She was absolutely certain that she was committing some unspeakable crime against the English language. Who cares…erstwhile is much more fun to pronounce.
Anywho…erstwhile, meanwhile, back at the Bat Cave, Nadir Khan bustled about Erik's kitchen, preparing a scrumptious dinner for two. Much to Ayesha's horror, the Persian hummed cheerfully to himself as he checked on a batch of snickerdoodle cookies. Nadir was hopelessly tone deaf and Ayesha—after living with the Angel of Music himself—could not abide the terrible sound. Thus, she took refuge in the shadows of the purple canopy that served as the boundary between Erik's half of the master bedroom and the cousins' half, languishing in her agony as her little cat brain struggled to drown out the horrid noise.
Nadir grinned in satisfaction as he put the finishing touches on the table setting. Light the candles, put the champagne on ice, fold the napkins to look like swans, etc… By the time he had watered the last vase of pink roses the clock on the sitting room mantle chimed nine o'clock.
"'Tis time," he quipped to himself. "Best not keep her waiting." He looked for a mirror in which to make last minute adjustments to his hair and clothes. A sleek parchment airplane soared into his hands.
This is ERIK'S house remember?
"Yes?"
That means the only mirrors in the entire house are in the torture chamber.
"Oh."
Duh. POOF! The note was whisked away by a small burst of flames. Nadir figured his hair was good to go and left to fetch his date for the evening. Out of respect for Erik's and the girls' privacy, he took the precaution of blindfolding the young woman with a silk scarf before leading her down to the lair.
Their journey through the Phantom's labyrinthine kingdom was incredibly unromantic in comparison to the same scene in the ALW musical or even in Leroux's novel. As efficient and capable as the daroga was, he did not possess a ghost's knack for moving effortlessly in the dark. Having a blindfolded woman tagging along did nothing to simplify the situation. Thus, they spent a long time stumbling through the slimy, rat-infested corridors before they reached the lake. By some miracle, Nadir managed to steer the gondola across the cold, murky waters without capsizing. Needless to say, the little adventure did not earn the Persian any brownie points with the object of his affection.
"Are we there yet?" the buxom blonde whined from her perch at the front of the little boat.
"Almost," he grunted, mumbling to himself, "Just a little to the left…no, the dock is the other way…curse it!"
At long last, Nadir tethered the gondola to the front door steps and led the blonde into the house. Happily, the décor of Erik's sitting room was no different from the next…no Opera House dioramas, no life-size Christine dolls, no swan bed, no campy curtains…but that was only the sitting room. Nadir made a silent mental oath to keep his lady away from both bedrooms.
He guided her into the center of the sitting room, one of her dainty, gloved hands resting in his own palm like a sleeping dove. In his eyes she had never looked lovelier. Her golden curls swept back in the current fashion, the emerald green bodice of her gown hugging her figure, and the elegant cascade of the bustle's train gliding behind her like a peacock's tail. He noticed, with much chagrin, that the hem of her dress was stained with recently acquired mud.
"I apologize for the inconvenience of the journey, Mlle. Giry, but one must make what rendezvous one can," he said in heavily accented French.
"Don't trouble yourself about it, M. Khan," Meg Giry replied in a cheerful, obliging voice, underlined with an irritated tone. She wrinkled her up-turned nose. "Is something burning?"
"Oh! My spinach puffs!" Nadir gasped and dashed into the kitchen, leaving the blindfolded ballerina reeling like a hobbled calf. Groping her way across the room, Meg eventually located the fainting couch—or rather, her shins located the fainting couch. Letting a colorful curse fly, she slumped down onto the couch and wrestled the blindfold from her head. She chucked the scarf aside with frightening vehemence. Huffing and puffing in indignation for a moment or two, Meg soon collected her senses enough to observe her surroundings.
She noted that everything was meticulously arranged and though the furniture was outdated, its old-fashioned elegance lent itself to the charm of the room. Still…something about the smell of the place unsettled and intrigued Meg all at once. Beneath the heavy odor of burnt wood, wax candles, and high-quality parchment paper, there lingered the faint smell of lilies and a damp chill. It was as though some powerful presence haunted the air of the house. Buquet's tales of the Opera Ghost immediately came to Meg's mind, but before she could continue this train of thought Nadir returned, spinach puffs having been successfully rescued.
"Well, that was a close one. Are you hungry, Mlle. Giry?"
She glared at him for a second. "Yes, I am."
"Excellent! May I?" He stepped forward and offered her his arm. To his great delight she accepted it and allowed him to guide her into a little dining alcove. The sight of candle-lit, food-laden table instantly restored Little Giry to high spirits.
"Did you prepare all of this yourself?" she asked, looking up at Nadir with renewed interest and something akin to admiration.
"Yes, naturally."
"For me?"
Nadir returned her gaze; She noted that his eyes were a confusing, but lovely shade of blue-green.
"Yes…it is for you," he replied. Meg favored him with a giggle of joy as he helped her into a chair. The ballerina, accustomed to the rigorous, consuming world of her art and the insincerity of the Opera people, had never felt so pampered or flattered in all her life. She found herself quickly warming to the quirky Persian. Sure he was a bit of a geek, prone to skulking about the Opera House, but he was pleasant-looking and well bred in manners. Besides, it was painfully obvious that she made him nervous, a fact that produced smug satisfaction in the dainty female.
Nadir spoke as he took the chair opposite hers, "I hope you do not mind I've included a few dishes from my native country."
"I should love to try them! We ballerinas rarely get the opportunity to sample such things…unless, of course, we snag a wealthy patron."
Nadir flushed at her blatant allusion to the more vulgar tactics of ladder-climbing sometimes employed by the ballet rats, but her enthusiasm for his cooking pleased him. Meg choked a little on the hot spices of the Persian food, yet she somehow managed to enjoy it. Nadir's nervous fussing amused her and she felt that the oddity of the whole situation was more fun than frightening. At her request, the Perisan spoke of his native country and told her strange stories of the people who lived there. She liked the ones about the shah's lonely magician most of all. Eventually, Nadir tired of hearing his own voice and begged Meg to tell him about her life as a ballerina.
Little Giry, who was becoming more and more impressed by the foreigner, did not think that the former Persian chief of police would care to hear of the idle gossip of ballet rats…but he earnestly insisted.
"It is hard work. Maman is a stickler for perfection…especially in me. From the very beginning of my life, Maman has impressed me with the importance of the arts, particularly one's own art. The other rats do not understand her devotion to dance," Meg explained as she sampled in a delicious chocolate pudding.
"I imagine that camaraderie is not always possible when one lives in constant contact with the same people," Nadir said.
Whether it was from the gentle tone of his voice or something to do with the time of the month, Meg suddenly felt the inexplicable urge to vent a few long-pent up emotions. The Persian would never know what hit him.
"Yes, well…that is especially true when it turns out that your best friend, the beautiful, perfect, innocent little ingénue, is really nothing more than a wolf in sheep's clothing," she spit out.
Nadir sat up with acute interest. He knew that Meg was most often in the company of Christine Daaé. Anything he could learn about her would be valuable in his dealings with his rambunctious friend, the Opera Ghost. Still…he had never heard anyone, least of all the devoted Little Giry, speak so ill of Christine.
"You cannot mean Mlle. Daaé," he said with incredulity.
Meg sneered. "Oh, the very same. Of course, you would know whom I meant. You are always lurking about and watching…you do not hide so well as the Ghost, monsieur. But that is of little importance. Christine is the most sensational actress I have ever witnessed. She pretends to be all helpless swoons and fluttering angel's eyes, but that is only act for her beaux. We girls see her for what she really is…that is what makes me think that the Phantom must have some female companions, because they play such awful tricks on her. They must see through her, too."
Nadir nearly snarfed his champagne. "Do you really think so?" he spluttered.
Meg arched a disdainful brow, "Yes."
"But I have never heard nor seen anything to indicate that Mlle. Daaé is other than what she seems."
"That is because you are not her 'best friend.' I am privy to the type knowledge that a man never knows until after his honeymoon. Christine is a gold-digger and a shameless prima donna. She wants fame and riches. Nothing more and certainly nothing less."
"But how have you become privy to this information?" the analytically minded daroga persisted.
Meg smirked and replied, "Well, I am not above all vices. I have peeked into her diary. That is surest source for things of this nature. Every girl knows that."
"But you are her friend!"
"But she is not mine. Everything is one-sided with Christine. She wants Raoul de Changy's riches and title, but does not want to give him her love, if she possesses any at all. And then there is her mysterious suitor. Some say it the Phantom himself, who knows…but Maman has told me that Christine does not deserve the attentions of some one as wonderful as the Ghost. With me, she demands my loyalty and my support, but she gives none in return."
Nadir sat in stunned silence.
An hour later, he returned Meg to the surface of the Opera House. She had smiled coyly at him and allowed him to kiss her hand. He took that as a good sign. He really liked Meg. She was interesting and surprisingly intelligent, not to mention beautiful. But as Nadir slowly cleaned up the dinner mess, he did not think about his dainty ballerina, but rather of her friend, the soprano.
How could Erik's little angel, the woman upon whom he lavished his enormous love, be such a vile, backstabbing wretch? Could Nadir trust Meg's word? Her reliability as a source of information only stretched so far. He would have to investigate the matter himself, but in the mean time, he could not help indulging in some angry thoughts.
The black magician must have been blinded by his burning obsession to not see through Christine's masquerade. It made Nadir's blood curl with a rage unlike any he had felt in years. Meg's maman was right…someone like Erik should never be allowed to waste himself on Christine Daaé. Come to think of it, neither should Raoul de Changy. If what Meg said was true, then Nadir would have to do something to prevent either man from falling prey to Mlle. Daaé's trap.
And he had a pretty good idea of who would be most helpful in his mission…