A/N- Gah! It's been, what, three months since I updated this poor darling? I do have multiple excuses: precalc and piano Federation and Christmas presents and my job and rehearsals for the musical revue... but I'll just apologize profusely, hope none of my readers have given up on me, and post this tiny little chapter in hopes of adding another quite soon. And in response to reviews: How can they determine that Javert is a whore? I dunno. The thought crossed my mind as I was writing it, but I figured it's a parody, so there's no real need for everything to make sense. I'm treating prostitutes as a social class or something.

Enjolras frowned at Grantaire. "We have to go... in the sewers?"

"Yup," his comrade nodded. "That's what Pontmercy said, isn't it?"

"I suppose. Why didn't we bring him along to show us the way?"

"Dunno," said Grantaire. "S'pose that would have been wise."

"Ya think?" Enjolras cried.

"Well, he was enjoying his chocolate milk. You wouldn't wanna take his chocolate milk away, now would you? Milk builds strong bones."

Enjolras deigned not to acknowledge any of these phrases. "Very well, then, we go into the sewers."

And the two did so.

A small boy was seated in a corner, his arms wrapped around his knees and rocking back and forth while muttering to himself. What the crap was that black smoke stuff that totally tried to eat Mr. Ecko?

The boy did not say that. It was simply a statement by the Authoress. But she doesn't appear in this fic. So we shall continue.

Upon seeing two strangers approaching, the boy leapt to his feet and asked the taller of the two if he'd like a hug. The blond man responded by kicking the gamin aside. "We're on a mission, boy," he said curtly.

"Enjy!" cried the other man, obviously Grantaire. "Give this poor thing a break! I mean, didn't you hear what he was saying a minute ago?"

"Something about black smoke and an echo."

"No, that part that was in argot. It wasn't in the story, because the Authoress forgot most of the argot she taught herself for that Montparnasse story, so she just left it to the reader's imagination."

Enjolras shrugged. "I don't speak argot."

"Well, I do!" said Grantaire indignantly. "This boy has had a rough day. Isn't that what you were saying?" he asked the gamin.

The gamin nodded and said something else in argot that the Authoress had no desire to transcribe, it being nearly midnight.

"Poor thing! Seems he's had a little trouble with a demon prostitute earlier today," Grantaire said aloud. "Really, little guy? Tell me more."

Enjolras perked up. "A demon prostitute? Which way did he go?"

The boy crossed his arms and glared at the marbled bronzed whatever Hugo said young man.

"He, uh, doesn't really wanna talk to you," Grantaire said.

"Oh?" retorted Enjolras, eloquently.

"Perhaps you shouldn't have kicked him."

Leaning down to the boy's height, Enjolras found a Louis d'or in his pocket and held in at the gamin's eye level. "I suppose, young man, you've never held this much money in your hand at any given time."

The boy's eyes lit up.

"Just tell me where the demon prostitute went, and this entire coin shall be yours."

The child clapped his hands and pointed.

Tossing the coin to the boy, Enjolras and Grantaire were off.