Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.
A REAL A/N: I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! Yes, I am back. Thank you all for sticking with me. I'm sorry about the freakishly long hiatus, but life before phiction, my dears. Updates will not be nearly as often as before. I just can't guarantee it…however I do have a phenomenally boring producing class every Monday night for three tortuous hours which might prove useful in the advancement of this phic. Rest assured, I will complete this story. I have no desire to leave it unfinished.
That said. There will only be a few review replies this time around. If I don't reply to you please don't be offended.
Rachel: One of the coolest reviews I have ever gotten. Thank you. I loved your analysis.
Tian Sirki: Okay, you may be one of the most considerate reviewers in the history of phanphiction. School is overwhelming and my social life actually exists as of now. Thanks for asking. And just for your patience and understanding I'm letting you borrow the Gerry for the night. Do with him what you will…just return him in one piece. Again, my sincerest thanks.
DarkestDesire88: Being a starving college student, that dollar offer is actually rather tempting. Anna and Brooke were originally based on two actual people, but they have evolved into their own characters, which has been an interesting experience.
Opaliana: OMG! I so started this phic thinking of Emmy!Christine, but then I saw that "Making of…" thing with Brightman. And they all thought Erik was scary. She is the freakiest thing on two legs AND she has bug-eyes! So I guess PhantomCompanions!Christine can be Brightman!Christine. About the whole THE Gerry thing, it's an inside joke, pet name that Phantress and I came up with.
FFAMasquerade2005: The Gerry returns the salutations with a smugly triumphant smirk. The tennis match/questions game is a brilliant piece of work…unfortunately it belongs to Tom Stoppard, the playwright for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. Freaking brilliant play.
xotic princess: The Gerry would like to offer you his services for one night as a token of his great appreciation for the Elven, phan-detector sword.
Silvermasque: This may shock you, so I hope you are sitting down. But I have never seen Dracula 2000. I've only seen one Gerry movie and I'll give you two guesses as to which one. Anywho. I have no idea if Don Juan Triumphant will be performed. It's an idea though.
JesterWithShame: (bows) Thank you.
Red-Headed-Vixen: Ah, a new convert. (rubs hand gleefully) MWHAHA…velcome to the da phandom.
Sorrowfully Loving the Lost: I hope that scene goes well in drama class, but I also hope you give credit to Tom Stoppard and not me. And we'll forgive you for not liking the Gerry.
Naomipoe: Of course you can be minion to both of us. At least I don't mind. Sounds like an even trade since we are both your characters at the moment.
Charlemagne: Gotta love them cucumber sandwiches. I enjoyed your review. I don't know why but I liked its style.
Lady Willow Rose: (bows) My sincerest regards to you and your personalities. It's always an honor to see you around.
That's all for now, folks! Sorry, but I need to sleep. Enjoy the chapter. Love you all!
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DINNER AND A REUNION
Raoul treated the cousins and the Cheneys to a dinner at a posh hotel restaurant, not far from the Opera Populaire. Things were rather dull, tense, and awkward. Brooke's loathing for Victorian society regulations steadily increased as she glanced longingly at Raoul. The Vicomte felt much the same.
"How's that ankle of yours, Mlle. Brooke," Dom chortled, swaying at the brunette and breathing wine in her face.
Brooke wrinkled her nose in perfect aristocratic disdain, "It is healed."
"Really Dom, must you be so vulgar?" Cecily snapped.
"Indeed," Raoul snarled under his breath. Anna yawned. She really wanted to go home.
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Meanwhile at the far end of the restaurant something bizarre was taking place. A hole opened in one of the pastel pink walls and a young brown-haired woman, cloaked in silver and carrying a violet lightsaber, stumbled out. Several frightening characters followed her, all wearing capes of some sort and toting an assortment of gnarly-looking weapons.
"What the freakin' A?" Misty growled, shutting off her lightsaber and peering at her sudden change in surroundings.
"Hey…aren't we supposed to be on the fop hunt?" broadwaydreams4ever asked, half-confused, half-disappointed. The small troop of minions grumbled in agreement.
"How did we end up here?" Unseen-Presence hissed.
"Where did we end up?" shirahime18 asked as she shifted about in her black samari outfit.
"SHUSH!" Misty howled. "I used one of Masque of Chaos' mirrors. That's how we got here. Apparently, it was dysfunctional…or I'm dysfunctional because I have no idea where we are. Give me a moment to think."
As the harried Authoress massaged her temples, sunk in deep thought, Kanya made two very important observations. The first was that their presence seemed to have gone completely unnoticed by the 19th century folks around them. The red-haired, green-eyed girl eyed a young Victorian woman whose corset was so tight it made her appear like a tube of toothpaste pinched in the middle, then Kanya studied her own apparel: black on black with the saying: "Beware the Platypuses" written on her shirt and a scythe in her left hand. Yeah…definitely weird that no one had noticed the group of deranged fop assassins. Speaking of fops…this led to Kanya's second observation. While there was no sign of the naked Paddy there was really no shortage of fops in the general area. This gave her a rather evil idea…
Kanya nudged Phantom Hobbit (or P.H. as the others called her) and whispered, "That guy looks kinda foppy." She pointed the scythe at a tall, oafish man with impeccably clean clothes, manicured fingernails, and one of those nasty little curly-Q moustaches.
P.H. nodded her comprehension. "He's a fop all right. Look, Sting is glowing." The hobbity phan held her Sting replica aloft, which was indeed glowing light pink.
"I thought that was supposed to happen when orcs were around," Kanya observed.
"It glows blue for orcs, but I had it modified into a fop-detector. Anywho. Shall we?" P.H. asked gesturing to the innocent fop.
"MWAHA….yesh," Kanya snickered. Together the two minions began to creep upon their unsuspecting victim, like lionesses stalking a wildebeest.
"Hold it!" a mighty voice commanded, halting the two minions in their tracks. They turned to see Misty glaring at them.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" the Authoress demanded.
"Fop-hunting," Kanya said, jabbing her scythe in the direction of her intended prey. Misty glanced at the man and that's when the revelation hit her full-force on the head, sending her tumbling to the ground.
"Of course!" Misty cried, springing back to her feet. "We're in Phantom Companions!"
"You mean the actual phictional world that you created out of Leroux's?" Ellardis Merithdire questioned.
"Yes! That's Jacques Cheney," Misty squealed, pointing to the fop with the curly-Q mustache.
A collective "Ooooooooooh" indicated the comprehension of the minions.
"Let's follow him to the others," Misty said. With that, the motley crew stalked after Jacques who was returning to the most exciting dinner party on earth.
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15 minutes later…
"Lord have mercy, they are a boring bunch," Misty huffed as if she had nothing to do with her characters' lack of animation.
"We could shake things up a bit," Noni-Noelle purred, her jewel-encrusted sword glittering malevolently in the gas light.
"No. The destruction must wait," Misty said firmly. The minions glowered and murmured mutinously. Misty sighed, "I suppose you could go kick things up a notch in the kitchen."
"Thank you," Noni said, nodding darkly. The masked girl and few of the more violent minions slinked off to the kitchen, giggling over RocketQueen101's jar of Mexican cockroaches.
Misty sighed again and shook her head, and said, "Well, now that they're occupied I need to figure out a way to get this—" she pointed to the painfully silent table "—party started."
"We could heat things up," DarkestDesire88 said mischievously.
"I trying to maintain our PG rating," the irritable Authoress snapped.
"No, I mean literally heat things up." As she spoke Peggy-kun withdrew a devilish looking vile from the inner pocket of her cloak. The label on the ruby-red capsule read Dragon's Breath. Misty's dull brown eyes lit up with a manic glint.
"Beautiful!" she shrieked.
"Where shall we employ it?"
"On Brooke!" Misty squealed.
"What!"
"YES!...Just do it! MWAHAHA!"
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Blast and botheration! Brooke mentally screamed. In addition to feeling miserably awkward she now felt as though she was sitting in the fiery furnace. She squirmed and fidgeted in an effort to find a patch of cool air. No one paid attention since they were all squirming and fidgeting, too…out of boredom.
The poor brunette time traveler melted like a chocolate-iced cupcake at a Fourth of July picnic in Miami. Her squirming became more frantic and she was on the verge of throwing herself at one of the decorative fountains when someone finally noticed her predicament.
"I say you're sweating like a polar bear in Morocco, Mlle. Brooke!" Dom declared. Under cover of the table Cecily kicked her brother in the shin. Uncouth as Dom's observations may have been they were certainly true.
"Good Lord, Brooke! Are you all right?" Anna screamed, jumping to her feet in panic.
"I think I need…some fresh air," Brooke gasped before elegantly fainting onto the Vicomte de Chagny. Raoul caught her in his arms.
"She's hotter than a live coal," he yelped.
Misty and her minions giggled at his unintended double meaning. Peggy recapped the now empty bottle of dragon's breath. Struggling to regain her poise, Misty took note of the opportunities this event presented.
"Carmencita, Charlemagne, and Pudding, go clear off that balcony. Then stand guard at the door," she ordered. Said minions scampered away to do their mistress's bidding, snickering diabolically to them selves when they spied several foppish fellows moseying about the balcony.
Misty said to her remaining comrades, "Now we just need to distract the rest of this posh crowd from Brooke and Raoul." Right on cue a feather-crowned, lace-swathed upper-crust crone let out a hair-raising screech and passed out. Several other ladies followed suit.
"What the freak?" Naomipoe muttered. She saw Noni and her accomplices gleefully skipping out of the kitchen, empty cockroach jar in hand.
"Cockroaches! There are cockroaches on our food. Someone's going to pay for this outrage!" the first woman's husband bellowed. The restaurant erupted into chaos. Patrons screamed and danced on their chairs, waiters chased the offending insects with shoes, plates, fish, whatever weapons they could find, and the managers fled to their office for some stiff drinks.
In the midst of the tumult, the Vicomte's table remained solely interested in the welfare of the overheated Brooke. Misty leaned forward, hovering over Raoul like a shoulder…angel, and whispered an idea into his head.
"I think I'll take her out to the balcony and see if the night air doesn't revive her," Raoul said as he staggered to his feet, balancing Brooke in his arms. The Cheney siblings nodded dumbly. Anna made to stand and accompany them. Misty signaled to PhantomLover05 who clamped a hand on the redhead's shoulder and forced her to remain seated. Anna, though confused, obeyed the invisible power and stayed in her seat, watching Raoul cart Brooke out onto the curiously vacated balcony.
"Well, our work here is done," Misty said triumphantly. "I've got one last works to throw in this wrench, then it's back to the Fop Hunt."
"What are you going to do?" Little Lemon asked.
"Complicate things." The Authoress snapped her fingers and Algernon Moncrieff stepped out of thin air.
"Good evening, Cecily! Fancy meeting you here," the detective quipped. "Dominic. Jacques." He nodded to each man in turn before his sparkling blue eyes lighted upon the pale-faced, red-haired stranger. Algy was rendered completely speechless.
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"You are seriously messed up," Silent Phantasy commented to the smugly smiling Authoress.
"I know, but you wouldn't love me so well if I wasn't. Come, my pretties, we have a naked fop to catch." With a swirl of her silver cloak Misty led the way back through the magic mirror…on the wall.
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Meanwhile, on the balcony Brooke was coming to.
"What happened?" she mumbled, feebly lifting a hand to her forehead.
"You had a bit of fainting spell, Brooke," the Vicomte explained.
"Oh…Where are we now?"
"On the balcony of the restaurant."
Brooke nodded her comprehension. "Um…you can set me on my feet if you'd like," she said.
"And have you topple over the edge? No, I think I'll keep you here," Raoul declared, hugging Brooke closer to his chest. The girl's heart leapt into her throat and she turned her face away to gaze at the sea of lights sprawling before them.
Raoul frowned in concern. He had not stopped fretting over Brooke—and Anna's—frightful appearances. This overheating and fainting business doubled his anxiety for her health. Still…he suspected a renewal of the subject would not be well received; thus he looked out at the cityscape, too. Nearby, the bronze domes of the Opera House towered over the surrounding buildings as a gleaming homage to music…and the masked genius who had engineered its construction.
"Have you ever seen Paris from the top of the Opera House?" Raoul asked.
Brooke stiffened as visions of "All I Ask of You" danced through her head. "Yes, many times," she answered.
"I didn't know you frequented the Opera," Raoul exclaimed, half-excited, half-suspicious.
"I didn't know you did either," Brooke replied, a hint of accusation in her voice.
"I don't!...Not anymore that is," Raoul said hastily.
"Why not? Christine Daaé has all basically replaced La Carlotta as prima donna."
Raoul looked straight into Brooke's green eyes with an intensity that made her tremble.
"Surely you know by now that it is not Christine who occupies my thoughts," he growled.
Brooke swallowed. "Wh-what do you mean by that?"
Unconsciously tightening his grip on her, Raoul took a deep breath. "Brooke, I have thought of you everyday since returning from Perros. Everyday I hope to pass you on the street or meet you at a mutual friend's house. For months I've hoped…even prayed. I was beginning to think that you were a figment of my imagination…or a ghost."
Brooke choked on a weak laugh.
Raoul ignored it and rambled on, "I don't understand where you disappeared to. Please tell me where you live."
Brooke swallowed again and wrenched her eyes from Raoul's pleading gaze. Slowly, she wriggled free of his grasp and set her feet upon the balcony floor, turning away from the confused Vicomte.
"I can't tell you, Raoul," she whispered.
"Why on earth not? Is it that you don't want to see me? Brooke, have I been vain in assuming that you think of me in the same way I think of you?" Raoul demanded.
Brooke whirled to face him, "No, Raoul, it isn't that at all! If I could I would tell you, but there is too much at stake for my family. We…there are dark things that no one must know of."
Raoul stepped back, his smooth brow knitting in concern and suspicion. The shadows and light played across Brooke's face, creating the image of a…mask. Raoul gasped.
"You!" he cried, too astounded to be angry.
Brooke started back. "What is it?"
"The Spirit!" Raoul exclaimed. If possible, Brooke's face lost even more color, her eyes widening in terror.
"It is you! You were the Spirit at the Masque, with the Raven and Red Death…oh, lord…that means you…you are one of the legends…the Opera's haunts…and your brother is…" Raoul choked off his own ramblings and staggered back. Brooke darted forward, her arms outstretched and her face pleading with him.
"Please, Raoul, don't tell anyone!"
"So it's true then?"
"Yes! Yes, it's true. But you can't tell a soul, please, Raoul."
"But the Phantom of the Opera! He's a criminal and a lunatic, Brooke!"
"I am, too, Raoul! I help earn that twenty thousand francs per month, you know," Brooke retorted.
"And the lunacy?"
"I have some of that, too. But that has nothing to do with Erik."
"Erik?"
Brooke sighed, the weary sigh of a true phan who is explaining—for the umpteenth time—that, "Yes, the Phantom has a name."
"The Phantom, Raoul. His name is Erik."
"Oh…he has a name?"
"He is human! Of course he has a name," Brooke said vehemently. "Raoul, please don't tell anyone."
Raoul's sky blue eyes narrowed. "Why? Because a disaster beyond my imagination will occur?"
Brooke blinked. "How did you—never mind. There is some truth to that. If Erik finds out that you know then things might not go so well for you, but more than that…Erik is our guardian—Anna's and mine."
Raoul moved closer, protectively. "I could look after you. You have other friends, too. Like the Cheney's."
The brunette pulled a sour face. "I can't imagine living under the same roof as Dominic Cheney."
Raoul chuckled, "Point taken."
The girl sobered quickly and hastily explained, "But, Raoul, it isn't just that Erik is our guardian. He is our friend, our brother…or at least to me he is a brother. Anna's in love with him."
"Ah…that explains that then," Raoul remarked dryly.
Brooke giggled, then sobered again. "But in all seriousness, Raoul. You can't tell anyone about us."
"How did you even get mixed up with him?"
"It's complicated."
Raoul's features darkened as he stepped forward and gripped her shoulder. "Did he force—"
"No! It wasn't like that at all. If anything it was the other way around."
"What!"
Brooke the Vicomte with a steady gaze, "Raoul, I'll tell you everything if you swear on your father's grave to not breath a word of it to anyone."
The young man jerked back. "That is rather intense."
"I want you to understand how important this is to me."
Raoul exhaled and raked a hand though his brown curls. "Very well. You have my word."
"Good, but I can't tell you here."
"What! That isn't fa—" Raoul's protest was silenced as the coy brunette moved in close and place her dainty palms against his chest.
"Raoul, the balcony of a crowded restaurant is hardly the place to disclose such details. It's a long story and I would wish to do it justice."
The Vicomte didn't know what struck him more: her eloquence or her nearness. Whatever is was he dumbly nodded his compliance.
"Besides…I don't feel well," Brooke added as her head sagged against Raoul's chest. Pleasantly surprised, he wrapped her in his embrace. For several moments they remained in that position, blissfully content. At least the lady reluctantly with drew. A deep blush overcame her cheeks and she was too embarrassed to meet Raoul's eyes.
"Um…we should go in. Anna's probably having a heart attack."
Raoul chuckled. "Not so fast! Where shall I see you again?"
"Come to the opera house tomorrow."
"Is that not a little risky?"
"Maybe, but it would work best that way I can't leave the building after dawn because it's too dangerous. And Erik is an early riser…it would just be better this way."
"All right. I'll be there first thing in the morning."
"No, come in the afternoon. Everyone will be at rehearsal."
"How will I find you?"
Brooke laughed. "Oh, I'll find you."
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In the restaurant…
For several excruciatingly awkward seconds Algy remained motionless with his eyes fixed on Cecily's pretty red-haired friend. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. There was something haunting and vulnerable in her wary brown eyes and ghostly complexion that caught his fancy; although that ghostly complexion was currently being destroyed by a burning blush brought on by the extreme discomfort of the moment.
"Are you going to keep staring like a urchin in a candy store or do you want to be introduced?" Jacques' blustery voice broke through Algy's trance.
"What? Oh, of course! Cecily, would you be so kind as to introduce me to your friend?" Algy said.
A less-than-thrilled Cecily rose stiffly and said in a cold, formal tone, "M. Moncrieff, might I present Anna Leroux. We met in Perros over the summer. Anna, this is Algernon Moncrieff, a friend of the family."
Reluctantly, Anna stood, curtsied, and offered her hand to the detective. Algy eagerly ceased the proffered hand and planted a gallant kiss upon it.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mlle. Leroux," he purred in accented French.
"Don't bother with that horrid French of yours, M. Moncrieff. She speaks English fluently," Cecily snapped as she motioned for the Brit to be seated.
(And for the remainder of the chapter italics shall designate "English"
"Truly?" the gentleman quipped, eagerly addressing the redhead to exclusion of all the others.
"Yes."
"How fluent are you?"
"I speak English perfectly."
"And without a trace of a French accent! That is an accomplishment."
Anna nodded silently and concentrated on the crème brulee sitting before her. Algy didn't take the hint.
"Are you only visiting Paris or staying for the season?"
"Staying."
"Might I inquire where?"
Anna dodged the question effortlessly, "Isn't that a rather forward question?"
Algy chuckled. "I suppose it is, but surely you can answer it."
Anna switched languages. "Ask my friends here. I never give out my address."
"That is very true," Cecily interjected. "I just recently found the Lerouxs for the first time since leaving Perros."
"So you are not alone then, here in Paris?"
"Certainly not. My sister is on the balcony with the Vicomte de Chagny."
"And don't forget that queer brother of yours," Dom bawled around a mouthful of cake.
Cecily hissed at him and Anna visibly stiffened.
Algy laughed it off. "Every family has its oddities. Isn't that right, Cecily?"
The black-haired socialite glared at the charismatic detective. His behavior had her livid with jealousy, embarrassment, and irritation. She couldn't find in her heart to direct her animosity at Anna, because, even without knowledge of the girl's attachment to Erik, Cecily could plainly see that Anna did not relish the detective's obviously amorous overtures. (A/N: How's that for alliteration?)
"How do you know the Vicomte?" Algy asked.
"From Perros," Anna snipped in reply.
"Are he and you sister—"
"I really can't say." Just when Anna was about to throw her crème brulee in Algy's irritatingly perfect face Brooke and Raoul reappeared. Everyone stood and Algy was introduced to the newcomers. Anna managed to corner her cousin.
"I want to go home," she hissed in Brooke's ear.
"But—"
"NOW!"
"Okay, okay." Brooke turned to Raoul and said, "We had a lovely day, but our brother will be missing us. So I'm afraid we must leave you."
Roaul nodded. "I hope we shall meet again soon. I'll escort you to the door."
The girls bid farewell to Cecily, making promises to visit her. Much to Anna's frustration, Algy not only followed them out of the restaurant, but also insisted on carrying Anna's purchases for her. She seethed with loathing as he examined the parcels meant for Erik.
"Do you like olives?" he asked.
"I hate olives," she snarled.
"Then why did you buy some?"
"They're for my brother."
"Oh! And the irises?"
"For my brother."
Ahead of the mismatched couple Raoul shook his moppy head at Algy's density. At the door of the restaurant, to the detective's surprise, Raoul neither offered his own carriage to the ladies or his company on their journey home.
"Might I escort you home?" Algy inquired as he handed Anna her belongings.
"That is quite unnecessary," she replied hastily. Confused, Algy stepped back. Raoul came to her rescue like an older brother and, pressing an affectionate kiss to her hand, helped her into the carriage. Algy watched in silence as Raoul exchanged a tenderer farewell with Brooke and was surprised to hear Anna say to the driver, "To the Opera, s'il vous plait."
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"That Algy guy seemed to really like you," Brooke ventured.
Anna exploded, "Thank you, Captain Obvious! I hadn't noticed."
"What's wrong with that? It's not like you have to like him back."
"He got on my nerves. All charm and good looks and expecting me to fall in love with him on the spot."
"Good looks don't appeal to you any more?"
"No, they don't."
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At the batcave…
Erik was so deep in his composition that he did not notice the lateness of the hour until he heard the door to the Rue Scribe entrance open. In an instant he was on his feet, eager to see his beloved companions. He rushed out of the bedroom, but stopped at the kitchen door when he heard them talking.
"I can't wait to go again," Brooke's voice quipped.
"I can!" Anna hissed. Erik could hear her foul mood.
"Oh, come on, Anna. It was fun."
"It smelled and it was too bright."
"You're turning into a regular hermit."
"Whatever. I want to see Erik."
The Phantom started at the sound of his name. Not wishing to be caught eavesdropping, he pushed the door open and entered the kitchen. Elated by the very sight of him, Anna forgot all restraint and threw herself at him and cried his name. Erik instinctively put out his arms to catch her. Brooke offered the bewildered Angel of Music a sly smirk and a quirked eyebrow as she slipped out of the kitchen.
Erik internally panicked…actually he might have internally hemorrhaged. There was a woman holding on to him. Not just any woman, but the very woman for whom he had been composing not five minutes before. And not only was she holding, she was clinging to him as though she feared he would disappeared the moment she let go. Her arms were clasped tightly about her neck and her face was buried in his bony shoulder.
At that moment an exquisite ache bloomed in Erik's heart. The feeling was not foreign to him. It had been haunting him since the Fourth of July, but he had fought against it…until now. The longing and loneliness of today had broken through his strength and reserve, leaving him powerless to fight the ache of attraction any longer. With a soft sigh, Erik gave into the pull.
For her part, Anna had never been so relieved in all her life. The day above ground had taken a toll on her and the encounter with Algy had shaken her. She felt that her love and loyalty for Erik was something sacred and Algy had intruded on that.
At last the girl pushed herself away, smiling sheepishly.
"Sorry…got a little carried away," she mumbled.
"There's no need to apologize, mon merle, it is nice to be missed," Erik replied tenderly. "What did you buy?"
Anna's embarrassment evaporated instantly. "Oh! I got you some presents!" she chirped.
"Presents? For me…but I thought…" Erik stuttered.
"What? That I'd spend it all on myself? I'll do that next time. Here…open them!" Anna bounced on her heels as she pushed the two parcels toward the Phantom. Erik blushed self-consciously as he unwrapped the heavier of the two packages. Out tumbled a huge jar of olives. Erik laughed.
"Trying to fatten me up?" he teased.
"It's the one food you never turn down…unless Christine's really depressed you. I had a heck of a time bargaining for those. Rao…uh, really tough vendors in the Latin district," Anna spit out, breathing a silent prayer of thanks that she had caught her near-slip up. Erik didn't notice as he unwrapped the bouquet of irises. He stared at the flowers dumbfounded.
Flowers…Anna had bought him flowers.
"I thought the lair could use some brightening up," Anna said.
"They're lovely," Erik choked out. On impulse he held the blossoms to Anna's cheek.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Just seeing how it would look."
"If I was an iris?"
Erik chuckled. "No. The color of the flowers looks twice as lovely against your skin. I want to see about having a dress made for you in this exact shade."
"Oh!" Anna exclaimed as she tried to hide the blush on her face. "Does that mean you'd come shopping with us?"
Erik grimaced. "We'll see."
The redhead squealed in delight, gave Erik a quick hug, and then bolted out the door to tell Brooke. Erik sighed as he regarded the irises again. He decided that they were his favorite flower. He'd never forget the smile on Anna's face as she ran to embrace him because in that moment the long dormant hope that he could be a normal man resurfaced. She gazed at him in the same manner he had seen countless women gaze at handsome men. With her things would be different.
Gently, Erik installed the irises in the loveliest vase he could find and toted it back to the organ, almost reverently placing the flowers on a stool beside the instrument. He picked up his pen to compose again, with fresh inspiration, when a chorus of shrill giggles exploded from the Lothlorien tent. Erik growled and cursed. Maybe companionship was overrated. He looked at the irises. Maybe not…
Inside the tent Brooke whispered, "Do you think he suspects anything about today?"
Anna shook her redhead, "Nope. Not at all."
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A/N: The Gerry and Kat were wrapped up in an intense game of Texas Hold 'Em when Nota Lone came to. The minion, still reeling from the Gerry's passionate kiss, almost levitated into a sitting position. She blinked and glanced around the den. Her roommates remained completely oblivious to her presence. Had Kat and her armory not been present Nota would have found herself with an ideal glomping opportunity, but as it was the minion figured she'd best respect the Gerry's personal space.
Thus, left with nothing to do, Nota sidled over to Misty's cluttered desk. The laptop glowed innocently, the files marked REVIEWS were stuffed into a magazine holder, and the official minion list was…missing. Nota frowned. That didn't seem right.
"Hey, Gerry?" she ventured timidly.
"Huh?" came the grunted reply.
"Where does Misty keep her official minion list?"
"On the bulletin board above the desk."
"It isn't there."
"What!" The Gerry leapt to his feet, sending a whirlwind of cards into the air, effectively ending the game, which hadn't been going too well for him anyway. He stomped over to where Nota stood pointing to the suspiciously blank space on the bulletin board.
"That isn't good," he muttered. "We have to find it."
"I just did," Kat announced, her tone dark and foreboding. Ever so slowly, Nota and the Gerry turned around. A truly hideous sight met their eyes.
"OH MY SWEET OPERA GHOST!" Nota shrieked.
Standing in the den doorway, with the official minion list wrapped around his midsection like a paper kilt, was…Paddy.
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P.S. Oh, on a very cool note, I was researching for my report on Jane Austen (a.k.a. Goddess of the English Language) and found two places in which she was referred to as an 'authoress.' I felt so highly privileged to share the same title. Anywho. Tootles!