Monkey Business

When coming to collect Meg from the dormatories today I overheard the chiming strains of a familiar tune and opened the door to find Meg on the floor fiddling with Erik's precious monkey music box! Barely hearing Meg's babbling, protesting explanation as to how it came into her posession - something to do with the Masquerade party - I marched her and the the percussive primate down to Erik's lair in short order and made her apologize to him for having abducted it in such a fashion, and furthermore for allowing it to be damaged by Little Jammes.

Although our resident Ghost appeared pleased to see his furry friend again, I must say that I was rather shocked by his appearance. Normally quite meticulous in attire, he seemed bedraggled and unkempt; clothes wrinkled and mask slightly askew. I presumed that it had something to do with Christine's reported liason with this 'Gerik' fellow, and I commented to that effect.

At the mention of that encounter, Meg piped up and related what had happened afterwards. This seemed to cheer Erik up considerably, dispelling his bleak attitude and prompting him to crack open a can of Red Bull, down the whole thing, then rush to his pipe organ and pound out a joyous, albeit dissonant, melody. Sensing he was going to be lost in another one of his compositional frenzies, which only someone with little regard for their health would dare to interrupt, we quietly took our leave.

I took special care to check Meg's person for any souvenirs she might have attempted to spirit away with her.

Aftermath

*massages temples* New Year's at the Opera was, as you may have been able to discern from Meg's surruptitiously-filmed video of my unfortunate intoxication, well, madness! I haven't quite figured out how to remove this visual documentary from my blog, but I'm sure that Meg will remember well not to attempt such a childish prank again; her sentence will be to polish the Ballet Foyer foor every night for a week after rehearsals.

Curiously enough the next day I noticed that Erik's extravagant Red Death costume had been left hanging in my office with a note from the man himself requesting that I take it to be drycleaned. The garment fairly reeked of Eau de Alcohol. I'd never known our Ghost to partake in spirits so much (then again, I thought the same of myself prior to the party), but I duly complied with his request. The cleaning bill on that is going to be extortionate, I fear.

It wasn't until later that I learned there were TWO Red Deaths in attendance at the Masquerade... and apparently the newly arrived version was seen, shall we say, fraternizing, with Christine Daae.

This cannot bode well ...

Maman at the Masquerade

I know she'll probably kill me for this, but I don't care! It was totally worth it! Happy New Year! - Meg