This was written out of pure randomness by myself and PorterGirl321... but mainly her! :D (PorterGirl now bursts into "IT WAS EQUAL!) By the way... if a song is randomly burst into at any point... it is to the tune of "Ring Around The Rosie". Don't judge us. We're awesome.
DISCLAIMER: We don't own Phantom. So there. But if we did, this would be how the story ended. Be forewarned.
I walked to where I knew Raoul would be, smiling the first true smile I had in ages. Tonight there would be revenge, more pure than even the fop's love for his voluptuous locks. Or, even maybe, the purity of my victory over La Carlotta, when the look on her powdered face reached the peak of humiliation during the ill performance of Il Muto.
There he timidly stood in Christine's old dressing room, face pale and clammy under the lamp light. He cautiously glanced around, wary of every creak and shadow. I let my gorgeous baritone voice fill the room:
"Ah, I see you do care a great deal after all about what I have for you. Well then, come with me."
The Fop slowly made his way through the mirror, but stopped abruptly at the threshold.
"What in my sweet mother's urn's name is wrong?" I bellowed, my "extensive" patience wearing thin.
"I- I-I- Is there no white horse for me? You know, like you brought for Christine?" he stammered.
If I was not wearing my mask I would have face palmed myself.
"Do you want it or not, Fop!" I threatened.
"NO! No, I need this more than anything. I must have it."
On that note, we slowly made our way down through the catacombs, me having to unfortunately warn him of any traps that were set, ruining the opportunity for any future revenge… but that would not be needed.
"So… do you come here often?" the Fop said, desperately trying to grasp at something for conversation.
"I live here you buffoon."
"Oh! Of course, quite right, quite right."
These simple words seemed to open up a deadly floodgate of words and gossip for him, a gate other known as his revolting lady-like mouth. He rambled on nervously of many things, such as high Paris fashion, his favorite salons, and this darling bistro he just adored. Oh just Punjab me now.
"Oh yes, he is designing the dress for Christine's engagement party! The tulle flows down, and there is a matching hairpiece! The dress is blue and white, and the hairpiece is a red rosette with a black ribbon, she insisted on this for some odd reason, unbeknownst to myself, but she said it was in honor of a friend. Could I deny her that? And wait until my suit comes in! There are, of course, black dress pants made of silk from China, and the dye is imported from the Americas. The shoes I had specially ordered, I simply can't wear any shoes that are just from the store! How shameful would that be of me! From the store, in all of my twenty-one years I have never worn anything off the rack, like a- like a- commoner! The blouse has a ruffled collar, but I can't pick the pattern of lace. What do you think?"
"What do I think?"
"For the pattern of lace! We'll be matching the pattern on my shirt with Christine's wedding veil, so I want to make the right choice! Get some opinions in this matter and such."
"You are asking me for fashion advice to help you decide on the style of Christine's wedding veil?"
"I want to pick one that she would appreciate!"
I sighed. "Just follow your heart, kid."
Just when I thought I couldn't take anymore of Raoul chatting on about how many children he and Christine were going to have, we reached my lair. I quickly busied myself with some rope I had hidden in the corner.
"Er- Monsieur Phantom, uh, sir, are you going to fetch me the item?"
"What item?" I snapped absentmindedly.
"Why the wholesale shampoo you promised me! I truly cannot believe my salon was out. My poor hair must have it, or it will fall flat in the humidity! You understand, don't you?"
I reached up to finger what sparse hair I had, "Um, sure I do. Now, why don't you take a seat over there and make yourself comfortable."
The fop sat down in the dusty chair, and in a single breath, I threw my Punjab around his neck and proceeded to bind him to the seat. He barely said a word, just let out a melodramatic gasp. I practically skipped over to the only mirror I did not destroy in last month's rage and unveiled it with a flourish.
"You deceived me! I-I-I gave you my mind blindly for my overpriced hair products!" he whined.
"Speaking of that ridiculous hair of yours…" I said as I lifted up a pair of rusty scissors.
I have never heard such a pitiful and distressed wail in my life.
"Ah, but I would, and I shall."
I took a single strand of his silken mane between the blades.
"NO! That is my favorite strand! I can pin it up beautifully in the summer time!"
I cut it off and put it under his nose like a moustache. He burst into hysterical sobs. I burst into hysterical laughter. Snip, snip; a loud moan. Snip, snip; a bitter shriek. It continued on like this, till Raoul's hair was a sparse as my own.
"LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE! I WILL NEVER SHOW MY FACE IN PARIS AGAIN!"
"I know the feeling, bro."
"What will Christine think should she ever see me looking like this… Monstrosity! Oh, will she ever speak to me again! Will she call me a freak! Oh, woe is me!"
I shuddered at the thought that he sounded like myself.
I let him out of the chair, and he dramatically flopped onto the lair floor, trying desperately- and to no avail- to place it back onto his scalp. I plucked the strands from his small, feminine grasp and threw them into a bag postmarked already to the wig store.
"No. No, Phantom, you have gone too far! First you shave my hair, then you send it to the wig shop for some stranger to wear on their greasy head!
"It won't be on some stranger's head."
Raoul looked confused for a moment.
"It will be on mine!"
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he said in the most high pitched octave I have ever heard a human produce.
I've never heard Christine's lovely voice sing that high, nor Carlotta's ear splitting shrieks. He threw himself onto the floor in a tantrum, promptly kicking his feet against the ground. I promptly kicked him into the lake. He sputtered and coughed for several minutes, then fled the lair in a flailing rage, similar to that of a teenage girl's.
I chuckled darkly to myself, then mailed the bag of his hair to the wig shop.
Four to six business days later, I ripped open the package and placed the wig of Raoul's hair onto my head. I looked amazing, I must admit. But even my newfound beauty reflecting in the mirror could not compare to the curly-haired soprano that pranced in just as I was running about the lair, enjoying the feel of the wind in my cape… and my locks.
"Oh- um- good evening, Christine," I said, quickly trying to regain my usually formal composure. But- with the entire bottle of celebratory pinot noir I had downed over the last half hour, this was not going to happen easily.
"I know what you did, Erik." She said, giving me a glare almost as threatening as my own sometimes is. I have taught her well.
"Oh, uh, really? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking abou-"
"Thank you." She said.
"Whaaaaaaa?" I thought aloud, my mouth hanging agape.
"I was getting so tired of hearing him go on and on about it, but this fixed everything. Of course I did have to hear him go on and on about how he was now horribly disfigured."
My open mouth slowly crept into a smile, and I proceeded to rather attractively roll around the floor of the lair getting caught up in my cape, laughing in glee at my own triumph. Meanwhile, Christine stared at me in utter shock. I sat up straightening the wig on my head. We shared a rather awkward silence, and Christine looked at me as if I were a madman…. She has given me this look before.
"Um… so… have you and the fop- I mean Raoul – chosen a style of lace yet?"
"The wedding is off."
I stood to my feet, shocked sober.
"The wedding is… off?"
"Yes, it is. After Raoul went on his temper-tantrum rage- buying thirty-five thousand francs worth of wigs and hair growth serums- he finally proclaimed to me that he couldn't spend the rest of his life with a woman with better hair than himself."
"So- um- does this mean that we could possibly go out to dinner tomorrow evening?"
"It does mean that, Erik." She said, with a sly smile.
I proceeded to run around my lair dancing and singing a victory song to the tune of an old children's song:
"The fop lost all his hair!
I dance around my lair!
I sing, you sing, and I get the girl!"
Christine rolled her eyes and walked out of the room with a smile. "Just pick me up at seven-thirty, you!"
After she had left, I laid on the floor staring up at the ceiling. I should have done this ages ago. I mean that's all it took? After all this time?
Sorry, had to put in a Harry Potter reference! :D Please review. That's all I ask of you. Tell us what ya think, dawg! This may end up as a series of wonderful one-shots, so STORY ALERT! Have a snazzy life!