New Life for Erik
by Angel, Crysania, and Kathryn
Once upon a time there was a chorus girl named Christine. She was very sad and had lost her will to sing after the death of her father. One night, she was in her dressing room and heard a strange voice coming from her mirror. The strange and magical voice, a voice unlike any she had ever heard. A voice so beautiful she was sure it was the voice her father had promised her on her death bed: her Angel of Music. [insert Heavenly choir here
The Voice said, "Yo."
Christine's perfect brow wrinkled into a puzzled frown. "Beg your pardon?" she said.
"Yo, Christine. I'm here to make you an offer you can't refuse." [insert mobster music here
(Christine thought this line would catch on sometime in the future.)
In the meantime...
"Are you my Angel of Music?" she asked breathlessly.
"Yeah...um...whatevah works," said the Voice.
"Angel, I give you my soul!" Christine cried.
"That's ok. You can keep that. I just want your body."
Christine paused, a little confused, but resolute. "But of course my Angel! Anything for you!"
"That's right Christine. The Heaven I'm gonna make for you."
The mirror suddenly swung open in front of her and strange multi-coloured lights dazzled her eyes.
(Christine thought this would catch on sometime in the future too.)
She beheld a strange site. The vision standing before her had no face. Only...fur...purple fur. Why, this wasn't what she expected from her Angel! Her father had made no mention of purple fur. But perhaps fashion was different in Heaven. And she, as a simple mortal would not dare to question the fashion sense of the Divine!
The vision moved forward in one smooth motion and the flashing lights from behind the mirror showed her that he was covered in purple fur!
Christine's eyes grew wider and wider as it approached. Before it could touch her, her eyes fluttered shut as she sank into a swoon at the purple vision's feet.
The purple vision said, "Dammit! Dey all do dat! Whassup wit dese white wimmins?" Unceremoniously, he flung Christine's limp body over his shoulder and left through the mirror.
Christine awoke, visions of purple still swirling behind her eyes. "Angel?" she whispered timidly, not altogether sure she wanted a furry purple Angel. Was that the best her father could send her? Couldn't she trade him in on a better model? She mentally began reviewing everything she had ever read in her Bible about Angels, and could think of nowhere that mentioned furry Angels of any sort.
(Christine had a feeling that purple fur was not going to catch on in the future.)
She looked around, searching frantically for signs of her...Angel? From somewhere, strains of exotic drum-beat driven music could be heard.
Then her Angel (?) stepped through the door. [insert 70's porno music here She put her hand down on the chair in which she had been resting and felt...FUR!!!!! She screamed and jumped back.
"Yo bitch...chill! It's just ma coat." The voice was vaguely familiar, although its appearance was radically different. Where there was once purple fur, there was now...gold...and blue! And zebra stripes??!! His shimmering gold shirt, open to the waist, revealed thick gold chains against pale skin. His baggy black pants hung low on his waist, giving Christine a glimpse of the top of a pair of ruby satin boxers (because it do...shimmer so!! growl). His face was hidden behind a blue glittering mask, shadowed by a very large zebra-striped hat, pulled low over his eyes.
She looked down where her hand had just been. It...was a coat...and a mask beside it...and a hat beside that! Why! It was just an outfit (an ugly one at that!)...the Angel did not have purple fur!! Although what he was wearing was not much of an improvement.
"Angel...may I ask you a question?" she asked hesitantly.
"Sho...as long as it don't involve money!"
She strained for a tactful way to ask this. "Why the...gaudy outfits?"
"'Sup? You don't like my threads? It's all part of the look, babe! It's all about the image!" The Angel (who she was feeling more and more was NOT from Heaven) sauntered past her, flopped into the chair, and fingered the purple fur lovingly. "See...it's like this. I brung you here...to be ma ho! A high class ho, dat is!"
"Aww man, Christine. Have you heard yourself sing? You can't make a livin' off dat! Your talent...it lie ELSEwhere. Ya know what I mean? And I'm jist da one to help ya get started."
"No...I mean a ho! It a much more respected profession than what you in right now. Uh huh...you know it, bitch! We be goin' places, you and me. You need me fer dis."
Christine staggered back in horror, glancing around the room for an avenue of escape from this man who was obviously not an angel, and who was also obviously not quite sane. Her frantic gaze fell on a fuscia feather boa that looked very familiar. Wasn't that...? No...it couldn't be! But...it was!!!!! "You're not my Angel!" she cried in relief. "You're...the opera ghost!" She pointed a shaking finger at the boa. "That's Meg's! She lost it last week! She blamed it on...you! We all laughed at her [they're all gonna laugh at you!!!! But she was right, wasn't she???"
"Yeah...um..." The now-revealed Opera Ghost fingered his gold collar uncomfortably. "It's hard to get the real threads, ya know what I mean? But...soon I won't need to swipe nuttin'! Dat's where you come in. You gonna make me lotsa money!" He stood up and began to pace. "You think I wanna live down here??" His gesture took in the whole room, white shag carpeting, mirrored walls, disco ball on the ceiling, black leather furniture, and champagne fountain in the corner [there is no sex in the champagne room!.
(Christine hoped this style of decorating would never catch on.)
"I had everything! 'Cept respect! I can play any musical instrument! I can solve any mathematical equation!
I can out-think any genius dat ever lived! Does dat mattah? No! Everyone thinks I'm a freak!"
(Christine had to agree with everyone else.)
"But no mo'! I got da 'tude now! It ain't about da smarts! It about da wimmins! Da money! Da look! And dat's why I got you! Ever since I was lil', I wanted to be somebody. I ain't gonna be no composer. I ain't gonna be no architect. I 'cided to be...[drumroll please...a PIMP!!!!! So, bitch, slap ma 'fro! You gonna be ma ho!" He paused for a moment.
Christine took the opportunity to look for a weapon.
"Wait a minute! Dat dere was a rhyme! I been goin' about dis all wrong! I don't wanna be no pimp! I wanna be...[drumroll...I know...AGAIN...a RAPPER!!!!! Hey...I already got da threads!"
As the exotic music swelled to an impressive climax, Christine broke and ran. Unfortunately, she found the way out...straight into the lake. The Opera Ghost didn't hear the splash. He was too busy trying to find a word that rhymed with 'antidisestablishmentarianism'.
The moral of this story is: Do not dress like a ho around bored Phans.