ur local garbage fav

Full Cast: Killian Donnelly (The Phantom), Holly-Anne Hull (alt. Christine), Matt Blaker (Raoul), Kelly Glyptis (Carlotta), Adam Linstead (M. André), Matt Harrop (M. Firmin), Greg Castiglioni (Piangi), Francesca Ellis (Mme. Giry), Ellie Young (Meg)

Throrgan hadn’t been like the furniture Hat had been with in the past. Throrgan had been passionate and eccentric and caring and surprisingly sweet under his dark and moody exterior, and, though small, Throrgan had certainly known his way around his keys. All 154 of them.

Their time together had been short but blissful, and Hatstand had been foolish enough to believe they might have had something real, especially when Throrgan had introduced them to his litter of energetic young candelabras and the children had enthusiastically accepted Hat as a guardian and parent.

But it wasn’t meant to be, Hatstand supposed, because the passion had died in the end: the stretches between visits growing longer as Throrgan’s charge spent more and more nights composing, the nights of true romance growing rarer as Throrgan’s energy waned, the sweet nothings he had once whispered in Hat’s ears turning strained and out-of-tune.

Still, what Hat wouldn’t do for just once more chance to hold Throrgan in their hooks and kiss each of his decorative skulls.

They’d had flings since them, certainly, but none had ever managed to make Hat feel the way Throrgan managed to: regal, special, loved.

Countess Dress had been quaint and lovely but fussy and demanding. Mirror Bride had been brazen and witty but cold and stiff whenever she fell into a mood. Moreover, she lived mere feet from Throrgan’s own domain, which always made visits to her home tense and awkward, and things had quickly fizzled between the two. And the others—Cane, Cloak, Angel—couldn’t even compare.

Hatstand sighed, their hooks drooping ever so slightly. The hats they held bounced and settled with the new position.

“Hatstand?” Asked an echoing voice tentatively.

“Darling!” Hatstand pulled back in surprise, though the end of their hook still lingered on the cold glass. “I was just—”

“Thinking of him again, weren’t you?” Cut in Chandelier, though not unkindly.

Hat swallowed, their hooks winding into self-conscious curlicues.

“I know it’s foolish,” they said, “It’s been years, Chan. I shouldn’t be so hung up on a centerpiece I was only seeing for a few months.”

Chandelier’s warm light intensified, engulfing Hatstand in it’s golden glow.

“Yes,” she agreed, “It has been years. Yet your passion for him hasn’t waned in all that time. You still think of him often. That must mean something.”

Hat’s empty hooks twisted together in an anxious knot, much like their human charge might wring her fingers in a fit of nervousness.

“Do you suppose he still thinks of me?”

Chandelier twinkled knowingly. “If half the things you’ve told me about your relationship are true, then I don’t know how he could ever forget.”

Hat suppressed a small giggle at the memories of nights drunk on varnish and kerosene spent gossiping about past lovers with Chandelier. They turned toward the mirror once more, thoughts sobering with yet another daydream of that fantastical world below.

“I think… I have to go, Chan,” Hatstand said quietly. Chandelier’s lights flickered softly, flames growing dim and tiny.

“I understand,” she whispered, “You belong down there. With him.”

“You aren’t upset?”

Chandelier brightened. “Oh, Hat,” she said, “You know I love you. You know we all do. You’ve been the backbone of our little family since the moment you first arrived. But you’ve never been truly happy up here, not since you met Throrgan. You deserve to find someone who can make you just as happy as you’ve made us all these years.”

Hat softened at Chandelier’s words, but hesitated still, one last thought lingering in their mind.

“If I leave… who will watch over the girl?”

“Flowerstand will take your place,” Chandelier assured gently, “You know she will. She wants only your happiness, just as I do.”

The flicker of her lights turned low and conspiratorial, then, flames dancing wildly as they licked through the air.

“Besides,” she continued, a bit of humor bubbling in her voice, “The Prima Donna’s been unbearable ever since your girl took the stage. Flower’s been dying to get out of that room.”

Hatstand chuckled. Yes, the human diva had been a handful as of late, storming through the opera house’s halls and demanding attention from everyone she crossed. Though Flower had resided in the Prima Donna’s dressing room for quite some time now, she’d confided many times that to suddenly see the human in such a raging flurry had begun to take its toll.

“Okay,” whispered Hat, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Chandelier’s glow was nearly blinding as she swelled with emotion. From her position high above the stage, it was easy for Chandelier to spread the word to the rest of the sentient furniture, and soon enough all had gathered in Hatstand’s dressing room to bid them farewell.

Flowerstand was the last to approach Hatstand, her flowers in full bloom. She took one of Hat’s hooks warmly in her petals.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Hat,” she murmured sweetly, the scent of her pink and white bulbs swirling in her breath.

Hat’s wood darkened to a cherry shade as they blushed. “Me, too,” they murmured.

The two embraced, and as she pulled back from the hug, Flower tucked one of her blossoms into the top hat on Hat’s hook.

“Go get ‘em,” she whispered with her teasing, tinkling laugh.

Hatstand took a final glance around the small dressing room they had come to call home. Behind them, Flowerstand pulled herself into position in the corner that Hat once filled. Hatstand drew themself high, straightened their delicately carved hooks, and with a deep breath, crossed the threshold into the hidden lair.

                 • • •

There were no humans around as Hatstand wandered the winding halls of the Opera House’s underground system.

“Throrgan?” Hat’s voice carried swiftly through the dark, echoing abyss of the human’s lair.

Water dripped somewhere nearby, but just below that came a sound Hat would recognize anywhere. A melody that could only come from Throrgan’s keys echoed against the stone, playing something mournful and slow, and Hatstand’s heart stuttered.

Their pace quickened as they followed the sound, called by the music and lured through the darkness, transfixed by the enchanting way that only Throrgan could manage to bewitch a soul with his tunes.

Soon enough Hat found themself rounding the corner to a wide open space, and stiffened with what they saw. There lay Throrgan, in as radiant and pristine a condition as ever, stooped low over his music as his keys depressed in a heavenly tune.

Hat’s breath caught, struck mute with the beauty of the music, and they found themself standing frozen in the entryway, unable to even call out Throrgan’s name as the music and the memories overtook them.

The music stopped, then, damper pedal releasing with a thud, and Hat snapped from their trance with a sharp inhale.

“Hat?” Throrgan’s voice was fraught with disbelief, “Is that really you?”

“Throrgan,” breathed Hatstand.

“You came back,” said Throrgan, notes high and delicate like he wasn’t sure if Hatstand was a vision or a reality.

“I love you,” Hatstand replied, emotion welling beneath their dark brown finish, “I never stopped loving you.”

Throrgan’s keys were silent, the flames that decorated his exterior pulsing. “Hat,” he murmured, “I—”

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Hat hiccuped, closing the distance between the two as their hooks unfurled, dropping the hats they supported in favor of reaching out for their true love.

“I missed you,” gasped Throrgan, the notes exploding out of him, “I missed you more than my music could express. I never should have neglected you. You were—are—the most precious thing in my life, and I never should have made you feel as if that were not true.”

“Throrgan,” Hat said again, caressing each skull and each candle and each organ pipe, unable to get enough of the feel of their lover.

Throrgan’s notes turned bold and loud and romantic as the two embraced, Hat’s hooks winding tightly throughout Throrgan’s delicate handiwork.

Around them, the candelabras danced and swirled at a frenetic pace, and for the first time in nearly two years, Hatstand was truly at peace.

            - - - - -

Erik made his way deftly through the secret passages of his underground home. The day had been long, filled with hours of spying on Christine and the Vicomte and providing constructive feedback to the stupid managers on the way they were running things. As he entered his room, a strange new sight gave him pause.

“Where the fuck did this hatstand come from?” He mused.

Erik shrugged. Likely it was a gift from Madame Giry; perhaps an old prop that had fallen out of use in the opera house. With a sigh, he flung his cloak and hat over the hooks and crouched over his throrgan, prepared to write the horniest stage directions of all time.