Deep in the labyrinthine and very smelly depths of the sewers of Paris, two girls and a man-woman were arguing with a bearded man to whom the reader has already been introduced. The man-woman, who was technically and physically female, although at first glance (and second and third) this could hardly be ascertained. (S)he was tall, large, red-haired and mustached, and the reader, having certainly read Les Misérables by Victor Hugo, will no doubt recognize the Thénardiess, or Madame Thénardier. The two girls looked rather alike, though the younger and shorter of the two had brown hair, and the elder had black. The bearded man, obviously Thénardier, had gray hair... I think. So if only a blond were present, they'd have the whole spectrum of hair color all in one tunnel!

"Mother," the elder daughter was saying, "I want to move back to the Gorbeau place! The... um... view... was so much better there!"

"What's wrong," Thénardier growled, "are you too good to look at the sewer walls?"

"And steaming piles of crap?" added the younger girl.

"Azelma," her mother said warningly.

The brunette crossed her arms, rolled her eyes, and stuck her tongue into her cheek like a typical irritated teenager. "I know why Éponine wants to go back to the Gorbeau place," she said softly to the wall.

"'Zelma!" hissed her sister.

"And why is that?" asked the father, although the original statement was clearly directed at the wall, and not at him.

Azelma smirked at him, and then at the horrified expression on Éponine's face. "Because," she said slowly, "she liked the view better."

"We know that much, thanks."

"Because," Azelma said again, "she liked the view next door."

"What are you talking about, girl? There was nothing next door but some half-witted boy... Ah."

"It's not true!" Éponine said quickly. "Father, you know she's lying!"

Azelma, abandoning her air of indignation, began dancing around the tunnel and chanting, "Wait till Montparnasse finds out that Éponine don't love him!"

"And why not?" said a low voice.

Everyone was immediately as still as a statue... except that their hearts were beating and blood was moving through their veins and their chests were rising and falling and Azelma hadn't even heard the voice anyway because she was still dancing and chanting. So actually, no one was really still at all.

"HEY!" the voice bellowed.

Now things got still. Azelma and Éponine, in fact, looked horrified at what they saw. Thénardier, on the other hand, seemed pleased, if not a little irked. The mother wasn't really paying attention anymore. In fact, she had wandered off somewhere in the sewers and was never seen again.

"Éponine..." the owner of the voice said, "What's all this about you being unfaithful to me, hmm? After I was good enough to put you and your family up in this little abode? After I brought you this present?" He heaved the heavy sack from his shoulder onto the floor of the sewer, where it landed with a slight splash.

Completely forgetting her shame at Azelma's words, Éponine clapped her hands and squealed, "Ooh, 'Parnasse! What is it?"

"I don't know," the thief said, for indeed he was the owner of the voice. "I just now stole it from some drunken idiot at a pub."

Azelma huffed. "Papa! Why don't I have a lover who brings me presents he stole from a drunk man?"

"Because you're ugly, my dear," said Thénardier.

Azelma turned around and stalked off into the blackness. "I'm going to turn you in to Javert!" she shouted over her shoulder.

"WAIT!" Thénardier shrieked, dashing after her into the dark.

A moment passed in silence.

"Well," said Montparnasse, "open the thing. I wanna know what it is just as much as you."

Éponine complied. However, after peering into the bag she bent up quickly and smacked Montparnasse across the face.

"What the— you little slut!" he shouted. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, I'm a slut!" she cried, pointing at the bag. "What on earth are you thinking, bringing me something like that? It isn't funny!"

Rather confused, Montparnasse pulled the sack open. "Ooh," he said, "I think I'll keep this present for myself."

Inside the sack he had stolen from the drunkard in the pub was an unconscious whore. She was quite pretty, with blonde hair and thick eyelashes. Even as you read this sentence she began to stir, and slowly opened her brilliantly green eyes, which somehow looked violet in the strange lighting of the sewer. She glanced about, her shapely lips twisted into a pretty pout, and then looked up at Montparnasse, who swiftly straightened his cravat.

"Good evening, my dear," he said softly, offering her a hand.

"What?"

The prostitute's lips had parted, forming this word, but the voice did not belong to her. Or, at least, if there was any justice in the world, it shouldn't have belonged to her.

"You!" she shouted. "You're Montparnasse! You're that same little dandy who escaped yesterday! Where am I? What am I doing here?"

The deep voice, obviously masculine, continued to come from that little mouth. Her blonde eyebrows had drawn together, and fury flashed through the violet-green eyes.

"Oh my God," Éponine breathed. "It's a demon whore!"

"A demon prostitute?" repeated the young girl. She scrambled to her feet and began casting wild glances around the sewer. "Where?"

"No..." said Montparnasse, "I don't think it is."

"You, thief!" she barked, "You... You've kidnapped me! That's it, isn't it? You were angry with me for trying to jail you, and now you've kidnapped me!"

Montparnasse squinted at the girl, then took a step closer. "In... Inspector Javert? Is that you?"

"Of course it's me, you half-wit!" the little whore shouted.

"You... you don't... look... like Javert."

The girl glared at him, her eyes flashing emerald. "What do you mean, I don't look like Javert? And you'll refer to me as 'inspector'!"

"Um..." Montparnasse said, for lack of anything more eloquent, "do this." And he waved his hand in front of his own face.

The girl's fiery gaze rested on him a moment longer, but she finally huffed and raised her hand in front of her eyes, waving it as Montparnasse had done. The sight of thin, pale fingers and smooth, oval nails seemed to startle the young prostitute. She glanced at her shapely arm, then down at her narrow waist and long legs. Panicking, she pulled forward the front of her low-cut dress and peered at her own body, then let out a masculine shout. "What are THOSE?"

Montparnasse had moved slightly closer and was looking as well. "God, I wish you weren't Javert," he breathed.

"INSPECTOR Javert!" the girl bellowed.

"Either way."

The girl was scowling at him again. "You did this to me! You whiny thief! You did this to me!"

"Stop, stop, stop! Inspector... Inspector, honestly, how could I have turned you into a woman? I mean, really, if I had the power to turn an ugly man into a beautiful girl, do you think I'd be hanging around with that?" Montparnasse said reasonably, pointing to Éponine.

"Oh, that is it!" she shouted, stomping away and muttering to herself about whores with men's voices and hateful lovers.

The prostitute continued to scowl at him.

"Very well, monsieur, just tell me what you remember. How did this happen to you?"

Sulking a little, the girl began to think. "Well," she said gruffly, "I remember... I remember you! I... I locked you in a cell... and you were angry... and you... YOU TURNED ME INTO A PROSTITUTE!"

"We've been over this, monsieur..."

"And then... then, you kidnapped me and brought me here!"

"Why would I kidnap a prostitute?" Montparnasse cried.

The girl narrowed her eyes. "Oh, as if you don't know."

"Is that all you remember?"

Pensive, the girl put tapped a finger against her chin. "No... I remember the revolutionaries... the stupid students... and something about Mexican food... OH! They did it! The students did this!"

"Normally," Montparnasse sighed, "I would never give a group of college boys credit for turning a lawman into a gorgeous whore, but considering I stole this sack from one of them, and a drunken one at that, I'd say absinthe had a hand in this."

"Absinthe? What do you mean?"

"You don't know what absinthe is?"

The girl huffed again. "Of course I do! I'm not an idiot!"

"Uh-huh," Montparnasse said skeptically.

"As soon as I get back to the station, I'm throwing you in jail!"

Montparnasse nodded. "You do that."

"Oh, go away, con! Your time will come!" she huffed. "I'm going back to the station to get a respectable overcoat, or something to that effect. Then, I shall find those imbecile students and make them pay. Let them shake in their boots, the blond one and the drunk, for their time has come... I will have them!"

The whore got to her feet and marched off into the sewers.

"Um... mademoiselle? Er... inspector?" Montparnasse called after her. "Do you know where you're going? Are you sure you won't get lost in these sewers?"

"Oh, please!" she shouted back over her shoulder. "You just don't want me to get back above ground so I can throw you in jail!"

And with that the little figure disappeared into the blackness.

Montparnasse shook his head sadly. "Idiot."