Devil Take The Hindmost…Or Never Mind

Author’s Note:  I was listening to “Devil Take The Hindmost” from the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical “Love Never Dies” (which is the sequel to Phantom of the Opera). And there were a couple of things that stuck out at me. Especially the Phantom’s “He’s musical therefore he’s my son”. 

So, yeah. I just had to do this:

“Hello, fop.”

Raoul gasped. “You aren’t the bartender!”

The Phantom smiled. “Nope. And you aren’t very bright. Look at you steeped in debt, lousy father, crummy husband, borderline abusive. Oh, and you’re a drunk too.”

“Oh, yeah? Well….” Shoot. I can’t dispute any of those. “Well, you’re ugly! You’re so ugly you make mirrors crack. You make pigeons want to die. Die, I tell you! You’re hideous AND horrible. Take that! Wha!”

“Oh, touché. Or not. Hey. I’m rather unoccupied at the moment and you seem to be a stupid gambler. How about we make a bet?”

“How about we don’t?”

“Oh, but you haven’t heard the conditions. See, I believe that MY Christine loves me.” He scoffed. “As for her feelings for you, psh! What feelings? She totally wants me.”

“Oh, dream on, carcass face. She’s my wife!”

“Well. You sure seem confident. Do you want to hear my bet?”

“Nope. Bye.”

And that’s the end of the musical.

Or….

“You’re full of old tofu and bad curry.” snapped Raoul. “MY Christine and I have a son. You don’t have a son with her. Hence, you lose.”

“Oh? Are you so sure about that? Little junior is such a strange child. Don’t you think? He’s so talented. Musical.”

“Dumb headed Phantom. My wife is freaking Christine Da’ae. Maybe you’ve heard of her. World renowned SOPRANO. As in, oh I don’t know, SHE SINGS!”

“Well. That’s true but—-”

“And aren’t you the one who’s always raving about how great her voice is? Huh?”

“Well. Yes, but—”

“You think boys only get their talents from their fathers? You stupid stupid Phantom.”

“But…” The Phantom sighed and hung his head. “It totally made sense to me.”

“Again. You lose. Good day, sir!”

Raoul grabbed his coat off the bar counter and left.

And that is the end of the musical.

Or….

“Christine.”

“Oh, Raoul. What a surprise. Just marching into my dressing room while I’m trying to get into my performance mind-set.” She gave him a sarcastic thumbs-up. “Great job.”

“Well. See, there’s a problem.”

“What?”

“You know my terrible gambling addiction?”

She gave him THE look.

“Obviously you do. Umm. Well. I was at the bar this morning and stupid stupid Phantom popped out of who knows where and he…uhhh…”

“What did he do this time? Did he Punjab lasso you again?”

He laughed nervously. “No. Uhhh, he and I….umm. Well. I don’t think you should sing tonight. Let’s go back to Paris and—-”

“Raoul. We paid good money to get ourselves over here. I am going to sing. Unless you can give me one good reason not to.”

“Uhh. One good reason.” He flashed a queasy smile. “See?” He flapped his arms in an exasperated gesture. “It’s the Phantom’s fault. It’s all his fault.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“He bet me that you would sing tonight and I bet that you wouldn’t because of love and stuff.”

“You did what?”

“He said that if you don’t sing, he’ll give up on you and wipe away all of my debts because…apparently he can do that. But if you sing, he’ll claim you and Gustave and—-”

“Oh my gosh! What is wrong with you two?”

“Uhhh, love and stuff?”

“That’s it. That is so it. Forget about the concert tonight and that great big lovely aria he wrote specifically for me.” She grabbed Raoul by the ear and dragged him out of the room.

“Aggaaahh!”

“You are so going to Gamblers Anonymous. And we are going right now.” She snapped her fingers and Madame Fleck dropped out of the ceiling. “Get Gustave and don’t let either of the Giry’s go anywhere near them.”

Madame Fleck did a pirouette, a bow, and she somehow jumped back up into the rafters.

“What’s wrong with the Giry’s?” He winced as she tightened her grip on his ear. “I thought they were your BFFs/substitute family from way back when.”

“Yeah, but things have changed, Raoul. They have changed. They keep giving poor Gustave drop dead looks. I have a bad feeling that one of them is going to try drowning him.”

“What the heck?” He frowned. “Why drowning? Seems kind of specific.”

“Well. Either drown him or shoot him. Take your pick.”

Madame Fleck dropped out of the ceiling with Gustave. “Oh, mother! I was so—-”

“Don’t want to hear it right now, sweetie.”

“Christine. Could you let go of my ear?”

“Not until we reach the Gambler’s Anonymous building and we’re safely inside.” She tugged him out of Phantasia.

And no one died.

And that is the end of the musical.  😀

 

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