Self-insertion phan-falls-through-time-and-meets-Erik phics are not my forte. I should warn you of that this minute.
However, my buddy MTL has dared me to write one, and so I have.
And so, direct from ff.net....here it is.
Feedback would be mucho appreciado, especially on ff.net, where I go under the pen-name of my-echo.
Thank yas.

P.S. This is a Merik-phic, by the way. *covers her ears and waits for EM's squeeing to end*
I wanted to be original, and plus there just aren't enough of those kind of phics floating around these days...

Title: Close Encounters of the Self-Insertion Kind

Genre: Angst/Humor

Summary: Written on a dare from MasqueradingThroughLife. When Heather goes for a poetic walk in the rain, something inexplicable occurs and she finds herself, of all things, knocking over a candelabra in Merik's lair. R&R...

Rating: PG-13 for....references.


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Chapter 1
The Meeting

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The girl stared out of the rainy window, fingers to the beaded, dripping glass, fogged with her breath and nature’s condensation.
I tremble before your genius…your blackened madness of soul…my love for you is like the shadows in a dreary window, rain-spattered and shining…

“Waxing poetic,” she said to the grey, fogged afternoon beyond the glass. “Rainy days may do that to a person.”

The outdoors looked enticing, for a moment. To walk amongst the falling, thundering droplets and raise her face lovingly to the weeping sky, hands stretched out in supplication, seemed like a poetically enjoyable idea.

“Wish I had a slicker,” she murmured to the rain. “’T’would make things easier.”

Nevertheless, she shrugged on a less protective jacket and raced out through the large back door, grinning at the wet, green, breathing life around her, soaking up the much-needed moisture with relish.

“It seems like such a magic day,” she whispered, raising her face to the sky and opening her mouth to catch a taste of sweet, melancholy bitterness, the tears of a polluted and crying world.

A roll of thunder came broiling through the saturated air, as the sky lit up with nature’s pyrotechnics and the girl, without the slightest bit of warning, vanished.


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“Vortex,” she whispered, dizzying from the spinning, whirling colors, wondering if she was dreaming simply, or if her body had indeed been torn from earth’s atmosphere and hurled throughout a continuum that defied all natural law with its slightly psychedelic starbursts and spinning, spinning world.

“Help me,” she gasped. “Help me…”

And the world went dark.


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A mismatched eye glanced briefly through a spy-hole at the figure of a lithe, half-nude woman embracing the leading tenor, but the hole closed abruptly. He was tired of getting thrills from stolen looks. It made him feel like a guilty child.
He glided down his passageways and poled himself through the depths, sighing and weary.

Disembarking, he slid to his organ and began to play a tune of such mourning, such depressive despair, that he nearly wept with the pain that covered him like an errant blanket.

It is useless, worthless now. Never will I need to use such clandestine knowledge…never will I have to perform such acts…or even want to.

The last was a lie.

He did want to.

But with whom? Who would accept such a one as me into their bed willingly?

It was the old, worn-out argument, trite and thankless, and he blew it out as he would a melting candle, pushing it away and closing it up, like one of his skull-embossed envelopes bearing his seal.

He picked up a book, one of his favorites, and flipped through it, reading with half his attention, for his mind drifted elsewhere, flying through the skies to the one he loved so desperately, so painfully, that his soul nearly came loose from his body with the consuming fire of passionate, aching love.

She is married.

It has been three days now.

Three days.

Three, miserable, horrible, detestable days.

Three days that had been like three hundred weary years.

They had been wed almost at once. It had been in the paper, a short but scandalous paragraph about the strange rush of their unlikely courtship.

Perhaps his family will not allow it. Perhaps the marriage will be annulled. Perhaps…

His mind beat out an agonizing litany of “Perhaps,” and his soul was drained, numb.

I cannot live without my life…

I cannot live without my soul…

He let the copy of Wuthering Heights fall from his fingers as he sat, broken.

I should end it, someday. Caress my own neck with the loving embrace of the Punjab lasso…

But he could not, so long as there was hope burning brightly in his breast that perhaps…perhaps…there would be something. God would be merciful. He would…

God! he scoffed, feeling like weeping all over again. When was He ever merciful to me?

When did I begin to believe in His very existence?

The answer slipped at the corners of his mind, like a writhing, elusive shadow, and as he reached his mental fingers out to grasp it, a noise was heard, a tremendous crash of clanging metal and the thick, glopping thud of splattered wax.

One of his immense candelabras had fallen over…

He refused to go and right it. He was too tired, and what did it matter? But it would sit there for days if he did not. He would probably slip on the wax and break his neck.

Not such a terrible contemplation. But after all…there is some hope.

Grumbling under his breath, he stalked through the shadowy gloom to clean up the mess, when he stopped, stricken.

Standing there, looking horrified, was a wet, bedraggled girl, her hair hanging in soaked tendrils, and her extraordinarily odd clothes smeared with grime and wax.

:o Brilliant! Please write more. *puss in boots look*

Hehe, ooh, MErik phic! Niiice...don't see many of those. And I love the title!

Nice job so far, I look forward to an update, heheh.

Mmm... Merik. I haven't read one of these in a while.

A very promising start milady. Please update soon.

*applauds*

Dear God! This is my 1500th post! :drink: :stars:

I truly am obsessed...

Only 1,095 posts until I'm in the same boat. Lol.
Must...get...to 500...before...I...die....*passes out*
*whispers from the floor* Thank you for your applause. And your DA comments. :D

You know I love this, don't you, Echo? 'Cos I do, dahling. 'Tis brilliant and poetic and I loff it. :wub:

Now aren't you glad that I dared you to write it? Hmm? :D

MY-Erik: She has done something right for a change! :mellow: I am in amazement!

:( Meanie.

Flatterer..ess. :lol: Thanks, twinny.

And...I declare, MY-Erik, what on earth have I ever done to you to merit such a cold statement? Eh? My Erik will defend me. Won't you, dear?

Erik: *snerksnort* Er...of course, my dear. *snickersnort*

Me: Oh, so you agree with him, is that it? Hm?

Erik: Well, you know what they say about birds of a feather.

Me: *puffs and blows like a walrus* You...you...traitor.

:ph43r: My...my message! Where did it go???

MY-Erik: I had nothing to do with it. I did NOT bribe anyone to change it. No. I did not. :blink:

:o You!

MY-Erik: :mellow: It wasn't me! I didn't bribe anyone!

Someone says:
Lovely story, Echo.

Whoops... I screwed up. Sorry, Masque! I hit the wrong darn button... :ph43r:

:drool: :drool: *sighs* Merik...

*holds back urge to contine squee* this is going to be good! :D i definetely can not wait for an update!! *goes back to dreaming as she sits in front of the computer waiting for update*

I am extraordinarily insecure about this chapter, because it's quite stupid, which is why I'm posting it here before ff.net, to see if it needs any more revision than it's already had.
Oh well. Read and review away...


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Chapter 2
Let Me Count The Ways

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The girl stared at the apparition, self-conscious of the ruined candelabra and the plethora of wax dripping from both it and her clothes onto the cold stone floor.

“I can explain,” she said, staring oddly at the shape of his fedora in the concealing shadows that masked his form.

“There is nothing to explain,” he said in a rather deliciously menacing—and disturbingly familiar—voice that made her shiver. “You came into my home. You knocked over my candelabra.”

“But…” she said.

“I would be delighted,” he hissed, “to hear a most excellent reason as to why you are…”

“About to wet myself?” she asked.

“Invading my privacy,” he said shortly.

There was silence for a moment.

“Well,” whispered the girl. “I think I’m having a dream.”

“I can assure you that you are not,” said Erik brusquely. “Shall I prove it to you?” He hefted his Punjab lasso in his hands, caressing its length almost erotically.

The girl twitched a little. “Where…” she began to ask.

“Begin,” said Erik abruptly. “Begin to explain yourself, and perhaps I shall spare your life.”

The girl scrutinized his shadowy, dark form, hidden in the shadows. “You seem somewhat familiar…” she said cautiously. “Have you threatened me before?”

“EXPLAIN!” he roared.

The girl slipped and fell amidst the sticky, coagulating wax and fell squarely on her bottom.

“I can’t,” she gasped. “I don’t even know what happened. I was staring out my window, see…”

“What?” snapped Erik.

“Let me finish!” snapped the girl, looking for all the world like a bristling, cornered cat. She bared her teeth.

Erik blinked.

“I was staring out my window…and I decided to go for a walk in the rain without a slicker, because I don’t have one,” babbled the girl, noting the menacing lack of movement that reminded her of one of Anne Rice’s vampires. “And…”

“Mam’selle,” said Erik, very softly, “get to the point or you will feel the loving embrace of the Punjab lasso ‘round your throat.”

“Threatening me because I’m explaining something?” the girl bit out, more from fear than anything. “You sound like my…”

She froze, her lips slack, parted. “Did you say…Punjab?” she whispered breathily, staring at the shape of his fedora and shivering.


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Erik blinked again. No one in all his roughly forty-five years had ever expressed a look reminiscent of predatory sexual desire when threatened with the Punjab lasso before.

“Ah…” he began.

The girl let out a most undignified giggle.

Erik jumped back a step. “What is the matter?” he asked uneasily.

The girl held out a hand. “I’m Heather,” she said dizzily, “and you are…” Just to make sure…

“A man who wishes not to be named,” he said, regaining his composure and his stance.
It’s time to end this ridiculous banter.

“Haven’t you heard?” he said grandly, menacingly. “I’m the Opera Ghost!”

He raised his arms and made his cape billow terrifically, intending to get a rare laugh out of seeing what he now thought must be an oddly dressed ballet rat get up from her highly undignified position on the floor and run slipping and sliding and screaming back through whatever passageway she had managed to find to get here in the first place.

He would close up said tell-tale passage then, of course, and then…

His attention was focused suddenly on the fact that the oddly dressed ballet rat was not running out of his lair screaming through whatever passageway she had managed to find to get here in the first place, but was in fact grinning stupidly.

His first reaction was to gape.

His second reaction was to wonder whether or not the oddly dressed ballet rat was… deficient in some way.


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It’s Erik.

It must be.

What a lovely dream this is turning out to be…

But do I dream?

She pinched herself.

I’m…awake…

A heart…full…of love…

She shook her head irritably.

Enough with the Les Mis, honey-cakes. Time to see which incarnation of Erik you’ve stumbled upon.

He’s not a Gerik…he can’t be. The fedora…and the voice…

Although there was a momentary crushing blackness of disappointment, she reflected that it was actually for the best. Had he been a Gerik, then abstinence, decorum, and lots of other big words would have taken a flying leap out the metaphoric window and gone soaring with the birds.


Well. Not that they wouldn’t with any other Erik. But it would have happened much more quickly.

Heather paused.

“Come into the light,” she said softly, curiously, feeling a bit like Beauty and the Beast.

Aside from the fact that he had not just demanded that she promise to stay there forever—lamentably—and the fact that she did not have the over-proportioned and quite anatomically incorrect figure of all animated Disney heroines.

Erik paused, and then put one foot into the pool of light cast by the remaining candelabra, then the other, then, looming over her, revealed his full glory…

Unwieldy asymmetrical porcelain half-mask, dashing fedora, fake-looking wig, lovely silken cape, mismatched eyes, and all.

Heather gasped in delight. “You’re Merik,” she breathed dizzily, staring longingly at his swollen and misshapen lips.

She thought fondly of fellow Merik-lover Beth, for a fleeting second, who at that moment would have promptly fainted into his arms and no doubt made embarrassingly large drool-pools on his immaculate black sleeves.

Erik flinched. Surely she had just said his name—how in Punjab’s name she knew that would be addressed in a moment—but…

He resisted the urge to dig his finger in his ear.

There had most certainly and inexplicably been an “M” at the beginning of it. Was it ear wax, or had she really said his name with an “M”?

“How,” he said menacingly, disregarding the matter of the “M”, “do you know Erik’s name?”

“Ooh, so you’re a LeMerik,” Heather said, her dreamily delighted grin growing even ridiculously wider. “To quote the immortal Gershwins, ‘’S’wonderful’.”

This time there was no doubt. It must be ear wax. Either that, or the wench was simply mentally deficient as he had first surmised.

His fingers twitched to dig themselves into his ears, but he resisted once again.

“What nonsense are you spouting, girl?” he snapped.

Heather bristled. “Never mind,” she said. “It’d take too long to explain, and I unfortunately don’t have any of the necessary materials that phans who fall through time and meet Erik always seem to have conveniently about their person.”

“Pardon?” whispered Erik, wondering if he was going mad. Again.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Heather said kindly, “you’re not going mad. You’re confused, that’s all.”

Erik jumped as if he’d been poked with the tip of a Greek spear.

“Oh, if only Jordie was here to back me up and give you some proof…” sighed Heather. “Or any of the DBCA darlings, for that matter…”

Erik twitched a little. “D-B-C-A?” he asked cautiously, not liking the sound of it at all.

“The Dramatic Black Cloak Addicts,” beamed Heather proudly. “I’m one of them.”

Erik fought the urge to bolt to one of his trap-doors.

“Help me up, would you, love?” asked Heather plaintively. “I seem to be stuck.”

Erik stared at her outstretched hand as if it were a serpent.

“Oi,” said Heather, “aren’t I supposed to be more afraid of you than you are of me? Or are you losing your touch?”

Erik’s body stiffened. “With pleasure, mam’selle,” he said softly through clenched teeth, grabbing her hand roughly and pulling her none too gently to her feet.

Her rear end, stuck tight, came abruptly free from the wax with a sucking, glopping sound, and inertia threw her straight into Erik’s arms.

Erik staggered a bit, both from shock and the unfamiliar feeling of a female pressed against his body.

Heather smiled blissfully at him, patting his unmasked cheek with one hand and sighing.

“What…what are you doing?” he asked in a strangled tone, shivering at the contact.

“Hmm…” murmured Heather, in a daze of sorts. “Big lips…”

She reached up to touch them, but he swatted her hand away. “You’re mad, girl.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But was Hannibal mad? Or Caesar? Surely Napoleon was the maddest of them all…”

“What?” Erik demanded, feeling more exasperated by this tormenting female enigma by the minute.

“Dreyfus,” said Heather. “The Pink Panther Strikes Again. Herbert Lom kicks arse.”

Erik blinked.

“That’s it,” he announced, pulling back and dropping her on the floor. “I’ve given up trying to make sense of your talk. I am convinced you are a hallucination.”

“But I’m not,” said Heather irritably. “There was no reason to drop me on the floor.”

“Who are you?” pleaded Erik. “Why have you come to torment me?”

Heather picked herself up, brushing herself off a bit. Good question. He goes to the head of the class…but meanwhile, I’m stuck trying to dredge up an explanation as to WHY, in heaven’s name, I have been dropped into a fictional universe like an errant potato.

“Maybe I’m here,” she said, “to teach you how to live.”

“Indeed,” said Erik. “I think I’d rather die.”

Heather’s lip quivered, which made her immediately think of Ari.

“Or maybe,” she said quietly, “I’m here because I need to learn something from you.”

“Indeed,” said Erik again. “I’m afraid my teaching days are over.”

“Christine?” queried Heather softly, knowing it was a sore subject, depending on how early or late she’d come.

Erik flinched. “How did you know that?”

Heather sighed. “Got anywhere we could sit down?”

“The organ bench,” he said, “though I don’t recommend it. On such a small seat, two might be a very awkward number.”

To Erik’s immense disquiet, Heather grinned like a Cheshire cat.

*dies* I love it! Love it!

A LeMerik? :drool: :drool: :drool:

And you mentioned me? Squee!

Now go! Post this on ff.net! Now! :D

I've got agree with MTL, go post now! This much better writen then most phan meets Erik for the first time things. Great chapter! :)

i luff!

luff luff luff!

letters

My gosh. you, girl, are brilliant. My gosh, the ending! I was laughing sooo hard!!! This is GREAT! Update soon!

*blushes* Thanks, dears.
Chapter 3 coming soon...Jordie gets a cameo....

Also, I only have 3 reviews on ff.net, which is sad, because I am a total review junkie. Soo...I know it's rather odd reviewing on both, but it would make me incandescently happy to receive some more reviews on ff.net. Gracias, amigas...

So you posted it on ff.net then? I'm not getting my alerts...I'll go review!

Cameo? ME!?!?! :o :D Squee!!! I love cameos! I collect them...Thankee thankee thankee muchly!!!! :upsidedown:

I'm not getting my alerts either. FFNet must be broken or something.

Anyway, here is...*loud, thunderous music here* chapter the third!

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Chapter Three
IN Which There Is A Cameo

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“Why are you grinning?” Erik asked, fighting the urge to shudder.

“Never mind,” said Heather. “I was just thinking of how cozy it would be…you, me, the organ bench…”

“Why can’t you simply begone?” moaned Erik.

Heather scuffed the floor with the toe of her wax-covered sneaker. “Maybe because I…have no idea of exactly how to go about being ‘begone’?”

Erik swished his cape irritably.

Heather licked her lips.

“So anyway…” she said casually, her body quivering with the painful repression of a first-class glomp, “is that your organ?”

“Yes,” he said. “What else would it be?”

“A piano with pipes?” queried Heather tremulously.

Erik was about to comment on how idiotic was her comment, but just then the thought occurred to him that an organ actually was a sort of piano with pipes.

“May I…may I play it?” she asked shyly, barely able to control her glee. “I’m not very experienced, but I’m a total piano-demon and whenever there’s a piano-like instrument around…”

“No one,” he said, “touches my organ.”

There was silence.

“Except me,” he added.

There was more silence.

“Please tell me you’re talking about the instrument,” said Heather abruptly. “And by that I mean the musical kind.”

Erik, confused for a moment, suddenly blanched. “You gutter-minded little snipe!” he snapped. “How dare you—”

“Organ jokes,” Heather sighed to herself, managing to at least be slightly ashamed at herself for indulging in such things. “Aminta,” she added in a normal voice, “would be proud as punch.”

Erik was immediately through with his blustering. “Aminta?” he asked incredulously.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Heather. “Isn’t it a coincidence that I know someone with the same name as one of the principal characters in your opera Don Juan Triumphant?”

She paused for effect.

“Actually,” she admitted, “it’s no coincidence at all. She took the name from self-same opera.”

Erik’s mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“And, might I add,” said Heather, “she is extraordinarily obsessed with a rather unrealistically more physically attractive incarnation of yourself. Which is why she picked the name Aminta to be her pseudonym, of course.”

Erik was so confused at this point that he literally felt his brain to be on the verge of exploding.

“As I was saying, before the organ jokes,” sighed Heather, “whenever there’s a piano-like instrument around, I get this urge. Sometimes my fingers literally start twitching. I simply have to try it out. It’s just this…quirk of nature…that I have…”

“The answer is still a most emphatic ‘no’,” snapped Erik, recovering slightly from his near-fatal brain-explosion. “You might break the keys.”

“So?” Heather retorted. “Even if I did, which is so highly unlikely in the first place that it’s ridiculous, you could just swindle more money from the managers in order to get it fixed.”

“A waste,” he replied. “And how is it that you know so much about me and my modus operandi, at any rate?”

Heather looked at him.

“That,” she said softly, “is a matter for which I have no proof. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, and I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest.”

“Nevertheless,” he replied, “I would like to know.”

“Why? Your curious nature?” she projected.

“Slightly,” he said. “Much as I abhor admitting it, the puzzle of your origins…intrigues me.”

Heather brightened considerably at this and was about to reply, when a great boom sounded, followed by yet another clang and glop-thud of wax.

Erik clapped his hands to his head, suddenly captive to a rather wild notion that the boom had been that of his exploding brain.

Heather stared oddly at the place where the sounds had erupted. “Is that…”

“Relief,” sighed Erik, letting out his breath with a hiss and removing his hands from his head. “My intellect remains intact.”

“But…” Heather began. Erik twitched his Punjab lasso in her direction, and she fell silent.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll just go check for myself…”

“I shall come with you,” he said abruptly. “It is my house, after all…”

“You call a hidey-hole cave with lots of candles and instruments and sheet music by an underground lake a house?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He stopped, miffed. “Of sorts,” he said in a slightly defensive tone.

Heather shrugged. “Your call, love.” She peered into the darkness…

And was immediately hug-tackled to the ground. “ECHO!” crowed a conspicuously sugar-high female voice.

“How the…” yelped Heather with both unmitigated shock (she had a propensity to startle extraordinarily easily) and unbridled glee. “JORDIE!”

Erik flinched backwards, his mismatched eyes widening. The sight of two decidedly oddly dressed females capering madly around his lair chanting, for no apparent reason, “Aha, aha, aha!” was certainly a sight to behold.

“You nearly gave me a heart-attack!” Heather yelled, dissolving into helpless laughter. “How did you…”

“The fates,” said Jordie, “apparently decided to let me drop in. Or maybe the gods of phan-phiction. I dunno.”

She tossed a large bag in the air with a flourish. “I bring,” she said solemnly, “indisputable proof.”

With a loud thud, the bag landed on the wax-covered floor.

Erik sighed. The waxy mess was twice as daunting with both candelabras overturned.

Jordie glanced in Erik’s direction. “Is that...”

“Oh, yes,” said Heather.

“SQUEEEEE!”

Erik, in spite of himself, gave a most undignified scream at being tackled to the ground by a whirling dervish of a girl wearing the jewelry of a gypsy woman.

“Woah,” said Heather, staring, and trying not to giggle. “Erik actually…screamed.”

“Makes you wonder…,” said Jordie contentedly, from her comfortably snuggled position atop Erik’s chest.

“I beg your pardon, madam,” said Erik, “but…GET…OFF!”

Jordie complied rather reluctantly.

“Wish I had your courage,” said Heather. “I’ve been holding back my glomps, meself.”

“Why?” asked Jordie. “Are you telling me you don’t remember attacking Gerik with wild abandon when he was tied up and helpless in le closet?”

“Yah,” said Heather, blushing fondly at the memory. “But that was…Gerik. Merik is just so much more…dignified. Somehow I think he’d take to it less kindly.”

“Meh,” said Jordie. “I loff him anyway.”

Erik looked from Jordie to Heather, wild-eyed. “Would either of you…care to explain to me—” he began, wincing and massaging his chest where Jordie had sat upon it.

“This, my dear,” said Jordie, pulling a paperback novel from her bag, “is what started it all.”

She thrust the novel into Erik’s stunned hands.

His swollen lips mouthed the words of the title silently.

“You’re joking,” he said finally. “Either that, or I’m going mad. Again.”

“Neither,” said Heather. “Read it and weep. Literally. I did.”

“And this,” said Jordie, sweeping a hardcover novel from her bag with another flourish. “Loffly.”

Erik took it wordlessly, his eyebrow arching.

“And don’t forget this,” she said grandly, grabbing with reverence the Original London Cast Recording and placing it on top of the two novels.

“What about…” said Heather.

“Oh,” said Jordie, grinning. “This too, if ye’d like…” She placed atop it another cast recording, this time of the 2004 movie.

“Got the DVD?” queried Heather.

Jordie’s face fell. “SPAMMIT!” she groused. “I forgot.”

Erik whimpered slightly, staring at the various forms of Phantom media cradled in his arms.

Jordie patted his be-wigged head affectionately. “Don’t be overwhelmed, love,” she said kindly. “You’ll be all right.” She kissed his unmasked cheek and grinned when he stared at her as if she had corn growing out of her ears.

“That all the proof you need for now, Echo-dahlin’?” she said to Heather.

“Dam’ good of you to bring all of it,” said Heather. “Can you stay? Be tons more fun with two to torment him instead of only one…”

“Hmm…oh, spammit,” said Jordie again. “A Phangirl’s Guide To Pestering An Erik would never get written if I stayed.”

“Truly,” said Heather. “Which would deprive the world of a great and noble work.”

“Ha!” retorted Jordie. “My ego’s going to be as big as California if this keeps up…”

She checked her watch suddenly. “Oh, berry smoothies! I’m late!” she breathed. “Gotta go.”

Erik sighed with relief, though he was still royally confused and his brain still felt as though it might explode at any moment.

“Er…Jordie?” Heather said suddenly. “No CD player.”

Jordie sighed with relief. “Thank heavens I’ve at least got that in my bag,” she said.

She pulled it out, along with a pair of earphones, and handed it to Heather, looking around. “Batteries included,” she said. “Use them wisely.”

“Shall,” said Heather, saluting.

Jordie saluted back just as briskly. “Take care o’ yourself,” she said, giving Heather a bear-hug.

“Ribs…” gasped Heather. “My ribs…!”

Jordie let go. “Anything broken?”

“Nope.”

“Good,” she said matter-of-factly. “Well…I bid you and your loffly LeMerik a fond adieu! Or should I say au revoir?”

“The latter,” said Heather. “There’s bound to be another cameo chapter sooner or later.”

Jordie grinned again, nodded at Erik, blinked her eyes and folded her arms a la I Dream of Jeanie, and disappeared in a very loud puff of smoke.

Erik fought the urge to let out a sigh to surpass all sighs. “Well,” he said. “That was…intriguing.”

:rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl:

OMG OMG OMG!!!!! I loff it!!!! The website just yelled at me for putting too many smilies in my message...

You have me so in-character!!! Kinda creepy...

Loff! Loff! Loff!

DUUUUDE! I AM MENTIONED!!! A LOOOT!!! WEEEEEEEE! *dances around, and remembers to turn off the caps lock...* thankee!!! Will there be any more cameos later on??? Mayhap a masquerade??? Maybe some creepy, evil laughter emanating from behind Erik's mirrors? Then I randomly appear and glomp him, and dissappearing right after??? *laughs hysterically* That'd be GREAT. Well, I gotsta go. So many muses, so little time. XD Latah, babe! You rock!

Very nice job Echo.

That had me in stitches when you said that Eric screamed. That was fantastic! I can't wait for you to add more. Cameo chapters are fun.

Great chapter Echo! It's true, you just don't glomp Merik on first sight, he's far too dignafied(sp?). Anywho, please update soon!

And now a plug for my story, The Mask. Could yuo please R&R it?

Still awsome...loved the part where he screamed, heheh...and the Organ thing, I about died laughing when I hit that! Great work, I can't wait for more!

Your story is too funny! I must insist on you updating as soon as possible.

*gasp* two updated chapters?! how could i have missed this? i must keep a careful eye on this fic...phic. whatever.

me? fainting into his arms? either that or i would glomp him. welll i'd probably faint first, then glomp once i awoke. :D i was laughing my butt off at the organ bit! poor Merik! at this rate he will have a massive headache.

can't wait for the update! :D

Thankee for your kind reception, my dears. :grouphug:

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Chapter Four
Keep Your Hand At The Level Of Your Eyes

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Cheered by her e-buddy’s previous appearance, Heather bounced over to Erik like a particularly energetic puppy.

“Proof time,” she said, grabbing the Phantom media and arranging it in chronological order atop his organ (er, pipe organ). “Allow me.”

Erik’s swollen lips twitched. He felt slightly sick.
I never knew female company could be so…excruciatingly nauseating.

“I want you to leave,” he began, but Heather ignored him, jamming the earphones on his head with such speed and force that he was paralyzed in shock.

“What…what are these?” he asked nervously.
“They’re earphones,” Heather said long-sufferingly, giving him a sideways glance. “Silly.”

Erik ripped them off his head. “What is their purpose?” he demanded, shaking them in her face. One of them swung too far and smacked her squarely on the nose.

Heather yelped and jumped backward, rubbing ruefully at the offending olfactory body part. “Jerk,” she sulked.

Erik flinched. “Jerk what?” He looked at the earphones dubiously. “Jerk them?” He pulled at them experimentally.

“You’re a jerk.”

“I’m…what?” he asked in confusion.

Heather sighed. “You’re nasty. Despicable. Callous. Unkind. M…”

“I take your meaning quite clearly,” said Erik sullenly. “It was an accident, by the way.”

“Right,” said Heather. “And you’re my mother.”

“Insolent wench,” he snapped.

“Self-pitying wretch,” she shot back. “At least I don’t crawl on the floor begging expressionlessly bug-eyed persons of the opposite sex to give me their undying love…”

Erik, once he had digested every particle of that particular sentence and realized that the insufferable whelp was not only insulting him, but Christine as well, snarled. “How dare you—” he hissed, long white fingers spasming for his lasso. “How dare—”

“I didn’t mean it!” Heather yelped, jumping backward as he found what he was looking for. “I didn’t mean it…okay, I did mean it about her buggy eyes and total lack of expression, but….oh, damn…”

He threw the lasso with surprising dexterity considering his highly-strung emotional state, and it hit its mark quite admirably.

Unfortunately for Erik’s nerves, not to mention his already fragile ego, Heather’s phannish reflexes were just as sharp as ever, and as every phan knows, one is a fool not to raise one’s hand to the level of one’s eyes when one is clearly about to be the object of a first-class Punjabbing.

Erik moaned and dropped the taut end, feeling a headache coming on.

Heather unwound the lasso from her wrist and throat irritably. “Temper,” she said, shivering a bit at her close brush with death. “You know, I think you’ve got an overdeveloped sense of vengeance. It’s going to get you into trouble someday…”

Erik grabbed the hardcover novel bearing the title Phantom. “I suppose if I read this, you’ll go away.”

“I doubt it,” said Heather. “But if you’re going to read the novels, you might want to start with the original.” She handed him the paperback copy of The Phantom of the Opera.

Erik took it dubiously, staring at it as though it were a poisonous snake. “Indeed,” he said weakly. “When was this written?”

“1910,” said Heather. “And I quote, ‘The events do not date more than thirty years back…’”

Erik sighed. “How much is correct?”

“For your version, some things. But your real clincher will be that.” Heather pointed to the Original London Cast. “You might want to brace yourself. You’re going to be hearing what sounds like your voice…”

“Excuse me?” Erik whispered.

“Never mind,” Heather sighed. “If I tell you any more, your brain will explode.”

“Quite,” said Erik with a touch of sarcasm. “It’s amazing how deftly you read my emotions.”

Heather smirked smugly.

Erik rolled his eyes.

“Erm…” said Heather. “Where will I be staying?”

“You won’t be,” he said shortly.

Heather’s lip quivered again.

“But…but…” she whispered, her large brown eyes going limpid with tears. Oh dear Punjab, please don’t let me turn into a Sue over this.

Erik snorted. “You…” He stopped. She did look rather pathetic.

“You…” he began again, and stopped, once more, looking at her. A fat tear had spilled from its confines within one large brown eye and rolled mercilessly down the feminine cheek, making carefully applied mascara begin to smear precariously.

Heather sniffled. Oh, great. All the writers in Christendom and beyond are going to flame me for being so blatantly Sue-ish…

Erik sighed. “It would not be proper for you to stay…” he began.

“Oh, but it was proper for the bug-eyed fish, was it?” snapped Heather before she could stop herself.

Erik’s eyes darkened, widened. “Bug-eyed fish?” he hissed dangerously. “If, by that charming epithet, you mean who I think you mean, you are…”

“I mean,” said Heather quickly, “the lovely, talented semi-diva, whose hair curls like…”

“Stop,” said Erik, sighing. “No more, please…”

Heather finished the sentence in her head. …like the Poodle Ringlets of Doom…

“I wish to avoid any more unpleasantness,” said Erik shortly, “and I have no wish to kill a woman, much less a half-grown specimen such as yourself…”

Heather wondered, suddenly indignant, if he meant her tiny chest. She fought the urge to cover it defensively, racking her brain for an equally scathing retort.

Erik looked about for a suitable place for the wench to sleep. Besides the Louis-Philippe room.

It seemed there was no alternative. He couldn’t simply make her sleep in the boat…

Well. He could. But he was ever a gentleman, even if the female in question was a pain in the proverbial buttocks.

He sighed. “You may sleep,” he said, “in the Louis-Philippe room. Over there.” He pointed.

Heather, once she got over her initial glee, grimaced a bit, wondering briefly if Christine’s frilly and no doubt floral-scented underthings were still haunting the premises.

"It's going to be a long night..." she sighed.

I loved the Poodle Ringlets of Doom bit. The Sueish bit made want to throw up though...

Other then that it was a great chapter. Thanks for the update Echo!

YA know, it's good to get that sue-ish bit out of your system every once in a while. AND it's GREAT for controlling the male species. :P GREAT chapter! Keep it up!

about the Sue-ish part: it's not Sue-ish...that much. think of it more as, in this case, using one's feminine powers over the opposite sex knowingly (is that even a word? i doubt it). i mean, what gentleman would turn down a girl who cries even one tear? that's one of the reasons i love being a female! :lol: great chapter by the way!

This is a really good story. I am definetely interested. Keep 'em coming. :D

Echo, dahhhhhling! I lovah it! Lovah it, lovah it, lovah it! :lol:

I just can't get over the "Poodle Ringlets of Doom" line! :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl:

And you are not Sueish at all! You're just using your feminine wiles! ;)

Love it! :wub:

Yo, uh, Masqu-ie, mah dear...why does that Christine-ish chick look like me??? O_o

She......looks like you? o_O

It's Emmy!Christine, and I gave her blonde hair... Alluding to Leroux and all... :blink:

I'll just...go...remove it...I wanted to put something else there anyway... :ph43r:

Went and posted Chappy 5 on FFNet, and I shall not post it here until I get at least FIVE REVIEWS over there.

Pretty please.

Because although I love you all, and I love the feedback I get on here, over on FFNet I currently have only ten reviews.

And as all review whores know, ten reviews for four whole chapters starts to get slightly downheartening.

So....brownies and a seven-minute kiss from the Erik of your choice if you run over to FFNet and drop me a widdle review on Chapter 5.
Many thanks.

give me a few minutes!! *dashes off to read and review*

EDIT: damn FF.net won't let me! it's saying something about an error, but i did read the chapter!

just so you know, once i review i'llbe taking that seven minute kiss from Merik! :lol:

I left one!

I'm there under A Heart Full of Sorrow. :D

Seven minute kiss, eh??? *contemplates for.00014568932 seconds, and runs off to review*

*screams like a banshee as she can't find the M-*BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!*-ING story!!!! >.< *screams again and rips at hair, wanting a nice smooch from a Gerik*

I left a review! I'll have a seven minute kiss with Merik... after EM I guess. *refrains from saying anything about sloppy seconds*