The Dating Game

by ~L-is-for-LOSER-17

The first, nauseating sensation each contestant had upon returning to consciousness was the sensation of feeling as if they were being subjected to a trip through a microwave. They very quickly came to realize, with the roar of a crowd cheering on a strange-looking woman with a microphone in front of them, that this was because they were on a stage. A very brightly lit, brightly-coloured, game show set stage.

They either had the good sense not to curse, or simply found themselves unable, bound by the etiquette guidelines of the teenager running the light and sound board, though of course they couldn’t see her beyond those god-awful lights.

Turning on her high-heeled boots, the woman with an outrageously over-sized ponytail and grey streak streaking through it  greeted them overbearingly (in the style of all proper game show hosts), “And what a great day to be on the Dating Show, huh, Contestants?” The men’s side she chose to say this to in turn chose alternately to sneer, wince, or simply stare in bafflement (feel free to guess at which). Once the audience calmed down enough, she planted the non-microphone-wielding hand to her hip and explained with false seriousness, “Now, for those of you unused to our special version of the game show, we have most of the same rules as your basic shows, but like to shake things up by having multiple Bachelors and Bachelorettes.”

The blonde man interrupted quickly with, “But I’m married!”

The studio audience began to stomp and tentatively chant, “Jerry?” only to be silenced by a dismissive wave of Madame’s hand. “Not today,” she smirked.

“Thank you,” she redirected, “For introducing yourself, Bachelor Number Three!” Facing the audience, she explained with a sardonic grin where appropriate, “This lovely gent is a Vicomte, a very wealthy fellow, you see. He was married to the lovely Christine Daae up until they both died of natural deaths. But now,” she waggled a finger knowingly, “Marriage is only binding insofar as the contract specifies: More specifically, ‘until death do thee part,’ as it clearly has, my dear Vicomte de Chagny. So, unfortunately for you, luckily for our lovely Bachelorettes, your ghostly body is going to have to bear with our juvenile niceties.”

Madame President nodded her head, moving onto the dark-haired man, the only living member of this half of the stage, calling out his details just as freely, “Our handsome Bachelor Number Two is none other than the Dashing Alex! He, according to my very reliable sources, is very close to an engagement, but as the saying goes: Close, but no cigar!”

Baring her teeth in a more cynical smile, she moved down to the third man in the group, eyeing his mask particularly speculatively before shifting her attentions back to the rapt audience. “Contestant Number One, oh that sly fellow who proved so very difficult to get on our show this evening, is the mysterious Opera Ghost, the Phantom of the Opera himself!” The studio audience gave a suspiciously rehearsed sounding collective gasp before quieting for Madame to finish. “While also most enamoured with the popular Christine Daae, our poor Erik also finds himself woefully single and consequentially free to be stolen and misused for our romantic entertainment.”

The three men seemed in no way happy with their introductions, but the people filling the bleachers cheered nonetheless, existing only because their Creator, the girl at the soundboard, needed them to fill the seats for Madame’s plan. The maniacal original character in question simply beamed on the stag, striding confidently to the other side of the stage, around the typical dividing wall to separate the men and women, electing to start the game show as soon as possible.

“Look at these lovely ladies, Audience!” The female contestants only glared, each equally outraged to find they could not rise from their seats without suddenly snapping back down into them. Once more, the cheers continued.

“You may note that we have four Bachelorettes and only three Bachelors. Well! That’s because we need a co-host, and I’m leaving it up to you, dear Audience, to decide who!” Madame could not have been more in her element if the cardboard cut-out personalities her Creator had provided in the audience were the test tubes and mechanical gears she was more naturally accustomed to manipulating and goading.

“Our first Lady Contestant is the ever-so-glamorous Miss Daae!” Offering a fake bow, Madame gibed good-naturedly, “Though I imagine you don’t really need help from this game show to land a date, given how many men you have doting on you already, isn’t that right, Miss?” The answering glare was brushed off as if inconsequential.

“Second Lady tonight is our quirky Chelsey! Wave hello to the audience, sweetie!” Cautiously, she did, smiling slowly when this was met with encouraging applause. Madame explained in a tone that could’ve been pleased or bemused, “This young woman seems to be even more enigmatic than Bachelor Number One, so of course the pairing tonight may prove particularly difficult to choose!” The brunette seemed to try and move from her chair but quickly thought better of it. After hearing Madame’s easily explanation for Raoul’s presence, she didn’t think she really wanted to hear what this crazy woman’s logic fro her involvement in this apparent game show was.

“The Third and Fourth Ladies, by proxy of being unfortunately secondary, shall be the ones we vote between for who is to help me and act as co-host for tonight’s show!” The two ladies had the decency to look even more incensed at the situation. “Our members of the fairer sex to choose between are the vivacious Azadeh and Thanh!” Leering, Madame continued, “Though they are both single, their apparent interests in main characters makes them rather catalytic options for tonight’s game, so choose wisely!”

Waving her arm dramatically, Madame President pointed in turn from the Persian to the other, asking, “Who shall aide me, dear Audience: Miss Azadeh or Miss Thanh?”

The teenage girl who chose now to flick on two spotlights gave a slightly shake to her head, as if making up her mind, and the mixed bag of yells from the audience cemented into cheers for Azadeh, who immediately found herself able to stand. The three other women might’ve encouraged her to run at that moment and get help, or maybe even offer useful instructions on the best way to punch out the crazy woman with the microphone, had they not been shocked to find their vocal cords unresponsive.

The Persian rose, eyeing Madame defensively, who in reply only grinned. “Well, fantastic! But those hardly seem appropriate clothes for a co-host!” Turning to the general direction of the soundboard, the woman called out, “How about something a bit dressier, Creator?”

Azadeh herself couldn’t deny the dress was lovely, if not a bit overblown, and clashed with the oddly authoritarian and flirtatious mood Madame’s austere grey suit and miniskirt set. “Much better,” the psychopath said, nodding appreciatively in the teenagers direction, quickly returning to the task at hand.

“Now you,” she greeted, zeroing in on Azadeh, are probably unaware of the rules for our little game. Once we have the equal number of contestants as –Oh! Look at that!- we now do, then we start a series of date-themed trials, ones which will eliminate a man and a woman from each side per round. The eliminated participants are then treated to actual dates with the other loser from their round. The final two participants will get much the same; except they shall share a bonus prize of a sizeable $20,000!” Madame nearly crooned the last part, moving to the centre of the stage to better watch the men and women’s side.

Wearing a smirk that over the years had come to signal both wondrous and horrifying things like scientific laws being irreversibly broken and cashiers being intimidated into giving her her desired discount on bulk purchases of cookie dough ice cream, Madame stared out into the audience, announcing into her microphone, “Let the games begin!”

---

“Come on, left! Left!”

From his perch on the woman’s back, Raoul managed to accidentally steer them into yet another mess in the convoluted tangled mess that was the first round. One was supposed to lead their blindfolded date to a “moonlit” bench. The last pair to do so lost and were eliminated, and although at first he had rather wanted to lose, the murmured insult from the Opera Ghost has spurred him on to try and win, if only to show that blast Ghost that his brain was not in fact ‘a hork and a half-wax short of a baboon’s rear.’ It was a more creative insult than he’d probably ever heard, but regardless of its novelty, was an insult whose falseness had need to be disproved.

From the sidelines, Madame called out their respective progresses, and Raoul was in no way happy to hear that Erik and Chelsey had successfully, if not awkwardly, been first to reach the bench. Unfortunately, one of the hostess’ stipulations was that the male had to be carried piggy-back by the woman through the area, and of course it was the woman who wore the blindfold. It brought him even less cheer to hear that Alex and Christine’s progress was much better than his own.

His partner, the enthusiastic Thanh, while boisterous, proved to have little significant body strength sufficient of carrying them, and seemed intent on not following a single instruction he relayed. This might’ve been intentional or not (he’d chosen to ignore the bedroom eyes she’d thrown at him before the round started), and Raoul was growing more and more frustrated with every second they found themselves no closer to the end.

“And there you have it folks!” The painfully cheery voice announced to the crowd, “Alex and Christine have just joined Erik and Chelsey at the bench, which means our dear Vicomte and Thanh are off, and on behalf of our sponsors will be enjoying a lovely dinner at the nearest Cheesecake Factory!”

Thanh, in a burst of excitement, shocked Raoul by very efficiently forcing him to dismount and pulling off her blindfold. The teenage girl who had previously been running the soundboard and Azadeh led them away, Thanh bouncing as she walked, Raoul uncomfortably glancing over his shoulder every other second to look at Chelsey and glare significantly at Erik.

---

“Rooooound Two!”

Alex and Erik had been switched so that now Alex and Chelsey stood side by side and Erik and Christine stood awkwardly near each other. This challenge was supposed to measure one’s ability in a relationship to tell the truth when faced with awkward questions.

As the minutes passed, Christine only grew more and more red-faced at the increasingly modern-flavour questions, Erik likely suffering the same predicament, but thankfully protected by his mask from such a fact bearing light. Alex and Chelsey, though, easily climbed the stairs of the symbolic ‘Pyramid of Trust’ Madame claimed as an effective analogy, exchanging answers to the questions as honestly and openly as any healthy couple should.

It was not long before they reached the top, and were dubbed the winners of the second round, and though Erik was extremely pleased to be put on a date with Christine, the fact that they were to be escorted to what Madame adamantly declared as her favourite restaurant, noisy establishment apparently run by a questionably mature benefactor named “Chuck E. Cheese,” did much to dampen the mood.

That and Christine’s stormy outlook on how Raoul’s date was going.

Azadeh took Christine’s hand and led her away while the teenage girl who Madame had continued to identify as Creator, in charge of guiding Erik, took care not to touch him but utilize the tasteful Disney three-finger point toward the appropriate exit.

---

“You may wonder, ladies and gentlemen,” Madame mused, “Why, if we are left with only one couple, am I deigning to offer a third round? Well,” she began, “In the stead of my offer to grant the winning couple $20,000, I offer, if they choose to bear the challenge of the third round and win, shall be granted a much more significant $100,000!”

The audience roared with applause and encouragements to Alex and Chelsey to go for it.

“If you should lose, you shall still keep your winnings and still be treated to a lovely dinner date.”

They glanced at each other and after a minute of quiet conference looked gravely up at Madame. “We’ll do it.”

The host beamed, tucking back her swooping bang for a moment to stare appreciatively at the pair before her before leaning forward and asking, in the style of Rumpelstiltskin, “What… is my name?” Standing straight, she held out three fingers and pronounced solemnly, “Three guesses to win and a fourth guess if you wish to try for all or nothing and risk your twenty grand for a last-ditch attempt at the hundred.”

---

“What an unusually normal name,” Alex said thoughtfully, and Chelsey finished agreeably, “For such an unusual person.”

Shifting his grip on the briefcase containing the hundred grand, Alex leaned over and kissed Chelsey on the cheek, smiling, “Let’s get to the ordained date location already, okay?”

Chelsey only grinned and ordered to the limo driver granted them by the bizarrely pleased Madame President, “To the McDonalds!”