Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.

A/N: Hey, everybody! Sorry about the wait. My life just took a dramatic turn (all for good, but it's a bit chaotic). Anywho. School has finally started so updates are going to be slower in coming. Such is life still we love it.

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A DAY IN PARIS

The morning of the shopping trip arrived. Erik mournfully and fearfully escorted the girls to the Rue Scribe ally entrance. He felt as though he were releasing prisoners, that once free would never return to him. His logical mind gave his dramatic heart a sound whack. Of COURSE, they'll be back. How can they survive without some one to provide for them without risking their innocence? Erik acknowledged the truth of this with a soft sigh. Anna heard him and shifted closer, looping her arm through his.

"Don't worry, Erik. We'll be back. Our home is with you," she reassured him. Erik turned his luminescent eyes on her and she flashed him a bright smile. Suddenly, he desperately wanted to go out with them, but his fear held him back. At last they reached the surface.

"Now go straight to the Rue de Rivoli and find Nadir," Erik instructed sternly like a father reprimanding his dating-age daughters.

"Yes, Dad," Brooke chirped.

Erik glared at her. "You will be careful, won't you," he whispered to Anna.

"Of course! You'd better stop moping or we might start thinking we mean something to you," she teased, detaching her self from his side.

Erik let her go reluctantly. "More than you know," he sighed quietly as the two girls crept into the ally and down to the street. "Maybe more than I know." With that, the Phantom dissolved back into his lonely darkness to mope the day away (a.k.a. work on Don Juan Triumphant).

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Naturally, the girls never went to the Rue de Rivoli. They sent a note instead, which arrived just as the Persian was sipping his coffee.

It read as follows:

Bonjour, M. Khan,

This is from your favorite theatre haunts. Just wanted to give you a heads up: We are going shopping with Cecily Cheney today, but Erik thinks we're going with you as our escort. Please make sure he never discovers the truth. It could be deadly for Cecily…and Meg.

Have a nice day!

Le Merle et l'Esprit

Nadir rolled his jade eyes. Well, that cancelled his visit to the opera house. It wouldn't do to have Erik lecture him on the impossibility of being two places at once.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anna and Brooke arrived at Cecily Cheney's doorstep at precisely ten o'clock a.m. The butler ushered them into the sitting room where Mlle. Cheney would soon join them. A few quiet moments passed with the cousins staring about them in obvious curiosity. Finally, Cecily burst through the door in a blur of blue taffeta.

"Mlles. Leroux! You can't imagine how glad I am to see you both," she cried, flinging her arms about each of their necks in turn. The energetic young woman backed off to examine her friends' condition.

"You're pale!" she gasped involuntarily. Indeed, though their clothes were as rich and beautiful as her own (though a bit dusty), their complexions had lost most of the healthy glow Cecily was used to seeing on them in Perros. Their cheeks held no warmth and their eyes were ringed by shadows, yet they still looked hardy.

"Yes, living five floors beneath an opera house has that effect," Anna said cryptically. Cecily looked taken aback at such a blunt reference to their Paris home.

Brooke arched an eyebrow and asked in a challenging manner, "What do you intend to do with the information you possess, concerning our whereabouts? And that of the Opera Ghost?"

For the first time in her life, Cecily shrank away from someone. These were not the light-hearted, mischievous women she remembered. These women were cold, yet primal. She could sense them tensing to defend their home and their 'brother' as an animal would fight for its survival.

"You needn't worry about that. I have no intention of exposing you," Cecily whispered timidly.

"Meg Giry doesn't count?"

"Oh…that. Well, I had to get through to the Persian somehow."

"Why did you want to contact us in the first place?"

Cecily smirked, "I have secrets of my own to protect. Just know that I mean you and Erik no harm. M. Gerard trusted me with the information. I assume he knew what he was doing."

Anna and Brooke eyed her a moment longer before deciding all was safe. They shrugged and in one motion, dropped the façade of menace and became their jovial selves once more.

"Well, then let's get going!" Brooke quipped.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Cecily showed the girls all over the best parts of town. Anna and Brooke were absolutely charmed. The exhilarating feeling of freedom made them nearly dizzy. They relished in the hustle and bustle of the city they had only watched from the top of the Opera House. They were just walking toward the Latin Quarter, in search of an open-air market, when a man's voice called out to them from a corner café.

"Cecily!" The trio turned to see Jacques Cheney lumbering toward them. Anna snarled under her breath.

"Jacques! What are you doing here?" Cecily demanded, more like a mother than a sister.

"Dom and I came for a spot of lunch. I see you have company. Well, if it isn't the Mlles. Leroux! Haven't seen you in ages. Won't Dom be surprised?" Jacques blustered. He bowed clumsily to the girls, grinning slyly at Anna, who wrinkled her nose as though she had just smelled a skunk. (Pepe le Pew skips past).

The tall, ogre-ish man swung about and hollered for his brother. Brooke tensed up. The females scooted closer together. Cecily was just mentally cursing her brothers for their bothersome intrusion when something happened to make her nearly kiss Jacques for joy. Following Dominic Cheney out of the café was none other than the Vicomte de Chagny.

Brooke almost died of shock when the slender young nobleman emerged from Dominic's shadow, his head bowed down so that he didn't see her.

"Here they are! Dom, would you look who's turned up?" Jacques chortled, rudely jabbing a finger in the direction of the cousins.

"Mlle. Brooke!" Dom cried in recognition.

Raoul's head shot up, his sky blue eyes falling on Brooke. His mouth went slack for a moment as he stared at her in disbelief. At last he recollected himself and stepped forward to kiss her hand.

"Br—um, Mlle. Brooke, I'm pleased to see you again," he said in a formal tone.

Brooke curtseyed awkwardly and stammered, "I'm pleased to see you, too, M. le Vicomte."

Raoul turned and paid his addresses to Anna and Cecily, finally asking them where they were going. Cecily pounced on the opportunity to exercise her matchmaking rights.

"We were just headed for the Latin Quarter to see the market. Would you join us, M. le Vicomte? It's a lovely day for being outside," she said smoothly.

"Ack, the Vicomte doesn't want to be hauling parcels for a bunch of women," Dom growled.

"I'd love to!" Raoul cried eagerly. Without a second thought, he offered Brooke his arm, which she accepted with a shy smile and comely blush. She did note Dominic's crestfallen face and her shy smile became a smug grin as she sang to herself: My boyfriend's back and there's gonna be trouble.

Before, either one of her brothers could take Anna's arm, Cecily claimed the redhead for herself…much to Anna's relief. Sourly, the Cheney brothers plodded along behind the two women.

Cecily silently congratulated herself. She had only been hoping to reestablish contact with the girls and eventually find a way to bring Brooke and Raoul into each other's company. She was beside herself with happiness at the lucky coincidence that had thrown them together today.

Meanwhile, Brooke and Raoul were still processing the shock of seeing each other after such a long hiatus. The brunette was unusually silent. She had to fight to calm her racing heartbeat. She couldn't believe that he was here, walking beside her, arm in arm. In her mind, he looked even better than when they had last spoken, his hair grown wilder and his face losing the leathery tan that had been a natural consequence of the time spent in Perros. Raoul, on the other hand, was rather shaken by Brooke's altered appearance. She was thin and pale, her skin lacking any color except the raccoon-like blotches around her eyes. He wondered if she were ill. Anna looked the same. They walked a few blocks in contemplative stillness.

"I was afraid I might never see you again," Raoul whispered, breaking the silence.

Brooke shook herself, "Were you really?"

"Yes. Where have you been?" He eyed her suspiciously.

"With my brother and sister."

"I surmised that much. I trust…I trust that you have been treated well," he mumbled.

The girl gave him a quizzical look and a short laugh. "Of course! I hope you are not formulating any negative ideas about my brother. No one could be as good a guardian as he."

Raoul relaxed for the first time and smiled. This was what he loved about her. Well-structured, coherent, intelligent sentences were no problem for her quick mind. Loved? Raoul's smile became a slight frown. Had he used that word? Somehow…it didn't seem inappropriate.

"I am sure that your brother is a fantastic model of the perfect sibling. It's just that…well…I don't mean to pry or give offense…but…" He trailed off, not sure how to approach the subject of Brooke's health, or lack thereof.

"Please speak plainly, Raoul. I don't like it when people walk on eggshells without good reason."

He rushed on, "You just seem to be suffering from an illness. Your sister as well. I must admit, it has me troubled."

"Oh…please don't worry about that. We aren't sick. Everything's fine," Brooke replied. Her shoulders slumped a little. Did he think she was ugly now?

Their awkward conversation was cut short when they stumbled into the cheery realm of the open-air market. Anna and Brooke lit up at the sight of the venders and their colorful wares. The market carried a very festive, artistic air. Everywhere bright colors, exotic aromas, and dance-inspiring music accosted the senses. The people appeared very Bohemian and somehow the cousins felt at home. Jugglers, shouting merchants, noisy children, and street musicians crowded the pathway.

The little group approached a stall selling preserves and other jarred goods. A large display of olives caught Anna's eye. Suddenly, she felt a keen pang of longing for Erik. He loved olives. It was the one food he hardly ever refused. She decided to buy him a jar.

"Is Mademoiselle interested in a jar of olives?" the vender—a short, greasy man—asked in a wheedling tone.

"Yes, I'll take this jar," Anna answered in flawless French. To the vender's delight she pointed to the largest jar. "How much?"

"Twenty-five francs," the greasy man replied quickly. To everyone—except Brooke's—surprise, Anna actually began to dig through her handbag for the requested amount. Raoul gripped her wrist to stop her.

"Wait a moment, Mlle. Anna. You ought to haggle with him. That price he name is outrageous!" the nobleman admonished.

Anna could feel the burning red crawling up her face as she swallowed her embarrassment. The vendor deflated, his shoulders sagging as he glared at the interfering Vicomte.

"Would you permit me to help you?" Raoul whispered to the shamefaced girl. Anna nodded wordlessly.

Raoul stepped forward and argued with the vendor. "The lady will pay no more than ten francs for that jar," he said forcefully.

"Ten francs!" the vendor shrieked, outraged. "Make it twenty."

"Fifteen. Not a franc more or we'll take our business elsewhere," Raoul said firmly, with just a hint of aristocratic snobbery in his voice.

"You can't find olives like this nowhere else!" the vendor bellowed.

Raoul shrugged lightly, "Paris is a big city. I'm sure we'll manage."

The greasy little man spluttered and swelled up like a toad, but the tall young Vicomte showed no sign of backing down. The rest of the group glanced between the seething vendor and the smug nobleman, waiting for the staring contest to end. At last the vendor gave in and wrapped up the olive jar, begrudgingly accepting fifteen francs from a sweetly smiling Anna.

In the midst of her glee over the whole display, Brooke accidentally slipped into twenty-first century American mode and loudly exclaimed in English, "Wow, Raoul, that was really slick!"

Everyone turned to stare at her, Anna and Cecily sporting identical looks of absolute horror.

"Merde!" the vendor muttered in surprise, as the group scooted away from his cart.

"You speak remarkably good English," Raoul observed. "I've been working on mine. Do you think you could help me practice?"

"Uh…sure?" Brooke answered lamely, shaken at her mistake. Raoul happily latched on to her again and immediately began drilling her on English vocabulary, demanding to know the names of almost everything in sight. Anna smirked in amusement as she and Cecily strolled behind the chattering Raoul and his patient lady.

"That's what we call scarves. We call that juggling. Flute. Drum. We call that various things, the politest of which is lady of the night. Why don't we explore the florist's stand and Anna can help tell you the names of the flowers in English," Brooke droned, jealously steering him away from some shady looking women.

Clapping happily and nearly dropping the jar of olives, Anna bounded to the flower cart. It was her dream-come-true. The display was enormous and varied, containing all the basics and some exotic types. The redhead buried her face in a bundle of peonies, fondly recalling how Erik had once bought her a bouquet of the frilly pink blossoms. Again she wished he were there. And again she decided to buy him a present. The lair could use a vase of flowers to lighten the mood anyway.

But choosing a flower for Erik proved to be a difficult task. Anna instantly by passed the red roses…it had been done to death. Besides…it was far too suggestive and forward. Every flower has a meaning, she silently reminded her self. Her quest was complicated when Raoul accosted her.

"So you can speak English, too?" he asked her in French.

"Oui," Anna replied absently.

"Will you tell me the English names of these red ones?"

"Those are roses."

"And these?"

"Daisies." Hmm, daisies…Anna suddenly had a vision of Erik glowering over a disgustingly cheerful vase of happy sunshine blooms. He could hardly handle Chitty Chitty Bang Bang songs…the daisies would most likely be subjected to slow, painful deaths of various natures, one flower at a time.

"Anna?" Brooke's voice broke through the redhead's thoughts.

"What?"

"Raoul is asking you a question."

"Oh…yes?" Anna turned and smiled inquisitively at the Vicomte.

"What is that flower called in English?"

Anna glanced at the flower to which he pointed. Her face lit up. "Perfect!" she cried as she scooped up a huge bundle of deep indigo irises.

"Perfect?" Raoul questioned.

Brooke eyed her cousin suspiciously. "No, she's acting strange. Those flowers are called irises."

"Oh, I see…What exactly is wrong with Anna?"

"She's in love."

"How delightful! Who's the lucky gentleman?"

"No one you've met."

"Does your brother approve?"

"He doesn't know."

Raoul's eyebrows arched questioningly. Brooke only smiled and leaned on his arm. Meanwhile, Anna was eager to get back to the lair. She had had enough of the dirty city air, the crushing crowds, the garish light of day. She wanted to return to the familiar damp scent of the house by the lake, the quiet solitude, the gentle darkness. She wanted Erik…but Brooke wanted Raoul. And Raoul was only to be found above ground.

"Well, it's getting late. Might I treat you all to supper?" Raoul offered.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Back at the Most Depressing Place on Earth…

In all his lonely life, Erik had never felt so lonely as he did that day. He sat at the organ, slumped over Don Juan Triumphant. No matter how much he tried he couldn't get anything done. It had him worried. Whenever he was upset, angry, or lonely he could get it all out on his masterpiece. In fact, he did his best work at his worst moments. The thought was actually depressing.

Erik didn't want to do his best work at his lowest times. He wanted to do it at his moments of highest joy. He thought of Christine…but that made his composing worse. Frustrated beyond all belief, the Angel of Music threw aside the manuscript.

Ouch. Hello to you too.

Erik whirled around and spied the long-absent Poppins Bag sitting beneath the bulk of the operatic magnum opus.

"Where the hell did you come from?" Erik snarled.

You know, after all I've done for you I'd expect a better welcome home.

"ALL you've done? What have you ever done for me! You gave them tweezers to pluck my eyebrows! You gave them that bloody imposter to fawn over! And then you abandoned me when I needed you most! You left me with two PMSing females!" Erik was nearly screaming at this point.

No use crying over spilt milk.

"Naturally, avoiding the topic is the best thing to do," Erik said dryly as he bent down to gather the scattered music sheets.

Having…um…composer's block?

Erik ground his teeth, "Yes."

Mind if I make a suggestion?

Erik didn't respond.

Ooookay. I'll take that as a go-ahead. Instead of thinking of Christine, why don't you think of…oh, say, Anna, maybe?

The tall, thin man spun about to glare at the unassuming Bag. "Why do you suggest that?"

Well, Christine doesn't seem to doing much for you lately.

Erik grimaced…not that that changed much about his face. "That's true. I don't know what's wrong with me!"

Nothing's wrong with you. On the contrary this is a very normal and healthy process.

"And what process is that, oh fountain-of-bagly-wisdom?"

The process of learning that it's time for a change in muses.

"But…I love Christine! I can't think of another woman for my inspiration. That's disloyal," Erik sputtered hopelessly.

Okay, number one: You are not bound to Christine by any promise whatsoever. Number two: Do you REALLY love her?

"I…don't know anymore. Do you think it would be all right if I think of Anna instead? Just for inspiration, of course."

I won't tell.

Erik inhaled and exhaled slowly and let Don Juan Triumphant slide form his grasp. He grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment and began an entirely new composition entitled Le Merle…"The Blackbird."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N: Misty stood rooted to the floor in shock.

"Paddy? Here? Naked?" she gasped.

Captain Marianne nodded.

"Well, we can't have him loose in the house. Heavens knows what will happen," Misty said. She cleared her throat and addressed the minions. "All right I want you to all break into three groups. The first group will come with me, the second with Captain Marianne, and the third with Savvy. We'll split up and comb the area for him. Bring any weapons you possess."

The hoard of minions was instantly transformed from a band of giggly and/or reverent phangirls to an army of deadly assassins.

"Perfect," Misty muttered as she donned her silver cloak and grabbed her violet light saber. "Melissa Aminta?"

The mercenary stepped forward, cloaked in a cape of navy blue and wearing a red rose in her hair. Her army of cookie crisps growled at her boot-clad feet.

"Yes, Authoress?" Melissa hissed quietly.

"I need your cookie crisps to set up a perimeter around the house. We can't let Paddy escape into the wild."

"Why ever not?" Miss Black Shadow questioned from the crowd where she stood with her pirate muse.

Misty strained to see over everyone's heads to answer her, but the Authoress found her five foot three lacking. Sighing heavily, the Gerry scooped up his sweetheart and lifted her high enough to gaze over the huddle of minions. She spied Miss Black Shadow and Will in the far corner.

"Because it is my duty as a citizen of the world to stop horror and terror from striking when I have the chance," Misty replied coolly. "Use whatever means necessary, but be careful how you approach him. It might be wise to take some blankets or whatever to cover him up till we find some fop-worthy clothes. Everyone got it?"

The crowd nodded as one. Melissa dispatched the cookies immediately.

"What about the Gerry?" phantomess13 asked. The minions' eyes sparkled lustily as they eyed the hunky Phantom who now clutched Misty to his chest like a shield.

"Masque of Chaos will look after him," Misty choked out. The Gerry had a very strong grip on her diaphragm.

"No, we'll need to have Masque on the hunt with us," Savvy said.

"All right. Kat, you stay with the Gerry."

Willow's punkie alter ego looked positively devastated. "But…but I want to hunt the fop!" she screamed, cuddling her knives and swords in a very disturbing manner.

"I know, but someone has to protect the Gerry against contamination. I don't trust anyone else to do such a good job of it," Misty explained as she squirmed out of said-Phantom's grasp. Kat was appeased and consented to be the Gerry's bodyguard in place of Masque of Chaos who was placed on Savvy's troop.

"Okay. Let's head out then," Misty ordered. Every one moved into place except Nota Lone who sat brooding on the Gerry's couch.

"What's wrong with you?" Misty asked.

"No one ever replies to my reviews," Nota Lone moped, a single tear gliding down her cheek.

"Oh…Gerry, apologize to Nota Lone, please."

"WHAT? Why me?" the Gerry spluttered, flabbergasted.

"Because you were the one who wrote the last review replies."

"Fine!" The Gerry grumbled and growled and offered the downcast reviewer a quick hug.

Misty put her fists akimbo and glared at her muse. "A good apology, Gerry."

Howling in aggravation, the Gerry seized Nota Lone by the shoulders and gave her a Gerry-licious kiss. The minion's eyes glazed over in euphoric bliss and she fainted away.

"Damn. Should have known that would happen. Keep an eye on her when she comes around, Kat," Misty said.

At last, grim-faced as prisoners going to the noose, the Authoress, the Captain, and the Best Friend led their troops into battle.

Meanwhile, the Gerry and Kat sat staring at each other.

"Wanna show me how to use a Punjab Lasso?" Kat purred.

"Aren't you deadly enough as it is?"

"One could always make improvements to one's craft."

"True."

"So you'll do it?"

"No."

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A/N: Okay, I'm going to scream this one last time and if you don't get it, too bad. IF YOU APPLY FOR MINIONSHIP YOU WILL BE ACCEPTED. I WILL LET YOU KNOW WHEN I PLACE A DEADLINE ON IT. But I'm not going to apply to every application individually.

Also, I'm sorry I don't always do review replies. Frankly, they slow down updates, although I do so adore your comments. However, I will not reply to you if just say "Cool" or "Brava." You don't have to write an essay for each chapter, but if you ever want me to take the time to reply then write something I can reply to…like a question or an interesting comment (random or otherwise).

Nota Lone: Since you asked a question, I'll reply: Yes, Cecily and Algernon are inspired by Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest.