I believe this piece requires a bit of introduction. During a particularly trying bout of writer's block, I decided to write a random piece regarding a Phanfic author and her conversation with her reluctant, but obligated, dark muse: the Opera Ghost himself. The song "Memory" from Andrew Lloyd Weber's musical "Cats" is the song that Erik sings. Ha! I said it! I'll say it again! Erik! [Author sticks her tongue out at ERIK] Ha! One more time!
[OPERA GHOST glares at her] You are pushing my temper...
Oh hush. Now, in case you haven't figured it out, which I'm sure you have, as you are all very intelligent Phanfic readers, actual pieces of the 'story' are in bold text. When the Phantom speaks or does something it is in italics. The author's text and actions are in plain text. All actions are contained within [brackets], and are either [italics] or [plain text], depending on who is performing the action. Again, I know you are all intelligent enough, but ERIK poked me until I did it. Would you stop with that thing? It's really annoying to be continually poked in the side with that stupid fake sword from your masquerade costume!
Red Death was INGENIOUS! And then there is...
Oh hush. On with the story.
Looking at his handiwork, the Phantom smiled.
I don't really smile. It's more of a grin, or a smirk. Evil, twisted grinning and smirking.
Fine. Have it your way.
Looking at his handiwork, the Phantom smirked. The plan
I do believe that grin would work better in this context.
What are you, an opera ghost or an editor? Geez!
You're the one who insists on writing these stories about me.
Well, after the first one, I'm kind of stuck with you. You kept apparating right next to me.
I am not a crossover Phantom. I do not apparate as though I was just back from Hogwarts. I am a GHOST! I enter stealthily and supernaturally.
And apparating isn't supernatural?
Supernatural, yes. But that wretched popping sound takes most of the stealth out of the venture.
True. So you kept 'entering stealthily and supernaturally' right over my shoulder while I was typing. Who knew that writing a phanfic was a crime punishable by eternal stalkage?
You should have read the contract.
Who knew there was a contract?
Ignorance is no excuse. Although you do have a good deal of it, so a new verdict might have to be reached on whether your level of ignorance is an excuse or no.
You know what? Just watch it or I'm going to write a Raoul/Christine fic with you dressed in a pink tutu running around the Opera House thinking you're Tinkerbell at the end.
Must it be a pink tutu?
You prefer puce?
You've threatened me with that before. Is that even really a color?
Yes, it's a purplish-type thing. Look it up. Or, if I can be so cruel to you as to Crossover Color Pick, I will borrow urple from Miss Cam at the Official Fanfiction University of Middle-earth.
Not even you would sink to urple.
[Cackling malevolently] You think I wouldn't. You honestly think I could spend this much time around an evil genius and not come up with some ideas of my own.
Maniacal genius. Not evil. I am not evil.
But your grins and smirks are.
Well, yes, but evil grins and smirks do not make me evil.
Fine, I'm sorry I hurt your feelings.
You did not hurt my feelings! I have no feelings! I'm a ghost!
A ghost who is currently playing my guitar. That's a little weird, considering that you're supposed to be non-physical and all that. And that isn't, you wouldn't….[Typing stops as author throws hands over her ears to protect herself from the song]
Every streetlamp! Seems to beat a fatalistic warning! Someone mutters! And the streetlamp gutters! And soon it will be morning!
I bow my head in homage to the torture master. Heck, I didn't even know you could play that on guitar.
I am the Angel of Music. I will play whatever I wish. I could play that song on anything.
[Looks warily at author] I don't like that look in your eyes.
[Straightening up and doing her best to look innocent] What look? I wasn't giving you any look. Just, um, admiring the way you handle the guitar. How about we change subjects?
Perhaps that would be in both our interests. Are you going to move on with the story?
The one with you in a puce tutu?
The one where I'm smirking at my evil genius.
I thought you said grin was better.
Aaagh! Do not mock me! You shall follow my instructions to the letter, or…
Yes, a disaster beyond imagination will occur. Phangirl here, I know these things. And in case you haven't noticed, there are no chandeliers in this house. And you can forget about that too.
About what? I wasn't thinking anything.
Wow, that sounds like a delayed echo. But there's no rope either, so no magical lassos while I'm typing.
[mutters] I couldn't anyway. It's in the contract.
What was that?
Nothing. It was unimportant.
Nothing you say is unimportant, my little ghosty-kins!
Stop with that. It deranges me.
Oh, does Mr. Phantom need a big boost of self-esteem? I know just how to do that…
[Attempting to slip from the author's iron-grip of a hug] Get off me, you foul creature!
Oh, I love you, my little angely-wangely!
[Emerging, a bit ruffled, straightens his cravat as he dives across the room] You fiend! How dare you presume to touch me! I should well, I should….
Punjab me? You can't. It's in the contract.
I thought you didn't know about the contract.
I didn't. But I do have exceptional hearing, Mr. 'It's in the contract.' And don't pout like that; it's rather unattractive.
What do I care about being unattractive to an impudent little girl like yourself?
That's much better. You look so much better when you have the whole righteous rage thing going on. It goes better with your outfit. In fact, it sends shivers down my spine.
Shivering spine? Then why are you smiling?
I never said they were bad shivers. Maybe I'm a bit of a masochist.
You do not even know the meaning of that word.
Wanna test that theory?
[Already on the other side of the room, he presses himself into the wall, trying to disappear] You revolt me!
[Typing something into her computer] You know, revolt is a synonym of 'turn off'. Ironically enough, 'turn on' is also listed.
[Peering over author's shoulder onto computer screen] As an antonym!
I didn't say it was listed as a synonym.
Your reason truly eludes me sometimes.
Reason? It got you pried off the far wall, didn't it?
And there you have my reason.
[Silence as author continues this particular piece of the story]
Raoul and Christine descended the stairs still singing, blithely unaware of the heartbroken and vengeful melody being weaved in with their joyous song.
There. Finished. Well, not quite. What do you think, Erik? Any 'ghost writing' you have? [Snickers at her own bad joke] Erik?
You are not supposed to call me that.
Are you ok? I didn't do anything to upset…
UPSET! You write that scene in painfully descriptive detail, and you don't expect me to be UPSET! Insolent fool!
Wow. Um. Yeah. Sorry?
[Righteous rage having passed, he collapses onto the nearest sit-able object] Just finish so I can leave.
Erik… [pauses, waiting to be reproached for calling him Erik] You know I can't change this into an EC story, right? It would go against everything I believe in.
[Hissing through his teeth] Yes…
But it is an EOC.
If you write that I end up with some Mary Sue creature, I shall disregard the contract.
Ok…Your eyes are really scaring me.
Then reassure me that you do not have anything…inconvenient… planned for this horrible piece of yours.
I actually don't have anything yet…
You see! You have written me into eternal misery! Cruel thing!
Snap out of it!
NO! All of you do this to me! Writing me as some Gerik do-gooder, misled by the world. Christine! Not some wretched invention of yours! Christine Daae!
Get a hold of yourself!
I should, I should… [Stepping closer to her, his eyes light with an unnatural fire, and his hands reach out for her neck]
[Terrified, author does the only thing she can think of that has ever stopped the Phantom from killing his victim]
[Sputtering, Phantom backs away] Why did you just do that?
Because you were dangerously close to breaking the contract. And don't you dare spit on my carpet. Wait a minute, are you crying? I'm not that bad a kisser.
I am a ghost! Ghosts do not cry!
Well, last time I checked, you couldn't kiss ghosts either. Although I did just live a Phangirl fantasy. At least I can accurately write a Phantom kiss now. And you didn't respond to the 'bad kisser' thing. As a gentleman, you are supposed to respond, 'Oh, you're not so horrible as that. It was the beauty of the idea that brings tears to my eyes.' Or something like that.
You do realize what that was, right?
A cruel attempt on my life?
Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of my first kiss, but hey, whatever floats your boat.
You heard me, buddy boy. Possibly the only girl in history who's gotten her first kiss from the Phantom of the Opera. Not a bad claim, all in all. Oh, your hairs a little ruffled out of the wig on your left side.
[Meticulously arranges his hair in front of the mirror] Better?
Gosh, you're worse than a Valley Girl. 'Like, is my hair, like, in the right place? And, like, my makeup isn't smudged by those, like, stupid tears? As if!'
[Regards the author carefully] That wasn't a half bad impression.
What? Where did that come from?
Try something else.
Like what? I can't imitate people. I can only do accents. Accents on ENGLISH. I don't speak French well enough to be understood, much less imitate an accent.
Yes, well, that's a fault I may well overlook. Try something else. Something complicated. New Jersey.
It ain't 'Noo Jer-zee.' It's New Joisey.
Not bad. Cockney?
Any dunce wit' 'alf a loaf can rat'le off Cockney.
Not bad. Where did you learn that phrase?
[Looks guiltily away] I refuse to say.
You have no choice. One does not deny the Opera Ghost.
I'll deny whomever I please, thank you. I refuse. This is me, refusing. Don't give me that look. Stop it. I said stop it! [Defeated] Fine. I saw it in merkenashlee.
You saw it where?
Slow. Enunciate. Americans can never enunciate!
I can too e-nun-ci-ate! I said Mary Kate and Ashley! [Slaps her hand over her mouth, aghast that she has just admitted to having watched the Olsen twins]
[Also aghast at this confession] I pray that you aren't serious.
[Angry at his criticism] And so what if I am? What business is it of yours what movies I've seen? Hmm? And how do you know who Mary Kate and Ashley are anyway?
I don't believe it. You watched them too!
No, I would never do such a thing!
You do speak French! And how dare you call me a climber! I was not climbing anything.
Don't change the subject! You watched Mary Kate and Ashley! The series or the movies?
I refuse to answer anything more in this line of questioning.
You're not American! You can't claim the 5th on me! I can't believe that the almighty Phantom of the Opera watched Mary Kate and Ashley! What's next? A confession of owning Taylor Swift albums?
Oh. My. Gosh. I think I may have just lost all respect for you. Ever. No fear of the Phantom, ever, ever again. Every time I see you, even in your sexy all-black righteous rage, I will think, 'He listens to Taylor Swift.' Ruined! All my perfectly good time and effort on personifying a realistic, intimidating Phantom are RUINED!
If you are finished wailing, I will finish. I use them as a portion of a new torture device. They are strangely effective. Except on Mary Sue authors. They seem to enjoy it. I tend to play actual opera to them; it drains them faster than they can say, 'But I'm the love of your life!' [Shudders at the thought of Mary Sues and their authors]
Oh. Well, ok then. My efforts are not ruined. That makes me feel better. Well, I think I'm finished for today. Tomorrow, same bat time, same bat place?
[Shakes his head in annoyance and resignation] I have no choice…
Oh yes. It's in the contract, isn't it? [Grins maliciously] You're right, grin does work much better than smirk. [Posts now completed work, and watches sadly as Erik apparates from the room]
Ah-hem. EXITS stealthily and supernaturally. AND DON'T CALL ME THAT!
Fine. [Watches as PHANTOM EXITS STEALTHILY AND SUPERNATURALLY]
So he's gone. He-heh. Until we meet again, my apparating Erik-kins! [Chuckles evilly as she shuts off her computer]