A/N- Hehe, semi-mixed reviews, I see. But mostly good... yay! Oh, and I decided not to elaborate on the scream after all. Make up your own story for that one.

Jean Valjean, Gavroche and his boys, Jacques, Claire, and the baby are travelling in a small group. The streets are almost deserted now, because many people have fled the dangers of the incensed National Guard. Our group turns down an alley and encounters a firing squad lined up from one side of the street to the other.

"Nobody move!" shouts the firing squad in-charge guy.

Nobody moves.

"Now tell us, where can we find Pierre Enjolras?"

Nobody moves.

"Where do we find Pierre Enjolras? We have business with him!" At this last statement several of the men chuckle darkly.

"Enjolras is not here," Valjean answers at last.

"Oh, of course he isn't," the in-charge guy says sarcastically. "Liars! Show him to us, or we'll shoot you all!"

The rest of the firing squad began cocking their rifles and muskets and carbines and such.

"Hold on," Valjean says. "I'll get him."

He pulls open a rip in the space-time continuum and jumps into a room where a girl with glasses is sitting at a computer. Hey, wait a minute! You can't be in here, Valjean! You don't exist.

"Sure I don't. You're coming with me."

What? What are you talking about? HEY! LET GO OF ME! What- Whoa... I'm in Paris. Hey, I'm gonna go find Montparnasse, okay?

"No, you're gonna stay here. You're my prisoner now."

Valjean is looking pretty dangerous, so I think I'll listen to him. Readers, Paris is cool! And kind of dirty. I never thought I'd actually be here, and especially with the Mizzies! I hope Valjean will let me go find 'Parnasse soon.

"Here, this is Enjolras!"

What? Where? Don't shove me like that! Hey, look, a firing squad! Oh... crap.

(Gunfire.)

Claire: What the heck was that?

Valjean: I think I've just solved all of our problems.

Jacques: How?

Valjean: That was the Authoress. Now that she's dead, we can write the story ourselves! After all, she wasn't doing a very good job of telling it.

Jacques: What was wrong with her way of telling it? We all got what we wanted.

Valjean: Did you want the National Guard running around shooting people for no apparent reason?

Jacques: Well, no...

Gavroche: I did!

Valjean: You're such a weird little kid. Personally, I'm tired of OOC-ness.

Claire: I'm not OOC.

Valjean: That's because you're an OC. OC's can't be OOC.

Claire: Oh, I see.

(Cosette comes running in, crying loudly.)

Cosette: WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Valjean: Darling, what's wrong?

Cosette: DADDY, DO YOU THINK I'M BETTER THAN A – (sob) – THAN A... A CHORUS GIRL?

Valjean: Of course, sweetheart! Come, tell Daddy what's wrong.

Cosette: MARIUS WAS... HE WAS... I SAW HIM... ON THE ROOF OF THE OPERA HOUSE... WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Valjean: Marius was on the roof of the opera house? So?

Cosette: WITH A GIIIIIIIRL! WAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Valjean: Really? What was he doing?

Cosette: HE WAS... HE WAS... SINGIIIINNNNNNNNG!

(Hysterical, Cosette turns to rush away.)

Valjean: NO! Don't go that way, darling, there's a-

(Gunfire.)

Valjean: ... firing squad.

(No one says anything for a long time. At length Jacques approaches Valjean.)

Jacques: Monsieur?

Valjean: That blasted revolutionary... this is his fault.

Jacques: What?

Valjean: Pierre Enjolras killed my daughter.

Gavroche: No, m'sieur, that was the firing squad.

Valjean: (ignoring him) I will not rest until I see the revolutionary dead and his vest torn to ribbons.

Claire: Oh dear... that doesn't sound very nice at all.