Onyxx: Surprise, surprise!
Dracula: Yes, this is the sequel (somewhat) to the events of the end of "Here We Go Again," which is in the Phantom of the Opera movie category.
Onyxx: Yes. If you haven't read it, Gerard Butler has the unfortunate luck that his movie characters come to life and plague him with crazy adventures.
Dracula: He just wants to be a NORMAL ACTOR.
Onyxx: Well, with the last adventure, Dracula here had to kill Raoul de Chagny. . .
Dracula: Which caused the opening that allowed us to come here to close . . .
Onyxx: Which means he's stuck here. Permanently.
Dracula: Oh, the horror … ;)
Onyxx: Here's the disclaimer: I do not own Dracula 2000. I do not own Gerard Butler (though I wish I did!). I do not know Gerard Butler in reality. I have never met him. (I don't even have his autograph … -sad face-) I also don't own Phantom of the Opera. That belongs to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Joel Schumacher, and Really Useful Group.
Dracula: That's a lot of people. My concept only belongs to Bram Stoker and Wes Craven.
Onyxx: The only thing I own is myself … I don't even own my laptop …
I sat at my laptop, staring at the screen. Gerry's email was pretty simple: He'd be here in about an hour.
Gerard Butler happened to be a friend of mine. Don't ask me how a South Carolina girl ended up being good friends with the sexiest Scottish man of all time.
Don't tell him I said that.
Anyways, Gerry was coming to my house. Why? Hell if I knew.
I ran to my room, grabbed the cleanest pair of black jeans I could find, and my Black Veil Brides shirt, changing out of my Happy Bunny pajamas. Then I darted to the bathroom, brushed my teeth for at least fifteen minutes, and tried to tame my unruly black hair. For some reason, when I wake up in the mornings, my hair looks like Mary's from Dracula 2000.
I grabbed my pair of Doc Martens, pulling them on as fast as possible, just as the doorbell of my tiny apartment rang.
I ran to the door, looking out the little hole. The gorgeous Scot made me forget how to breathe for a moment before I opened the door.
"Gerry," I said, a bit out of breath from all my running. "What a surprise."
He raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You got my email, Onyxx," he said, patting my shoulder. "Have you been running around, trying to get ready?"
I shook my head. The man knew me too well. "No . . ."
He laughed. "Yeah, right. Here, I have someone I want you to meet." He stepped aside and let a tall, dark figure walk in.
My eyes widened in fear, awe, and most of all, shock. The dark-haired man smirked as he saw my reaction, his gray-green eyes staring into my blue ones.
"What . . . the . . . fudge," I said softly, looking over to Gerry. "Is this a joke? Am I being Punk'd?"
He laughed. "Does it look like you're being Punk'd?" he asked, putting an arm around his duplicate.
Dracula—THE Dracula from Dracula 2000—smirked and took my hand in his. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Rayne," he said softly, kissing the back of my hand.
I almost fainted, looking at Gerry. "What is this? How? Are you going to tell me what the heck is going on?"
He smiled. "Dracula here has found himself trapped in this world after a little affair with Raoul de Chagny from Phantom of the Opera." He sighed, then looked at his watch. "Better go. Emmy is expecting me back at the hospital with Chris." He cast a worried look to Dracula, then to me, then back to the vampire. "All right, no biting, got it?"
"Got it." Dracula smirked, then flopped onto my couch propping his feet on my coffee table. "Well, isn't this lovely?" he said, looking around at my apartment.
Dracula was in my apartment. Not just any Dracula. Dracula from my favorite vampire movie. Dracula from Wes Craven's Dracula 2000.
After these thoughts crossed my mind, I fainted, falling onto the floor.