Musichetta gasped and clutched her chest. "Oh…my…gawd…you are sooooo cute!" She bent down and hugged all five boys at the same time. "Aren't you just the most precious things!" Musichetta drug them into her apartment smiling broadly whilst her brown eyes sparkled with delight.
"Please Musichetta, listen to me this is serious." Joly pleaded.
"Oh, you are just too cute for words!" She squealed. "I can't wait until Marquette comes home. Ohhhh, look at those little chipmunk cheeks!" She grabbed Bahorel's face and pinched his cheek.
"Musichetta, please!" Joly cried.
"Ohhhh, this is wonderful! I can be a maman!"
Combeferre sighed. "Please, Musichetta, we're grown men, and---"
"And you're just the cutest little things Auntie Musichetta has ever seen!" She squealed with delight.
"Will you help us?" Joly finally yelled shaking Musichetta's arms. His blonde hair fell into his flushed face giving him an over all exasperated appearance.
Musichetta frowned. "I guess so Jolllly." She dug into her ragbag and began sorting clothing that the boys could possibly wear. "You're such a kill-joy."
"Oh, Combeferre." Bossuet called.
"What is it?"
"Something just occurred to me. I think…I think…this is only half of the metamorphosis."
Combeferre frowned deeply. Or at least as deeply as his young face would let him. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I mean, I think we're going to end up with the minds of children as well." Bossuet nervously fingered a lock of hair.
"What makes you think that?" Combeferre furrowed his brow.
"Because…because…" Bossuet muttered. "Bahorel's acting…odd.."
"More than usual, I assume?"
"He let Musichetta pinch his cheek." Bossuet pointed out. "Musichetta, whom he dubbed 'The Giggling Wonder'."
Combeferre sighed. "Hardly reason for alarm. But I will look into it." He walked over to Bahorel and put his arm around his shoulder. "Bahorel, what's wrong you're silent for a change."
Bahorel looked at Combeferre with the utmost disgust and shook off his friend's arm. "I'm bored. Can't we go do something else?"
Combeferre swallowed with difficulty. A knot of panic rose in his chest. "In a moment."
"In a moment." Bahorel mimicked. "What are ya, some sort of professor with those glasses?" He gave Combeferre a sharp poke and went over to investigate what Musichetta was doing.
Combeferre wracked his brain. What was going on? Why weren't the others…but wait…he had served Bahorel first. "First Bahorel was served, then Prouvaire…cripes…Jehan!"
He spun on his heel and faced the poet. Jehan was scuffing the toe of his boot on the slightly frayed rug. "Jehan?"
"What's wrong Combeferre?" Prouvaire asked as he looked up from his boots. "You look awful!"
"Oh nothing much…ah…no…actually…" Combeferre explained the situation in an under-tone.
"Oh lovely." Jehan muttered.
"And apparently…you're next."
"Great. Childhood and adolescence were so wonderful the first time."
"Look at it this way, you won't remember the first time." Combeferre said in a futile attempt to be helpful.
Jean Prouvaire stared at his friend. "Sometimes I think we need to work on your people skills, René."
"I'm boooored." Bahorel complained loudly.
"Bahorel,"
"Don't call me that. My name's Michel."
Combeferre gritted his teeth. "Okay, Michel. Go bother Joly, Michel. Who's Joly? He's the blonde kid taking his pulse. Still with us Jehan?" He asked his friend.
"At the moment. What do you want?" Jean Prouvaire was sitting on the floor resting his chin on his knees.
"Any idea how old we actually are?" Combeferre seated himself on the floor beside him.
"Seven." Jehan answered without a moment's pause.
"Seven?"
"Seven. I can tell because seven was the age I was when I lost my front teeth." He grinned shyly showing off the gap in his smile.
Musichetta caught sight of this and squealed again. "Oh, you just too cute for words, yes you are!" She hugged him tightly and tousled his hair in a motherly manner.
Combeferre sighed and tried to formulate some sort of plan of action. Sometimes being second in command wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Enjolras was scowling at Courfeyrac, Feuilly, and Grantaire. Feuilly and Courfeyrac were dining and Grantaire was drinking the dregs out of a bottle that he found on the table.
"Where are they?" Enjolras asked for the hundredth time.
"We don't know. Are you going to finish that roll, Enjolras?" Courfeyrac asked eyeing Enjolras' half-finished meal.
"They should have been here hours ago! This isn't like them. Maybe those gamins scared them off."
"Oh yes, homeless children are terrifying." Feuilly remarked shortly. Enjolras had told them about the situation with the boys. Feuilly was somewhat peeved that Enjolras had chased them off, and felt strongly empathetic for the boys whoever they were.
Enjolras made a noise of disgust. He had no tolerance for children or for childhood. The two lacked any form of the seriousness that he so prized. "They were rude urchins. Probably more bourgeois than gamin, if one were to look at their clothing. Mind you, it was at least seven sizes too large for them." He frowned. "One of them dropped their jacket."
Courfeyrac picked it up with one hand and with his other he swiped Enjolras' roll and stuffed it into his mouth. "Hey, this is Joly's coat." He grinned with his mouth full. "See, it has his mirror in the pocket and a little medical dictionary so he can look up his latest malady." He held up the items with a smile.
Enjolras froze. "But…that is where one of those…gamins…" The blood drained from his already pale face. The boy who had practically told him where to stick his money…the boy with glasses and had called him by name…the thin peacemaker….
"It couldn't be…but…it had to be…they…they were already here."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Author's Note: More to come soon.