Disclaimer: I don't own POTO…sadly.
Sorry, no review replies. I just had to get this up before I ran off to work. I hope you'll forgive me since I love you all and I think you are the best readership in the whole phandom. And welcome to all new comers!
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TO THE BATCAVE
The next morning went by in a whirl of activity. Most of the vacationers were retuning to Paris for the start of the fall season. The scene in the parlor of the Seaside Inn was one of reluctant chaos. Trunks were being hauled out to waiting carriages, breakfast was being had in the dining room, and good byes were being exchanged with promises of visits in the city.
Annette warmly embraced Cecily. The two had grown rather fond of each other, despite their differences of dispositions.
Cecily smiled weakly as she drew back from the hug, "No need to ask what you will be occupied with in Paris." She glanced over the taller woman's shoulder at Max, who was shaking hands with the Vicomte de Changy and the Cheney brothers.
Annette blushed, "Yes, wedding plans shall be taking up a good part of my days, though the event itself will not take place till March. What about you, dear Cecily?"
"I thought I might become a patroness at the Paris Opera," Cecily replied with a nonchalant shrug.
Annette's clear blue eyes widened in surprise, "Indeed! What possessed you to do that?"
"I have an interest in the arts and the opera seemed as good a place as any. The Vicomte is a patron there and he appears to enjoy it."
Annette arched an eyebrow but did not offer any other reply.
Cecily continued, "I control my fortune and the family estate, so I can decide where our money goes without consulting anyone."
"That is a most unusual arrangement."
"Yes, but my father was not stupid enough to leave all in the hands of my brothers."
"Indeed!" Annette laughed. "But I hear you are actually taking some new servants back to the city."
"Yes, I bought M. de Pouf's stable hands off of him. I need a new valet."
"Then why hire both?"
"They seem quite inseparable. Poor things come all the way from Scotland. I see no reason to deprive them of each other in a foreign land."
The girls were interrupted when the Cheney's carriage was announced. After one last embrace, Cecily hurried away to herd her brothers and valets into the coach.
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Christine's departure was less warm than Cecily's. Shockingly, Mlle. Lohan and Mlle. Duff were quite the turncoats. Christine was, after all, only an orphaned ballet rat who had enjoyed a brief moment in the spotlight and who had been hounded by scandal ever since. Besides, bad things seemed to plague the singer wherever she went.
"Shall I see you in Paris?" Christine mumbled, her cheeks still swollen.
Lizette huffed impatiently, "Not likely, I'll have quite a lot to do. I doubt I'll have time to ever visit the opera house except on gala nights."
Christine trembled with resentment and hurt, "But you could invite me to visit you."
Lizette did not meet the bulging blue eyes, instead she studied her immaculate fingernails, "Well, Maman insists on keeping me busy. There will be no time for that."
"I understand," Christine turned to Hilaire, "But you will not be so busy, I hope."
Hilaire shrugged and bubbled, "I don't know—Can't really say—So many parties and events this time of year—Won't have much time for mingling—Oh, there's our carriage. Ta-ta, Chrissy dear, hope you feel better—See you on stage perhaps."
With that the two society girls swept out of the room leaving the invalid sunk in her chair and feeling horribly mortified, until Raoul came to fetch her.
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In the midst of the chaos, no one saw the phamily Leroux depart. Having discharged the bills the night before, there was no need to mix with the crowd in the common room. Though the girls would have liked to say goodbye to their friends, they knew the quieter their departure, the better it would be for Erik. The phantom had sent their trunks ahead early that morning, trusting that Jules would pick them up at the Paris depot as instructed. The phamily carried with them only their most valuable possessions: the Poppins Bag, holding Anna's computer, and Erik's manuscript for Don Juan Triumphant.
The train ride home from the depot nearest Perros was somber. Brooke was looking as glum as a melted gumdrop. She stared out the window and said not one word to anyone. Her posture bespoke her dejection and her sore ankle, swathed in padding, did nothing to elevate her spirits.
Anna, who sat beside Erik, watched her cousin. She recognized that sad look. It was the look Brooke wore whenever she and Anna had been forced to part back in 2005. Now she wore it for someone else. The redhead felt a pang of guilt and remorse. She loved her cousin dearly and hated to see her so miserable, but there was a conflict within her that would not settle. It was either: encourage Brooke and Raoul and then lose Erik as a consequence of it, or it was: destroy Brooke's hopes and win Erik.
Anna squirmed uncomfortably, she felt like crying. In an effort to comfort herself, she nestled down beside Erik and pressed her face into his left arm. The masked head turned to look at her. The deep-set blue eyes puzzled over the mopey girl seeking solace in physical contact from a hideous monster.
Inwardly, Erik moaned with wretchedness. The girls were obviously heart-broken at the thought of leaving all of their acquaintance behind, for they would certainly have no contact once they receded into the shadows of a ghostly existence once more. How did that song go? Down once more? Yes, that was it. Down once more, the girls would climb, away from sunlight, away from friends and gossip and laughter. Down once more to be the terror of the corps de ballet and the companions of a lonely phantom.
Yet they followed him unquestioningly. They made not one objection. His mind turned the thought over and over. In his twisted and abused mentality, Erik could not quite understand their motives for returning with him. Surely, they could have found a way to survive in Paris without him. His heart said to accept their sisterly affection, though as Erik regarded Anna, he frowned at the word 'sisterly.'
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Nadir Khan was startled from his book when he heard the door from the Rue Scribe entrance scrape open. His heart pounding like a jackhammer, the Persian crept into the kitchen to see who had broken into the house on the lake. To his surprise, who should stumble through the door, but Jules, Erik's servant and middleman, burdened by several lady's traveling trunks.
Nadir darted forward to assist him. "My dear sir, where is the master of the house?"
"Not far behind me, monsieur," Jules mumbled. He bowed hastily and left the room, receding into the dark passageway from whence he had emerged. Nadir heard him speak to someone and then heard female voices moving closer to the door. Anna and Brooke burst into the dimly lit kitchen in a great flurry, forcing Nadir to stumble back so that he nearly tripped over the trunks.
"Oh, dear M. Khan, so sorry to have startled you!" Anna cried.
"Do not think of it. How was your time?" he replied.
"Simply lovely."
"But what is wrong with Mlle. Brooke's foot?" He frowned with concern as he saw the girl stagger towards a chair.
"I twisted my ankle while dancing. It is no bother, really," Brooke answered.
"I am glad it is not serious. Where is Erik?"
"In the hall, talking to Jules," Anna replied. She helped her cousin to her feet and supported her into the sitting room. As they left, Nadir heard them exclaim that it was good to be home. Home!
At last, the phantom himself materialized from the dark hall, quickly shutting the door behind him. He acknowledged his house sitter with a nod of his masked head, before sweeping into the sitting room. Nadir followed him.
"I hear you had a lovely time," the Persian stated, his tone mildly amused.
"Indeed. The weather was pleasant, the people accommodating, and the prices outrageous. A perfect vacation in every sense," Erik replied.
"And how was Mlle. Daaé?"
"I am afraid she might have had a poor time of it. Bad company, you know. And she came down with a sudden fit of food poisoning not two nights ago."
"I am sorry to hear it. It is not serious, I trust?" Nadir asked. He stood by as Erik's keen eyes scanned the room for any sign of mischief.
"No, it is not serious, but the recovery will delay her preparations for the opening gala unfortunately."
"By bad company, I assume you meant the Vicomte," Nadir ventured. Erik stiffened and Nadir felt the danger building. He wondered if he should ever risk telling Erik all that he had learned of Christine through his growing attachment to Meg Giry.
"Perhaps" was all of Erik's reply.
"I hope you did not foolishly expose yourself to him."
"Of course not," Erik snarled. A burst of giggles from one of the adjoining bedrooms broke the tension. The Opera Ghost brushed past his friend and went into his bedroom. Nadir followed. He had wondered at the tent like curtains hanging in one corner and now he saw that their purpose was to divide Erik's half of the room from the cousins' half. The girls had tossed their bonnets aside and were pulling off their muddy boots when the two men entered.
With a great (sexy) swish, Erik whipped his cloak from his shoulders and his fedora from his head and hung them on their pegs by the door. Ayesha shot out from beneath the organ, positively ecstatic at the sight of her master. With a soft chuckle, Erik swooped down to pick her up. The cat purred as loudly as engine and rubbed her head against Erik's mask.
"My, my, are you happy to see me, little one. I hope this does not mean you were mistreated?" his voice lightly threatening as he turned his eyes on Nadir. The Persian protested any ideas of abuse towards Ayesha. She hissed at him as though she meant to tell everyone about his secret dinners with Meg. Nadir was glad the animal could not talk.
Anna and Brooke reemerged from their cubbyhole, dressed in 21st century P.J.'s and their favorite robes. Nadir yelped in surprise as he averted his jade eyes.
"Allah! Erik, can't you ask them to be more modest?" he hissed. The girls arched their eyebrows and rolled their eyes.
"Don't be so squeamish, daroga. You've seen enough scantily-clad ballerinas and Persian slave girls in your time," Erik replied indifferently.
"But these are proper young ladies!"
Erik chuckled, "They have a very different idea of what is proper, daroga. Besides, they are completely beyond the reach of my lectures on decency."
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The cousins decided to put off the laundry until the next day and so everyone lounged about the sitting room for the rest of the afternoon. Nadir, who had been invited to stay at the girls' request, watched in silent amazement as the phamily interacted with each other with familiar ease.
"I don't want to practice right now, Erik," Anna whined, shying away from the piano, which sat against the wall beside the entrance to Erik's bedroom.
"If you were at all serious about improving yourself, you'd practice no matter how tired you were," Erik said irritably.
"If you had any knowledge about health issues, you'd learn to pace yourself," she replied.
"I know all about health issues!"
Brooke interjected, "This from an insomniac who starves himself worse than a runway model."
Erik growled and grumbled, but did not argue. He settled into his favorite chair and hid behind a book. Nadir marveled at it. Erik was more relaxed and open and careless with these young women than Nadir had ever seen him, even at the height of his power at the Persian court. The daroga began to think that Erik had made a terrible mistake in settling his affections on Christine. Perhaps the girls would be open to hearing about all of the things Meg had told him.
Brooke stirred from her chair and began to wonder about the room, she addressed Erik as she strolled past his chair, "So when do we get the Louis-Phillipe room back?"
"Never."
"That little spider hole isn't exactly comfortable."
"Perhaps you think the walls should be padded, too?" he snarked.
"Shut up."
Nadir's eyebrows shot up. No one ever told Erik to shut up and lived to tell about it.
Anna joined the conversation, "Really, Erik, it's so fluffy it's suffocating."
"Well, I can't expect to move you out of the Louis-Phillipe room every time Christine comes to visit. It would be ridiculous."
They were on the point of continuing their argument when they were interrupted by a loud buzzing noise issuing from the very room in question.
Nadir leapt from his seat, "What in Allah's name is that?"
Erik rushed into the Louis-Phillipe room without waiting to answer.
Meanwhile, the girls had gone bone white as Anna hoarsely whispered, "Someone's in the torture chamber."