Wow! Due to overwhelming feedback—you are all fabulous!—I'm updating earlier than when I'd planned. Now Mark's getting his revenge on Roger for dyeing his hair pink, and he knows one of Roger's major weaknesses….aside from Sailor Moon

A/N: I didn't include the accents because I doubt they'd show up in this formatting, so everyone who speaks French or understands that there should be accents, formatting is the reason why.

Step 3: The Badly Sung Marseillaise.

There was a stranger sitting on Roger's couch. No, his and Mark's couch he reminded himself. But possession of the couch was irrelevant, what mattered was there was a brunet with a well-groomed goatee and mustache wearing dark glasses sitting on his couch.

"Er, hello?" Roger asked tentatively, creeping closer to the couch as the stranger regarded him—did he?—with the mirrored lenses.

"Ah, bonjour. Comment ca va?"

(Translation: hello, how are you doing?)

Damn. A foreigner. Just my luck for an idiot tourist from the Riviera to wander up to my loft to ask for directions to Radio City Music Hall. "Um bonjour," Roger replied. His accent was terrible and he only knew about three words of French. "Sorry, I don't speak-"

"Je suis un cousin de Marc," the stranger continued as if he didn't hear him. "Ou est-il?"

(translation: I am Mark's cousin. Where is he?"

"I think he's out filming. You're French, right? I don't speak French, I'm sorry."

The stranger stood up and began to pace around the room, obviously frustrated. "Je suis desolee, mais je ne parle pas un mots d'anglais. Pardonnez-moi, monsieur, mais il est necessaire que je trouve mon cousin. C'est tres important."

(translation: I am sorry, but I don't speak a word of English. Excuse me, sir, but it is necessary that I find my cousin. It's very important.)

Roger began to back away from this man and his goatee, both of which were scaring him more by the minute. Getting a closer look at the man's face, he realized that he did look an awful lot like Mark. "Mark, is that you? Stop spitting French at me, this isn't funny!"

"Je ne suis pas Marc, je suis son cousin." The man was a trifle irritated at this point. "Ou est-il?"

(translation: I am not Mark, I am Mark's cousin. Where is he?)

"I don't know! I don't speak French!"

The man got up close and in Roger's face. He swore the eyes blinked at him angrily behind the dark lenses. "Dites-moi ou il est cet instant!"

(translation: Tell me where he is this instant!).

"Uh…um…please get away from me, you're really scaring me." Roger realized that anything he said was futile, but he figured he might get lucky and maybe this freak with the goatee would leave. However, his words had no effect as the man stood closer until he was right underneath Roger, glaring up at him angrily. "Cessez de jouer des jeux avec moi, Americain, ceci est extremement important!"

(translation: Stop playing games with me, American, this is extremely important!)

Suddenly, the few words Roger knew in French dawned on him. He had absolutely no idea what they meant, but he hoped against hope that at least speaking this weirdo's language would soothe him. "Vous etes benie entre tout les femmes!"

(translation: You are the best among all women.)

Far from soothing the man, he appeared highly insulted. "Vous batard ignorant peu sensible! Je vous terai!"

(translation: You ignorant, insensitive bastad! I'll kill you!)

The man grabbed Roger by the shoulders and started shaking him viciously, screaming, "OU EST-IL? OU EST-IL?" repeatedly until the heavenly sound of the loft door sliding back reached Roger's tormented ears.

The man released him and excitedly ran over to Mark, who looked incredibly confused but began to speak to the man in French. The two nodded, shrugged, and pointed at Roger, then continued nodding and shrugging while Roger stood frozen to the spot as the past five minutes sunk into his head. Finally, the man rushed over, gave what sounded like a heartfelt apology, kissed him on both cheeks, and walked out of the loft with Mark. Roger sank down on the couch, still dazed. /I really need to remember to lock that door more often./ he thought as the door slid shut and Mark escorted the strange to, as Roger guessed, Radio City Music Hall.

Outside the loft building, Mark burst into laughter, as did the man he was walking with. "Rob, I have to hand it to you, you got him good. He really thought you were French."

"I'm glad you were waiting outside the whole time," Rob commented while he removed his glasses. "I was about to run out of French phrases soon and would have to resort to screaming the 'Hail Mary' in his face."

"Do you think he realized that we were just saying lines from 'Le Marseillaise' to each other?"

"I doubt it. By the way, why is your hair kinda pink?"

A/N the part about the nodding and shrugging comes from Louise Rennison's "Dancing in my Nuddy Pants", which is the fourth volume of the Confessions of Georgia Nicolson series. Which I don't own. Please send feedback and I shall send cookies!