A/N: Hey, there! This is my first Tintin fanfic. It was an idea I had while I was reading the comic books. How hard would it have been for Hergé to have one young woman character? At least a one time character? I'm surprised he never had Tintin save a damsel in distress, not even once. Seems like every comic book hero, super or not, does it once. So, here's my take. (Anyone else excited for the Tintin movie coming up? I so am!)

The Invitation

Nestor yawned with a wince as he sifted through the morning's post.

The little makeshift family of Marlinspike had celebrated the successful patenting of a recent invention of Professor Calculus'. The party had gone well into the night.

He never should have let Captain Haddock talk him into participating in a drinking game.

The game was this: Bianca Castafiore had gifted Tintin with an album of her most famous arias. Each time she belted "jewels" Nestor and Haddock knocked back a shot. Once during the evening the record needle got stuck in a groove on the buzz word. Haddock could not fill the glasses fast enough. Luckily Tintin, who rarely ever drank more than one glass of anything, quickly kicked the Victrola and set it back on track.

Professor Calculus did not get as drunk as the rest since he did not hear the buzz-word as frequently as his companions.

Snowy was somewhere sleeping off the effects like everyone else. The Captain had carelessly let some whisky spill on the floor as he had poured. Nestor spent most of the morning cleaning various corners and table legs the white dog decided to mark. Like a drunk man on the street, Snowy, when plastered, peed whenever and wherever he wanted. When Tintin found out he gave Snowy a sound spanking with a rolled up newspaper.

But, back to the present:

Nestor squinted at the names on the envelopes. Every now and then he pressed his glass of ice water to his forehead.

After sorting through Calculus' and Captain Haddock's mail, he finally came to Tintin's. Nestor liked to do things alphabetically, even when hung over. He was relieved to see that no death threats had been forwarded from No. 9 Labrador Street this week. Apparently, his enemies still did not know of Tintin's change of address. Good. It was just as well. Master Tintin never read them anyway. He just neatly ripped them up saying, "and that's what I think about that."

It seemed like it was going to be another typical morning when, at the bottom of the letter pile was a beautifully embossed envelope with gilded writing. The return address was Maharaja Saanjh Pandit of Gaipajama, India.

Nestor presented the post to Tintin who was sitting alone at the breakfast table. The others were all in bed with severe hangovers. Nestor already took an alka-seltzer and planned to take some up to the other sufferers later.

"Thank you very much, Nestor." Tintin's usual warm smile melted into a sympathetic grin. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Fine, sir."

"Honestly?"

"Like hell, sir."

Tintin gently took the silver tray with its contents from the butler's hands then told him take the day off. When Nestor protested he cut him short.

"I know you take pride in your job. Would you not rather be doing it in tip-top shape instead of hung over and risking mistakes?"

"Yes, sir, but—"

"At least, take the morning off and go back to bed. I can survive without you for a few hours. So can Professor Calculus and the captain."

Nestor hovered for a moment, plagued with indecision. Suddenly the smell of the eggs and bacon of Tintin's breakfast finally hit him and his stomach made the decision for him.

"Quite right, sir. Excuse me, sir." Nestor walked until he was out the door of the breakfast room then broke into a run, just making it to the bathroom to cast up accounts.

Once Nestor left, Tintin sat down again to breakfast. It was a good thing the cook had not been invited to last night's drinking binge. All Tintin could confidently make was toast and even that he managed to burn. How he survived on his own for so long he would never know.

Our hero finally proceeded to sift through his letters and he came upon the ornate envelope. He tore it open and read the contents:

To Tintin, most honored friend of the Maharajah:

You are cordially invited to the beloved Crown Prince Aadi's twelfth birthday banquet and costume ball. The formal invitation card is also enclosed in this envelope. You are, of course, expected to enjoy the hospitality of the royal palace for the entire week. Any friends you wish to bring are also welcome.

Cordially,

Ettan Gupta, Secretary to His Majesty

P.S. The theme of the costume ball is comic book characters.

"Captain! Captain!" Tintin burst into Haddock's room, letter in one hand, and a fizzing glass of Alka-Seltzer in another.

"Blistering barnacles! Do you have to shout? Go away and let me die in peace!"

"Sorry, Captain. Here, drink this."

The old sea dog crawled out from under his tunnel of comforters and coverlets. He hissed sharply as the sunlight hit his burning eyeballs then snatched the glass from Tintin's hand and chugged it like he did the whisky last night.

Tintin quickly explained the invitation. Haddock agreed to go; anything to get him to leave the room.

Tintin then proceeded to Calculus' room. With a shaky hand the professor held up the ear trumpet. Much the same happened there as in the captain's room, except there was less swearing and it was more pathetic.

"Yes . . . splendid . . . love to . . ."

"Great! We leave first thing tomorrow morning!"