Meg approached the lair the next morning with the air of a soldier meeting the enemy at the front line. She knew what she had to do. It was only fair.
His back was to her, at his pipe organ as always. He was so busy scribbling he didn't bother facing her, though it was obvious he knew she was there. At least he was writing music again.
Meg stood behind him, hands folded. "Monsieur? Monsieur Erik?"
She finally caught his attention. He stopped writing and raised his head, but still he did not face her.
She took a deep breath then plunged. "Monsieur, I apologize for my actions yesterday. No matter our disagreement, it was terribly inappropriate of me to destroy your mask. There was no excuse for that. I'm sorry."
He did not speak.
She twitched impatiently. "I can make you a new mask! Out of parchment or something. I'm sure it won't be as nice as the other, but" –
"There is no need, mademoiselle." He turned slowly around.
She gasped. She was an idiot not to notice the string around the back of his head before.
He was wearing the usual mask.
"How" –
He snorted derisively. "My dear, do you really think I owned only one mask alone? I have a whole crateful down below." With a sneer he turned back to his music.
"Oh" – Here she was berating herself for something that didn't really matter in the end. Of course, it still hadn't been nice of her; but he could have spoken before she went on like that!
However, her anger quickly gave way to her most dominant emotion: curiosity. She frowned, thinking. "Monsieur, you're such a clever man, so why haven't you ever created a mask that looks realistic? Like…anybody's face?"
He stiffened. He turned back to her, cocking the eyebrow uncovered by the mask. "Why, you make it sound so simple, mademoiselle."
His voice was low and dark.
Whether deliberately or not, Meg ignored the warning tone and simply shrugged. "Oh, well. Just a thought." More soberly, she said, "I do hope you can forgive my thoughtlessness earlier with the mask, monsieur." She brightened. "Anyway, I must be off. Rehearsals. Good day, monsieur!"
Her conscience cleared, it was with a lighter step that Meg hurried out of the lair.
She is like a thoughtless bird, hopping from branch to branch, uncaring who she annoys with her inopportune chirping!
"A mask like anybody's face," Erik grumbled mockingly as he returned to his music.
He scowled.
"Mademoiselle, you must stop shrieking and closing your eyes! You will never hit your target that way, and God forbid you might hurt someone!" Jacques Chauvet struggled to hold back his laughter as he scolded the young dancer on the shooting range just outside the city limits, in a remote clearing in the woods.
As part of her training, Meg agreed to a couple quick lessons with Chauvet, Perrin, and Marcus. Madame Giry was busy with the ballet chorus, and so she sent Erik along with Meg to act as chaperone.
The great opera ghost reduced to the Giry women's errand boy, Erik thought scornfully. Still, he made a formidable figure standing behind the officers, tall and wrapped in his black cloak.
What a ridiculous figure Meg Giry made now. Her hand shook as she held the gun, constantly missing the target as she indeed shrieked and looked away.
Stephen Marcus groaned in exasperation. "My dear girl! I'm sure your reticence is very feminine and a credit to your sex, but little good that will do you if things happen to take a sour turn" –
"A sour turn?" The Phantom suddenly interjected. His tone was challenging. "Tell me, Monsieur Marcus. Do you foresee a scenario involving Miss Giry that will indeed turn sour?"
Marcus took in his tight posture, but gave it no heed.
"One never knows, monsieur."
Meg was quite red now. "I'll get it this time," she announced.
She straightened herself nobly and then aimed.
But the minute she pulled the trigger she shrieked, squeezing her eyes shut.
The bullet missed the target by a foot.
It was not the frustration on Chauvet and Perrin's faces that did it. Nor was it Erik's quiet contempt.
It was the sound of Marcus's laughter. The man was practically doubled over.
That made all the difference.
Meg felt a rush of anger and determination burn through her.
Bright jade eyes narrowed, she raised her gun once more.
She did not look away or make a sound as she pulled the trigger.
The bullet hit the center of the target.
A moment of stunned silence.
Then Chauvet's low whistle. "That, my dear, is far more impressive."
Even the ever reserved David Perrin was animated. He raced over to the target and studied the small black hole at its center. "Indeed! What a quick study you are, mademoiselle."
Slightly smug, Meg merely curtseyed and giggled, all hardness gone from her expression.
Her self-possession remained, however.
Meanwhile, the two remaining men stood quiet and contemplative.
Neither could forget the fire in her narrowed pale eyes for those few quick moments.
The contrast between the flames in her eyes and her current girlish charm fascinated Erik and Marcus all the more.
Erik stole a glance at Stephen Marcus. Then his own eyes narrowed.
A mask like anybody else's face, he thought vaguely.
A/N: Sorry, I know this is super short. I hesitated writing Meg with a gun, since I'm scared of all the LND jokes.
Stupid LND. Ruining everything for everyone. Barf.