Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I don't own. But I do keep Erik locked up in my closet. :)
Therapy. Erik snorted with disgust, as he entered the building. Nadir was going to pay for this one.
He was the Phantom of the Opera.
He should be threatening the managers, or crashing chandeliers, not being asked a bunch of personal questions by some random twit. Well, if he was being forced into this, he might as well make it as enjoyable as possible.
That therapist was going to learn a new meaning of hell. Now, he though to himself, where did I leave that noose?
------------
Therapy? Raoul thought. I don't need therapy. There's nothing wrong with me.
Sure, he might have had a few minor issues, but nothing that required therapy. There was nothing wrong with a full grown man taking an unnatural interest in most things feminine, or with the occasional cross-dressing, was there?
Of course not.
Primping himself in front of the mirror one last time, Raoul walked out the door.
--------------
Why would Nadir insist I needed therapy? Christine thought.
I'm perfectly sane.
She was engaged to the Vicomte de Chagny, for heaven sakes.
She did not need therapy. Then again, there was that issue of her believing that the Phantom of the Opera was the Angel of Music that her father had sent down from heaven, and then the issue of her learning the Phantom was in love with her.
You know, she thought, therapy doesn't sound too bad.
---------------
I cannot believe what that damned Persian has done this time!
Madame Giry was angrily pacing around her room. For the rest of those lunatics at this opera house, therapy seems like the logical choice, but why me?
Madame Giry, unlike most of the aforementioned lunatics, wasn't all that crazy.
Sure, she'd hidden the Phantom from the rest of the world and kept his secret for who knows how many years, but, compared to the other's issues, that was nothing. She sighed, rolled her eyes, and walked out the door.
---------------
Therapy?! How the hell am I supposed to go to therapy? I'm dead, for God's sake! Joseph Buquet's corpse was lying in its coffin, wondering whether or not this therapy was worth rising from the dead.
Seeing how he was dead and therefore must have quite a few issues, the corpse decided to attend.
Yes, corpses do have feelings! How do I know?
Have you ever been a corpse?
It's not very fun.
And so, Erik, Raoul, Madame Giry, Christine, and the corpse of Buquet made their way into the therapist's office, and were ushered into a waiting room. The secretary, a bored looking young woman, looked up from her desk. "Alright. Which one of you wackos is first?"
Erik looked at Raoul, Raoul looked at Christine, who looked at- well, you get the picture. Anyway, it was Madame Giry who agreed to go first, as she was somewhat afraid of what would happen without her supervision in the waiting room.
"Fine, I'll go. Erik, you behave yourself.
You are not to kill, maim, injure, disfigure, mutilate, wound, hurt, damage, destroy, annihilate, obliterate, wipe out, demolish, smash up, break, dent, scratch, stab, strangle, execute, impair, put to death, murder, slay, slaughter, eradicate, exterminate-"
"Alright, alright! I get the picture. Geez, woman, give it a rest. Besides, don't you trust me?" Erik glared at Madame Giry.
"No." she said.
"Why not?" Erik asked, giving her an adorable puppy dog look.
Just then, a side door opened up, and a woman stuck her head out.
"Are any of you going to come in, or am I going to have to come out, hit you over the head with a spatula, and drag you in?" Madame Giry sighed.
"I'm coming, I'm coming." As soon as the door had closed behind her, Erik's eyes got that funny gleam in them. You know, like right when he's about to kill someone.
And then, all hell broke loose.
Well? What do you think? It's my first story in a LONG time, so drop a review and let me know what you think. Erik plushies to anyone who reviews. :P