Disclaimer: Don't own POTO.
A/N: Sorry if there is an unusual amount of typos in here. It's late and I'm tired.
Marianne Brandon: Pay no mind to the Gerry. He gets grouchy sometimes. (gasps!) I get minions! YAY! Offer accepted. You are Captain of the Minions then. (Misty attempts to knight Marianne with her violet lightsaber, but the Gerry stops her before anyone gets hurt).
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THE CRIMSON WAVE
The Opera Garnier's production of Romeo and Juliette was smashing triumph. Though some critics thought the cast moved rather stiffly, they all praised the leading lady: Christine Daaé. Many of the ballerinas and singers and stagehands had spent the night celebrating their success in various activities, most of an unsavory nature. Christine herself spent the night in the house by the lake in the fifth cellar. She would have rather gone out with Raoul, but as he seemed in a hurry to leave after the final curtain call, that left only her Angel of Music for company.
The soprano awoke early the next morning in the Louis-Phillipe room. The last embers of a fire smoldered in the fireplace and the mantle clock chimed to let her know that it was five thirty in the morning. Her excitement over last night's gala wouldn't let her doze in peace so Christine jumped out of bed, slipped on her satin robe, and left her room.
The rest of the house was silent as a grave as she approached the door to the master bedroom. Without a second thought, Christine banged a small fist against the door. No answer came and so she hit the door again. And again. And again. And again.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT!" Anna screamed, ripping the door open so forcefully it nearly dented the bedroom wall.
Christine gawked at the wild-eyed American for a brief moment. Her appearance was shocking, to say the least: long, wavy, red mane in impossible tangles, dark circles beneath her glinting brown eyes, and a wardrobe that clearly bespoke of Anna's original time period. Her frumpy red robe swung about her body, beneath it she wore a black screen-T featuring a crudely drawn monkey face and the words "I fling poo." A pair of fitted pink boxer shorts peeked out from the hem of the shirt, leaving most of her smooth white legs exposed. She looked as though she had just spent all night cramming for a trigonometry exam.
"What. Do. You. WANT?" Anna screeched for the second time.
"I want breakfast," Christine answered.
Anna blinked at her. "And how does that concern me?"
"I want Erik to make it for me."
"He's not here," Anna snarled. She made to slam the door in Christine's face, but the little dancer stopped her.
"Where is he?"
"Out for his morning jog along the Seine."
"Did he leave a note?"
"No."
Christine glared at Anna suspiciously, "Then how do you know where he went?"
Anna gritted her teeth in irritation. "Because I live with him, you bug-eyed twit!"
The singer remained unaffected by the insult and replied in a firm voice, "Oh…well, then you'll have to make my breakfast."
Anna snorted derisively, "You've got to be joking."
"I am not. Erik said you had to be nice to me."
The redhead growled. It was true. Following the whole paintball incident a week ago, Erik had ordered Anna and Brooke to cease tormenting Christine and show her the kindness he wished her to receive. Unfortunately, Christine had overheard the lecture and had taken full advantage of it.
"Look, I feel like shit this morning and so I think I'll pass on making you breakfast in bed," Anna said.
"I don't want you to make it in my bed! Just make it in the kitchen and then bring it to me in my room," Christine explained.
Anna stared at her incredulously. "You are so dense. I don't know what he sees in you." She moved to shut the door again.
"I'll Erik if you don't do what I ask!" Christine hollered. She smirked as the redhead halted and groaned in exasperation before stomping into the kitchen.
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When the Phantom returned to his house, moments later, dressed in simple workman's clothes, through the back door in the kitchen an outrageous sight met his deep-set eyes. Anna was flying about the room like witch riding her broomstick, red robe and hair billowing behind her. She noisily slammed pots and pans and bowls around the kitchen and muttered furiously under her breath.
"'I'll tell Erik if you don't do what I ask!'" Anna mimicked Christine's wheedling tone. "I'd better hear some serious praise for making Princess Puffer-Cheeks' breakfast at five freakin' thirty in the freakin' morning!"
Erik stealthily approached her from behind and asked, "Praise from me or from Princess Puffer-Cheeks?"
Anna shrieked in fright and bolted to the other side of the table. "Erik! What the hell did you do that for?"
"My apologies, my dear, but what are you doing?"
"What am I doing? I'm making breakfast for your precious angel! See..." The furious girl gathered the contents of Christine's meal. "Scrambled eggs, slightly runny…" The slimy eggs were barely cooked as she poured them on to a chipped china plate. "French toast…" Anna slapped down two plain pieces of bread and dumped the entire jar of cinnamon on them. "With warm maple syrup…woops, little too warm…" She scraped a blob of scalded syrup from a steaming pan and plopped in on top of the cinnamon bread. "And coffee…two lumps of sugar…" She poured a cup full of sugar into the mug. "Or was it no sugar and some cream? Whatever. Soup's up, your worship!" Anna yelled out the kitchen door.
Erik stared at her in disbelief. Her violent behavior frightened him. Besides, she appeared to be sick, her skin wan, her eyes sunken, and her movement, though fierce, was somehow pain-ridden. Christine sauntered into the kitchen, humming carelessly and primping her flouncy dressing gown. Anna looked like she wanted to puke.
"Do you call that cooking?" Christine snapped, pointing disdainfully at the nasty mess of the chipped china plate. Anna only glowered, her eyes flickering to the Phantom as though she expected to get a time-out.
Christine stomped one little foot, "Erik, are you going to let her get away with this?"
Without any warning, Anna burst into tears, sobbing intensely, her whole body quaking like a little tree in a windstorm. The suddenness of her outburst shook Erik out of his stupor. He ran to catch her before she crumbled to the floor.
"Anna, what's wrong?" he cried in distress.
"It hurts so bad…and I'm tired…it burns," she gasped against his course shirt, clutching fistfuls of fabric as she stiffened against whatever pain besieged her. Erik forced himself to remain calm, though inside he was beside himself with panic. He didn't have a clue as to what ailed her.
Christine wasn't impressed by the display. She was more concerned with the fact that Erik was holding a girl who wasn't her. "Really, Erik, how can you hold her like that she's all scruffy—"
Anna tore herself away from Erik with surprising strength and whirled on Christine, snarling, "Who's scruffy looking?"
Christine gazed past the indignant redhead and continued addressing the bewildered Opera Ghost, "—And so scandalously dressed?" She indicated Anna's bare legs.
"Bite me, Buggy!" Anna bawled, suddenly throwing herself at the little singer. Christine yelped and ran around the huge oak table, the livid girl hot on her heels. Now fearing for Christine's safety—for he didn't doubt that Anna would rip her arch nemesis to shreads—Erik reached over the table and actually lifted Anna up into the air, kicking and clawing. His strong arms wrapped around her wriggling body, cutting off all movement.
"Anna! What is wrong with you?" he shouted.
With vicious force, Anna wrenched her arms free of Erik's hold and grabbed his shirt collar.
She hissed, "I am PMSING! And I can't find a single tampon or tablet of Midol in this entire house! And the Poppins Bag is still on vacation."
"I thought it had something to do with the monthlies," Christine put in from the far side of the table. Anna craned her neck around to shoot the singer a death glare.
Meanwhile, Erik looked thoughtful. "Tampons? I have some of those," he said, matter-of-factly.
Anna's head snapped back, her eyes staring at him as though he had just grown a chicken from the top of his head. "Why would you have tampons?"
"I found a handful of them lying on the bathroom counter. I couldn't figure them out so I took them into my laboratory and conducted a few experiments. Set some of fire. Did you know they expand in liquid?"…A few crickets squeaked…"Guess not. Well, I never could figure out their exact purpose. Anna, why is your eye twitching like that?"
If Anna's behavior prior to this moment had been shocking, what happened now was astronomically frightening. She came completely unhinged.
"YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE PURPOSE OF A TAMPON IS? OHO, I'LL TELL YOU EXACTLY WHAT THE PURPOSE IS," she screamed. She then proceeded to describe in vivid, gory detail the precise function of a tampon. Since most, if not all, of you, dear readers, are female then you are already well acquainted with the subject. And if you aren't yet, then you will be soon enough. Therefore, I will skip the details.
When Anna's tirade was over Erik felt sick to his stomach. The girl lolled in his arms, cackling maniacally, "'Did you know they expand in liquid?' Ah, that's good. That's really good." Suddenly, her bizarre ramblings ceased as a powerful cramp seized her, causing her to double over in pain and begin to cry again.
Shaking his masked head, Erik gathered the whimpering girl into his arms and carried her out to the sitting room and gently lowered her onto the couch.
"Where is Brooke?" he asked as he tucked an afghan about her legs.
"Tearing our room apart, looking for a tampon or Midol for me," Anna mumbled. "Could you call for Ayesha?"
Erik did so. The cat appeared instantly, leaping lightly onto the couch, her diamond collar sparkling like fire. She seemed to understand the situation perfectly and without hesitation, stepped into Anna's lap and curled up against her stomach.
"Kitties are the next best thing for cramps," Anna explained, feebly petting the purring feline.
Erik nodded his comprehension and murmured, "I'll be back in a moment with something to sooth you." He spun on his heels and disappeared into the kitchen.
Christine was moping over her mess of breakfast when the Phantom entered. She opened her wide mouth to complain, but he shot her a dark look that quelled any protests. In silence, she watched him prepare a kettle of hot water. When the kettle was over a roaring fire, Erik soundlessly produced a bag from his trouser pocket and dumped the contents on to the table. Christine's bug-eyes widened even more with pleasure when she saw two oranges rolled out of the sack.
"Why, Erik, how thoughtful of you!" A greedy hand shot out to snatch up the rare treats, but the moody master of the house batted the hand away.
"I didn't buy them for you, angel," he sneered. "They are for Anna and Brooke." Using a small paring knife, he sliced one suculant fruit into little boat shaped wedges and then arranged them on a small plate.
"Christine," Erik began, his beautiful voice low and deadly, "Who gave you permission to treat my companions like servants?"
The trembling soprano muttered, "No one."
"Then I expect you to show them some respect. You may be my angel, but I cannot deny them the right of first-comers. They have been with me longer than you. Do not take such liberties again." Christine nodded dumbly. The kettle whistled and Erik poured a stream of steaming water into a delicate china teacup. A strange aroma wafted from the brown liquid.
"Erik, what kind of tea is that?"
"Peppermint. Anna's favorite," the Phantom snapped. He swept out of the kitchen, bearing a tray with Anna's light breakfast on it. Christine followed him, hanging about the door way and watching the proceedings in silence.
Erik set the tray on the end table nearest Anna's head. He helped her sit up, rearranging the afghan and fluffing pillows. Ayesha meowed a soft protest at the movement, but constented to take up her former position in Anna's lap.
"Oh, Erik, thank you!" Anna exclaimed when she saw the tea and orange. She picked up a slice of fruit and promptly stuck the whole wedge into her mouth. The Phantom and the singer watched in amazement as she loudly chewed the pulp from the skin. In a weak jest, she pulled back her lips to reveal a pock-marked orange peel in place of her teeth. Erik rolled his eyes and turned to leave. A dainty hand at his elbow caught him by surprise.
"Please stay, Erik. You sooth me, too," Anna pleaded. Erik stared at her for a moment. Then without waiting for Anna to ask, without a thought as to Christine's protests, Erik removed his mask and sat down on the couch beside the redhead. It was in that second that Christine realized that Anna was not simply an obstacle, she was competition. The revelation was too much for the singer to bear, but no one noticed as she ran into the Louis-Phillipe room, bolting the door behind her.
Meanwhile, Anna had wormed her way into Erik's embrace. It suddenly occurred to the sheepish man that she was cuddling him. He bent his eyes to her face. For the first time, he noticed several faint purple blotches peppering her slender neck.
"Where did you get these?" he asked with a frown.
"You. When you nearly strangled me the other night, after the paintball thing."
"Anna, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have reacted that way."
Anna shrugged it off, "Doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does. If I ever saw anyone else do something like that to you…" his voice trailed away.
Anna's chocolate eyes sought Erik's horrid face expectantly, "What would you do?"
"Probably punjab the rogue on the spot."
"Aww, how sweet."
Erik shook his head, "No, I should have punjabbed myself before hurting you like that. I forget my own strength and rage sometimes." Gently, he brushed the tips of his fingers against her bruise skin. Instantly, he felt her pulse quicken, the heartbeat fluttering against the pads of his fingers like a butterfly's wings.
The pain in Anna's abdomen seemed to leap into her heart, twisting and pounding in her chest in agony. She desperately wished he would look at her the way he did at Christine, but until he did—if he did—the poor girl didn't want his brotherly affection. It hurt too much. She pulled his hand away from her throat, saying that it tickled, though she did not giggle or smile. Another monster cramp burned in her gut. Moaning, she pressed her faced into Erik's shoulder and gripped his hand.
Softly, Erik began to sing to her a nameless gypsy lullaby. His angelic voice filled her mind, calming her fluttering and lulling her to sleep. As her head sagged against his chest, Anna mumbled, "You won't leave me when I fall asleep, will you?"
In response, Erik tightened his arms around her and drew her closer. "No, I will not. Now sleep, mon merle." She was nearly muttering about tacos when Brooke burst from the master bedroom, holding a single tampon aloft.
"Ha! I am Brooke Juan Triumphant!" she crowed.
Erik had never seen anyone move so fast. One moment Anna was laying in his arms, asleep, the next she had vaulted over the couch and snatched the feminine product from her cousin.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Anna squealed, spinning Brooke around by the arms before dashing to the bathroom.
The Phantom sat still on the couch, utterly bewildered and a little disappointed.
"Where did you find it?" he asked the beaming brunette.
"Under the organ."
Shrugging and yawning, Erik stood and stretched his lanky limbs. He glanced at his pocket watch. Six thirty. Not even noon and he had already had a full day. Thinking to offer her an orange and some tea, he glanced at Brooke and noticed she had gone white as a ghost.
"Brooke, what's wrong," Erik ventured tentatively, afraid of the answer.
"I think…I just started my period, too. Anna, wait!" She spun about and ran into the master bedroom. Erik flopped back onto the couch…it was going to be a loooooooong day.