A/N: Thanks dear ones. I must tell you I crave feedback. I crave it like Kay!Erik craves morphine. Sooo...to all my darling lurkers out there, please, pret-ty please REVIEW!

A note: This chapter, as you might have inferenced from the title,has nothing to do whatsoever with Merik and Heather. However, it is an important plot bunny, so read carefully.

Quinn was angry.

His authoress had vanished, his face was showing premature signs of age, and, to top it all off, there was a rather conspicuous mustard-stain on his favorite kilt.

"Bloody 'ell," he muttered, slipping into his native accent, which was usually not very pronounced, for no particular reason other than the authoress sucks at writing out Scottish accents.

"A fitting phrase," said Leroux!Erik, legs stretched out to their full glorious length from his position atop Heather's battered pink armchair. "It's dreadfully inexplicable, but Erik almost misses the torment she inflicts upon the lot of us."

"Stop speaking in third person," snapped Disney!Beast, his tail twitching with irritation. "It's ridiculous."

"Erik speaks however he wishes," snapped Leroux!Erik. "Though I only use third person when I'm feeling exceptionally moody."

Louis de Pointe du Lac sighed, looking, as always, an artful glimmer in the dark. "You know…"

"Technically," said Basil Rathbone!Holmes, "you are not even supposed to be here, my dear Louis."

"I'm her muse as much as the rest of you…" he began.

"Anne Rice forbids your presence on FanFiction dot Net," continued Holmes. "My dear fellow, haven't you read the TOS?"

Louis shrugged beautifully and disappeared in a whoosh of dark color.

"Ah, Echo…Erik does wonder where she's gone," said Leroux!Erik almost mournfully.

"Why bother wondering?" snarled the Beast. "She's always so difficult!"

"Ask our charming girl's younger brother," said Holmes. "He may be able to shed some light on the subject."

"Are you daft?" snapped Erik. "The boy hates the very sight of me. He tried to kill me with a pitchfork last week, you know…"

"Wait a moment," said Holmes, stiffening. "Wait just…a…moment…"

He walked to the window, staring outside. "There's an odd hole in the ground. A residue of color is swirling almost imperceptibly 'round its base."

Quinn, ever the quiet one of the group, simply raised one very dark and handsome eyebrow.

"Talk sense, you silly ass," snapped Erik.

"Kindly do not resort to name-calling, my dear Erik," said Holmes quite calmly. "As I said before, there is…"

"Make your point," Beast growled.

"Obviously, our dear Echo is missing, correct?" asked Holmes.

Erik rolled his eyes. "What is that charming modern phrase she uses so often? 'Duh?' "

"And she was going for a walk in the rain before she disappeared, is that not also so?" queried Holmes, ignoring Erik's patronizingly insulting attitude.

"True," said Quinn cautiously. "Or so it says in 'er diary…"

"If she knew we were reading her diary, she would no doubt skin us alive," said Holmes fondly. "However, what she does not know cannot hurt her in the slightest."

"Get to the point!" Beast snarled. "Or I'll…" He brandished his claws wickedly.

Holmes, completely unruffled by this barbaric display, continued smoothly, "It appears that there has been a vortex. And our dear Echo, we may safely assume, has been inexplicably drawn inside."

"How cahn you possibly knoo—" Quinn began.

"It's obvious," sighed Beast resignedly. "He's Sherlock Holmes. He always knows."

Quinn sat back, slightly miffed.

Erik made a discontented noise in the back of his throat, obviously ill at ease that Sherlock's genius had won out over his own.

"And it is our task," said Holmes, "to ensure her safe return."

Beast laughed, a short bark of sorts. "Why? Why not simply allow her a…vacation?"

"Normally, I'd agree wholeheartedly," muttered Erik, "but, much as it pains to admit, I am rather…worried."

"Second that," said Quinn.

"Notwithstanding his status as the only original muse in this entire group, I'd say Quinn's opinion clinches the matter, since he makes the sentiment nearly mutual." Holmes said smoothly. "The only one who disagrees, apparently, is Beast."

Beast sighed, and closed his eyes tightly, his body beginning to shift and convolute.

"Oh, no…" muttered Erik. "Hide my Punjab lasso. Erik is afraid he'll do something that will make his authoress very angry…"

Well-said, for Beast had morphed into his rarely used form, used only three times in all his service as Heather's muse. It was the form of the tall, broad-shouldered, and very foppish-looking unnamed prince.

Erik's fingers spasmed. "Lasso…" he gasped. "My lasso…"

Holmes grabbed it and stuffed it under the bed when Erik wasn't looking.

Now in a calmer and more docile mood owing to his decidedly androgynous state, the prince said calmly, his large blue eyes collected and clear, "I agree with Holmes' statement. We should go after her."

"Well," said Holmes, "that's settled."

"Indeed," said Erik. "Pity the vampires can't join us."

"I thought you disliked 'em," said Quinn.

Erik shrugged. "Preternatural strength and odd abilities might be useful in dire circumstances."

"I concur," said Holmes. "Lestat de Lioncourt's mind-scanning would be most helpful. Unfortunately, the TOS is quite clear."

"Bugger it," muttered Quinn. "Why don't we just say to 'ell with the TOS—"

"Because, my dear Quinn, Echo would be removed from FFNet if we did," Holmes countered evenly.

Quinn sighed. "Better go change mah kilt."