A/N: This is completely silly and not serious in anyway. After watching the film numerous times, I began to feel sorry for this poor guy. (Sure you can guess who it is!) So much suffering and no one to tell it to! It's just a bit of fun and light entertainment. Will update regularly with new connotations and observations as I think of them!
Ode to Erik
Introductions & Rantings First
"I have had enough. I'm totally sick of all this abuse. I can't take it any more! Everyday without relent; he is at me like a rabid animal! Prodding and poking, slashing and slicing, does the man not sleep? And like an idiot I just stand here and take it. I never complain, never grumble, nothing. Okay, so I'm missing a few vital 'components' that would allow me protest, but does he not realize that I have feelings too? How would he like to be attacked every day and not be able to defend himself? He cut my frigging head off the other day! Swoosh, one clean sweep and it was off! Most chuffed with himself he was…pillac. And he didn't even have the courtesy to put it back straight away; he left me headless for thirty-five minutes! A right draft there was because of that!
Oh he may think he looks the fine cad; pirouetting like a girl, leaping about like a lord, twirling about like a dervish…what a prat. Doesn't he see how ridiculous he looks? And all those stupid noises he makes while he's at it… wazzerck. God my armor shook that time he tried some new fancy move on me, flat on his back! If I could have laughed out loud the whole place would have caved in! Served the idiot right.
Never bothers to polish me, or shine me up. Never buffs out the sword marks he leaves. Never oils my joints…nothing. My armor is dented to buggery; I've lost any value I might have had! Doesn't he know that I once adorned the bodies of knights? Kings? Men of honor? I rode into battle on the shoulders of proud men. I glistened in the sunlight and was adored by all for my splendor and craftsmanship. Survived decades and now look what I'm reduced to; the sparring partner of a man with a foil and a wig. Such is grandeur…
Stuck in this dusty hole in the ground. No windows, no light, no air, nothing. The Shadow Gallery he calls it? Pah! Might as well be the bloody Shadow Prison or the Shadow bloody Tomb! I've been staring at these walls for nigh on ten years now and I'm sick to death of it! The dust is unbelievable! He doesn't clean like he should; just swishes a duster over the tops of things, doesn't get right into the corners or anything. I mean that poor Venus over there is swamped in an inch of dust! Big fancy terrorist, Mr. 'I'm-going-to-save-the-world-with-my-bombs'. How can he clean up this government without even being able to clean up a bit of dust!
Well I've had enough of it. I'm going to make a stand, stick up for myself, show him who's boss for a change! I'm taller than him, and I've seen much more battle! He pretends to be Guy Fawkes, running round with that daft mask and cape. I was around when the real Guy Fawkes was teething!
Yes, I'm going to do it! I'm going to march right past him and out of that door!
Erm, well…just as soon as I find someone to wear me I will…"