Everything sucked. The embarking on the ship sucked. The voyage sucked. The I'm-On-A-Boat-Sex sucked. The disembarking sucked. So, basically, Lysandre was already in a pretty shitty mood when they arrived in America.

Then the Americans came.

They swarmed like phangirls around Ramin Karimloo and Hadley Fraser. Only it was worse, because Lysandre was kind of the 19th Century female equivalent of Ramin Karimloo and Hadley Fraser. And these people did not shut up! They were obsessed with pointing out everything they saw, and were more obvious than Legolas from Lord of the Rings.

"The sights!"

"The sounds!"

"The lights!"

"The smells!"

"The Wonder Wheels!"

"The carousels!"

"The gardens and arcades!"

"The marble colonnades!"

"Everyone shut the motherfucking shit up!" Lysandre screeched. Everyone stopped and stared at her. "For the love of bacon, you all are the reason why I left this country in the first place!" Grumbling, she took Benedict Cumberbatch Jr's hand and marched down the gangplank. "This hotel Hammerstein's getting for us had better be some 5-star Marriott shit." She, Raoul, and Benedict Cumberbatch Jr made their way through the crowd of Americans and promptly ran into three goons who looked like a few normal people who had a bad case of Lady Gaga on the brain.

"Miss Fleck," said the female, who was wearing feathers.

"THE MIGHTY SQUELCH," one of the men practically roared. His face was covered in tattoos.

"And Doctor Gangle," said the third man, who had a golden-ish chin and a top hat to rival Abraham Lincoln's.

"At your service!" The three chimed in together.

Lysandre stared at them for a moment. "That's it. I'm going back to the ship," she said, turning around. Raoul took a swig from a beer bottle and grabbed her arm.

"Ohhhh no ya don't, Lyssie," he said.

"Do come, the hotel is 5-star Marriott shit!" Fleck exclaimed. This caused Lysandre to reconsider. When she saw the horseless carriage, though, she freaked the fuck out.

"Whoa," she said. "Thestrals? We're riding to the hotel in a Thestral-pulled carriage? Get the fuck out!" Raoul quickly stepped in and clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Forgive her!" Raoul said. "She doesn't talk sense sometimes!"

The small family was taken into the 5-star Marriott shit hotel, and it was all very much to Lysandre's liking. It even had two master bedrooms so she wouldn't have to deal with Raoul at night. So, with her in one bedroom, and Benedict Cumberbatch Jr in the other, Raoul was welcome to the pullout couch. Benedict Cumberbatch Jr was sitting on the floor by his father, who was sucking down shots like they were going out of style. As the boy serenely strummed his zither, he looked up at Raoul.

"Father, come and play with me!" Benedict Cumberbatch Jr said. Raoul flipped him the bird. Lysandre flipped him the bird in turn.

"I'm out. Gonna go get some more brewskis." Raoul stood, swaying slightly, and shuffled out of the room.

"Mama, why is Papa such a prick?" Benedict Cumberbatch Jr asked.

"I dunno. Here, here's a picture of your namesake, Benedict Cumberbatch Sr," Lysandre said, pulling a small portrait of said man from her cleavage and handing it to her son. "Look at it with your heart, and not with your eyes. Well…look at it with your eyes too, because that's an awfully pretty picture." Benedict Cumberbatch Jr looked at the picture and smiled.

"I wish he was my father," he sighed.

"I'm sure you do," Lysandre muttered. "Alright, you. Bedtime. It's late and we got shit to do tomorrow. I wanna go to the M&M store in Times Square."

"But mama, there's no such place!" Benedict Cumberbatch Jr said, frowing.

"There's not? Fuck. I gotta stop putting Raoul's Grey Goose in the tea…" Shaking her head, she pulled Benedict Cumberbatch Jr up and took him into his bedroom. Tucking him into bed, she read him his favourite bedtime story: Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump. He was very sleepy by the story's end, and Lysandre kissed his forehead, put out the lights, and returned to the living room with every intent on crying about how much her life sucked.

Then, she saw a shadow move across the wall. Lysandre started. Whirling around, she felt her jaw drop in terror.

"Holy fuck!" She exclaimed. "It's the Ghost of Fucking Christmas Past!"