Disclaimer: Don't own POTO…no need to rub it in.

A/N: The Gerry looked up as Misty blustered into the den via her magic wardrobe.

"Where have you been?" he hollered. "The minions actually started attacking my guard socks with Cheerios!"

"I was visiting naomipoe's phic. I have a part to play in it, you know," Misty replied.

"But you're my protector!"

Misty arched one eyebrow at her muse, "You whine like a mule. You are still alive."

The Gerry rumbled and grumbled to himself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

GOSSIP PART II: THE HOBBITS & THE BALLET RATS AND THE PERSIAN & THE PHAMILY AND ROSENCRANTZ & GUILDENSTERN

Kathryn and Jammes hurried up to their dorms as soon as Madame Giry dismissed them from the post-performance lecture.

"I thought she'd never shut up!" Kathryn hissed as they threw open their shared wardrobe. It wasn't a magical wardrobe. In fact, it was a very plain wooden box that housed a pitiful collection of street clothes, which the girls rarely wore. Kathryn pulled out a rumpled gown of dark green taffeta and quickly slipped into it. She smoothed out the creases, then pinned up her curls. The dress, though simple and unadorned, was not unflattering on her dancer's figure, the color brought out her eyes.

Similarly, Jammes donned a light blue dress of the same fabric and design. The girls had actually made the dresses themselves when the costume department had decided to discard the material. They were proud of them.

A half an hour later, the two ballerinas descended from their room to meet their escorts for the evening in the lobby. Pip and Que looked up when they heard them approach, each one thinking that their respective lady was the prettier of the two. The hobbits, decked out in suitable eveningwear, bowed.

"Yer lookin' loverly, t'night, Miss Kathryn," Pip said, speaking in English. His eyes swept over Kathryn in an appreciative, but discreet manner. He had been thrilled to discover that his favorite dancer hailed from the British Isles.

Meanwhile, Que greeted Jammes, "Ye look like a prencess, Mlle. Jammes!" The girl blushed prettily and accepted his offered arm.

The hobbits treated the dancers to supper at the Café la Dynamite de Napoleon. Technically, the date was a way of following Mlle. Cecily's orders, but the boys could not deny that the alluring pairs of eyes set in each female face had something to do with their particular choice of tactics.

The little group huddled over a pleasant meal of soup, bread, and roast duck, gleefully discussing the intrigues of the opera house.

"Now promise you won't say anything to your mistress?" Jammes asked. Pip and Que nodded furiously, their thatch-like hair flopping in their eyes.

Undercover of the table, Kathryn jabbed her friend in the ribs and gave her a warning look. "Jammes, we shouldn't talk about it."

"They won't tell!"

"We won't tell!"

Jammes hurried on, "Well, everyone thinks that the new patroness has a history with the Persian."

The hobbits choked on their soup, gagging and theatrically thumping their chests with their fists. "Why d'they thenk tha?" Pip rasped, secretly fingering the note addressed to Meg Giry on Cecily's stationary that he carried in his pocket.

Kathryn jumped in, "Because we saw them together at this very café not too long ago."

"And everyone knows that they spoke with each other after the gala performance," Jammes added. The boys said nothing and only exchanged horrified glances.

"I don't mean to speak disrespectfully of your employer," Kathryn began. "But she's caused an awful heartbreak for one of our dear friends."

"Who?" Que asked, knowing he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Meg Giry. She's been seeing the Persian since the summer time. And now it turns out he had this thing with Mlle. Cheney. Meg's determined to ignore him," Jammes said.

Pip and Que groaned with dread as they thought of the terrible scene that would unfold in the Cheney's secret chamber once Cecily found out about this. Meg Giry had been her only hope of getting through to Nadir Khan, and Nadir Khan was her only hope of finding Erik and the cousins. Furthermore, she was still ruffled from her last encounter with the cheeky detective. Smiling weakly, the hobbits put their best feet forward and tried to enjoy the rest of their evening, pushing out thoughts of the inevitable fury that awaited them when they got home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Nadir was beside himself. He did not understand why Meg had ceased to correspond with him, talk with him, even look at him! Everyday he could, he waited outside the ballet room, every day she left without so much as a nod or a glance. He sent her flowers and notes after each performance, which he attended religiously, but she never responded. She had even gone so far as to refuse his gifts, sending them back, untouched, in the arms of a giggling ballet brat.

Not knowing what to do, Nadir climbed to the roof of the Opera House one day to think about it. The air was crisp and cool, the last warmth of summer was dying away and autumn was coming swiftly to the City of Lights. The daroga went to the edge and stood looking out over the jungle of brick and concrete. Who could he ask for help? There were no other women in his life to which he could confide, no men either, for that matter. He was utterly alone in this. For the first time, Nadir realized how Erik must have felt his entire life.

As if answering his thoughts, an all-too distinctive voice purred, "Bonjour, daroga."

Nadir shrieked in fright and whirled around, expecting to see the Opera Ghost standing behind him, but no one was there. Somehow, that didn't surprise Nadir all that much.

"Up here," came a second, very feminine voice. Nadir glanced up at the statue of Apollo. The fierce glare of the sun forced him to shield his eyes. Blinking back the light, he began to make out three figures lounging on the stone deity. They were none other than the Phantom and his companions, all unmasked and enjoying one of the last warm days of the year.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Nadir said, trying not to wince when he saw
Erik's bare face.

"We might ask you the same question," Erik replied coolly, gently swinging one lanky leg.

"Well, I asked first," the Persian, argued childishly.

"But we were out here first, so that means you must answer first, even though you asked first," Brooke rattled.

The daroga blinked, then frowned in his effort to make sense of her babblings. "If you must know, I came up here because I am extremely depressed," he answered flatly.

"Really, daroga! And what could have irked your analytical, nosy mind to such an extent?" said Erik, smirking.

"Meg Giry won't give me the time of day anymore…much less accompany me to supper."

"Oh, I heard something about that," Anna chirped from her place above the others. Erik and Brooke turned to hear her. "Don't you remember, Brooke? We heard that English ballerina and little Jammes talking about it with some of the other rats."

"Oh, yeah! They said something about Nadir cheating on her," Brooke said.

"WHAT!" the dark-skinned man yelled. They all ignored him, carrying on the conversation as though he was not present.

"Yes, I heard something like that, too," Erik mused. "I believe little Kathryn said that she and Jammes caught the dear daroga having supper with a lady at a café one evening. I think they said the lady was the new patroness, your little friend from Perros, Mlle. Cheney."

Anna and Brooke blanched slightly. So he did know of Cecily's presence in the opera house. They were relieved to see that he was not disturbed by it. Meanwhile, Nadir could not contain himself any longer.

"THAT'S WHAT THIS ALL ABOUT? THAT WOMAN KEEPS PESTERING ME! I DON'T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH HER!"

"Calm yourself, daroga. There's no need to talk in capitalized italics," Erik said.

"B-but how could Meg even suspect me of being unfaithful to her?" The poor Persian looked completely, heart-breakingly dumb-founded.

"She listened to her friends, of course. No doubt they had some convincing arguments against you and we all know that Meg was already dealing with the general prejudice which exists against those who are foreign or different," Erik answered lazily, climbing down from his perch and turning to assist the cousins in their descent.

Nadir glared at the Phantom's slender back so fiercely that he would have surely burnt a hole through Erik's body had he been endowed with laser vision. "How do you know so much about what Meg is dealing with…and, furthermore, how do you know so much about women?"

Erik chucked lightly, "In answer to your first question, daroga, I will remind you that we theatre haunts hear all that goes on within these glided walls. And in answer to your second question, I happen to live with two women, an experience that has been very…educational, to say the least."

The cousins smiled proudly and leaned against their favorite Phantom like bookends.

"What does Cecily want with you anyway, M. Khan?" Anna inquired.

"She wanted to know about YOU TWO! And Erik!" Nadir spluttered angrily. He regretted the words the instant they were out of his mouth. Erik's death-like features contorted into a terrifying visage of pure rage. He didn't say a word…and that in itself was frightening. The cousins felt his body tense up. Suddenly, he sprang forward and stormed towards the door that led back into the building. There was no doubt in anyone's mind what Erik intended to do to Cecily Cheney.

Nadir had hardly moved to stop him when the cousins shot past the Persian and plastered themselves against the door, preventing Erik from gaining entrance.

"MOVE!" he snarled. They didn't budge. Hissing like a snake, Erik forcefully pried them away from the door. They threw their arms about his waist. At seeing the girls wrapped around Erik like a pair of boa constrictors, Nadir got over being shocked and frightened and became amused.

"Don't hurt her, Erik!"

"Please…we don't want you to be a murderer."

"Too bad I already am!" Erik snapped. He wrestled himself free. It was a difficult task. He'd wrench one white arm off and go for the other three, only to find the first back in its place. At last, he resorted to digging his fingers into the cousins' sides, tickling them so that they let go, giggling and wriggling.

Erik darted for the door again, but Brooke and Anna curled themselves around his legs this time, anchoring him to the ground.

"LET GO!" Erik shrieked.

"If you do anything to Cecily—" Anna started.

"What?" he challenged.

"A disaster beyond your imagination will occur!" Brooke finished desperately.

"Oh, really? Like what?"

"We'll burn Don Juan Triumphant!"

"Except that you don't know where I keep it hidden."

"I do!" Brooke hollered. "It's in a secret compartment in your underwear drawer."

Erik blinked incredulously, "How do you know that?"

"I found it when I was digging around for tampons that week the Poppins Bag left us to suffer."

Erik ceased to struggle. His body went limp and the girls slowly released him. Nadir hid his snickering behind a hand delicately placed over his mouth.

Erik glowered at him, "What are you laughing at?"

"I never thought I'd see the day when the ever incomparable Phantom of the Opera would be tamed by two unremarkable, strange young women."

Anna stood regally, "Excuse me, Monsieur, but no body said anything about taming Erik. We are simply accomplished glompers, an ability that comes in handy."

Erik smiled at her—a genuine, not altogether unsightly smile, Nadir noted—and rose to defend his friends, "And furthermore, my ladies are nothing if not completely remarkable."

"But we are strange," Brooke quipped. The Persian stood in contemplative silence as the phamily arranged themselves on a bench like outcropping. They were a charming group and he couldn't help but think that Raoul de Chagny would make the picture complete…plus, few unruly children. Nadir smirked at his private thoughts.

"How could she have found out?" Erik was saying, referring to Cecily Cheney.

"Pip and Que?" Anna offered.

"The stable hands?"

"Yeah, she took them off M. de Pouf's hands and made them her valets…haven't you seen them hanging about the place?" Brooke said, standing to twirl her cloak about.

"No, I can't say that I have."

"I thought you said that you lofty theatre haunts see everything that goes on within these glided walls," Nadir observed shrewdly, crossing him arms over his chest. Erik only fixed him with a stoic, sunken-eyed gaze. He smirked in satisfaction when Nadir looked away, still unable to cope with the monster's face, though the Persian was somewhat shamed as he watched Anna absent-mindedly pluck at Erik's collar while she regarded him with a steady look.

"Well, it couldn't have been those boys," Erik decided.

"Why not?"

"Because I know they would not betray our trust." The phamily sat a moment longer, mulling over the possibilities when the answer hit them like a flying squirrel on a bus windshield.

As one they leapt to their feet and cried, "GERRY!"

"That horrid little imposter!" Erik snarled.

Brooke looked at him archly, "What do you mean by little?"

"But Gerry wouldn't betray us either!" Anna insisted.

Erik stomped about in agitated circles. "I don't care who informed her of our true identities, but she had best keep her pert, aristocratic nose out of our business, or no amount of glomping will keep me from taking drastic measures."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Anna said airily as she examined her nails. "Glomping can go to drastic lengths too, you know." She gave Erik a rakish wink. "In the meantime, perhaps we can patch things up with Meg for you, M. Khan."

This offer startled the Persian. He answered slowly, "And how could you help the situation?"

"Well, we are women first of all…excepting Erik, of course…so we share some common ground with Meg. Plus, we have the advantage of being in a position of influence over superstitious ballet rats such as her. She'd believe the Raven and the Spirit."

Brooke nodded her head in agreement, but Erik made a loud objection, saying that he refused to let them take the risk of being discovered. The look of hope creeping onto Khan's bronzed features now crumbled.

Brooke argued, "But you could accompany us and make sure nothing happens. We'll do it tonight, when everyone else is turning in!"

Nadir began to feel hopeful again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As usual Meg was one of the last girls to leave to practice room. Kathryn and Jammes had left, eager to meet Pip and Que in the Opera's stables for a card game and bottle of gin. Christine was floating around in diva land, writing endless pink, sweetly scented notes to the suspiciously negligent Vicomte de Chagny. Madame Giry was holed up in the managers' office, arguing over the Opera Ghost's latest demands. Thus, the Raven and the Spirit caught the little dancer alone and unawares.

"Hello, Little Giry," a raspy voice croaked from the darkness.

Meg nearly jumped out of her skin. "Who's there?"

"Take a guess." One lone black feather drifted past her round nose and Meg snatched it up.

"The Raven?" she asked tremulously.

"That's right," croaked the Raven. "And that's not all…"

"Hello, Meg," came a thin, wispy voice.

"The Spirit?" Meg asked again, like a nervous child taking an oral quiz in front of its entire class.

"Very good," said the Spirit. "We need to talk with you, Meg."

"Ab-bout w-what?" Meg squeezed her eyes shut, hoping and praying that she hadn't done anything to upset them. She didn't think she had…but maybe she slipped.

The Raven answered, "About the Persian."

For one moment, Meg's heart stalled. "How do you know anything about that?"

"Dear Little Giry, we theatre haunts hear and see everything that occurs within these glided walls," whispered the Spirit. From his place of silent observation, the Phantom made mental note to copyright his better remarks.

"Oh…of course," Meg mumbled.

"Now, we understand that you believe M. Khan has been dishonest and roguish in his courtship with you; and that you have, accordingly, set about giving him the ultimate silent-treatment," the Raven stated.

Meg felt a little flustered and aggravated by the subtle accusations beneath the spectre's tone. "Well, can you blame me?"

"No," the Spirit began. "I don't blame you in the slightest. However, we beg you to believe us when we tell you that it has all been a big misunderstanding. Mlle. Cheney was pursuing M. Khan because she wanted information from him on a certain deadly topic. M. Khan has been trying to avoid the patroness. He never has and never will have any intentions for her. His heart is all yours."

Even if the crystal chandelier came crashing down at that exact moment, the ballerina would not have moved. Her legs were rooted to the spot as she tried to grasp the haunts' message.

At last she spluttered weakly, "B-but my friends—"

The Raven interrupted her. "Your friends are well-intentioned, but misinformed and presumptuous. And I hope you'll take into consideration that we know a good many more secrets, lies, and truths than any member of the corps de ballet."

And that was the last Meg heard from the spectres. She stood for a moment, listening, even calling tentatively into the shadows, but no answer ever came. And so, with her head full of things to ponder, Meg returned to her dorm, clutching the black feather.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anna and Brooke were excessively pleased, as they always were whenever a scheme worked out perfectly. Erik resolutely ignored them as he led the way through the secret passageways within the Opera walls. At one point they came out of the wall and snaked their way through the shadows in the wings of the stage. That's when they stumbled upon a most sickening scene. Jean-Paul the stagehand and the youngest seamstress were squared off in a dark corner. The whole phamily halted out of pure shock and watched the proceedings as though they were rubbernecking at a gruesome car crash.

Jean-Paul and his lady finally came up for breath and the boy took the opportunity to tug her towards the stage itself.

"Come on, Musetta!" he insisted.

"No, someone will see us!" Musetta hissed in protest, digging her heels into the floor like a donkey.

"No one else is awake!"

"But what about the Phantom? What if he's in Box Five?"

"Then let's put on a show for him!" Jean-Paul cried. He finally succeeded in dragging the rumpled maid out onto center stage. Though she still whined her objections, a few giggles escaped her swollen lips.

"Little pest!" Erik snarled quietly. "Put on a show for me indeed!"

Meanwhile, Jean-Paul was twirling Musetta about the stage, both of them laughing almost drunkenly.

"See you could be like the great Carlotta or Christine," he guffawed. It was obviously a joke because Musetta giggled again.

"Really, Musetta…you could be a diva. Just strut around the stage and screech at M. Reyer and keep two poodles with you...LAAAAAA-LALALALA!" Jean-Paul threw his arms out wide as he imitated Carlotta's singing.

Erik smirked beneath his mask, "That boy sounds just like her."

Musetta shrieked with laughter at her beau's antics. She asked, "And what if I chose to be Christine?"

Jean-Paul suddenly grew deadly serious, "You don't want to be her. Everyone knows she's cursed. The Phantom haunts her and the Raven and Spirit hate her. And now that lover of her's…le Vicomte de what's-it…has left her." The skinny, pimple-faced urchin shrugged carelessly. "I don't blame him though."

"Oui, she may sing like an angel, but she's has the heart of a devil," Musetta spat. "You should have seen the fit she threw while I was trying to fit her costume the other day."

All at once, Jean-Paul left off being serious, the long thin line that was his mouth twisted into a rakish grin. Possessively, he pulled Musetta against him.

"In any case, if you were like Christine, I wouldn't like you. You'd be too high and mighty for me," he said. They went back to kissing.

Anna made quiet gagging noises. "He's sucking her face off."

"Thank you for that wonderful analysis, Mademoiselle Merle," Erik said dryly.

Brooke scooted next to her cousin and whispered in English, "You wanna give them a surprise?"

Anna grinned wickedly. "Heck yes!"

Before Erik could stop them, the girls charged straight at the lovers, wailing and howling and cackling like banshees of doom announcing the arrival of the plague. The reaction this abrupt display of madness procured was priceless. Jean-Paul screamed like a girl and nearly broke his own skinny neck as he hastened to disentangle himself from Musetta's embrace. The girl was no less startled. They stumbled to their feet and fled from the stage like college coeds with burning toilet paper stuck to their pants.

Anna and Brooke skidded to a halt when they reached the spot where Jean-Paul and Musetta had been snogging a moment before. Brooke smiled and spun about, "Well, that was fun."

Erik hissed at them from the wing, "Get back over here, you little idiots!"

"Oooo, I've never been on the stage before," Anna said. With dramatic over-emphasis, she swept downstage until she reached the footlights. "To be or not to be?"

Brooke leapt forward and cried, "That is the question!"

"And the answer is…"

"FORTY-TWO!" The cousins were seized by a fit of silly giggles. Erik, lured out of the shadows, shook his masked head at them.

"All right, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, let's go home." He turned to leave, but the cousins weren't done yet. Anna peered out at the black auditorium.

Brooke sidled up to her, "See anyone?"

Anna shook her redhead, "No. You?"

The brunette squinted at the darkness beyond. "No. What a fine persecution—to be kept intrigued without ever quite being enlightened…We've had no practice."

Erik paused to watch the exchange. Anna looked thoughtful for a moment before addressing her cousin with, "We could play at questions."

Brooke rolled her eyes and sneered, "What good would that do?"

"Practice!" Anna cried, as though it ought to have been the most obvious concept in the world.

"Statement! One—love." Brooke crowed victoriously, jabbing a finger at the befuddled redhead as she moved upstage and positioned herself stage right in stance much like a tennis player's. Anna followed, standing stage left, diagonally from her cousin.

"Cheating!" Anna accused.

"How?"

"I hadn't started yet."

"Statement. Two—love." Brooke shifted position, crossing over to the other side of her half of the imaginary tennis court. The other cousin simply looked confused and frustrated.

"Are you counting that?" Anna asked.

"What?"

"Are you counting that?"

"Foul!" Brooke thundered, beginning to move again. "No repetitions. Three—love. First game to…"

Anna stomped her feet in furious, childish protest. "I'm not going to play if you're going to be like that." She then folded her legs beneath her to sit on the floor as though she was staging a sit-in.

Brooke approached her quietly, seemingly apologetic. She bent low and whispered, "Whose serve?"

"Hah?"

"Foul! No grunts. Love—one." Brooke shot back to her place in the invisible tennis court. The renewed challenge ruffled Anna's feathers enough to get her back in the game. She took up her place.

She asked, "Whose go?"

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"What for?"

"Foul!" Anna screamed happily, "No synonyms! One—all."

"What in God's name is going on?" Brooke snarled, though her remark seemed connected at a different situation.

"Foul! No rhetoric. Two—one." Anna was enjoying herself now.

"What does it all add up to?"

"Can't you guess?"

"Were you addressing me?"

"Is there anyone else?" They ignored Erik's somber presence.

"Why do you ask?"

"Are you serious?" said the Raven.

"Was that rhetoric?" said the Spirit slyly.

"No!" Anna cried indignantly.

Brooke clapped her hands, "Statement! Two—all. Game point."

The redhead shot her best friend a vicious death glare. Things were really on now. They prowled back and forth, the air crackling with tension.

Anna began, "What's the matter with you today?"

"When?"

"What?"

"Are you deaf?"

"Am I dead?"

"Yes or no?"

"Is there a choice?"

"Is there a God?"

"Foul!" Anna shouted. "No non sequiturs, three—two, one game all."

Brooke suddenly became very serious and she spoke earnestly, "What's your name?"

"What's yours?"

"I asked you first."

"Statement. One—love."

"What's your name when you're at home?"

"What's yours?"

"When I'm at home?"

"Is it different at home?

"What home?"

"Haven't you got one?"

"Why do you ask?"

"What are you driving at?"

"What's your name!" Brooke screeched.

"Repetition! Two—love. Match point to me."

Violently, Brooke seized Anna's collar and shook her, while shouting, "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"

"Rhetoric! Game and match!" Anna quipped victoriously. Brooke shoved her away in frustration. The redhead finally felt the effects of her friend's mood and became quietly contemplative. "Where's it going to end?"

Brooke smiled ruefully, "That's the question."

"It's all questions."

"Do you think it matters?"

"Doesn't matter to you?"

"Why should it matter?"

"What does it matter why?"

"Doesn't it matter why it matters?" Brooke whispered, gently teasing.

Anna rounded on her, suddenly violent in her own turn, "What's the matter with you?" They stood still for a moment, staring each other down, breathing hard. In the background, a lanky, shadow of a man, watched with begrudgingly rapt attention.

Brooke waved her cousin off, "It doesn't matter."

"…What's the game?" Anna wondered helplessly, like a voice lost in the wilderness.

"What are the rules?" Brooke replied thoughtfully. All at once, she shook herself awake and snapped at Anna, "Rosencrantz!"

Anna jumped with surprise, "What?"

Brooke grinned triumphantly, "There! How was that?"

"Clever!" cried Anna.

"Natural?"

"Instinctive."

"Got it in your head?"

"I take my hat off to you." As Anna happened to be wearing a magnificent pirate's hat—dyed plumes and gold braiding and all—she easily made her cousin a graceful bow, hat in hand.

"Shake hands," Brooke offered good-naturedly. Anna accepted.

"Now I'll try you—Guil—!"

Brooke clapped a hand over the other's mouth. "—Not yet—catch me unawares."

"Right." Anna waltzed away, whistling quietly. She leaned toward Brooke, "Ready?"

The brunette exploded, "Don't be stupid!"

"Sorry."

"Guildenstern!"

Anna jumped, "What?" Immediately, her pretty face was crestfallen as she realized that she had instinctively responded to both names.

Brooke huffed in disgust, "Consistency is all I ask!" She stormed off the stage, passing Erik without a glance. The Phantom remained, entranced and watching Anna stand alone.

"Immortality is all I seek…" Her voice was the merest of whispers, yet it carried throughout the entire auditorium like an echo. Suddenly, she snapped out her reverie and bounced off stage, right up to her captive audience.

"How was that?" she asked brightly.

Erik was utterly confused. "What do you mean?"

"How was our performance?"

"That was all an act?" he asked, disbelieving.

"Absolutely!"

"It was…the best thing that stage has ever seen!" Erik cried. He was really impressed, but in order that the girls didn't let his praise go to their heads, he added, "Though I should have known that you filched something that brilliant."

"Jerk. Oy, wait up, Guildenstern!" Anna called to her cousin, as the phamily continued on their way home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N: The Gerry was impressed, too.

"Wow. You finally got a big chapter done," he said to Misty as she lazily flipped through a copy of Tom Stoppard's play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.

"Yup. Hey, I'm telling you…Douglas Adams was definitely onto something with the whole forty-two thing," she said.

The Gerry leaned over her shoulder and purred huskily, "For instance?"

"For instance, the question scene that I just used from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead in my phic started on page forty-two of this copy."

"Interesting. Now the real question is: Have you finished that list of minions?"

Misty looked very guilty, "Um…no. What will you give me if I get started on it?"

The Gerry whispered his answer into her ear in a low, throaty voice. Misty didn't waste time replying, but instantly shot toward her desk to begin the list.

And extra disclaimer: I don't Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.