Chapter One
Disclaimer: The Great Mouse Detective and all related characters are the property of Eve Titus and Disney and may not be used without permission. All other characters are the property of Megana and may not be used without permission. Millie, Giovanni, and some of the thugs are modeled off of characters in the film… their names are Megana's.
We are the Moononites, Ignot and Err. We are advanced beyond your feeble human comprehension. Gerard Butler is hot beyond male comprehension. Pokey! Mwhahahahaha!
Meg: (looking at disclaimer) WHAT? Gerard Butler? 'Pokey?' The Moononites? Who wrote that?!
JWJ: Wasn't me, you pinko Commie!
Meg: I'm not a Commie, I'm a Republican. Or rather, was. I think I want to be a Democrat now. The Bush administration's really starting to get on my nerves.
JWJ: WHAT? You want to be a jack-"
Meg: That's it, I'm sick of you in these author's notes. I'm kicking you out.
JWJ: You can't kick me out! I'm the only reason people even look at your stories; they really want to read about fabulous me!
Meg: (raises eyebrow) Oh, puh-leez! LUKE!
Luke: (entering) What is this?
Meg: My author's notes. You get to make comments on my stories or about how much Ratigan hates my stories.
Luke: Am I going to hate this?
Meg: Probably.
Luke: Then why am I doing this?
Meg: Because I said so. Besides, you do nothing else in your spare time.
Luke: Oh, dang.
A young, blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl huddled underneath a mound of rope, shivering as she pulled her cloak more tightly around her to keep off the chill of the light drizzle falling from the stormy night. She held an old, tattered carpetbag to her chest
She could go back home. Home. Hah. She had left home, and even though her heart ached for her father and her sisters, she knew that she could never go back and look herself in the face again. She would not give her mother the satisfaction of knowing that she had been too weak to completely run off.
Wasn't it weakness to say you were running away, and then turn back and go home when it got too dark and cold?
She closed her eyes and fell back into the events that had led her to this point.
Her name was Rose Marie McGeady. The blond-haired, blue-eyed girl was just shy of her seventeenth year. The third daughter of a clerk, she grew up in an average, middle-class family with her three sisters and her mother in their flat in Exeter. Rose had lived in general comfort with her family. She loved her sisters dearly, and her father had always been good to her. The only problem was her mother.
Elaine McGeady was not a bad mother, but that does not mean that she was necessarily a good one either. Her real flaw was how quickly she could lose her temper. Neither patient nor exceptionally bright, she was the type of person who could lose her temper over anything from what she assumed was a 'sarcastic look' from one of her children, to someone forgetting to empty the dirty dishwater out into the alley, to her children not performing exceptionally well in their studies. Elaine was bored with her life so she deliberately tried to pick fights with others. She held silly grudges against the neighbors and former friends of Rose and her sisters. She even held grudges against some of her own family members.
Rose thought her mother's temper problem was ridiculous. Elaine had once beaten her for locking herself out of their flat. Another time she had taken away her favorite books for making some off-hand comment about how her mother's cheesecake looked like it was bleeding. To Rose, these were silly things, things that no one should be taking offense over, right?
Rose had lost her best friend, Sarah Johnson, when her mother got into a fight with Sarah's mother. Elaine had forbidden Rose to ever see Sarah again. Rose had fought her mother, claiming that she and Sarah had nothing to do with the fight, and so why should their friendship suffer?
Because I am your mother, Elaine had said. Because you should honor me, and by seeing Sarah you would be dishonoring me and showing Mrs. Johnson that my own children do not honor their mother!
Because I am your mother…
It was because she was Rose's mother that the family could no longer speak to her father's sister Camille.
When Camille had died a few months ago, Elaine had gone to the funeral with the rest of the family. While others were weeping, Elaine McGeady was laughing at a joke with another one of the Johnson relatives. Rose had found it very distasteful, and had hated her mother for her laugh.
And then yesterday evening, her mother had been telling Jessica, the youngest child in her family, why she did not like Camille, even thought Aunt Camille was already dead. Rose knew what her mother said against her aunt was exaggerated lies. She knew that, as a Christian, her mother, should not speak so disrespectfully of the dead. But there she was, going on about how horrible a person Camille was; Camille, who could not defend herself.
"Aunt Camille was never like that," Rose had said without thinking.
Her mother stopped, stared at her in shock, and then turned red.
Oh, what a fight! How many times her mother told Rose how disrespectful she was to her, how ungrateful of a daughter she was. Rose fought back, telling her mother how many people despised their family because of Elaine's temper, and how horrible she was to tell lies about people not even cold in their graves.
The fight only ended when her mother told her that if she did not like living there then she could leave. Rose had nodded and said, "Fine."
She had packed a few warm clothes, a blanket, all her savings, some jewelry, and a book. She would leave long enough to make her mother sorry. Certainly she would be found, but not until she had made her point.
And what was her point? she had wondered as she picked up the carpetbag. It was too heavy.
She opened it up again and threw out the book, the blanket, and some of the clothes. Then, more on impulse, she threw in a small copy of A Tale of Two Cities.
She closed the bag again and lifted it. It was considerably lighter. She would not be gone that long anyway.
She walked into the parlor, where her mother was reading a book. "I'm leaving!" she called out in a loud voice.
"No one cares," Elaine said, not even looking up from the book.
Rose walked out the door and slammed it shut behind her, feeling empty inside. But she knew she would rather die than turn back now.
She had almost been halfway down the street when she heard someone call her name. "Rose! Rose!"
She turned around. It was her sister Gwen, only a year older than herself.
"Gwen?" her heart jumped. Was she going to join her?
"Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?" Gwen asked, tears in her eyes.
"I… didn't see you. I just had to get out of that house. I'm sick of how judgmental she is, and her temper."
"I… I always thought that I'd be the one to run away. You know?" Gwen said softly.
"Yes…" Rose thought how much Gwen hated their mother, and had vowed that she would run off. But she never had.
"Never thought it would be you instead of me… Rose? Don't forget me?"
Rose hugged her sister. "I won't. It will be all right. You'll see."
Then, with one last glance, they parted.
Rose had gone to London. The metropolis was big enough to hide in for a few days. She was certain that someone would find her; she expected that her parents would call the police, or her father would go after her himself. Someone would come along, and beg her to come home. Please, they'd say, please, you're wanted back at home. Your mother wants you there. She's sorry for everything she's ever done to you. Everything.
She had convinced herself that this 'journey' was seen as noble and right in the eyes of God. He would make sure that she would be all right, that her family would come for her. They had to, because was not her cause noble and just?
When she arrived in London the next morning, she was met with gray, overcast skies and a bitter March wind. Unfriendly faces. Nowhere to go.
She had started to inquire about a place to stay for cheap. Unfortunately, the small amount of money she had would not do for any respectable place. She was told to look further and further away from anything decent-looking.
She had looked all day. She had found nothing.
And here she was, at an East End dock, cold and alone, and beginning to doubt the righteousness of her cause. She was hungry, but too afraid to spend any of the money she had left. She was afraid, but too proud to take what money she had left and catch the next train to Exeter. She was proud, but already humbled enough to realize the foolishness of her running off. What had it benefited her? Already she missed the comforts of home. And here she was, lost in London, quite helpless and alone.
Quite alone…
Luke: I can't do this. I have no qualifications!
Meg: Are you Republican?
Luke: No… I hate politics.
Meg: You're qualified.
RAEB: Meg, can't we just forget having guys in these author's notes for once?
Meg: No.
RAEB: Why not?
Meg: Some readers might think I was a feminist or something.
Emma: But… you are.
Meg: No…
RAEB, Emma & Leigh: YES, YOU ARE!
Luke: Wait, you're a feminist? A guy-hater? That's it, I'm outta here!
Meg: Come back, I didn't mean it!