Prologue – At The Auction (Phantom Fanfic)

       In this story, I’m pitting the "movie" Phantom and the "play" Phantom not quite against one another, but definitely butting heads.  You’ll see.  Anyway, I obviously need a distinction between the two.  So the "play" Phantom will be called Erik, while the "movie" Phantom will be called Gerrard, after the man who played him.  I’m not calling the play Phantom "Michael," (after Michael Crawford,) because Michael Crawford is the one true Phantom, despite what any "Oh, my God, Gerrard is SO HOT!!!" people might say.  Therefore, he deserves the title of the Phantom’s actual name.
       Oh, one last thing, it’ll help greatly if you’ve seen the movie to follow along with what all I say in here.  In fact, if you want to play the movie while reading this, I’m sure you’ll find it quite entertaining.
       Anyway, on with the show!

       Deep down in the tunnels beneath the opera house, had anyone been there to listen, they would have heard the swish of cloaks, the groan of a chair long since convinced no one would occupy the seat again, and . . . a DVD player starting?
       Yes, indeed, our resident Phantom has heard of a director making a movie about his famous stunts and captures at the Opera Populaire.  He couldn’t help but be curious, because rumor had it that the very songs he’d so often sung on the stage were to be integrated into this silver screen production.  He couldn’t help but wonder if it would do him justice.
       He pushed Play on the remote for the DVD player — technology never ceased to astound him — and the movie began.
       "An old movie effect . . ." he murmured as he saw the ancient Raoul being wheeled into the auction house.  "I like it."
       In fact, he had no complaints about the items auctioned off, nor how the bidding was done.  Though he found it curious that Madame Giry should want the Persian monkey musical box.  It was no surprise to him that the box was still in working order.  He’d meant it to last a lifetime.  And one could never guess how long one would live . . .
       But then, Raoul’s voice began singing, more of a train of thought than something to be said aloud.
       "A collector’s piece, indeed.  Every detail, exactly as she said.  Will you still play when all the rest of us are dead?"
       Erik leaned forward in his chair, pauing the DVD.  "What?  Where are the rest of his lyrics?"  He began singing, in perfecvt pitch, the rest of the lines that should have been there.  ". . .exactly as she said.  She often spoke of you, my friend.  Your velvet lining and your figurine of lead.  Will you still play . . .?"
       Erik shook his head and sat back in his chair.  "Well, it’s only one thing.  Surely no more than that could have been changed."