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.  😀

 

Daily Prompt: Denial and Truth

He’s going to call me today. Because he said he would. Because he promised.

Because he never keeps his promises.

I can’t wait to hear his voice again.

I’m sure he can’t wait to hear mine. Because we’re so in love. Because I’m his only girl.

Because he isn’t faithful.

We’ll talk about things.

Big things. Little things. Sad things. Happy things. News things. Old things.

He’ll yell at me to mind my own business.

I’ll ask him when he’s coming back. Because I miss him. Because I love him.

Because he doesn’t care.

He’ll tell me maybe a week. Maybe a day. Maybe he’ll surprise me at work. I’ll laugh.

He’ll tell me whenever he feels like it.

If I’m lucky.

He’ll tell me that he needs his freedom. He needs space to breathe. I’m too smothering. I’m keeping him from reaching his potential. I’m a roadblock to his success. A tree stump. Why don’t I get a life?

……..

I can’t wait to hear his voice again.

Maybe he’ll call me today.

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/denial/

via Daily Prompt: Denial

Writing About…Oh. My. Gosh. Super Happiness!

In my Ambrose and Elsie story on my other blog, I’ve introduced two other characters: Isellta the male fey and Robin the scarred vampire.

While I have enjoyed writing them, especially Isellta, I’ve been worried about them being seen as pointless characters hogging the attention away from my two main couples: Ambrose/Barbara and Elsie/Hildreth.

Well!

I just finished a chapter a few minutes ago and certain pieces have fallen into place. I can see how Isellta and Robin are going to impact the story, in particular the final confrontation with Mark Caten. When that whole new development occurred to me, I was like “Oh. My. Gosh. Super happiness!”

I quickly wrote a short not-outline about what’s going to happen with them. And I am so happy!

Now, all I have to worry about is resolving the whole plotline involving Raven/Missy and The Institute.

So, yay me!  😆   😀

Letters To Euturpe #53: The Beginning Of The Ending

This is the beginning
of the ending.
I have made up
my mind.

Old habits die.
New ones begin.
Bad habits crumble.
New ones spring
to life.

This is the beginning
of the ending.
And so…

Old habits die
hard.
Better habits
struggle.

But I will
be strong
hold on
carry on.

I will
not break.

This is the beginning
of the ending
And it is hard.

But I have
made up
my mind.

I will
break
this habit.

I will
give up
chocolate milk
and drink
cashew milk
instead.

Today is
the beginning
of the
ending.

It will
be quite
so sad.

And this
is the
ending.

 

https://tuckedintoacorner.wordpress.com/2017/03/29/letters-to-euturpe-53/comment-page-1/#comment-5395

Daily Prompt: Elixir Of…

Bob bought the elixir at a really cheap price.

At least that’s what the man selling it had said. “A real cheap price, sir! A veritable steal!” He had sounded so convincing. It just had to be true.

Everything about it just had to be true.

Bob took the elixir home and set it on the kitchen table. He sat down and stared at it.

Ruby fluid in a flute-shaped crystal bottle.

It was very pretty.

He picked it up.

“I should sniff it. Make sure it smells okay. Never can tell a thing’s scent by a thing’s look.”

He put it on the kitchen counter.

He stared at it.

“Supposing it works, what will I do then?”

“Supposing it doesn’t work, what will I do then?”

He picked it up and put it on the stove.

He stared at it.

“You know, it could be poison. It is very red. Poison is always red. But who would want to poison me?”

He put it near the sink.

He stared at it.

“But anyway, if someone wanted to go through the hassle and trouble of poisoning me, this sure seems like the hard way to go about it. There’s a lot of leaving stuff up to chance. It can’t be poison. It is an elixir. Elixirs can’t be poison. It’s the truth. It is how things are. And if it is an elixir of love, it really can’t be poison. That would be false advertising of the highest order.”

He picked it up.

He thought about all of the women who had rebuffed him.

He thought about Jane. Lovely, spirited Jane who wouldn’t give him a Hello or a Goodbye if he asked for it.

He uncorked the bottle.

He set it on the table.

He thought about the odds of it being poison versus being a true elixir of love.

They were pretty much even.

He picked up the bottle and sniffed it.

“Smells like marshmallow cupcakes sitting in the sun. That definitely can’t be poison.”

He raised the bottle to the light.

It shined a warm, generous shine.

“Poison wouldn’t look like that.”

Bob put the bottle to his lips.

“This is probably a very bad idea.”

“I’ll probably regret it.”

“It probably won’t even work.”

He tipped the drink into his mouth.

It ran down his throat and spread a gentle warmth throughout his body.

He smiled a broad, happy smile.

He loved everything.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/elixir/

via Daily Prompt: Elixir

Letters To Euturpe – Mirror Poetry

Mirror poetry shines
and it glistens bright.
Light dances through
and sparkles it clean
as morning dew.

Mirror poetry is
a ballad for lovers.
It is a slow dance
in the sun.
It warms you
and fills you
as breath fills
your lungs.

Mirror poetry
is silver slivers
sheened.
Bright and sharp
Harmless and harmful
if you touch it
right and wrong.

Mirror poetry
is every day.
It is in every moment.
It is every small second,
every year
that I am here
with you.

https://tuckedintoacorner.wordpress.com/2017/03/22/letters-to-euturpe-52/comment-page-1/#comment-5379

Sun Set

The tide came in and the tide pulled out.

The sun sank and drowsed towards the horizon.

The woman walked across the beach in her yellow sundress and her bare feet.

The sand was warm and pleasant.

But winter would be coming in a matter of months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds.

It was time.

It was time and she knew it.

She had to return to the beach, to the ocean, to the waves of blue and green and gray.

Her feet slapped across the ocean-moistened land.

Warm water.

Warm sand.

Comforting.

Comfort.

She stepped into the water.

Left foot.

Right foot.

The sun set with a green flash.

And everything dissolved away.

Sundress.

Hair.

Eyelashes.

Hands.

Feet.

Toenails.

Fingernails.

She cried out in joy and dove to her home in the darkening waves.