Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.
A/N IMPORTANT! Okay, now that I've got your attention, there is some important (in case you didn't notice) information that I must communicate to you all. I need you, dear readers, to understand that this phic was never meant to have a plot and never, ever meant to have any romantic flings between the OC's and any POTO characters.
However, sometime during a dark and stormy night, I was taken hostage and knocked unconscious by a wet noodle and when I awoke someone had installed the weak beginnings of a plot and the underpinnings of romance into my phic. I suspect it must have been Anna and Brooke because I don't think either Erik or Raoul would have voluntarily wished this upon them selves.
This poses a big problem: The only instruction I was left with, as far as plot goes, is this: Get Anna & Erik and Brooke & Raoul to the church on time. Sadly, my sabotogers neglected to give me directions as to the how's and who's and where's and all that important stuff.
In addition to hoisting this plot on me, I now have several new characters to deal with; plus, the usual suspects: length of phic and continuity of style and tone. I wish for Phantom Companions to continue for a little while and I wish to preserve the nutty, nonsensical fun that dominated the first chapters, which is becoming increasingly hard to do.
To rectify the situation, the chapters are, by and large, going to be more episodic in nature. Meaning that this is going to be more like a television series than a motion picture film. Make sense? Every chapter shall strive to take the plot forward a step, whether by action or relationship developments, with a few bits of random fun thrown in for good measure. They might be a little shorter, too, but shorter chapters mean faster updates. I hope this makes sense to everyone.
Anywho. All that to say, please bear with me as I navigate the murky waters of my nebulous plot.
P.S. Don't look for any wedding bells or major fluff moments anytime soon. I won't save it for the last chapter (cuz that bugs me), but I'm not gonna have them all hopping off to the chapel too soon because…then what? Lots of fluff and angst and BLAH! Not my style, so…I hope y'all still enjoy it. All constructive criticisms and suggestions for scenarios are welcome.
The Gerry: Are you finished?
Misty: Yes.
The Gerry: Good, because I think that's the longest A/N I've ever seen.
Misty: Shut up.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
A-HAUNTING WE WILL GO
Anna and Brooke came the conclusion that something had to be done about that horridly stuffy and fluffy purple corner in Erik's bedroom. The Louis-Phillipe room was obviously out of the question and there wasn't much chance of convincing Erik to build a new room.
"How about a little redecorating then?" Brooke suggested.
"That seems to be our only option," Anna replied. They were perched on the lip of Erik's coffin, from which they had a good view of the offending velvet tent. Suffice to say, Erik was not present.
"What will Erik say?" Anna mused as she watched Brooke make some sketches.
"Erik doesn't have to know."
"But this isn't like While You Were Out where we can send the dear, old, cranky Phantom on a two day 'vacation' with the kids while that cute host and his crew revamp the morgue here."
Brooke looked up and blinked. "Let that settle for a moment…Okay, now I see your point. How about Erik doesn't have a say?"
"For some inexplicable reason, I don't believe he'll agree to those terms."
"He's the one who kicked us out of our room and stuffed us into that monstrosity." Brooke flung an arm in the direction of the purple tent in a moment of theatrical disgust.
"But it's his house."
Brooke slammed her sketchbook to the floor and Ayesha chased after the pencil. The brunette rounded on her cousin, startling her so that Anna lost her balance and toppled into the coffin, her bustle pushing her legs and gown over her head.
Brooke poked her head inside, "Do you want to do this or not?"
"Yef! Mut eh nfff na mfff bunnab!"
Brooke yanked the train of the gown from her cousin's head. "Repeat," she commanded.
Anna gasped, "Yes! But I want to do it without risking the Punjab."
"Anna, Erik thinks we're, like, his sisters. He's not going to punjab us no matter what we do."
"All right."
Brooke reached in and heaved Anna out of the coffin. When her feet hit the floor, Anna broke away from Brooke and did a herky-jerky, heebie-jeebie dance like a chicken with a twitch.
Brooke snickered, "What was that?"
"I just got the willies from being in that coffin. Why does he have to be so morbid?"
"It's…Erik. Now, what do you think of my designs?"
Brooke retrieved her sketchbook from the floor and held it up for Anna to see. The design was a modification on what Erik had attempted to create. It was a good deal more organized and allowed for more breathing room. Admittedly, it took up more space, too. But since Erik only slept and composed in the room, the girls figured it wouldn't make much difference.
"I like. But what fabrics do you plan on using?" Anna said.
"Good question. I don't know."
"Well, we have an entire opera house to explore for ideas. Want to go haunting?"
"Sure."
XXXXXXXXXXXX
The girls silently traipsed through the opera house. They both wore plain black shirts and jeans beneath their cloaks and covered faces their masquerade masks. It had been a few days since their return from Perros and Brooke's ankle had healed so that the only pain she felt was a slight, tender ache. The girls easily slipped through the secret passageways that Erik had built into the building all those years ago.
As they skittered through the labyrinthine halls, the cousins paused every once in awhile to eavesdrop on the opera's various employees. Most of the talk concerned Joseph Buquet and the return of the Opera Ghost and his companions. Everyone knew there was more than one ghost by now. The companions had been labeled the Raven and the Spirit, after the mysterious ladies who had accompanied Red Death to the masque some months earlier.
To the cousins' surprise, they over heard someone saying that Buquet had died.
"But the Phantom said he was all right," Anna whispered to her friend.
"Maybe Buquet relapsed or never fully woke. Maybe the Phantom gave him too much chloroform," Brooke reasoned as they snaked their way through the flies.
"But the Phantom never makes mistakes like that…unless it's on purpose. Good heavens, Brooke, you don't think the Phantom secretly drugged Buquet to death, do you?" Anna felt sick to her stomach at the thought.
"No, no, why would he do that?"
"I don't know. Hey, there's that new guy I told about Moose Day." Anna pointed at the tall, skinny figured who had been surrounded by a troupe of awestruck ballet rats on the stage floor. The cousins paused to listen.
"Did she really speak to you?" an impish blonde asked, leaning forward in a most unladylike manner.
"What did she say?" asked another girl.
"Were you afraid?"
The boy put up his hands to ward off their questions, chuckling good-naturedly like a celebrity mingling with his adoring fans, "Now, now, girls. One at a time, if you please. Yes, one of the Phantom's ladies spoke to me. Henri says it must have been the Raven, because she wore black and not white. Though, I think Henri must be mistaken, for I'm certain I saw a patch of white."
The girls gasped in shock and admiration.
The boy continued in his haughty manner, "I must say she did not impress me much. Hardly frightened me a bit, not a good sign in a ghost, wouldn't you say, girls."
He guffawed and snorted loudly, and though the girls giggled a little, they did not fully join in his merriment. A few of the older and wiser ones gave each other significant looks. Though the new boy might have been enjoying his moment in the spotlight, they were certain he had been marked as the Phantom's next victim.
Meanwhile, the Raven was fuming in the flies overhead. She danced about, hopping from foot to foot, her animation growing with her irritation as she swore and cursed.
"That little liar! He was ready to pee his pants!" Anna hissed.
Brooke muffled her laughter with her hands.
"Don't laugh. That nose-picking bugger is going down." Anna's brown eyes darted about until they located an excellent weapon of revenge, hanging just within her reach: a large bundle of sandbags. A dainty hand shot out and grasped the rope, tugging it loose and sending the heavy bags plummeting to the floor like bombs from the Memphis Belle.
The stage below erupted into a flurry of white as the ballet rats scrambled to get out of the way. One well-placed sand bag and they would never walk again, much less dance. All seven bags hit the ground with sickening thuds, shooting up clouds of dust.
When the dust settled, one of the older ballerinas leveled an accusing finger at the new guy—who had gone as white as their tulle skirts—and screeched, "It's your fault. You made her angry. She heard you!"
From somewhere overhead, an evil, maniacal laugh rang out, echoing across the stage and filling the auditorium with it awful, ominous sound. The ballet rats screamed in delighted terror as the new guy collapsed into an unconscious heap on the floor.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
"I love the smell of tyranny in the morning" Anna said as she and Brooke scurried through the hollow channel circling the corps de ballet's practice room.
"You make Darth Vader look like Mother Teresa," Brooke muttered.
The channel surrounding the ballet room was one of Erik's better architectural ideas. It encompassed the entire room and had several offshoots that led to other places in the opera house, like the Communist road, the managers' office, the dormitories, and box five. In order to see without being seen, Erik had installed screens at different intervals along the channel. From the outside the screens blended in with the room's ornate décor, from the inside he could watch Mme. Giry conduct her lessons. As Christine was usually in this room, he often frequented the "Ballet Channel," as his companions called it.
The space was tight, but the girls were thinner, or as thin as Erik, thus they had little trouble scooting through the darkened tunnel. All at once, Anna collided with something solid and black and smelling of lilies.
She fell back with a soft "Oof!" shook her head clear, and said, "Hello, Erik. Fancy meeting you here."
"Indeed." A pair of glowing orbs turned in her direction and Anna knew Erik was looking at her. She blinked to adjust her own eyesight to the poor gaslight filtering through the screen beside them. Erik's tall, thin form was contorted into the most painful-looking position as he huddled in front of the screen, watching the activity below.
"You two could wake the dead with all the noise you make," Erik said, his beautiful voice barely more than a breath of air.
Brooke dismissed his censure with a wave of her hand, "You could hear a pin drop in the middle of the Super Bowl half time show, Erik."
"When I figure out what that means I'll come up with a crushing reply."
The girls squirmed closer to peer through the vent. Mme. Giry was reprimanding little Jammes and Meg for some mistake while the others in the class stood at the bar doing their exercises. Surprisingly, Christine was among them, though still looking slightly puffy.
Brooke pondered out loud, "I still don't understand why Mme. Giry looks like Miranda Richardson. Or why she's the ballet mistress at all, if Erik and Raoul and just about everything else fits with the books."
Anna felt Erik shift about as he pulled something out of his trouser pocket, and heard the crinkle of parchment paper. She could see him bending his masked face over a sheet of paper, before he held it out to Brooke.
"It's for you," he said.
Brooke happily clapped her hands and plucked the paper from his fingers, "Thank you!"
Anna leaned in to read it with her, which was difficult in the dim gaslight.
Dearest Brooke, As to Mme. Giry's Webberness, I like her as the ballet mistress. She's just so cool in that role. So there. Love, Misty.
The note vaporized itself the next moment.
"She scares me sometimes," Anna said. All at once, the redhead recalled the rumors they had heard reverberating throughout the opera house. She frowned beneath her black, feathered mask. Should she just openly question Erik? Why not.
"Hey, Erik have you heard about Joseph Buquet?" she asked.
"Yes. What about it?"
"Everyone's saying he's dead." She hoped he understood her unspoken question. He did. The glowing eyes narrowed at her.
"Anna, since when do you believe theatre gossip?" he chided.
"Um, never…but, I did read the book."
"Did you? Well, I hope you will take my word over anyone else's when I tell you that M. Buquet is perfectly fine. He was presumed to have taken up drinking and was sent to recover with his brother in the country. Naturally, that is not sensational enough for the ballets rats, so the story has been embellished," Erik explained.
"Oh."
Before they could say anything else, a surge of noise from the room below caught their attention. The door to the practice room flew open and several willowy ballerinas came rushing in, breathless and terrified. They all spoke and cried at the same time so that no one could understand a word they were saying.
A loud rap from Mme. Giry's cane silenced the tumultuous chattering. The girls bit their tongues and stood shivering as though it were painful to hold in their ramblings.
"You," Mme. Giry pointed to the oldest intruder, "Please, explain the reason for this outrageous behavior."
The girl shuffled forward, sniffling quietly, and said, "We were speaking with Jean-Paul, the new stagehand, and someone dropped a bundle of sandbags on us."
The little crowd gasped and the words phantom, raven, and spirit could be heard rippling through their ranks.
"I see, and was anyone hurt?" Mme. Giry asked, her face deadpan.
"No, madam."
"Then I see no reason for your conduct. Back to your exercises."
The crowd dispersed. In the channels overhead, Erik slowly turned his gaze to the two cousins.
"You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"
Anna gave a theatrical gasp of indignation, "Erik, does this look like the face of someone who would involve themselves in mayhem and destruction?"
She lifted her mask to blink at him with big doe eyes. Erik privately acknowledged, for the first time, that her features were rather pretty. And her expression, though feigning innocence at the moment, was open and honest in a way that Christine's never was. The Phantom shook him self and turned away.
"Well, enough of this. Time for me to earn my salary," he said, preparing to do a little haunting himself.
Brooke poked her head over Anna's shoulder, "What are you going to do?"
Erik shrugged, "Chuckle maniacally, I suppose."
"Pssf! That is so old-school. Move over." Brooke shoved her companions to the side, wriggling forward until she was positioned directly in front of the screen. "Anna, will you go to the next vent? I'll start us off."
"Sure thing! Excuse me, Erik." Anna squirmed past him and slid down the channel to the next vent. Looking back, she could barely see the outlines of Erik and Brooke.
"Dare I ask what you're doing?" Erik said dryly.
Brooke grinned, "Watch and learn, M. Ghost."
With that she broke out into song, her voice ringing through the practice room:
The world's about to be destroyed,
There's no point getting all annoyed!
Anna took up the next lines from her position:
Lie back and let the planet
Dissolve around you!
Brooke sang again, her voice sugary sweet like a child's:
If I had just one last wish,
I would like a tasty fish.
Anna sang, her voice soaring to a mock operatic soprano:
If we could just change one thing,
We would all have lungs to sing!
They finished the chorus together:
So long, so long,
And thanks for all the fish!
Down below, all hell broke loose. Ballerinas scattered across the chamber like snowflakes caught in a storm, all shrieking, "IT'S THE FISH SONG! THEY'RE HERE!"
The little ones broke down in hysterical tears and the older ones shouted out premonitions of doom, as if it helped. No amount of cane rapping from a furious Mme. Giry could restore order. In the channel, Erik was doing his best to ignore the beaming brunette beside him. She smiled like a cat with bird's feathers stuck in its teeth, her white mask adding to her feline-like appearance; she nudged him.
Erik sighed. There was no escaping it. Begrudgingly, he muttered, "Impressive. Most impressive."
"Thanks! Feel free to use it next time. Now, if you'll excuse me, we have to get to the costume department." Brooke squeezed past the miffed Opera Ghost to join Anna at the far end of the tunnel.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
That song was from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and I don't own it, but I do believe we have frozen salmon living in our freezer.
Review replies!
Music Angel no.24601: They will 'get it on' after they've said their "I do's." I had a rather interesting thought, Erik and Eponine might make a good couple, since they're both the love triangle losers from their respective plays and their names start with "E."
Beregond'sGirl: I so wish I could claim the invention of Ayesha, just cuz it's so cool that you named your cat after my story, but, sadly, Ayesha belongs to Susan Kay. (brightens) However, I am pleased to find that this phic agrees with you. I am something of a purist myself, so I appreciate your…appreciation. It's phanphiction, though, what's the fun if you don't take some artistic license? Anywho. Thanks for the correction on Chagny, I was beginning to suspect that.
OneWhoWalksWithPigeons: Where is this party happening? Seriously, your reviews have got me in stitches. But I'm not sure the new guy—Jean-Paul, as he is now called—is finished here. We'll see.
Solecito: Oh, Nadir is going in on the anti-Christine campaign. He'll be their manager. I'm surprised by how many people have read Kay's book, considering how rare it is. (waves) See you, next review.
shibbydm: Sure! Just tell me where the phic is.
tink8812: I hate "Pomp and Circumstance!" Played it fifty times in a row! About the lilies, it is Erik who smells like lilies. In an earlier chapter I mention that smell. I always wondered what death smelled like, and I figured it might be open to interpretation. Ever since my great-grandpa's funeral (I was really young) I have associated the smell of stargazer lilies w/ death, appropriate, because lilies represent death. It's a distinct, strong, sharp odor, that is not necessarily pleasant. (gasps for air)
Songwind: You know, that Moose Day thing was no lie. I saw something about it on T.V. once and it had me rolling on the floor.
Cap'n Meg: (blushes) Thanks! Welcome to the phamily.
OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles: I'm just being difficult. Of course, there will be a happy ending. Erik gets enough sad endings as it is. (Erik: Thank you!)
Nameless Waif: (Bids Anna to curtsey for reviewer) That's her way of saying thank you. About anorexic Erik, I have no idea why he's like that, but he's not exactly normal, so…yeah. The ratcatcher is from the original book, he helped with the opera's rodent population.
Lenis Vox: Yeah, I can be a bit slow sometimes. Have fun camping!
Neko: No telling when Anna and Erik will be 'official.' But I will be doing more with Brooke and Raoul, esp. when Cecily and the hobbits show up.
xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: I have that shirt, too. Isn't it awesome? Scares the crap out of my lil sis at night.
His Mask: That's Erik's greatest fault. He cannot see how attractive he really is.
Marianne Brandon: "Van Helsing" did suck, huh? But you know, you have inspired a whole new chapter (don't know when I'll put it in), that will really help wake Erik up. So thank you. Anna thanks you, too.