A/N Hi this is Rachel, stagepageandscreen's little sister. I was the one to come up with this genius idea for a one shot and…

SPAS: Hey! It was my idea as well! Also, I'm the one typing this and it's my account. Therefore, it is my story!

Little sis of awesome has struck again! Oh, and it was sooo my idea! I had you crying with laughter on the kitchen floor! You were in stiches!

….Oh shut up. Still my account. J

Not for long…..

In your dreams. Now, on with the story! Oh, btw, this falls into the universe of my other fiction, Well that was Unexpected. It's set after the Combeferre chapter.

Just you wait my friend, just you wait. Now everyone reading, I hope you like this a

…enjoy!

Disclaimer: Neither my crazy little sister nor I own anything associated to Les Miserables. Well, apart from the program from when we went to see it in London last week! BEST DAY EVER!

Edited 22/10/2015

Unexpected Chaos

Enjolras flinched as something sharp-tipped hit the back of his head. Making absolutely certain he had pressed save on his laptop, he turned to discover the cause of this disturbance. A single paper aeroplane made out of plain white paper (probably torn from Grantaire's sketchbook) rested on the floor by his chair.

"Who threw this?" He glared at the room in general, his menace causing the occupants to instantly point the finger of blame where it was due.

"Gee, thanks guys," Eponine drawled. Though sounding put out her true mood was revealed by the way she grinned at Grantaire, who was sat next to her, and tapped the necks of their cider bottles together.

Enjolras sighed. Who else had he expected it to be? The girl seemed to delight in trying to get a rise out of him, sometimes going to extreme lengths to do so. His bedazzled Converse were a testament to this. "No paper aeroplanes allowed at meetings," he snapped, scrunching the plane into a ball and throwing it towards the bin where it hit the rim before falling in, prompting cheers from Courfeyrac, Bahorel, and Bossuet.

"Just when I thought your 'meetings' couldn't get any weirder," Eponine sighed. "Where did your prejudice of paper aeroplanes come from? It's not like they can do any harm."

Everyone mock gasped and Courfeyrac even went as far as to throw himself off his chair in a dramatic faint.

"You'd be surprised," Enjolras growled, turning back to his work.

"So…I get the feeling there is a story behind this?" Eponine asked, looking from one Ami to another.

Bahorel kicked Courfeyrac, who was still on the floor. "Get up, you twit, we're in need of your ridiculous dramatics."

Courfeyrac popped up from his place on the floor, his grey beanie slightly lopsided, allowing a strange ginger coloured curl to escape. "I think you mean that you need my awesome story telling skills. Well, who am I to refuse my adoring fans?"

"If we ever meet one of your fans, we'll tell you," Combeferre said dryly, "and I'm sure Eponine won't want to hear about that incident."

Courfeyrac threw him a dirty look but said nothing, instead settling himself into the chair opposite Grantaire and Eponine and launching into his tale.

"It was several months ago, before you met us…" He began to make strange, fluid movements with his hands and tinkling music started playing.

Eponine stared at him for a moment before slowly asking, "Um, Courf? What are you doing?"

"Flashback sequence." The reply was given as if this was totally normal. Though actually, knowing this group, it probably was.

"And the music…?"

Jehan waved his phone cheerfully. "It's a Mystical Music app!"

Eponine raised one eyebrow, a skill Courfeyrac had yet to master, much to his annoyance. "All righty, then. The story if you please."

"You're going to regret this," Grantaire muttered, raising his bottle to his lips.

Courfeyrac assumed what he probably thought was a mysterious air, but in reality it just looked like he was suffering from trapped wind. "It was a cold winter's night in the depths of Paris and the wind was howling outside, bitter and cold…"

"What are talking about?" Joly called from across the room. "It was the middle of the mildest November we've had in years!"

"Who's telling this story?" Courfeyrac yelled back, petulant, sulking for a minute before being coaxed back into his mode as the (possibly unreliable) narrator.

Listening with half an ear whilst still attempting to type Enjolras sighed and rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long night.

One of the lesser known facts about Combeferre was that he was a master of origami. If given enough time and paper – and maybe if it was very complex, some technical diagrams for guidance - he could create almost anything. On one particularly memorable occasion, when volunteering at an activity day for terminally ill children, he had gone through innumerable sheets of coloured paper to make something – from pirate hats to peacocks – for every child present, siblings and friends included. Needless to say he had been rather popular after that, with the children, their parents, and the staff.

One evening in the Musain, he was using his talents for something rather more mundane, that is, discovering the best design for a long distance flight paper aeroplane. The official meeting had finished a while ago and everyone had relaxed somewhat, laughing and drinking. Enjolras was pounding away on his laptop, crushed onto a corner of the table, taking no notice of the conversation flowing around him.

Combeferre, after much research and several discarded prototypes made from abandoned sketches of Grantaire's, set intently to work on a model he was certain would be excellent. A few minutes later the tiny aircraft was ready for its maiden voyage, the curve of a flower stem stretching messily across one wing and the tips of a few fingers scribbled on the side of its body. Little did Combeferre know the chaos about to take place.

He launched the piece of artfully folded paper which flew straight and true across the room before landing delicately in front of Courfeyrac on the other side of the room.

Courfeyrac, feeling rather bored and childish that evening, had picked up the plane and begun to poke Joly in the side of the neck with the nose of the aircraft.

Bossuet, upon seeing his best friend's annoyance and discomfort, hit Courfeyrac across the back of the head to which Courfeyrac retaliated to by kicking out at Bossuet under the table.

Unfortunately, due to the seating arrangements, he hit Bahorel instead. Bahorel leant across the table to smack him, but Courfeyrac, with a cheeky grin, ducked.

The swinging blow instead connected with Joly, who, due to the delicate capillaries in his nose. Began to have a nosebleed and sending him into a panic. He jumped up, shouting at an apologetic Bahorel, a stray arm knocking into Jehan who was stood behind him about to offer some help.

Jehan stumbled backwards and crashed into a waitress who was carrying a tray of drinks to their table. Thrown off balance, she tripped and dropped the tray, thoroughly drenching Bossuet in a vile cocktail of drinks.

Grantaire, at this point, began to laugh.

Cosette had been helping the waitress by carrying a second tray for her, this one bearing several milkshakes and a large plate of cheesy chips requested by Jehan. Rushing forwards to help, she slipped on the floor, arms jerking upwards to rebalance herself. The drinks and gooey chips flew off the tray directly towards Feuilly. Somehow, every single glass and its contents missed him, landing in a crashing mess on the floor. However, the cheesy chips hit him directly in the face, the shock making him yelp and scrabble the hot food away from his eyes.

Marius, who had been helping Cosette and the waitress up, was the next victim, as the chips fell from Feuilly onto him. He startled backwards, knocking into the table Combeferre and Enjolras were sitting at.

The movement of the table unbalanced Enjolras' glass of water, sending the contents cascading along the table towards his laptop.

These events had taken place in about twelve seconds. Therefore, Enjolras was unaware of the threat his laptop was under until the water connected with the overworked fan.

The laptop hissed and sputtered for the briefest of moments, before blue-screening, sending out a flash of sparks and then dying completely.

Enjolras' shriek of animal pain brought the whole chaotic room to a standstill. He was sat, staring at the black screen, his face eerily still.

Jehan was the first to dare speak. "Was it saved?"

"No," was the quiet reply. To an outsider it would appear Enjolras was being fairly calm about the whole ordeal, but the Amis knew better: he was livid. Those close to him could hear the squeak of his teeth grinding together and his right eye was beginning to twitch uncontrollably.

Combeferre was very wisely staying as invisible as possible, tucking his second half-finished paper aeroplane out of sight.

Enjolras took a deep, steadying breath then turned, slowly and deliberately, to face his friend.

"We are never having paper aeroplanes at meetings again." His eyes flickered to his dead laptop and the carnage on the floor. "Ever."

"And that," Courfeyrac concluded, "is why we don't have paper aeroplanes at meetings. Ever."

Eponine shook her head in amazement. "If you wrote it, people would say it was ridiculous. Only you lot could manage to create that much damage in that space of time."

"Oh, you don't know the half of it!" Courfeyrac grinned. "Wait till I tell you about the time Bossuet set Musichetta's favourite rug on fire!"