Night at Phantom, Part Two

Ok! So, here's the second half of the flashback to the night Eric took Daphne to Phantom. This is the latest section of writing I've completed for this year's NaNo and it pretty much takes off from the end of Phantom part one.

The most important part of this scene is the dynamic shift between Daphne and Eric, as Daphne starts to realise that keeping away from him is less up to her than she ever knew before. It's particularly mushy in parts, but needed to be written as it's an important part of the relationship between them.

But don't worry! I've got plenty more thriller, ditzy, comedy, and raunchy scenes to come in the near future.

What's happening: Daphne and Eric argue about their relationship before the second Act of Phantom begins, and Daphne begins to realise that Eric is more clued on about winning her than she ever thought.

Current NaNo Word Count: 5,927

May the muses ever be with you,

Mara

Eric stood by the bar with a glass of champagne in each hand and handed one to me when I approached.

            “Cheers,” he said and clinked his glass against mine as I accepted the offering. Then after we took a sip, he asked, “Enjoying the show?”

            I grinned at him, and nodded emphatically. I loved Phantom like Webber loved musicals.

            “So, so much! I know I’ve seen it before and I have the DVD with Gerard Butler – but I am loving it!” I suddenly felt a bit awkward and batted my lashes up at him. “Thank you for bringing me, you know, despite everything.”

            Eric kissed me quickly on the top of the head before I could react, then straightened, taking my arm in his as the warning bells began to ring, signalling the impending start to the second Act. “You’re more than welcome, and I’m sorry I had to corner you into it.”

            “Are you really?” I asked in surprise.

            “No, not really. I’d do anything to get you to spend time with me, until you realise that breaking this off when we’re so good for each other because of some silly cat-man.”

            Eric was steering me back into the theatre towards our seats, and a scowl spread across my face at his words.

            “Way to ruin the moment, Eric, with talk about why we have to be apart.”

            “You know, Daph, it wouldn’t ruin moments like these if you would just stop trying to save the world on your own and let me help you. You do know that relationships are supposed to be about compromises, right?” He raised a brow at me as I slid into my seat.

            I just glared back. “No shit, Sherlock. But I hardly think you can treat this like a regular case. Most couples don’t have spirits and were-cats for roommates, have past lives as ancient Egyptian warriors and priestesses or get drugged by psycho would-be killer Parisian club-owners!” I hissed at him, then mutter to myself: “I can’t believe he’s going to bring this up right now.”

            “Is that what this is seriously about? Being drugged in Paris? I’ve told you before It kills me that I couldn’t protect you from Leveaux, and I’m eternally grateful that Mim was there but I can’t change that. Pushing me away only gives me less of a chance to be there to protect you in case anything else happens.”

            “But you can’t be!” I ran a hand through my hair and dislodged half the pins that were in there. “Eric, you can’t be! If you really are Danukaric then you can’t be there to protect me because you are what I need protecting from!”

            It was only half true, and Danukaric truly was one of the enemies of Ye Vanck Amun and her Cat army protectorate, but that wasn’t all that was after me and my power and Eric knew it.

            Eric jerked back from where he’d leant closer to keep his voice down as if i’d slapped him, and he stared at me like I’d just told him I’d shagged Roy.

            I trained my gaze straight ahead as the orchestra struck up once more trying to end the conversation, but Eric gripped my hand in his.

            It wasn’t until we were well into the Masquerade sequence that he bent to my ear to whisper:

            “I would never hurt you, even if I had to let your Cat guardian kill me first.”

            Hardly the most attractive thing I’d ever heard, but I held his hand in mine anyway to show that I understood. This argument was far from over, and I knew Eric wasn’t going to agree with me anytime soon, but for now as I leant my head against his shoulder to watch the rest of the show I figured that a little affection couldn’t hurt.

           

            The Phantom’s final plea for Christine’s approval always tugged at my heart, and as the actors took their bows I tried to inconspicuously wipe a stray tear from my eye, clapping with pretty much everything I had.

            As the curtain fell for the last time and the crowd began to rise and disperse, Eric tucked my hand into his inner suit pocket and threw an arm around my shoulders. Guiding me towards the exit out onto the streets of Times Square I took another moment to stare up in awe at the bright lights and flashy landscape of the heart of New York City.

            It was fast approaching midnight but the streets were still so alive with hope and dreams. Even in London, which was my home and the very top of my list of city loves, the air of possibility wasn’t even as strong as it was in New York. It was the city that never sleeps, the city where you could be a star and follow your dreams, where you could disappear if you never wanted to be found and start fresh if you wanted to be someone new. NYC was a beating heart of culture and art, and at that very moment I couldn’t think of anywhere more perfect I’d rather be.

            Eric took my hand in his as we crossed into the centre of the square, pointing to where a group of dancers were singing in a flash mob to New York, New York.

            I squealed with glee and dragged him forward to watch them more closely, mouthing the words to Sinatra I knew by heart the amount of times I’d played it in the lead up to this trip. Laughing, Eric dropped to an elegant bow and offered my his arm, spinning me into a waltz that held me close.

            It felt like a scene from a film, especially when he leant in to kiss me then whisper to me: “It’s up to you, New York, New York.”

            Things blurred after that and the next morning I would barely recall more dancing in Times Square with Eric, him stealing kisses at every opportunity, more champagne at some upscale bar I could barely remember the name of before being escorted to my room at the Plaza with little more than a passion-filled kiss that left me almost ready to beg.

            For all his arrogance, self-assurance, refusal to see reason and determination to win me back over and have his way, if there’s one thing Eric Stanhope was – it was dreadfully romantic.

            The man did his homework, and he knew exactly how to get me where he wanted.

            But, I realised as I stepped into my room to see gold-tinged anger rising up from the furious creature that was Mimotosef the Prince of Cats, guardian to the Priestess of the Gods, the Earth Walker and Mediator, me, that so did so many others.