I'm at it again. Maybe this one will actually come to something. Or maybe it's just my insane, inane musings. Ah, well. Introspection was never my strong point.

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans, and I CERTAINLY don't own Andrew Lloyd Weber's Phantom of the Opera or Terry Pratchett's Maskerade. I'd be honored to own a ticket to see Phantom again.

Not Another 'Phantom' Fic

Things were always looking up, looking down for a certain Mr. Wilson. He was tall and thin, but not in a good way; his body shape often put people in mind of a spider. He had had a wonderful wife, but she went crazy. His son had joined a street gang, and Mr. Wilson hadn't seen him in years. His daughter was faithful to him, but she was off at Oxford. So, to occupy himself, Mr. Wilson decided to take up a hobby. Some would have decided to make models, others would have picked golf. Heck, some would have chosen to write inane stories about fictional people. But none of that was good enough for Mr. Wilson. He chose opera. Not performing, and not just being a patron. He bought an opera house.

Now, for those of us with something of an 'omniscient' point of view, and a look at various fictional accounts, buying an opera house is the LAST thing one wants to do. At the very least, you're going to lose money and gain a lot of headaches. Unfortunately for our Mr. Wilson, he picked a haunted Opera House in Jump City. Go figure.

Mr. Wilson strode calmly into his new Opera House. A tall, broad shouldered man grinned at his appearance. Victor Stone, Wilson's business partner.

"Well, Monsieur Wilson," Victor grinned, "It appears that you've picked a keeper."

Wilson scowled at his partner. "Mister Stone. I will thank you not to offer your opinion unless it is requested. Now, let's see what we've gotten ourselves into."

Stone, thoroughly cowed, trailed behind Mr. Wilson, who headed into the main auditorium. A pair of harried old men scurried up to the pair.

"Ah, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Stone! Please, accept our apologies, but we must be on our way!"

"Yes, yes! We've got to… ah… Dammit, Andre, what was our excuse again?"

"You were supposed to come up with the excuse, Firmin"

"Ah… we've got to… meet our wives for a flight to Tokyo! Yes, that's it!"

The two men pushed past them, almost making it to the door.


A purple-haired woman in her twenties was striding up the aisle. "Monsieurs, you're not leaving without taking Mr. Wilson and telling him exactly what's going on here!"

Firmin and Andre groaned. "Yes, Madam Roth," they chorused, taking Mr. Wilson by the arm.

Madam Roth turned to Victor. "Ah, you must be Victor Stone. Come. You'll need to meet our 'Prima Donna', Mistress Markov." She rolled her eyes, and then led Stone back down the aisle. "I am the conductor of the orchestra and the ballet mistress, Rachel Roth. Madam Roth will suffice."

Victor rolled his eyes. "Really now, Rachel. I was hoping to be on first-name basis with the staff."

"Madam Roth. Not Rachel and God forbid you call me Rae." The coldness in her voice clammed Victor up tight. "I'm afraid, Mr. Stone, that there's a small thing that Firmin and Andre didn't mention. This is a haunted Opera House." Stone snorted. "I wasn't kidding. We've got an Opera Ghost."

Stone shrugged. "Just a ghost, right?"

Rachel returned the shrug. "Who knows?"

The pair finally reached the stage, where a thin blonde was yelling at the stagehands. "Mistress Markov! TARA!" That shut the raging blonde up. "This is one of the new bosses, Mr. Victor Stone. You will treat him with respect, or else."

Tara rolled her eyes at Rachel. "Whatever. I'm the star here, not you, Gothy."

Rachel glared. "Shut it."

Stone nodded towards a slender, but not overly thin, redheaded girl, who was chatting and giggling with a short, pink-haired girl. "Who's she?"

Rachel glanced over. "Ah, Kori Anders, one of our choir girls. She's got quite a voice. Her friend is Jennifer Jenkins, or Jinx, as she prefers."

"You're doing Hannibal, right? Let's hear Miss Markov sing the 'Think of Me' aria."

Tara looked smug, and then squealed in fear when a sandbag dropped next to her. Victor and Rachel glanced up in time to see a green shape flit out of view.

"THE GHOST!" Victor and Rachel looked around as the choir picked up Markov's scream. Tara herself fainted.

"Everyone calm down." Seeing no one paying her heed, Rachel took a slow breath, let it out, and then screamed, "QUIET!" Everyone shut up. "Now then, Tara, how about Mr. Stone's overture?"

Unfortunately, Tara was unconscious. Victor thought for a moment. "Well, does anyone else know the part?"

"Ooh, ooh! Kori does!" Jinx was waving her hand in the air wildly.

Rachel folded her arms. "Well, out with it, girl."

Sighing, Kori took in a breath, and then began singing.

"Think of me, think of me fondly,

When we've said goodbye.

Remember me, once in awhile,

Please promise me you'll try-"

Victor gasped. "She's amazing! She'll take Markov's part tonight."

"Mr. Stone, are you sure?" Victor nodded vigorously. "Very well. Kori, head to wardrobe and makeup. You've got to get ready."

Mr. Wilson sighed as he waved Andre and Firmin off. Turning back to the Opera House, he was surprised by Victor's grinning visage in front of him. "We've got our first real star."

Kori stood on the stage, garbed in a splendid white dress. Taking in a deep breath, she began to sing the aria. The audience reacted very favorably. They obviously approved of this new lead soprano.

Two individuals took particular interest in the singer. One sat in Box One. Richard Grayson was astounded.

"Can it be? Can it be Kori?


What a change! You're really not a bit,

The naïve girl that once you were

She may not remember me,

But I remember her!"

The other impressed observer sat behind the curtains of Box Eight. The Opera Ghost, a few shades greener than his more famous counterpart, was proud, not to mention infatuated. "Ah, Kori. You'll be mine."

Kori bowed to the applause, and then hurried off to the small chapel of the Opera House.

Rachel clapped her hands twice. "A good performance tonight, girls! But we must practice!"

Amidst the groaning of the ballet company, Jinx slipped away to find her friend.

The Opera Ghost sat on a gargoyle on the roof, swinging his legs absently. "Kori… Beautiful, talented, intelligent… But things feel… odd…" He raised a gloved hand to his face and pulled the white half-mask from his face, revealing the green underneath. Swiping his brow, he smeared the makeup that covered the rest of his face, revealing even more emerald skin. Garfield didn't know why he didn't simply cover his entire face in makeup. 'Morphic resonance' was a term that never occurred to the green man.