Uh, this is just a random plot bunny that came to me earlier this evening, when i had (guess what?) hiccups. Yeah. Don't ask.
disclaimer: As much as I'd like to, I don't own The Phantom of the Opera.
"I freak—hic!—ing hate—hic!—hiccups!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. Frustrated, I jumped around my room, the stereo playing my Phantom of the Opera soundtrack on full blast.
Unfortunately for me, my complaints went unheard; Mlle. Daae was far too busy singing her heart out during her debut, and my parents and younger siblings were out, leaving me home alone.
I continued to jump around, hiccupping all the while. I suppose I must have looked like a crazed lunatic to anyone observing; lucky for me, there was no one. I had long stopped paying attention to my stereo, so I nearly screamed in fright when Christine hit the high note in "Think of Me".
"Dear God!" I shouted, rounding on the stereo sitting innocently on the floor by my bed; how strange it was that I had never before considered the piece of electronic equipment as capable of guilt or innocence. "You scared me!"
Freakishly enough, the music stopped. "I'm sorry," said a voice from behind.
I spun around. There, standing in front of me in her wonderfully sparkly-blue stage costume, was Christine.
What the heck is going on! my mind screamed from inside my head. "Oh, it's okay," I told her, heedless of my confused brain.
She smiled—no, beamed. "I like your dress," she said.
Puzzled, I looked down to get a glimpse of my attire. My T-shirt and jeans had been replaced by a beautiful, scandalously-strapless red silk dress, complete with petticoats, corset, and matching arm-length gloves. Bewildered, yet pleased, I pushed aside the skirt of the dress to take a peek at my new footwear: dainty black silk slippers. I smiled back at her. "I like yours, too."
She was about to say something, but instead of words, her open mouth let out a loud hiccup. She looked away, slightly embarrassed.
"Christine! Christine!" a voice called out, strangely musical.
"Christine…" a much softer voice finished.
I looked around in surprise: Christine and I were standing in the chapel of the Opera Populaire!
"Where in the world have you been hiding? Really, you were perf—" Meg abruptly stopped singing when she saw me standing there with Christine. I could have sworn that I heard the sounds of violin strings suddenly breaking, as well as a muffled crash as the music I hadn't even noticed had been playing in the background screeched to a halt.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, looking probably as bewildered as I must have just a few minutes ago.
"Meg!" exclaimed Christine, hurrying over to her friend. "Do you—hic!—have to be so—hic!—rude about it?"
"I—I…uh…" I stuttered as they both looked at me. I wished I had my dark curtain of hair to hide behind, but it was currently swept up into an elaborate twist on the top of my head.
I was officially stuck. There was no way I could tell them my real name: it was far too 21st century to fit in here. "I, my name is…Agathe," I said, remembering the name given to Mme. Giry in this one phic I was obsessed with.
"Oh. Okay!" said Meg brightly, immediately dropping the subject. Turning to Christine, she said, "Where on earth did those hiccups come from?"
"I—hic!—don't kn—hic!—ow!" she wailed, frustrated.
"Hey, ladies!" said a most-definitely-masculine-yet-unbearably-feminine voice. I turned around to look at the newcomer.
Christine and Meg gasped. "Raoul!" they squealed in unison, hurrying up to him.
The fop grinned, sweeping a lock of abnormally long hair behind one of his ears—I half expected them to be pointed—and eying my outfit appreciatively. "Who's your friend?" he said.
I glared at him, wanting desperately to wring his little neck, like any good phangirl would.
"Oh, that's just Agathe," said Christine breathlessly, practically fawning all over him.
"That's—hic!—totally groovy," he replied, winking at me.
'Groovy'? I thought. Something is most definitely wrong here.
Well, DUH! my mind retorted, but I ignored it.
Meg giggled. "It looks like you caught Christine's hiccups, Raoul."
He was about to reply when a dark figure suddenly swooped down from the ceiling.
Meg and Raoul screamed, Christine yelling "Angel!", while I stood, motionless. He's here! I thought, about ready to faint, though the corset probably had something to do with that. The Phantom of the Opera!
He looked at the three figures in distaste. "You people make me sick," he said.
They ran out of the chapel and down the hall, screaming their heads off.
"Hello," I said, tentatively stepping towards him.
He looked at me, puzzled, then gave a loud hiccup.
"Hello? Hello! Wake up!"
"Wha…?" I said.
My sister was shaking my shoulders, "The Point of No Return" playing on the stereo in the background. "You fell asleep."
"Hiccups…" I mumbled.
She laughed. "What?"
"I—I had hiccups."
"And your point is…?" she said, snatching my notebook out of my limp hands.
"Hey! Don't read that!" I yelled, grabbing for it, but she held it out of my reach.
"What the heck?" she said, reading what I had written there. "How freaking retarded are you?"
"What do you mean?" I demanded.
"'That's—hic!—totally groovy'?" she read.
I blushed. "I told you," I replied, snatching the notebook back. "I had hiccups."