Les Amis Discover Fanfic
It is a typical day in the Café Musain. Fearless Leader is up on a table giving one of his trademark fundamentalist-calls-to-arms. Joly is wiping a suspicious looking speck off of his wineglass. Laigle is going through a name book, trying to figure out how is name is really spelled. Grantaire and Courfeyrac are in the corner teaching each other their best pick-up lines. Feuilly is trying to get Bahorel interested in Poland. Jehan sits behind them, editing his latest lyrical masterpiece. Combeferre is on the table behind Enjolras, whispering prompts to him. Little Gavroche is also standing behind Enjolras, snickering and mimicking his every move.
Enjolras waves his red flag with vigor. "We need a sign! To rally the people, to call them to-" He pauses and stamps his foot impatiently. "Guys! You're not listening!"
Joly replies without looking up from the speck. "Sure we are, Enjolras. Uh, Bousset, does this look like dirt to you?"
Enjolras stomps his foot again, accidentally bringing it down onto Gavroche's toes. Gavroche bursts into tears. "Waaaaaaaaa! The big mean man kicked me!"
Enjolras jumps down off of the table. People are starting to look at him funny. He desperately tries to quiet Gavroche. "Gamin! Stop that!" He sighs. " Alright. How much money will it take to shut you up?"
Gavroche's tears abruptly stop, and his manner becomes businesslike. "Ten francs."
Enjolras turns the color of his vest. "That's ludicrous!"
Gavroche opens his mouth to wail again, but Enjy, having learned his lesson, hastily pays the gamin off. Gavroche happily skips to Grantaire and Courfeyrac's table. "Drinks on me, everyone!"
Enjolras climbs back up and exchanges annoyed frowns with 'Ferre. However, before he can get back to his speech, Marius runs in.
Enjolras sighs with relief. "Thank God! Something routine. Marius, you're late!
Joly stands up. "What's wrong today? You look as if you've seen a ghost."
Grantaire holds up his empty wineglass. "Some wine and say what's going on!"
Marius sits down beside Joly. "A ghost you say? A ghost may be…wait a minute! We've fallen into the musical again! I must get us out quickly, before we get sued!" He shakes himself quickly and holds up a large box full of papers. "Look what I've got!"
Laigle closes his name book. "What?"
"It's a big box full of something called-" he pauses to make sure he gets the strange new word right- "'Lay Mizzz f-fan-fick'"
Combeferre jumps down off the table. "Fanfic? What's that?"
'Ferre looks confused. "Les Miz? What's that?"
Marius shrugs. "I dunno. I was on my way out to stalk my Cosette some more, when some girl in funny-looking clothes came to the door. She said her name was The Author, and that she wanted to see what we thought of her work. Then she dumped this box into my arms and ran off laughing."
Marius places the box on Joly and Laigle's table, and all the boys gather around to have a look. Enjolras pushes them all aside. "Wait. It might be a bomb. You know how those police spies would love to take us all out in one fell swoop. Better let me check it out first, just to be safe.
Combeferre raises his eyes quizzically. "Uh, Enjolras. It's 1832. I don't think we'll have to worry much about bombs until they get…ya know…invented.
Enjolras glowers that glower he does so well. "Alright. Fine. Then I just wanna be first!" Without further ado, he shoves past Combeferre and opens the box. "Hey, it's nothing but a bunch of paper!"
The disgruntled Amis all grab at the contents and sit down at Laigle and Joly's table to read. "Hey, look!" Feuilly exclaims. "Here's my name!" He smiles smugly. "I can read, you know."
Bahorel sighs. "We know, Feuilly. You tell us every day."
Combeferre puts on his reading glasses, perusing a page. "Feuilly's right. And here's my name. And Enjolras, and Courfeyrac, and all the rest of us."
Bahorel looks intrigued. "Me too?"
"Uh, no. Actually, I can't find anything about you, Bahorel."
"Humph!" Bahorel slumps in his seat, scowling sourly.
Enjolras throws down a fistful of pages. "Somebody's been writing stories about us!" He glares at the boys sternly. "Alright, who leaked this information? I told you a million times-I don't want anyone to know that the revolution is set for June sixth!" He grabs R by the ear. "It was you, wasn't it? What did they do-offer you a lifetime supply of absinthe? Get out of my sight, you useless-"
Combeferre grabs Enjolras' arm. "Enjolras, I don't think anyone leaked the information. See?" He points. "All of these stories have these little disclaimers at the top, saying they heard about us from some guy named Victor Hugo."
Before Enjolras has the chance to tell R to get out anyway, Joly screams and throws the story he has been reading onto the floor. Bousset looks at him with concern. "Joly? What's the matter, buddy?" He reaches out to see if Joly has a fever, but Joly jumps away in horror, covering his eyes and shrieking like a banshee.
Courfeyrac looks from Laigle to Joly. "What's with him?"
Bousset shrugs, baffled. He picks up the story that Joly has thrown away, and starts reading it in the hope that it will give him a clue. Every time he turns a page, his eyes grow a little wider. About halfway through, he lets out a cry and throws it back onto the floor.
Courfeyrac shakes him roughly. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Bousset points to the fallen fic, on the verge of hyperventilation. "That story…it was talking about…me and Joly…h-having…having"
Courfeyrac thumps him on the back roughly "Spit it out, Bousset!"
Bousset finally manages to choke out the words " …s-s-sexual relations!!! AGH!"
Marius turns very pale and clamps his hands over Gavroche's ears. "Don't say things like that in front of an innocent child!"
Jehan's eyes nearly fall out of his head. "Forget Gavroche! Don't say it in front of me! Ewww!"
Enjolras shoots Laigle and Joly the look of disgust he usually reserves for Grantaire. "You two are disgusting! You can get out of my sight too!"
Combeferre tugs at Enjolras' sleeve. "Not so fast, Enjolras."
Enjolras sighs in exasperation. "What is it now, Mother?"
"I think that somebody just made the whole thing up. None of the events in any of these so-called 'fics' appear to have ever really happened."
A loud voice booms from above. "Maybe not in YOUR dimension!"
The boys all look up, confused. "Who's there?" demands Enjolras.
Marius crosses himself reverently. "It's God!" He smirks at Courfeyrac. "And you made fun of me for going to Mass every week. Who's the dolt now?!"
Grantaire looks up. "I didn't know God lived on the ceiling," he mutters sardonically.
"SILENCE!" the voice thunders. "This is NOT God! It is I---THE AUTHOR!"
Joly leaps to his feet, fists up and looking ready to rumble. "Lemme at her! Lemme at her!"
The Author laughs loudly. "Resistance is futile, my dear Joly. I am an omnipotent seventeen year old from a parallel universe. In order to physically fight me, you would first have to undergo a futuristic matter-transformation procedure involving many painful blasts of radiation."
Enjolras steps onto a chair, as though trying to get in the voice's face. "I fear no author, omnipotent or otherwise!" He fires his carbine at the ceiling.
"HEY! Shooting me will be no more productive than hitting me, so I suggest you sit down and shut up before I get REALLY mad!"
"Pardon me, Mam'zelle Author? May I ask a question?" Marius pipes up timidly.
The voice becomes more pleasant. "Ah, at least Marius has some manners. Good boy, Marius, now I see why old Victor let you be the one to live."
Feuilly crinkles his forehead. "Old Victor?"
"He's the guy who created you."
"So this Victor-man is God?" Marius inquires.
"Uh…not quite. Just shut up and read, all of you!"
"But I don't know how to read!" Gavroche protests.
"Oh. Right." The Author clears her throat. "Well, have Enjolras read to you."
"No!" snarls Enjolras. "Every time I get near that brat, he tries to pick my
pockets!"
"THIS IS NOT A REQUEST! I NEED FEEDBACK AND NOBODY ELSE WILL READ THIS DRIVEL…UH, ART, OF MINE.
When the echoes from the mysterious voice have faded away, Les Amis sullenly sit down and wade through the pile of fanfic before them. Their faces begin to flash with revulsion, puzzlement, and rage. (Mostly rage, in the case of Enjolras)
After about a half hour of silence, Enjolras can no longer contain his fury, and slams down yet another Mary Sue story. "What sort of idiot reads this garbage? It's ridiculous!"
Combeferre rolls his eyes, looking pained. "So far all of mine have been alike. Everyone except me dies, but I miraculously survive and get stuck with the grieving sisters."
Feuilly tosses aside a handful of drivel. "You want to talk sisters? I seem to have more sisters than a freaking nun! Can't that stupid Author girl write something about me that doesn't involve a sappy goodbye scene with a nonexistent sibling?"
Jehan taps two fingers to his lips thoughtfully. "Let me see those a moment." He reaches for 'Ferre's and Feuilly's fics, and begins to compare them to his own. "Just as I suspected. All of these lovesick sisters are the same person!"
Bahorel grabs them to confirm, as he has no fics of his own to read and is getting bored. "Jehan's right, guys. These are all seventeen year old, self educated, overly spunky worker girls. The author just keeps changing the names."
Feuilly narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Seventeen? Didn't the author say she was seventeen?"
Jehan's eyes light up with understanding. "Mazm'zelle Author, did you base these bizarre women on yourself?"
The Author's voice re-appears, sounding a little edgy. "Uh, n-no, of course not, Monsieur Prouvaire! That's absurd!"
Jehan waves a finger sternly. "Be honest, now!"
The voice sighs. "Oh, alright. I confess. I meant no harm-I just think you're cute."
"Hey!" Feuilly interrupts. "What about me?"
"You're cute too, Feuilly."
Feuilly nods, pacified by the flattery. "That's better."
"Now that that's all cleared up, I have to go work on my latest piece. It's a novel length time-travel story in which I accidentally travel back to 1832 and marry Enjolras."
"Me!" Enjolras cries, looking frightened for a change. "Why me?"
"Because you're dreamy…" The Author sighs wistfully. "Besides, I already promised my best friend that I'd let her have Marius. Bye!"
Enjolras glares up at the ceiling, as though trying to bore a hole in the now absent voice of the Author. "You know, gentlemen, now that I think on it, she reminds me a lot of this obsessive Eponine girl," he brandishes a very long fic, "who I supposedly keep falling in love with."
Marius's ears perk up at the familiar name. "Eponine Thenardier?"
"That's her," grumbles Enjolras wearily. "Some lice-ridden gamine who is supposed to be perfect for me on account of her tough feminist attitude. Why do you ask?"
Marius pushes over a colossal stack of the Author's *ahem* "original" poems, poems that all seem to bear an uncanny resemblance to "A Little Fall of Rain" . "I know her. She has formed an infatuation with me, so the Author writes. It appears that at some point, she takes a bullet for me, thus making me the target of all her fans' hatred." He looks up at the ceiling. "Why do you insist upon portraying me as a half-witted dolt? How was I supposed to know she loved me? She never told me she loved me! I'm just a shy schoolboy; I have no experience in matters of the heart."
"Uh…Uh…BECAUSE!" The Author splutters.
"You have to give me a better reason than that! And you're downright cruel to my Cosette; you paint her as a spoiled bimbo. Why must you be so harsh? She's a perfectly nice girl."
"I'm sorry, Monsieur Marius," the voice replies matter-of-factly, "but we Eponinites have to have SOMEONE to blame." The Author snickers.
Marius folds his arms sullenly. However, when he attempts to go and pout in the corner, he is unable to get past an unconscious Grantaire who is sprawled on the floor nearby. Joly kneels down to check his pulse. "Grantaire? Grantaire, are you okay?"
Grantaire answers with a drunken mumble. Laigle notices the R clutching a very large, now empty bottle of brandy in his left hand. In his right hand, he holds a bunch of Enjy/R romances.
Laigle thumbs through the fics, then laughs gleefully. "Hah! Take a look at these, Enjolras! Looks like Joly and I aren't the only ones she picks on."
Enjolras skims the pages, his face draining to an unhealthy ashen color. "Me…and-and THAT?!" He points at the unconscious Grantaire, cringing. "I feel faint…." His eyes roll into the back of his head and he tumbles onto the floor beside the R.
The R, awakened by the thud, sits up groggily and rubs his eyes. "Whew! I just had the most horrible nightmare. Some twisted omnipotent teenager from another universe was forcing me to read the most bizarre stories she called 'fics'. These fics kept making me fall in love with Enjolras. Then we'd get drunk and end up in the sack together."
"Uh, Grantaire…" Laigle begins, but Grantaire cuts him off.
"And then I was so scared I had to drink three bottles of brandy in the hopes that they would erase those awful scenes from my brain." The R suddenly notices the brandy bottles scattered around him, and begins to count. "One, two…Agh! It wasn't a dream!" He gropes in his pockets, bringing out a bottle of absinthe and chugging it at an alarming speed. "Must have blissful unconsciousness! Must have…" His voice suddenly drifts off and he slumps back to the floor. "Ah, my sweet absinthe…at least you'll never betray me," he mutters as he slips under.
Laigle, who knows that trying to wake Grantaire is hopeless, goes over and shakes Enjolras awake instead. "Enjolras? Enjolras, are you okay?"
Jehan pats Enjolras' arm consolingly. "Don't be insulted, Enjolras. She didn't just pick on you. She did it to all of us." He indicates a love-triangle slashfic on the table. "Me in love with Laigle, Laigle in love with Joly, Joly in love with Combeferre, Combeferre in love with you…"
Enjolras recoils from Jehan. "Don't touch me! It seems that every time one of you touches me, I end up breaking my vow of chastity!"
Enjolras staggers to his feet and slumps into a chair. "Damn you, Mam'zelle Author!" He waves a fist at the ceiling.
"Oh, settle down Enjolras, or I'll write a fic in which you turn out to be Inspector Javert's love child."
"You can't do that! I already have parents!"
"Then I'll just have to think of something else…I know! I'll give you a long-lost daughter! Yeah, that'll be great. It'll give you a chance to show your kinder, gentler side."
Enjolras' face is positively purple now, and his fists are clenched so tightly the knuckles are turning white.
Combeferre decides to step in and distract the Author before she makes Enjolras do something regrettable. "I have a question, Mam'zelle Author."
"Yes, Combeferre?"
"Who is this Enjy person you keep writing about?"
"Enjolras, of course."
"And who exactly is 'Ferre?"
"Why, you!"
Gavroche quirks an eyebrow. "And why do you keep calling me Gavvie? It sounds like a girl's name, for God's sake!"
"Because Gavvie and Ferre and Enjy sound cuter, don't you think?"
Gavroche stomps his foot. "I don't WANT to be cute!"
The booming voice softens. "Awww, but look at your sweet little face, you can't help it!"
"Cute is for sissies!"
"Well, tough. We Authors happen to find you adorable, little gamin."
Enjolras looks queasy. "Authors? As in plural? You mean there are more of you?"
The Author doesn't answer; just laughs evilly.
Gavroche goes to the corner to pout with Marius. The gamin's only consolation is that at least they can't write a romance about someone as young as he is.
The Author, being omnipotent, is naturally able to read his thoughts. "Don't be so sure, Gav. I could always rewrite your death scene with a 'miraculous survival' ending. And then you could grow up and get engaged to Marius and Cosette's daughter!" Les Amis hear the sound of her hands clapping delightedly, followed by a noise that sounds like typing.
Gavroche huddles further back into the corner. "I'm scared, Marius."
Marius puts an arm around Gavroche's shoulders, hoping the gamin doesn't see him tremble with fear. "I think you'd better start calling me Dad."
It is a typical day in the Café Musain. Fearless Leader is up on a table giving one of his trademark fundamentalist-calls-to-arms. Joly is wiping a suspicious looking speck off of his wineglass. Laigle is going through a name book, trying to figure out how is name is really spelled. Grantaire and Courfeyrac are in the corner teaching each other their best pick-up lines. Feuilly is trying to get Bahorel interested in Poland. Jehan sits behind them, editing his latest lyrical masterpiece. Combeferre is on the table behind Enjolras, whispering prompts to him. Little Gavroche is also standing behind Enjolras, snickering and mimicking his every move.
Enjolras waves his red flag with vigor. "We need a sign! To rally the people, to call them to-" He pauses and stamps his foot impatiently. "Guys! You're not listening!"
Joly replies without looking up from the speck. "Sure we are, Enjolras. Uh, Bousset, does this look like dirt to you?"
Enjolras stomps his foot again, accidentally bringing it down onto Gavroche's toes. Gavroche bursts into tears. "Waaaaaaaaa! The big mean man kicked me!"
Enjolras jumps down off of the table. People are starting to look at him funny. He desperately tries to quiet Gavroche. "Gamin! Stop that!" He sighs. " Alright. How much money will it take to shut you up?"
Gavroche's tears abruptly stop, and his manner becomes businesslike. "Ten francs."
Enjolras turns the color of his vest. "That's ludicrous!"
Gavroche opens his mouth to wail again, but Enjy, having learned his lesson, hastily pays the gamin off. Gavroche happily skips to Grantaire and Courfeyrac's table. "Drinks on me, everyone!"
Enjolras climbs back up and exchanges annoyed frowns with 'Ferre. However, before he can get back to his speech, Marius runs in.
Enjolras sighs with relief. "Thank God! Something routine. Marius, you're late!
Joly stands up. "What's wrong today? You look as if you've seen a ghost."
Grantaire holds up his empty wineglass. "Some wine and say what's going on!"
Marius sits down beside Joly. "A ghost you say? A ghost may be…wait a minute! We've fallen into the musical again! I must get us out quickly, before we get sued!" He shakes himself quickly and holds up a large box full of papers. "Look what I've got!"
Laigle closes his name book. "What?"
"It's a big box full of something called-" he pauses to make sure he gets the strange new word right- "'Lay Mizzz f-fan-fick'"
Combeferre jumps down off the table. "Fanfic? What's that?"
'Ferre looks confused. "Les Miz? What's that?"
Marius shrugs. "I dunno. I was on my way out to stalk my Cosette some more, when some girl in funny-looking clothes came to the door. She said her name was The Author, and that she wanted to see what we thought of her work. Then she dumped this box into my arms and ran off laughing."
Marius places the box on Joly and Laigle's table, and all the boys gather around to have a look. Enjolras pushes them all aside. "Wait. It might be a bomb. You know how those police spies would love to take us all out in one fell swoop. Better let me check it out first, just to be safe.
Combeferre raises his eyes quizzically. "Uh, Enjolras. It's 1832. I don't think we'll have to worry much about bombs until they get…ya know…invented.
Enjolras glowers that glower he does so well. "Alright. Fine. Then I just wanna be first!" Without further ado, he shoves past Combeferre and opens the box. "Hey, it's nothing but a bunch of paper!"
The disgruntled Amis all grab at the contents and sit down at Laigle and Joly's table to read. "Hey, look!" Feuilly exclaims. "Here's my name!" He smiles smugly. "I can read, you know."
Bahorel sighs. "We know, Feuilly. You tell us every day."
Combeferre puts on his reading glasses, perusing a page. "Feuilly's right. And here's my name. And Enjolras, and Courfeyrac, and all the rest of us."
Bahorel looks intrigued. "Me too?"
"Uh, no. Actually, I can't find anything about you, Bahorel."
"Humph!" Bahorel slumps in his seat, scowling sourly.
Enjolras throws down a fistful of pages. "Somebody's been writing stories about us!" He glares at the boys sternly. "Alright, who leaked this information? I told you a million times-I don't want anyone to know that the revolution is set for June sixth!" He grabs R by the ear. "It was you, wasn't it? What did they do-offer you a lifetime supply of absinthe? Get out of my sight, you useless-"
Combeferre grabs Enjolras' arm. "Enjolras, I don't think anyone leaked the information. See?" He points. "All of these stories have these little disclaimers at the top, saying they heard about us from some guy named Victor Hugo."
Before Enjolras has the chance to tell R to get out anyway, Joly screams and throws the story he has been reading onto the floor. Bousset looks at him with concern. "Joly? What's the matter, buddy?" He reaches out to see if Joly has a fever, but Joly jumps away in horror, covering his eyes and shrieking like a banshee.
Courfeyrac looks from Laigle to Joly. "What's with him?"
Bousset shrugs, baffled. He picks up the story that Joly has thrown away, and starts reading it in the hope that it will give him a clue. Every time he turns a page, his eyes grow a little wider. About halfway through, he lets out a cry and throws it back onto the floor.
Courfeyrac shakes him roughly. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Bousset points to the fallen fic, on the verge of hyperventilation. "That story…it was talking about…me and Joly…h-having…having"
Courfeyrac thumps him on the back roughly "Spit it out, Bousset!"
Bousset finally manages to choke out the words " …s-s-sexual relations!!! AGH!"
Marius turns very pale and clamps his hands over Gavroche's ears. "Don't say things like that in front of an innocent child!"
Jehan's eyes nearly fall out of his head. "Forget Gavroche! Don't say it in front of me! Ewww!"
Enjolras shoots Laigle and Joly the look of disgust he usually reserves for Grantaire. "You two are disgusting! You can get out of my sight too!"
Combeferre tugs at Enjolras' sleeve. "Not so fast, Enjolras."
Enjolras sighs in exasperation. "What is it now, Mother?"
"I think that somebody just made the whole thing up. None of the events in any of these so-called 'fics' appear to have ever really happened."
A loud voice booms from above. "Maybe not in YOUR dimension!"
The boys all look up, confused. "Who's there?" demands Enjolras.
Marius crosses himself reverently. "It's God!" He smirks at Courfeyrac. "And you made fun of me for going to Mass every week. Who's the dolt now?!"
Grantaire looks up. "I didn't know God lived on the ceiling," he mutters sardonically.
"SILENCE!" the voice thunders. "This is NOT God! It is I---THE AUTHOR!"
Joly leaps to his feet, fists up and looking ready to rumble. "Lemme at her! Lemme at her!"
The Author laughs loudly. "Resistance is futile, my dear Joly. I am an omnipotent seventeen year old from a parallel universe. In order to physically fight me, you would first have to undergo a futuristic matter-transformation procedure involving many painful blasts of radiation."
Enjolras steps onto a chair, as though trying to get in the voice's face. "I fear no author, omnipotent or otherwise!" He fires his carbine at the ceiling.
"HEY! Shooting me will be no more productive than hitting me, so I suggest you sit down and shut up before I get REALLY mad!"
"Pardon me, Mam'zelle Author? May I ask a question?" Marius pipes up timidly.
The voice becomes more pleasant. "Ah, at least Marius has some manners. Good boy, Marius, now I see why old Victor let you be the one to live."
Feuilly crinkles his forehead. "Old Victor?"
"He's the guy who created you."
"So this Victor-man is God?" Marius inquires.
"Uh…not quite. Just shut up and read, all of you!"
"But I don't know how to read!" Gavroche protests.
"Oh. Right." The Author clears her throat. "Well, have Enjolras read to you."
"No!" snarls Enjolras. "Every time I get near that brat, he tries to pick my
pockets!"
"THIS IS NOT A REQUEST! I NEED FEEDBACK AND NOBODY ELSE WILL READ THIS DRIVEL…UH, ART, OF MINE.
When the echoes from the mysterious voice have faded away, Les Amis sullenly sit down and wade through the pile of fanfic before them. Their faces begin to flash with revulsion, puzzlement, and rage. (Mostly rage, in the case of Enjolras)
After about a half hour of silence, Enjolras can no longer contain his fury, and slams down yet another Mary Sue story. "What sort of idiot reads this garbage? It's ridiculous!"
Combeferre rolls his eyes, looking pained. "So far all of mine have been alike. Everyone except me dies, but I miraculously survive and get stuck with the grieving sisters."
Feuilly tosses aside a handful of drivel. "You want to talk sisters? I seem to have more sisters than a freaking nun! Can't that stupid Author girl write something about me that doesn't involve a sappy goodbye scene with a nonexistent sibling?"
Jehan taps two fingers to his lips thoughtfully. "Let me see those a moment." He reaches for 'Ferre's and Feuilly's fics, and begins to compare them to his own. "Just as I suspected. All of these lovesick sisters are the same person!"
Bahorel grabs them to confirm, as he has no fics of his own to read and is getting bored. "Jehan's right, guys. These are all seventeen year old, self educated, overly spunky worker girls. The author just keeps changing the names."
Feuilly narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Seventeen? Didn't the author say she was seventeen?"
Jehan's eyes light up with understanding. "Mazm'zelle Author, did you base these bizarre women on yourself?"
The Author's voice re-appears, sounding a little edgy. "Uh, n-no, of course not, Monsieur Prouvaire! That's absurd!"
Jehan waves a finger sternly. "Be honest, now!"
The voice sighs. "Oh, alright. I confess. I meant no harm-I just think you're cute."
"Hey!" Feuilly interrupts. "What about me?"
"You're cute too, Feuilly."
Feuilly nods, pacified by the flattery. "That's better."
"Now that that's all cleared up, I have to go work on my latest piece. It's a novel length time-travel story in which I accidentally travel back to 1832 and marry Enjolras."
"Me!" Enjolras cries, looking frightened for a change. "Why me?"
"Because you're dreamy…" The Author sighs wistfully. "Besides, I already promised my best friend that I'd let her have Marius. Bye!"
Enjolras glares up at the ceiling, as though trying to bore a hole in the now absent voice of the Author. "You know, gentlemen, now that I think on it, she reminds me a lot of this obsessive Eponine girl," he brandishes a very long fic, "who I supposedly keep falling in love with."
Marius's ears perk up at the familiar name. "Eponine Thenardier?"
"That's her," grumbles Enjolras wearily. "Some lice-ridden gamine who is supposed to be perfect for me on account of her tough feminist attitude. Why do you ask?"
Marius pushes over a colossal stack of the Author's *ahem* "original" poems, poems that all seem to bear an uncanny resemblance to "A Little Fall of Rain" . "I know her. She has formed an infatuation with me, so the Author writes. It appears that at some point, she takes a bullet for me, thus making me the target of all her fans' hatred." He looks up at the ceiling. "Why do you insist upon portraying me as a half-witted dolt? How was I supposed to know she loved me? She never told me she loved me! I'm just a shy schoolboy; I have no experience in matters of the heart."
"Uh…Uh…BECAUSE!" The Author splutters.
"You have to give me a better reason than that! And you're downright cruel to my Cosette; you paint her as a spoiled bimbo. Why must you be so harsh? She's a perfectly nice girl."
"I'm sorry, Monsieur Marius," the voice replies matter-of-factly, "but we Eponinites have to have SOMEONE to blame." The Author snickers.
Marius folds his arms sullenly. However, when he attempts to go and pout in the corner, he is unable to get past an unconscious Grantaire who is sprawled on the floor nearby. Joly kneels down to check his pulse. "Grantaire? Grantaire, are you okay?"
Grantaire answers with a drunken mumble. Laigle notices the R clutching a very large, now empty bottle of brandy in his left hand. In his right hand, he holds a bunch of Enjy/R romances.
Laigle thumbs through the fics, then laughs gleefully. "Hah! Take a look at these, Enjolras! Looks like Joly and I aren't the only ones she picks on."
Enjolras skims the pages, his face draining to an unhealthy ashen color. "Me…and-and THAT?!" He points at the unconscious Grantaire, cringing. "I feel faint…." His eyes roll into the back of his head and he tumbles onto the floor beside the R.
The R, awakened by the thud, sits up groggily and rubs his eyes. "Whew! I just had the most horrible nightmare. Some twisted omnipotent teenager from another universe was forcing me to read the most bizarre stories she called 'fics'. These fics kept making me fall in love with Enjolras. Then we'd get drunk and end up in the sack together."
"Uh, Grantaire…" Laigle begins, but Grantaire cuts him off.
"And then I was so scared I had to drink three bottles of brandy in the hopes that they would erase those awful scenes from my brain." The R suddenly notices the brandy bottles scattered around him, and begins to count. "One, two…Agh! It wasn't a dream!" He gropes in his pockets, bringing out a bottle of absinthe and chugging it at an alarming speed. "Must have blissful unconsciousness! Must have…" His voice suddenly drifts off and he slumps back to the floor. "Ah, my sweet absinthe…at least you'll never betray me," he mutters as he slips under.
Laigle, who knows that trying to wake Grantaire is hopeless, goes over and shakes Enjolras awake instead. "Enjolras? Enjolras, are you okay?"
Jehan pats Enjolras' arm consolingly. "Don't be insulted, Enjolras. She didn't just pick on you. She did it to all of us." He indicates a love-triangle slashfic on the table. "Me in love with Laigle, Laigle in love with Joly, Joly in love with Combeferre, Combeferre in love with you…"
Enjolras recoils from Jehan. "Don't touch me! It seems that every time one of you touches me, I end up breaking my vow of chastity!"
Enjolras staggers to his feet and slumps into a chair. "Damn you, Mam'zelle Author!" He waves a fist at the ceiling.
"Oh, settle down Enjolras, or I'll write a fic in which you turn out to be Inspector Javert's love child."
"You can't do that! I already have parents!"
"Then I'll just have to think of something else…I know! I'll give you a long-lost daughter! Yeah, that'll be great. It'll give you a chance to show your kinder, gentler side."
Enjolras' face is positively purple now, and his fists are clenched so tightly the knuckles are turning white.
Combeferre decides to step in and distract the Author before she makes Enjolras do something regrettable. "I have a question, Mam'zelle Author."
"Yes, Combeferre?"
"Who is this Enjy person you keep writing about?"
"Enjolras, of course."
"And who exactly is 'Ferre?"
"Why, you!"
Gavroche quirks an eyebrow. "And why do you keep calling me Gavvie? It sounds like a girl's name, for God's sake!"
"Because Gavvie and Ferre and Enjy sound cuter, don't you think?"
Gavroche stomps his foot. "I don't WANT to be cute!"
The booming voice softens. "Awww, but look at your sweet little face, you can't help it!"
"Cute is for sissies!"
"Well, tough. We Authors happen to find you adorable, little gamin."
Enjolras looks queasy. "Authors? As in plural? You mean there are more of you?"
The Author doesn't answer; just laughs evilly.
Gavroche goes to the corner to pout with Marius. The gamin's only consolation is that at least they can't write a romance about someone as young as he is.
The Author, being omnipotent, is naturally able to read his thoughts. "Don't be so sure, Gav. I could always rewrite your death scene with a 'miraculous survival' ending. And then you could grow up and get engaged to Marius and Cosette's daughter!" Les Amis hear the sound of her hands clapping delightedly, followed by a noise that sounds like typing.
Gavroche huddles further back into the corner. "I'm scared, Marius."
Marius puts an arm around Gavroche's shoulders, hoping the gamin doesn't see him tremble with fear. "I think you'd better start calling me Dad."