Chapter Five
Deux Ex Machina
AN: ...I hate this chapter, but oh well...Now go! Go read WastedxOpportunity's POTO/CATS crossover "Presto!" and My-echo's phic, "Close Encounters of the Self Insertion Kind." Please?
Disclaimer: Me? Own it? Ha! Surely you jest...
Jordan stood in the street, arms filled with packages, eyes flitting to and fro. Night fell like ash from the sky, but did nothing to dampen the spirits of the party-going Parisians.
"Great! Just great! Just fan-freaking-tastic!" she grumbled. "Which way do I go?"
A reveler, grinning a little drunkenly, crashed into her. Parcels went flying like baby birds trying out their wings. The man wobbled away, making no attempt to help her as she picked up her packages.
Sighing slightly, Jordan started walking down the street, hoping that she was going the right way. A carriage drove by, horses neighing and wheels running through a mud puddle. Water splashed onto the sidewalk, staining her gown.
"Why me?" she wailed. "Why me?" She tipped her head back, glaring at the skies. "I know someone, somewhere, is responsible for this... (and that there are readers staring at their computer screens, eyebrows raised, wondering what the heck is going on.) Now...this isn't even funny, so help? Please?"
"Breaking the fourth wall, are we?" inquired a voice. Jordie started, glancing wildly around the darkened street.
"Who...?"
"Down here."
She glanced down, meeting the eyes of...
"You! Mr. Mistoffelees!"
"The one and only," he purred in response.
"You horrendous fur ball!" she snarled, glaring at the adorable tuxedo cat. "Why I ought'a..."
"Thank me?" he asked, licking one paw in an air of nonchalance.
"For what?"
"For sending you here. For being a deux ex machina. And because I'm going to lead you back to the opera house."
"Oh...yeah..."
Without a backwards glance, Misto started padding away.
"So," Jordan asked, following him. "What are you doing here?"
"You broke the fourth wall. The line that separates audience from character, the suspension of disbelief. You called out for aid, and the lazy–I mean, mighty muses sent me to assist you."
"Ah."
The pair walked in silence for a moment.
"How is Kimberly?"
"Begging me to send her to Gerik's lair twelve hours a day."
"And the other twelve hours?"
"She cuddles me like a plushie."
"Good for her."
They arrived at the opera house.
"Goodbye, annoying human..." Mr. Mistoffelees said, before disappearing in a puff of smoke.
Someone was ringing the bellpull by the lake again. Erik sighed soundlessly and put aside his book, the one that Jordie had given him, the one about several recent events involving a vicomte, an ingenue, and himself.
Walking out the front door, he slipped silently into a trapdoor, following the passage behind it. Humming a melancholy tune, he passed through another door, right next to Jordan.
"Hello," he hissed in his velvet-and-honey voice.
"Aiie!" the girl squealed, dropping her parcels and raising her arms defensively. "Erik! What did I say about sneaking up on a girl?"
"That I should not. But I must protest. Hearing you shriek like a ballet rat brings a little ray of happiness to my day."
"Prat."
Erik grinned evilly, which of course Jordie could not see, and bent down to pick up a box. Trousers and several plain shirts tumbled out. "And what use have you for these garments, mademoiselle?"
"You don't expect me to wander around in one of those heavy skirts every day, do you?"
He shrugged gracefully and scooped up several packages. "This way," he murmured, walking back into the passage.
"What? No gondola?" she asked, following him.
"The gondola is mostly for show. I prefer using this passageway."
"One if by secret passage, two if by gondola," Jordie sang under her breath. Two glowing yellow stars turned toward her questioningly. "History class, seventh grade. Three of us in the back would amuse ourselves by taking phrases from our textbook, warping them to fit an inside joke, and then singing them to whatever pop song was currently enjoying its five minutes of fame."
"Ah," Erik murmured, wishing he hadn't asked.
Jordan sprawled across the bed in the Louis-Philippe room, letting boxes and bags filled with frilly things scatter across the covers. Erik tossed his armful of parcels beside the others.
"Did you get chocolate?" she asked, eyeing his painfully thin, black-clad figure a little wistfully.
"Yes, I did. And a box of the rather useless sugariness is right..." he pointed to the vanity table. "There."
"It's not useless!" she protested, bouncing off the bed. "It is god's gift to human kind!" She grinned slightly. "Especially PMS-ing women."
"PM–what?"
"Don't ask," Jordie said, picking up the box of chocolate and tearing it open gleefully. With a sigh of happiness, she started to chew on a caramel.
"But I just did."
"Hmph!–Want some?" she asked, pointing at the box.
"I don't eat, thank you very kindly."
"Everyone needs to eat sometimes. C'mon, just try a piece! What's the harm?"
Erik edged slightly closer, leaning over the chocolate box. "Well, I suppose..." He gently pulled out a chocolate-covered toffee.
With an evil smirk, she commented sweetly, "By the way, did you know that chocolate releases endorphins, which give one the feeling of being in love?"
The toffee was hastily put back in the box. "You don't say."
An awkward silence descended.
"You know..." Jordan began, clearing her throat. "You said that you'd show me the stage..."
"I said that 'perhaps' I'd show you the stage. 'Perhaps' means 'maybe.' 'Perhaps' does not mean 'definitely.'"
"Please?"
"No."
"But..."
"No!" Erik hissed, attempting to walk away.
She clutched at his sleeve. "Please?"
"When your parents were teaching you to speak, did they somehow forget to instruct you on the meaning of the word 'no' by any chance?"
"You...you...Meanie!"
"Your intelligent retort outshines my silly little remark, mam'selle. I am impressed!" he commented with an acidic chuckle.
"Pest," she muttered. "Mm'kay... Show me the opera house, and I'll tell you all about your phandom."
"My... fandom...?" He paused, head tilting to one side.
"Phandom, yes. Containing all of your drooling little phans and their phics."
"Fics?"
"Nuh-uh-uh!" Jordie waggled a finger at him. "Give me a tour of the opera, and I'll give you a tour of your phandom." She smiled evilly. "Deal?"
A sigh. "I suppose. Is tomorrow acceptable?"
"Squee!"
"I assume that 'squee,' at this moment, translates to 'yes.'"
"Squee!"
"All right then."