A/N: I am lazy and insane and I don't know anything about the Phantom of the Opera. That's all you need to know.

Dis: You suck.

Claimer: I wrote 'Les Miserables'.

Whoops! They're supposed to be together aren't they? Well, let's try that again…

Discalimer: Victor Hugo wrote 'Les Mis'. Victor Hugo is dead. I am not. Therefore, I am not Victor Hugo and did not write 'Les Miserables'. On with the fic.

"La la la!" Valjean sang happily. "Look at all the lovely candlesticks everyone has now!"

Cosette, Combeferre, and Fantine looked up from their lemon squares to note that everyone on the street outside were holding a pair of silver candlesticks and wandering around looking confused. The silversmith was counting out a large wad of franc notes and looking very pleased with himself.

"Well…" Cosette was at a loss for words.

"It benefits mankind," Combeferre remarked vaguely before stuffing another lemon square into his mouth. "Just like these do!"

Fantine looked at him in alarm. "Are you still suffering from the after-effects of being forced into OOC-ness for so long?"

Combeferre pondered this a moment and nodded. "Are you two all right? Super- Saint Valjean doesn't seem to be the worse for it."

Cosette shrugged. "I'm fine. A slight headache from the coma and being hit over the head with a Green Glass Bottle of Drunken OOC-ness, and heartbreak as I've not seen Marius for almost an hour now, but otherwise I'm fine."

"I've been stricken with OOC-ness for so long, I've forgotten what being a normal character is like," Fantine admitted.

Super- Saint Valjean bounded into the tavern happily. "La la la! I have saved all the repressed and oppressed people of Paris, and even some of those who seemed moderately well –off!"

The authoress would just like to inform her gentle readers that she found a little article on Victor Hugo and Les Miserables in her French textbook. It is in advanced French and the authoress does not understand most of it, but it had a picture of the cover of the 'Les Mis' CD. It made the authoress very happy. Now, back to the story.

"That's fantastic," Cosette said dully. "Now I suppose we go and find the authoress who has kidnapped most of the characters and is making them do random inane things?"

"It would be logical," Combeferre muttered. "But let's kill logic!" He blinked and rubbed his head. "Ah… the after-effects."

"Let us go rescue the unfortunate!" Valjean enthused. "But first, I need to stock up on candlesticks." With that, he dashed across the road to the silversmith, who had hastily stuffed the wad of bills down his pants and was hurriedly melting lumps of metal into extremely ugly but useful candlesticks that look kind of silvery if you squint and make sure that you don't look at it in the light. Ah. Capitalism at its best!

"We don't like capitalism!" Combeferre shouted at the above paragraph. "Everyone should be equal in the republic!"

So you're all a bunch of Communists?

"We don't favor evil dictators and iron curtains over Europe," he said pointedly. "But the Communists do have some good ideas.

How un- American of you!

"I'm French!"

"I'm confused," Cosette muttered to Fantine. "Is he arguing with the narrator?"

"It's best not to ask," Fantine advised solemnly. "This will only bring trouble."

"If we could stick to the subject of conversation," Combeferre said pointedly.

About you being anti- American?

"You know that's not true," he said crossly. "I support humanity in all its forms. Democracy is a wonderful thing. We students were trying to form a republic!"

And yet you live in a monarchy.

"That's not our fault!"

Yeah, but your insurrection failed. You all died.

"Pontmercy survived!"

"I should say so," Cosette murmured.

Yes, but your deaths had no lasting impact on anyone but crazed fan-girls who don't want to do their homework. Were you even listening to "Drink with Me"? All about your deaths meaning nothing at all.

"What Grantaire sings in a wine- induced drinking song about death does not apply to us all," Combeferre snapped.

Feuilly, Joly, and Prouvaire sang in it too. Plus, there's a section where the men sing, and I'm pretty sure that includes you.

"We were singing about friendship and memories, not about the futility of death!"

Yeah. Right.

"Check your libretto."

Fine... whoops.

"Ha. I win!"

Don't be too cocky. I'm the narrator. I can make you do anything I want. Like so: Combeferre jumped up and began to do the Macarena, while screeching out, 'Only Love' from the Scarlet Pimpernel™, while drinking delicious Vanilla Coke™. Cosette and Fantine were very frightened by this, and swore never to argue with the narrator again. And all was as it should be.

"You shouldn't make me violate so many copyright laws at once," Combeferre sulked.

Tough luck. Now you know not to argue with the narrator.

"I think he's suffering from being drunk," Cosette murmured, looking very confused. "I'm suffering from the after-effects as well. I cannot understand what's going on."

"Because no one bothered to explain it to you," Fantine explained, "which seems to happen quite frequently. Did Marius ever explain to you what was going on?"

"In the musical, yes. In the book, I was just generally confused, as all I got were very garbled accounts of what happened at the barricades."

Fantine shrugged. "C'est la vie."

"Indeed," Combeferre chimed in.

"I'm tired of randomly arguing, commenting, and moping," Cosette declared suddenly. "Let's go find the next authoress and put ourselves out of our misery."

Someone cleared her throat. The characters turned to see a girl in a red shirt and a black skirt. She had dark hair with red streaks in it and was carrying around a Legolas action figure.

"It's a Marie- Suzette!" Cosette screamed, upon seeing said authoress. "Ahhhh!"

"Quick, the book!" Combeferre demanded. He quickly ran to a nearby window and yanked a copy of 'Les Miserables' off the tree branch. He flung it at the girl, who dropped her Legolas action figure and caught the book.

"Um…" she said. "Yeah. I'm not a Marie- Suzette. I'm an authoress. And I've come to help you!"

"No you haven't!" Cosette shrieked very stridently. "And why aren't you melting!"

"Because I'm wearing gloves," she pointed out.

"Oh," said Cosette.

"But I've come to help you. Being a benevolent authoress, I've been going around planting the spiffy trees that randomly grow copies of 'Les Miserables'."

"I thought they were indigenous to France," Combeferre mused.

"I wasn't aware that they weren't," Fantine murmured. "But then again, I have been dead for a while."

"I thought that my garden grew them," Cosette mused. "It is an odd garden, after all, as Monsieur Hugo described it."

"Well, they're a special bred that you have to water with delicious Vanilla Coke™ and fertilize with torn-up copies of the abridged version. No true Les Mis fan likes those versions… they're so horrible!"

The cannon characters looked at each other in confusion. Across the road, Valjean was trying to give a chicken a pair of candlesticks. It, apparently, just wanted to get to the other side.

The crickets chirped alarmingly loudly. The authoress cleared her throat. "Anyways, I'm here to help you. All you have to do is push this button on Legolas's back, and I'll be there immediately." She put down the book and picked up the action figure and gave it to Combeferre. "I'd give it to Enjolras if he was here, but I've got him tied up in my closet."

"That does tend to happen to him quite frequently nowadays," Combeferre muttered, studying the action figure. "How extraordinary! It looks like a doll, but it's hard and makes sounds! I must examine this until I can draw it from memory. Then I shall have to correct some of its design flaws." He busily examined the action figure, and the authoress/narrator gave him a piece of parchment, a quill and an inkpot because she was feeling charitable towards him once more.

"Um… thanks…" Cosette muttered. "Why are you helping us?"

"Um…"

At that instant another authoress burst in, dragging along a bunch of characters that were bound and gagged on top of a sled.

"Okay!" the second authoress shrilled. "This is my chapter! Get the," insert random curse words here "out of my chapter!"

"What?" the first authoress asked. "This is most certainly my chapter. I reviewed before you did."

"No… I've got the characters, so it's my chapter!"

"Mine!"

"No, mine!"

"Mine!"

"Mine!"

"Mine!"

"Mine!"

"Mine!"

"Mine!"

"Oh look. A mime!"

"Mime?"

"Mime!"

"Mime?"

"Mime."

"Shut up!" Fantine snapped. "We don't care whose chapter it is. Obviously, the authoress… narrator… whoever's typing this on their laptop right now, was lazy and decided to combine two authoresses together to finish the fic quicker, but still get lots of lovely reviews."

Most of which are about being in this fic….

"Irrelevant!" Combeferre snapped, annoyed.

How many more copyright laws do you want to break this time?

Combeferre busied himself with the action figure.

"I don't care!" Fantine replied. "I'm refusing to obey your whims as the authoress and narrator of this fic and will fragrantly disobey a sentence you stated previously by challenging you."

And so Fantine was defenestrated.

"Whoops," Cosette muttered. "Guess I won't be trying that."

"Ahem," said the first authoress.

"What about us?" the second authoress wanted to know. "'Cause if you're quite finished, I'd like to introduce the daughter of Erik, the phantom of the Opera and then enjoy some nice Grantaire/ Enjolras fics."

"And I," the first authoress interjected, "would like to obsess over Enjolras and write about Eponine."

No. I'm not done… which brings me to another point. I hate Eponine.

"Hey!" the first authoress protested.

Shut up.

"No!"

The first authoress was also defenestrated, and then whacked in the head with an unabridged copy of 'Les Miserables'. She promptly melted.

Any questions?

"No," the second authoress said meekly.

Good.

"Can I write about Javert and Grantaire in a non-slashy way now?"

No.

"Okay."

Everyone was silent a moment. The second authoress, who was known as Stella Pen, sat in a chair and twiddled her thumbs. Valjean was talking to the chicken. Combeferre was studying the action figure. The gagged and bound Amis were… gagged and bound, and so could not do anything. Cosette stood by the window and fidgeted with her handkerchief.

"Look," Cosette said finally. "I'm rather tired of listening to people argue with the narrator. Can we just get on with the plot?"

"What plot?" Bahorel snarled, managing to get the gag out of his mouth.

So do you want to be defenestrated too?

"So what?" he snapped.

Fine. What do you want to argue about?

"Why does everyone hate me so?"

That's not really something to argue about.

"So? I'd still like to know why."

I don't know.

"What!"

Hey, I may be an authoress, but I'm not omnipotent.

"But…."

You got a chapter with your fan-girl a while ago. Think of poor Feuilly, who only has fics written about him when his sister comes to visit.

"He doesn't have a sister who visits him!"

Not according to some authoresses...

"Um… am I supposed to do anything?" Stella Pen questioned quickly.

No.

"Oh… all right."

"So…" Cosette sighed. "This isn't ending, is it?"

I've got a page that I can still fill.

"Fine."

The authoress examined the amount of pages she had written.

Whoops. Not anymore! Well, back to the story….

Cosette picked a book off the ground and looked at it curiously, as she could not find a title. She turned to the second authoress. "Hey… did you drop this?"

She handed the book to Stella Pen, who promptly melted. The book was actually a copy of 'Les Miserables'.

"Whoops…."

Green and pink striped socks dropped from the ceiling until the room was buried under the colorful… footwear. If that is an actual word.

The socks then vanished, leaving Cosette still staring out the window in bewilderment, Valjean escorting the chicken across the road, Feuilly laying gagged and bound on the sled, and… Gavroche.

"Where is my mother?" Cosette questioned.

"Mrrrrughtph," Feuilly mumbled through the gag.

"What am I doing 'ere?" Gavroche wanted to know.

"La la la!" Super- Saint Valjean sang. "This chapter had no point or plot!"

Obviously.

"Waugh epee e aaaaker eeeench?" Feuilly wanted to know.

The other characters ignored him.

"La," Cosette said simply.

And so this chapter ends.