SeA here.

Disclaimer: Don’t own the flock. Don’t own Fang…don’t own anyone…except…I’ll let you know if I find anyone…Until then, assume everyone belongs to JP…the story-line kinda belongs to me…

Hey guys, let’s hear it for AU! Whoop whoop! (Alternate Universe)

You want a straight summery?

Max isn’t an avian-hybrid! gasp None of the flock is—heck, I’m even sure if they know each other. Fang, though is an avian-hybrid. He escaped the School, and has been living on his own, inside a theatre in New York—haunts it, you might say. One day, a girl (Max) tries out for the part of Christine, in “The Phantom of the Opera”, which is playing at the theatre. Fang (though, for a while he is not called that) teaches her to sing. Sam is Max’s boyfriend, and plays the part of Raoul. And, well Fang gets jealous…you might say this is a bit like “Moulin Rouge!”—the play they are performing resembles their own lives. Err…but without all of the…err…stuff

Ari—Max—Fang love triangle. “Phantom of the Opera” Maximum Ride cross-over, you might say. (Don’t see those too often.) Give me a brake—I just saw the Broadway play (sigh), watched the movie for the millionth time, have been listening to the music, and am currently reading the book. Deal.

Enjoy!

Oh—and pretend Max and Fang can sing.

SeA

The man in the rafters of New York’s prime theatre went by many names. The manger of the building called him Publicity—he was one of the reasons every night was a full house. The newspapers called him a modern version of the Opera Ghost, from Gaston Leroux’s The Phantom of the Opera. But, for the most part, he was known as the “Avenging Angel” or the “Angel of Death”, for more than one accident had happened since he’d taken up residence in the theatre. On a more personal level, some of the workers and actors simply called him “A.A” (“Avenging Angel”) or even “Erik”, as was Leroux’s infamous character’s true name.

The creature—for, with a glance, one could tell he was obviously not entirely human—slowly stood, still watch the tall blonde that had just walked through the large, oak front doors. She seemed familiar, somehow—but that was not what attracted the Phantom to her so.

In a word? Beauty. Never before had he seen such a gorgeous and winning being—the room seemed to brighten when she entered, and everything else seemed dull in comparison to her unblemished, semi-tan skin. Her hair was different than most—brown, but with natural blonde highlights. Slender hands reached up to touch a runaway strand and tuck it behind her ear.

He suddenly realized she was saying something—meaning someone else had to be in the room…unless she’d seen him. Which was impossible.

“Mr. Andrews?”

Aw, Mr. Mart Andrews—the owner of the grand New York Theatre.

Glancing over his shoulder to look at the young lady, the man asked, “Are you one of the people trying out for “The Phantom of the Opera”?”

The winter musical for this year—“The Phantom of the Opera”. How coincidental.

“My name is Max Ride—”

Max Ride. Maxine Ride. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.

“Oh yes, Ms. Ride! I got your message. You are right on time,” Andrews said, glancing at his watch quickly. “You may try out here if you want—I am free for the next few moments.”

The girl, Max, took a deep breath. “Alright.”

She cleared her throat, and the Phantom shifted slightly. He knew that he should move down to his box—box 5, like the original Opera Ghost—to see the audition, but he was to fascinated by the woman’s beauty to breathe, much less move.

“Do I sing acappella?” she asked, wringing her hands nervously.

“Is that alright?”

She nodded.

“Well then, please begin.”

For a long moment, all was silent, and both Andrew and Erik began to wonder whether Ms. Ride was going to be able to sing or not. But, then, her voice suddenly rang out:

“Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye.”

The Phantom leaned closer, taking care not to expose himself.

“Remember me once in a while—please promise me you'll try.”

In all honesty, her voice wasn’t particularly spectacular. Better than the NYT’s normal singer, Lissa Carmichael, to be sure. Her horrid shrieking could drive even the deafest person to his grave. And yet, as he listened, he slowly began to become lost in the melody of her words. True, she was average in singing—but he realized she had great potential. With the right teacher, of course, she could be a sensation—as brilliant and stunning as the original Christine Daaé.

With, say, him as her teacher.

At this, he almost smiled.

“When you find that, once again, you long to take your heart ba—”

“Miss Ride.”

Max stopped mid-word at Andrews’ sudden, and rather rude intrusion. “Yes sir?”

“Your voice is quite pretty—”

At this, Ms. Ride blushed, and murmured, “Thank you, sir.”

“—but,” continued Andrews, “I do not believe that it is quite Christine material. I am sorry.”

Max blinked slowly, before nodding. “Yes, sir. I see.”

As if in a daze, she carefully turned, and walked toward the stage exit, picking up the bag she’d left at the door on her way out.

The Phantom growled something under his breath, before cautiously moving toward the place only he knew about—that place that led to the back hallway. Where Max had gone. He nimbly made his way over the ropes and wooden planks. No sound was heard, and had Andrews looked up, he would have seen absolutely nothing, not even a shadow.

Now, to find Ms. Ride before it was too late.

What did you think? Way AU, but oh well. Something to spice things up a bit, I guess.

For those of you who are hitting their computer (gosh, don’t hurt the messenger) and screaming “WHY IS FANG THE BAD GUY?!”: I personally don’t really think the Phantom is a bad guy. I mean, he’s no boy scout or anything, but I just love him to death. Err…so yea, he killed some guys…we all have our little problems, right? And anyways, I just couldn’t bear to make Fang be Raoul. I just couldn’t he’s too…I don’t know. I just don’t’ like him. I am not embarrassed to admit that I have a crush on the Phantom, and who better than dear, beloved Fang?

And no, I am not mistaken—I know Max did not get the job. But, I suppose I can tell you, that she does…eventually. But sometimes, the how is better than the what.

Note: Someone asked a very good question—am I going by the “Phantom of the Opera” book? Because Erik is in his fifties.

No, to be honest. First off, this is more about the “Phantom” musical, because that is the play that is going to be preformed at the NYT (which doesn’t exist, sorry), and it kinda mirrors their lives. (you shall see!)

Fang is not in his fifties in this story—I just can’t do that. No, he is still only a few months younger than Max—in this story, I think that’s eighteen. The people just call him Erik because he reminds them of the original Phantom—and also, it’s not like they really actually see him enough to know how young he is. Think “Catch Me If You Can”—they all thought this guy was 27 or something, but he was really only 17.

Also—What’s Lissa’s last name? Does it even say? I couldn’t find it anywhere…

But hmm, this does leave us to one, interesting question. Christine always chooses Raoul, right? Hmm…