This has probably been done before but it turns out I've grown an unhealthy obsession with this story. I'm just testing the water with this to find out what people think of it... Let me know!

"But it's pride!" Ted yelled so loudly that the walls of the building rattled. He was chasing his renowned star through the building as the diva chucked objects to the floor and caused as much destruction as was possible.

"Well, you should have thought about that before you made my outfit in the wrong colour," the queen screamed, tearing tonight's poster off the wall and hurling it to the ground. "Orange is so unflattering."

"Emmett, please, darling," he begged, picking up the debris of the diva's storm of anger. "Reconsider!"

"No!" The diva turned on the spot, causing Ted to run straight into him.

Emmett screamed and jumped on the spot indignantly. "And now you have touched by $1000 coat. That's it! For tonight you will have to find another star!"

With that, he spun again, the fur of his coat smacking Ted firmly in the face as his only star flounced onto the cold streets.

Ted fell to the floor, the broken objects from Emmett's whirlwind of destruction falling around him. What the hell was he going to do now? He'd lost his one and only star. Without Emmett Honeycutt, there was no pride show, there was no spectacular Babylon event where people would flock from all over Pittsburgh to view the show. Without Emmett, there was a closed club and no money.

"What am I going to do?" Ted cried loudly, throwing his arms into the air and looking up into the rafters of the club. "You did this!" He yelled angrily. "I ordered green not orange!"

"Ted," he heard his longest employee and most trusted friend whisper in his ear. "You shouldn't call to him like that. He won't like it."

"I don't care what he likes, Michael. He has ruined my show.""He would never ruin the show, this club is his home. It's the thing he cares about most in the world."

"Then why has he made the star run-out and refuse to come back on the biggest night of the year."

"Maybe he's trying to save the show…." Michael suggested, putting a finger to Ted's face and pushing his head in the direction of the youngest and most talented of their chorus line.

"Justin?" Ted looked anxiously at the blonde boy currently sliding around a pole dressed as a cowboy. "He's not a lead."

"Well, he," Michael gestured upwards with his eyes, "clearly thinks differently."

"But can I trust the Phantom with my show?"

"As he would say," Michael said turning away from the owner, "he trusts you with his club."