A/N- I shall miss this fic! Yes, this is my final update. The story is
over. *sobs uncontrollably* I love you all! Goodbye, fat Javert!
Mlle. Verity le Virago- Hahaha! You shall see!
La Pamplemousse- Yes, I've turned the whole fic around. Beware.
Alteng- Actually, you may be right. I've seen three Gavroches onstage, and none of them could sing. All, however, were adorable, and only one was a horrible actor. Ick – Andrew Hoeft.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
If Bernard were not an elf, he would have sworn. As it was, the only thing he could was "JUNK!"
Several other elves heard this and hurried into the room. "What's wrong?"
Judy's eyes were wide. "The whole workshop heard that," she whispered.
"Well, Santa's gone and killed himself! Who'll we get now?"
"Killed himself?" Larry repeated.
"That's what I said, isn't it?"
Quentin spoke. "He didn't have children?"
"Nope."
"What about Gavroche?"
Bernard rolled his eyes. "How old was he, Quentin? Santa has to be more than seven years old!"
"Is Gavroche seven?" Larry frowned.
"WAS Gavroche seven," Bernard corrected him. "He's dead, too."
"My goodness, what happened?" Judy gasped. "Is it the second coming?"
"No... some revolution. You remember Enjolras, the boy who asked for something red every year?"
Many of the elves rolled their eyes and nodded.
"He started it. Dead."
"So... everyone's dead?" someone asked.
"Just about."
There was a moment of silence.
"Why would Javert just up and kill himself without leaving word to somebody?"
Bernard turned in the direction from which the voice had come. "Say that again."
"Uh... why would Javert just up and kill himself without leaving word to somebody?"
"That's it! You've got it!"
Bernard dissolved into a shower of sparks.
"What have I got?" the elf asked.
Quentin rolled his eyes. "No telling."
/\/\/\
It was almost morning in Paris, and Bernard knew that Javert's body would soon be found a ways down the river. He looked around the bridge where Santa had spent the last few moments of his life.
A heavy rock sat on the rail. Bernard lifted it and found a folded piece of paper underneath. Inside was scrawled only one line in Javert's rigid script:
"Pontmercy, 6 Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire. –Javert"
"Pontmercy, eh?" Bernard said, quickly memorizing the address. "I'll look him up."
Mlle. Verity le Virago- Hahaha! You shall see!
La Pamplemousse- Yes, I've turned the whole fic around. Beware.
Alteng- Actually, you may be right. I've seen three Gavroches onstage, and none of them could sing. All, however, were adorable, and only one was a horrible actor. Ick – Andrew Hoeft.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
If Bernard were not an elf, he would have sworn. As it was, the only thing he could was "JUNK!"
Several other elves heard this and hurried into the room. "What's wrong?"
Judy's eyes were wide. "The whole workshop heard that," she whispered.
"Well, Santa's gone and killed himself! Who'll we get now?"
"Killed himself?" Larry repeated.
"That's what I said, isn't it?"
Quentin spoke. "He didn't have children?"
"Nope."
"What about Gavroche?"
Bernard rolled his eyes. "How old was he, Quentin? Santa has to be more than seven years old!"
"Is Gavroche seven?" Larry frowned.
"WAS Gavroche seven," Bernard corrected him. "He's dead, too."
"My goodness, what happened?" Judy gasped. "Is it the second coming?"
"No... some revolution. You remember Enjolras, the boy who asked for something red every year?"
Many of the elves rolled their eyes and nodded.
"He started it. Dead."
"So... everyone's dead?" someone asked.
"Just about."
There was a moment of silence.
"Why would Javert just up and kill himself without leaving word to somebody?"
Bernard turned in the direction from which the voice had come. "Say that again."
"Uh... why would Javert just up and kill himself without leaving word to somebody?"
"That's it! You've got it!"
Bernard dissolved into a shower of sparks.
"What have I got?" the elf asked.
Quentin rolled his eyes. "No telling."
/\/\/\
It was almost morning in Paris, and Bernard knew that Javert's body would soon be found a ways down the river. He looked around the bridge where Santa had spent the last few moments of his life.
A heavy rock sat on the rail. Bernard lifted it and found a folded piece of paper underneath. Inside was scrawled only one line in Javert's rigid script:
"Pontmercy, 6 Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire. –Javert"
"Pontmercy, eh?" Bernard said, quickly memorizing the address. "I'll look him up."