Nicole yawned and put her fingers back on her keyboard. The inviting blankness of the screen seemed to call her name. Gently she stroked the keys, the little black cursor blinking with opportunity. Slowly she reached her left index finger up to type a "t" . . .
A crash and a bang from above made her jump from her chair and back away as timbers and dust fell from the hole in her ceiling that Nicole swore hadn't been there before.
"What the . . .?" she exclaimed, watching the tall thin man in a black top hat and tails stand up out of the debris. He brushed himself off, replaced his hat, and reached into his pocket.
"Madmoiselle Nicole Morgan?" he asked. She nodded slowly, openmouthed, and the tall man reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp manilla envelope. "This is for you," he said, the right corner of his lips curling upwards a bit. Nicole raised an eyebrow dubiously and took the envelope from him.
It was addressed to her in loopy script, with a return address of "L'Academie de Moulin Rouge." She choked back a laugh, then glanced back up at the man who delivered it. But he was gone. So was the hole in her ceiling.
Shrugging, and convinced that she was hallucinating, or dreaming, Nicole turned back to her envelope. She turned it over, and slid her finger under the flap. The papers inside were neatly folded, and looked to be pressed on an old printing press. They had a place for her name, her age, and her basic physical appearance, but also had strange questions like, "Have you ever sung 'Sparkling Diamonds' in the shower?" and "If given the opportunity, would you skinny-dip with Christian?" Chuckling to herself, Nicole took out a pen and answered the ridiculous questionnaire.
Done, she folded the papers, placed them back in the envelope, then climbed into bed to read a magazine, and perhaps fall asleep.
* * * *
An enormous yawn seized hold of her as she woke, stretching and rolling over to glance at the clock. Much to her dismay, instead of rolling to the other side of her bed, Nicole rolled cleanly off and fell quite a few feet to the ground. Amused snickers filled the room.
Confused, and both annoyed and angry at the laughter, Nicole pushed herself up on her hands and tossed her hair back out of her eyes. To her dismay, she was no longer in her own bedroom, but rather in a sleeping compartment of a moving train. Everything was either mahogany or red velvet, and there were antique light fixtures on the walls. Adding insult to injury, there were also five other things in the room that were, at first glance, more than merely decorative.
"Nice fall, there, Grace," said a blonde perched on the top bunk opposite Nicole.
"It's Nicole, actually," she replied, getting to her feet. "And thank you."
A chocolate-haired, dumpy sort of girl sitting in the doorframe glared at the girl who had called Nicole the wrong name. "You leave her be, Sandy!" she exclaimed in a high-pitched Texan accent. "You didn't do no better when you woke up, if I remember rightly."
Nicole smiled at the little girl by the door, who smiled back.
"Davey," said the Texan, "Davey O'Donnell McLean. You can call me Davey, Dave, Donnell, or Dom. It's your pick." She held out a hand.
"Nicole Spartan." The girls shook hands. "So can anybody tell me just where in the name of all that is fanfic we are?"
"They came over the P.A. a few minutes ago," answered a redhead Nicole would later know as Regence Standing, "Apparently they'll tell us when we get to . . . wherever we're going."
Nicole sighed, and pinched her forearm between two fingernails. Ow. Yup, she was awake.
"As long as we're here, we may as well get to know each other," said Regence. "So it's Regence - that's me - Sandy, Davey, Helena, Jacquelynn, and Nicole. There, now we know people."
There were hellos all around, and the girls began to engage in random conversation. It didn't take them long to realize that they were all fans of Moulin Rouge, and that they had all received a mysterious visit the night before.
A while later, the train slowed and came to a stop. A voice came over the P.A.
"All right. Everybody up and off. This isn't Hogwarts, so take all your bags with you. Once off the train, you'll meet in the following groups with your Academie co-ordinator."
The voice then proceeded to read off a list of names that would go in each group. Nicole was in a group with Davey and Helena (named for the goddess, she kept mentioning), and together they gathered their bags and disembarked.
They stepped off the train steps and onto a platform, gazing in awe at the sights around them. People scurried everywhere, speaking in a mixture of languages, but predominantly French, and the signs were written in French first. Obviously, they were in, well, France.
"Oh wow," were the only words that came to Nicole's mind.
"Amen," breathed Davey. Helena could only nod.
"Are you three in Groupe Jaune?" asked a rather surly-looking woman near them. The girls nodded. "Then you're with me. Come on. There shouldn't be many more."
She was right. A few moments later, two more lost-looking teenage girls came wandering over. One looked right at the woman and began to speak in rapid French.
"No good," answered the woman, "You'll have to wait until we're at the Academie. Okay, everyone follow me! Off we go."
They made a beeline for an old-fashioned horsedrawn carriage, in which they all piled. Surprisingly, it was large enough to accomodate all of them and their things.
"You're going to L'Academie de Moulin Rouge," said the woman, "I'm Mistress Meggs, and I'm your group's co-ordinator. There are thirteen other groups besides yours, and each has their own co-ordinator. We're like your camp counselors. But don't be fooled - this will be nothing like camp. Unless, of course, you go to bootcamp. Above us is Madame Belle, but again, don't think anything by her name. I'm not allowed to say anything more, but I suppose that's all you need to know.
"You'll be here with us for quite a while. But no time will pass in your world while you are here. There are several courses that are recquired, and a few that are optional. You'll find out more later. Well, this is it."
The girls looked away from their co-ordinator and peered out of the windows. The streets were narrow, and lined with bars, clubs, and shops. Tourists, mainly, and a few residents walked the avenue. Suddenly, they passed under an archway, and all five teens gasped as they recognized what was coming up ahead.
A wooden windmill, spinning lazily in the early morning sun. Below were the words "Moulin Rouge."
"I'll be buggered," whispered one of the two strange girls, obviously British.
"Amen," seconded Davey.