Place: Paris, France
Time: A.D. 1881
(Two girls are walking down a street.)
Kyra. Did you know, Anisa, that I have this strange feeling we have gone back in time?
Anisa. I would have thought this was evident, given the lack of cars, bicycles or the ubiquitous motorcycle gangs. Meaning, all modern forms of technology whatsoever. The wheel doesn't count, Kyra.
Kyra. Ah, yes, the gangs. The black jackets, the blue jackets, the business suits, and the good old green suicide bombers.
Anisa. Exactly. Oh, look, here is a French man. Let us observe this French man in his natural habitat.
(They observe the French man.)
Man. (after a time) WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!
Kyra. We happen to be observing you in your--
Anisa. Natural habitat.
Kyra. You see?
Man. I don't see! It's a conspiracy. Everyone is out to get Christine! You're part of the plot! Well, avast, stop it! I am a fearsome foe!
(He strikes a heroic/ridiculous pose.)
Kyra. That's so rude. Avast is my word.
Anisa. Oh.
Kyra. Try your secret weapon, why don't you?
Man. (overhearing) Secret weapon? I will deal with it! I know what it is!
(He puts his hand up somewhere in the vicinity of his face.)
Ha--what do you say now?
(A pause.)
Well, hurry up! My arm's getting tired.
Kyra. (bored, rolls eyes) Out of shape. I suggest exercise. And a diet.
Anisa. (after having carefully prepared herself) Shut up. (in a nice, pleasing, soft, gentle, and generally harmless tone of voice)
Man. (thinks a while, seems confused, then:) NO!
(Strikes pose again)
Kyra. It didn't work. Figures.
Anisa. Well! He is so rude! (to the man) I bet you don't even know what a cello is!
Man. (draws himself up proudly) I do so. I happen to be a violinist myself. Taught by one of the greatest violinists in all of Europe--
Kyra. (wary) Wait a minute.
Anisa. Did you say...VIOLINIST?
(He nods)
TRAITOR!
Kyra. Anisa! No! (restrains her by the arms as she rushes to attack him) Violence is never the answer!
Anisa. (calms down) Well, I should have known.
Kyra. Even I, as a loyal violin chauvinist, have to say that you are a disgrace to the instrument and to the SRVC.
Man. The what?
Kyra. SRVC. Society for the Rights of Violin Chauvinists. I happen to be the president.
Anisa. Not to mention the only member.
Kyra. (glares) You weren't supposed to mention that. Especially not to him.
Man. The name is Raoul. Raoul de Chagny.
(Anisa and Kyra glance at each other.)
Anisa. RUN!
Raoul. Why must I suffer this?
(Anisa gives an evil grin. Raoul looks scared)
Anisa. (advancing) We know the Phantom. And we're going to call him in to strangle you. So I suggest you leave.
Kyra. (improvising) Now. He's got, uh, a gas pipe too.
Anisa. And peaches.
Raoul. (perks up) Peaches? (droops again) But I don't like peaches.
Anisa. (disgusted) Ultimate stupidity.
Kyra. Ultimate cello. But they mean the same thing anyway.
(Raoul stands and looks bewildered at the exchange. Kyra hums "Russian Sailor's Dance" ominously)
Anisa. APPLES!
Kyra. That was rather random.
Raoul. I knew it! You're with HIM! The Phantom!
Anisa. Took you a while to process that one, I have to say.
Raoul. Well! I am going to go find a sledgehammer. Don't move! (He rushes off)
(Kyra moves)
finis
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