And this is the second chapter! Sorry for the wait, but school means work (who knew?) and work sadly means little time available for writing the latest chapter. But today I managed to find some time, and so here is the second chapter up!

Again, I apologise for any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors-believe me when I say that English tends to be one of my stronger subjects- they are not intentional (presuming that I actually made a mistake or two).

Again, I do not own Tintin, or Buffy, they are owned by their respective author and… producer? (I don't know, and neither do you :D)

By the way, inner thoughts are expressed in italics.

On with the show!

How long they were actually out for went unknown, as none of them were awake to keep track, and Snowy was more concerned about his master than timing the unconscious people.

He had at first stayed where he was, unsure of what was happening or how to deal with it (it wasn't every day that the Professor knocked out everyone with some odd invention after all… just some days) for quite a while, before steeling himself and hesitantly going over to Tintin. He sat by his master for a while, whining softly to himself. Tintin was a hardy young man, and normally wasn't unconscious for long. However, clearly he and all the rest were well and truly out, and it concerned Snowy a lot. Then an idea hit him, and he moved over by Tintin's head and very gently licked his face (an action that normally provoked a response of some kind from the boy, conscious or not). He was rewarded with a small groan, and opening eyes.

He had no idea of how he came to be in this room, on the floor. All he had registered at first was gentle whining, and then a very rough tongue on his face. An animal of some kind? What kind of animal? A dog, most likely… what is a dog? His eyes hesitantly opened and he came face to face with a white, curly haired dog, somewhat resembling a fox terrier. So that's a dog. Now I remember…one thing sorted at least. But where on earth am I? It looks like a sitting room of some kind, and it's huge. What happened?

His confused thoughts were cut short by another groan that sounded very close. Almost like he was right next to him, in fact. He turned in order to see another man who was indeed right next to him, who was now stirring, and muttering unintelligible things while doing so (he could have sworn that he heard the word 'barnacles', but what did that have to do with anything?) The dog, who had been previously sitting on his lap, wagging his tail in joy, now gave a bark of surprise and gracefully jumped onto the other man, startling him somewhat.

"Arrgh! It's the giant rat of Sumatra!" Cried the stranger in a very accented and deep voice. The dog yelped in shock as well, and instantly fled to hide behind a little table-a coffee table, I believe- but the other man, now apparently enraged ran over to it in order to catch the poor animal. Said animal seemed to anticipate this and began running around the table, with the furious stranger chasing him, yelling odd phrases at the top of his voice, which was rather loud to begin with. Eventually, the stranger seemed to tire of the chase, in a literal sense. I believe that the word I'm looking for is 'Puce' he thought to himself. The dog seemed to be as amused, and trotted over to the stranger, barking once, before heading towards yet another stranger, who was a rather odd looking fellow, with a large forehead and a green jacket (which wasn't all that odd, but he noticed it anyhow).

Just how many of us are there? There were quite a few other people in the room as well, and the commotion caused by the angry man and the excitable dog was waking a fair few of them up. The best thing to do would be to help them, I suppose. And help them he did.

After everyone was up (he counted seven others, not including himself and the angry man, who was standing by the doorway, muttering angrily and glaring at the dog, who only wagged his tail in response) he decided to take charge of the situation. Why, he didn't know, it just felt like the natural thing to do. I demand answers. So maybe that was the reason, and by the looks on everyone else's faces, they seemed to be just as confused as he was, which was oddly reassuring. However, he was interrupted by a rather odd looking chap sporting a bowler hat and a slightly curved moustache.

"I say! What on earth is going on? Who are you people? Where am I? What happened to me?"

"To be precise, what happened to us? I demand an answer! Or maybe a few more!" This was said by another, strikingly similar to the first, only that his moustache was straight. Perhaps they're twins… once again, he decided to take charge, and this time, he was successful. Or at least, was slightly successful.

"Please gentlemen, calm down." Is that my voice? It sounds… light, which I think is odd in a male, which I'm pretty sure that I am. But it's familiar, but that's to be expected-

"I beg your pardon? Who on earth are you? How dare you tell ME to calm down! I will not be talked to that way by a stranger. A strange one, no less!"

"To be precise, it's strange that we're talking to a stranger!"

"Please gentlemen. I have no idea where we are either. I don't remember anything, the same as you peop-" he cut himself off with the most perplexing thought he had had (and he'd a few recently). He is right. Who am I? What is my name? What do I do? He turned to the rest of the group suddenly, who had been quietly watching the whole affair.

"Do you know who you are?" He was met with puzzled and confused expressions and denials. He sighed to himself. This is going nowhere. I have no idea as to who, what or where I am, and no one else has a clue, either.

"Oh! Wait a second!" A rather eager cry arose from the back. A small, mousy looking man with spectacles was rummaging around in his jacket, before finding a small wallet. He gave a cry of triumph and instantly held up a passport which had been stored in there.

"My name's Igor Wagner! That's definitely me! That's my name! I'm a-a musician! Look! It says it here, under 'Occupation'!"

"That's great! Maybe some of us also have identification! Quickly, look in your pockets!" He went to look in his own, before he was (once again, this was becoming a habit) interrupted by no less than the two eccentric bowler hat twins.

"By Jove! It says here that my name is Thompson! I'm a detective at Interpol! Good Lord, how exciting!"

"By Golly! This is most extraordinary! My pass says that I'm called Thomson! And would you believe this!? It says that I work at Interpol too! And you'll never guess what as!"

"Ummm… the janitor?"

"No! Don't be a dummy! I'm also a DETECTIVE! Just as you are? Isn't that incredible?"

"No need to call me a dummy! How rude!"

"Rude? You dare call me rude?! Well I never! You're annoying! You're probably my sidekick anyway! So there!"

"Sidekick?! I am nobody's sidekick! You are-"

"Goodness Gracious! You don't think-"

"Surely not-"

"It can't be true-"

"It IS TRUE!"

"We're… we must be brothers!" And with that, they fell into each other's arms, weeping uncontrollably at the discovery of their brotherhood. All rather touching (if a little disturbing), but he had other matters to attend to, such as finding out his OWN identity. He found a brown leather wallet in the back of his trousers-rather odd ones at that… do I play golf or something?- and quickly opened it, his heart racing. It didn't take him long to find his pass, buried a little under some banknotes. He studied it intensely, desperate for answers. He didn't notice the angry man with the loud voice nearing him until said loud voice nearly made him jump a foot in the air.

"So then. Your name?" He looked up, startled for a little while, but quickly regained his composure, before answering a little hesitantly –should I tell him? He is a stranger after all… I suppose it can't hurt…

"It's… Tintin. I'm from Belgium, apparently. Nice to meet you, sir." He was surprised at how easily his name rolled off his tongue. It's… unusual certainly, but it has a certain feel to it… this is a name that I chose, that's for sure.

"Oh? An odd name, for sure, but then I can't judge." Upon noticing Tintin's gaze, he added, "My name is Haddock. Archibald Haddock. I hail from Belgium, same as you lad. It seems that I'm also a Captain. Pretty cool, come to think of it…"

Tintin decided to find out his own occupation, and found that he was a reporter. He didn't know why, but he felt a surge of pride at the discovery. It felt so right, him being a reporter, somehow. They searched for the truth in order to reveal secrets, almost like an adventurer or a spy. It felt like he had recovered an important part of himself. Must be a pretty intense job, not that I can remember. His train of thought was interrupted by the little white terrier who had trotted over to him, and sat obediently at his feet, tail wagging. Tintin reached down to scratch his ears, feeling a surge of affection for the dog. The dog responded well to this treatment, his tail wagging even more if that was possible. Could he be my dog? He seems to be more comfortable around me than he is with the others. As he petted the dog, he tried to come up with a name for him (he assumed the dog was a boy) and eventually thought of 'Milou'. It somehow suited the terrier, even though Tintin doubted it was the dog's actual name, but due to the circumstances, he felt it would do. While he gave his mostly undivided attention to the dog, he couldn't help but overhear the other conversations that the other residents were having. It wasn't deliberate, he was just being… observant. He felt that as a reporter, he probably would have been listening in anyway, in order to gain vital information.

…

"You know, dear brother, it's a good thing that we found our passes. I was beginning to think that I was put here for some ghastly scientific experiment!"

"To be precise, we are ghastly scientific experiments? I don't think that's quite right, you know…"

"This isn't real…this is just some horrible dream… or something…" a fairly middle-aged (if not older) looking man was having, to be blunt, a complete and utter meltdown. His striped yellow and black vest was by far the most distinctive feature on him. An equally middle-aged woman dressed in black knelt down to calmly talk to him. Tintin also noticed that she had a very heavy accent. He decided to leave them be.

"Weeell, I must say that this is all rather fun~!" A very piercing, high voice broke through Tintin's musings. He looked around to see a very… strong featured woman in beautiful (and probably very expensive) clothes, who seemed to be enjoying the whole spectacle now that the initial confusion had worn off. She was talking to the odd looking man Tintin had noticed earlier. Now that he looked closer, Tintin felt that there had to be more to him than that. He had a sort of intelligent aura around him that screamed 'genius'. If anyone were to know what was going on, it would be he. However, he was discouraged from getting up to talk to him as soon as he realised the man was deaf to a ridiculous degree. Not completely deaf, there was nothing ridiculous about that, but a sort of deliberate, selective deafness that stemmed from stubbornness and general eccentricity. And as he seemed to be enraptured by the loud (even louder than that Haddock man) woman, he decided that he would let them continue their discussion uninterrupted.

Professor Calculus was having a good day. Well, and okay-ish day. If one ignored the fact that one had woken up in a strange room with eight total strangers and no one had any recollection of anything, then yes, his day was a good one. Not least because he was talking to one of the most wonderful women he had ever met.

Contrary to how most women (or indeed, most people in general) would act upon awakening, she had reacted with extraordinary grace, and was even now totally optimistic and brave. A strong willed woman indeed, he thought to himself. Aside from that, she was an excellent conversationalist, and even though he was actually slightly deaf, he made an active effort to listen to her, even if some words *coughsentencescough* were a little lost in translation.

"And who, my darling, are you?" She practically cooed.

"My name seems to be Cuthbert. Cuthbert… well… I don't actually know. I have no identification madame. But that is irrelevant my lady. Who are you?"

She giggled. "I'm not entirely sure, dear. Like you, I also have no identification. Mamma Mia, we are indeed two lost souls, are we not?"

That was not strictly true. For some reason, Calculus seemed to be able to recollect the most unusual things that would have been vital to everyone else. He knew his own name, for example. Well, his first name at any rate. But it was a good start, all things considered. He had no idea what he did, although he felt that it was a big part of his life and that he was extremely good at it. That and the fact this woman's name was, without any shadow of a doubt, Bianca. He told this to her, and she was delighted.

"Oh my dear Cuthbert! You are truly my saviour! We must know each other very well, for you to remember something as trivial as my name!" Here Calculus blushed a little, and was about to murmur some dissent or another before she gave a gasp of surprise.

"Mamma Mia! But what is this? A ring of some kind?" And she was right. Aside from all the rest of her jewellery, one ring stood out in particular, and it was on her wedding ring finger.

"How extraordinary, my dear lady! Do you think-?" He hardly dared to believe it, but she seemed much more confident.

"I do not think, my dear… I am completely positive. We must be married! Oh, how wonderful it is to remember, at last!" And with that she embraced him wholeheartedly, and Calculus was delighted, and returned it with full force.

Meanwhile, the man who had previously been suffering from a mental breakdown had a sudden moment of clarity.

"What's this? I seem to be British… an interesting development."

And then he went back to crying.

Tintin was contentedly petting Milou when the Captain came and sat by him. Tintin wasn't unduly surprised. He had seen the man giving him strange looks frequently, and had felt it only a matter of time before the man confronted him about whatever it was that was bothering him.

"So, lad,"-Tintin bristled a little at that, he was no lad, by any means-"is it possible that we know each other, do you think?"

"Most likely." Tintin replied. It seemed to him that everyone probably knew each other very well, if not intimately, judging by the way the odd man and the loud woman were behaving. Did they really have to do that there? Honestly, how undignified… tearing his permanently scarred eyes away from the scene, he returned to the conversation at hand.

"It feels like I know you, as all. I think we're quite close, actually." This comment surprised Tintin, who forced himself to look the Captain in the eyes. He was quite startled. They were a brilliant shade of blue, as deep as the ocean, yet they showed honesty, and something else that was intense, but something that Tintin couldn't figure out for the life of him, although he noted that his heart was racing a little, and his stomach felt light, as if there were butterflies flying around (A/N please don't shoot me for that clanger…). He then decided to look, really look, at the Captain.

He was middle aged, and carried it well. He had a rough, yet openly honest face, and his eyes were by far the most striking feature. He had unruly dark hair and a beard. He was wearing a naval outfit of some sort-he is a captain, I suppose- and he was extremely good looking. In Tintin's eyes in any case, which unnerved Tintin slightly. He looked away, his face feeling a little hot, and he probably had a massive blush on his face. Seems like I'm the type to blush easily. This only intensified when he noticed the Captain studying him as he had done a few moments ago, and he caught a look of approval on the Captain's face, which made him feel a little uncomfortable, yet incredibly flattered. Seems that I look okay then. Not that I've seen myself. The Captain, noticing Tintin's gaze on him, looked away at once. An awkward, yet somehow comfortable silence ensued. Tintin was mentally berating himself. I cannot believe that I found the Captain attractive… what on earth are we to each other? Could it be… no, no, it can't possibly be that way, that would be improper. Of course. That is obvious. If we do know each other, then we are probably friends. That is all. Tintin tried to supress a small feeling of disappointment, and shook his head, trying to clear away his thoughts.

"You alright lad?" Tintin felt his irritability mount. That word annoyed him more than he could say, but he had to be polite, so he let it slide, for the time being, anyway. Thankfully, the Captain's attention was diverted elsewhere.

He had faintly heard the crying man suddenly realise that he was of British origin, but it had barely registered to Tintin, who was lost in his own thoughts. The Captain however, relieved that there was a small distraction, decided to take advantage of it, only to have it backfire on him spectacularly.

"British?! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha hahaaa, those irritating, stuck-up, nancy boys! Unlucky you, old boy, that's all I'm saying- wait, hold on… blistering barnacles… troglodytes… politicians… oh God, so am I… that's just great."

"Actually, sir, I think you'll find that you have more of a Scottish accent," Calculus interrupted, a little breathless. "The brogue is rougher, and-"

"Blistering Barnacles, do I look like I care!? Scotland is technically part OF Britain, so yes, I am British! And now apparently Scottish as well, so now- then how come my pass says that I'm from Belgium?"

As the ever-patient Calculus endeavoured to explain to the irate Captain of how one can change nationalities due to immigration, Tintin was thinking about the voice of the Captain. Calculus had been right indeed; it was deep, and not a little rough, but it had a wonderful lilt to it, all the same. Very much unlike his own, lighter tone. The Captain's voice is far manlier than mine, it makes him even more-wait no, just stop thinking about that! The Captain is NOT REMOTELY ATTRACTIVE! NOT AT ALL! It's just the confusion from these strange events that is clouding my judgement. That's all. Still, he couldn't stop his pulse racing whenever he looked at the Captain, who was now yelling at Calculus over something trivial.

All of those residing in Marlinspike Hall were blissfully unaware of the stranger lurking outside one of the windows, one who was now aware that Tintin, the famed boy reporter, was not entirely himself.

The phone rang, startling the residents. It seemed so out of place, sure and confident, when everyone in the room was confused and lost. Eventually Calculus spoke up.

"I think that's the phone. I'll go and see to it, shall I?"

They all watched him leave, with Bianca in tow. Tintin suddenly had an idea.

"I say, shouldn't we all leave this room? There may be clues around this place that could shed light onto this affair." It was agreed that this was a pretty good idea, and so everyone else left too; the twins, still bickering animatedly, who ended up tripping over a flat surface, a skill in itself, the crying man, still sobbing uncontrollably, being led out of the room by the matronly lady, and poor Wagner, looking a little put out by being left alone, before deciding to go after the upset man and the kind woman. That left Tintin and Haddock to explore the place together. Followed by Milou, who stayed close to Tintin. They passed Calculus, who was answering the phone.

"Cutts the Butcher? Here? Well, I do declare… yes, yes, of course, soon as possible, yes, good-bye, ma'am." He turned to the other two, smiling broadly.

"It seems that some more light has been shed on this mystery. It turns out that I run a butchers, and my last name is Cutts. I must tell my dearest Bianca at once, but where is she? She must have gone out to look for other clues. Ah, she's such an independent lady~" and he ran off in a random direction, leaving Tintin and Haddock to go on. As they passed yet another endless hallway, Milou tensed and started growling, before taking off down another flight of stairs, towards the front door.

"Milou? What's wrong boy?" Tintin's curiosity was piqued, and he set off after the terrier, a little worried, leaving the Captain alone on the staircase.

"Okay then lad, I'll just go have a gander, see what I can find." The Captain called out after the retreating boy, before shaking his head in defeat, and turning away. He has the most wonderful but- curses Archibald Haddock! What on earth are you thinking! Ridiculous, that's what you are! You must be shaken up from today, that's all. And with that out of the way, he chose a door at random, and entered the room.

Tintin did his level best to keep up with Milou, and found that he was doing a pretty good job of it. I must exercise regularly then. Good to know. After being led down countless hallways and stairs, he found himself outside an unassuming looking door, which revealed a beautiful garden outside. He opened it with ease, and stepped outside. He sighed, relieved to have had the opportunity to clear his head at last. I never realised how stifling that room was. However, his delight was short lived as soon as he heard Milou growl again, and run at an even faster pace. Once again, Tintin was quick to follow, a little disappointed that he hadn't the time to explore the garden –or was it grounds? This place was a literal mansion- and all of its delights. Maybe later, when I've sorted out this… problem.

He entered a little clearing, by-he noticed with a little surprise- the window where he and all of the others had previously been. Milou was still growling, but Tintin couldn't see anything. He peered into the dense shrubbery behind him, yet he didn't catch any movement.

Snap.

The sudden, sharp sound of a twig breaking was all that it took to make him uneasy. He still couldn't see anyone, but he had the sudden feeling that he wasn't alone. And Milou was still growling. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he slowly backed away, calling for Milou as he did. It took a while, a little too long for his taste, and nerves, but Milou reluctantly responded, following him back indoors. Just before he stepped foot back inside the relative safety of the house, he did a last sweep, and finding nothing, closed the door. Probably a wild animal. Nothing to get so worked up over.

But he still locked the door. Just in case.

He never noticed the shadowy figure revealing itself outside, behind the dense shrubbery. Nor did he see the grin. Looks like the boy reporter isn't himself after all. This will make it all the more fun.

And with that, the figure melted back into the bushes, and a relieved Tintin found the Captain, and felt himself be at ease again.

Wow. Second chapter up, eh? How about that? Once again I apologise for any mistakes, although I doubt that there were many.

I figured that Calculus would remember a few things, seeing as he is, indeed, a genius, and since he was working in close contact with the drug, he may have built up a little immunity to it. But clearly not enough eh?

It seems that Tintin is a little conflicted, but do not worry, all will be resolved!

Sorry about the sudden transition from excitable to downright creepy, but I had to get the main theme of the story running. And as for that creepy stranger (seriously, I was creeped out writing it!), well, you're just going to have to read on , no? Hahahahaha, my evil plan is in place! :3

Hopefully I will update soon, and thank you to everyone who reviewed, you really made my day! Lots of cyber hugs to you guys! I would offer cookies, but I'm awful at cooking so….yeah… (-_-")

Review or whatever, but criticism must be polite!

Thank you~