By and large, Monsieur Gillenormand led a happy life, free from mad fangirls, Mary Sues, Parodies of Dubious Quality, and excesses of capitalization. Aside from an unfortunate incident in the park the other day when everyone went insane and several Wild Young Rebels made of Hell of a Hullabaloo in the Park, he was left on his own to berate his daughter, seduce his cook, and flaunt his royalist opinions in any salon he wished.
However, that was about to change.
Dear Reader, you should have known irritating Crotchety Old Gentlemen with Hearts As Gold As The Hair of Abandoned Mistresses Who Turn to Prostitution to Feed Their Love-Child is a hallmark of humor- and of Parodies of Dubious Quality in particular.
Thus, it was with some alarm that Monsieur Gillenormand opened the door to his house to find another house floating in the street in front of him.
"JACOBIN TERROR TACTICS!" bellowed Monsieur Gillenormand, going into a Caps Lock of Rage in the spirit of any Parody of Dubious Quality. However, he had not yet seen the exquisite, unparalleled beauty of the Helen-of-Troy-like Eppie-Sue and thus slammed the door and demanded someone fetch the gendarmes.
"Tee hee," said Eppie-Sue, picking the lock of Monsieur Gillenormand's front door. "I may engage in dubious actions in order to get my own way, but don't you love me for it?"
"With all my heart!" exclaimed Marius. "With all my soul, and my mind, and my liver, and my spleen-"
"There's a dear!" replied Eponine.
"I'm still stuck in the wall," observed Valjean, from inside the floating house. "The poor wall."
"-and my colon, and my small intestine, and my elbows, and my knee caps," Marius continued on.
"Avast!" cried Jehan, running up the street. "I claim the hand of the Fair Eponine!"
"No, it is mine!" howled Feuilly, and the two got into a knock-down, drag-out fistfight in the middle of the street, underneath the floating house. They then ripped off their overcoats, coats, waistcoats, cravats, and shirts in the noble, noble pursuit of fanservice.
"-and my calves, and my thumbs, and my pinky toes," Marius continued on, quite happily.
"Oh dear!" cried Eponine. "Whatever shall we do?"
Meanwhile, Joly, Bahorel and Enjolras had decided to take a Mighty Plunge for Liberty and had jumped into a plothole in search of the One Who Would Hold the Answers to Their Questions.
"This isn't the Bishop of Digne!" cried Joly, stumbling out of Monsieur Gillenormand's sitting room.
"GAAAAAAAAH!" said Monsieur Gillenormand, now in a Caps Lock of Terror. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU AND HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?"
"Plothole," said Bahorel.
Enjolras sighed. "This isn't Rousseau, Joly. It isn't even Saint-Just! It's just some old monarchist close to apoplexy."
"I had apoplexy once," Joly said brightly. "It was quite terrible."
Monsieur Gillenormand clutched his chest, quite sure he was having a heart attack.
"Who are you, anyways?" asked Bahorel.
Monsieur Gillenormand drew himself up with Dignity, or, at least as much dignity as anyone could have when stuck in a Parody of Increasingly Dubious Quality. "I am Monsieur Gillenormand! My grandson is Marius Pontmercy and-"
"Oh, you!" said Joly. "I thought I had schizophrenia when I heard the voices in my head, but it just turned out to be back-story. We were sent to find you and bring this all to a Highly Dramatic Conclusion!"
"When did you gain the ability to speak in capital letters?" Enjolras asked. "That seems like a rather aristocratic trait."
"Don't prolong this," Bahorel said, looking out the window. "For God's sake, Jehan and Feuilly get more action than I... do..." He trailed off. "Hm. I think I'd like to revise that thought."
"Too late, it has been typed," said Joly. "But Enjolras! This is the One Who Would Hold the Answers to Our Questions!"
"My God you're unpopular!" Bahorel exclaimed. "It took us nearly a year to find you!"
"Jacobin!" screetched Monsieur Gillenormand, finally regaining control over his tongue. "Robespierrists! Get out of my house! Long live the king!"
"Down with the monarchy," thundered Enjolras, waving his red flag for no apparent reason.
"Aaaah!" screamed Monsieur Gillenormand. "Communists!"
"Oh come now," Enjolars said, as impatient as a police officer with an uncooperative prostitute. "We pre-date Marx and Engels."
Leaving aside political debates, let us move onto the last scion of our improbably large cast of characters.
Musichetta, Combeferre, Cosette, Javert and Inspector Clouseau ran down the street like a bunch of unorganized rebels storming a funeral procession in order to stage a Massive Demonstration because the Government was freaking terrible at controlling cholera outbreaks.
"Ah!" said Cosette. "It's them! It's her!"
"It is!" declared Musichetta, at which point she and Eppie-Sue got into a Catfight in the Name of Fanservice.
"Not the face!" cried Eponine, receiving a slap to the cheek that only brought out a most becoming blush on her ivory pale skin.
Javert fired his pistols into the air. "The choas has ceased to be amusing! Everyone, into that house, now and we will settle these complaints in a reasonable, orderly fashion!"
Eponine was quite desperate for her Happy Ending, she took Feuilly
and Jehan in hand and pulled them inside. The rest meekly followed
her shining example.
"-and my toenails, and my hair, and my- hey!"
too," growled Inspector Javert, taking Marius by the shoulder.
"Dolt of a lawyer!"
Monsieur Gillenormand spluttered himself into an incoherent rage at this invasion of his home by a slew of secondary characters. "You- I- Out! Out! OUT!"
Of course, this was before he saw Eppie-Sue, she of the features so beautiful they defied description. She looked with interest at Monsieur Gillenormand's stately home, his fine collection of Sèvres porcelain, the original art hanging on his walls, the luxuriousness of his Louis XV furniture. This was a very comfortable home, filled with every conceivable bourgeois luxury and a Distinct Lack of filth, dirt, lice, or any other vermin but tyrannical opinion.
"Oh Monsieur," said Eponine, her voice as melodious as the people singing the songs of angry men- you know, Gentle Reader, the music of a people who will not be slaves again? Until the next revolution and revocation of anti-slavery legislature? Violent coups d'etat are terrible to the legislative process. "Do let us stay?"
Gillenormand sadly found himself entirely unable to do
Once they were all seated in the parlor, Javert stood by the fireplace and looked around at each of them. "Alright. Tragically beautiful and beautifully tragic girl in the center of the room, attracting the amorous stares of the multitude- please begin."
"I am distressed!" cried Eponine, her crystalline terms running out of her beauteous, multi-colored eyes. "You see, I am in love with Marius Pontmercy, who Loves Another!"
Everyone turned to look at Cosette, who shrunk into herself and trembled.
"Oh, and he kissed her in public, thus ruining her reputation," Joly piped in. "He ought to marry her in order to keep her from becoming a member of the demi-monde."
"What does the young man have to say about this?" asked Javert.
"And my larynx!" exclaimed Marius. "I don't know of any other body parts."
"Sage words," replied Inspector Javert. "I am much impressed with your cerebral capacities, sir."
"I shouldn't mind marrying him all the same," said Cosette.
"Wait!" said Monsieur Gillenormand. "I have a cunning plan!"
"And copyright infringement," muttered Javert. In a louder voice, he said, "Alright, Monsieur. Have your say. What is it?"
"My idiot grandson will marry the girl he compromised and I shall marry this beauty myself!"
"Eh?" said Javert.
Eponine studied the Brussels lace adoring the table by her. "Alright. I'll settle. Husband!" She flung her arms around Monsieur Gillenormand, which had some strange effect on all the men. None of them had ever expected to feel feelings of complete and total revulsion where fair Eponine was concerned (except Enjolras the Asexual) and it quite ended their sudden infatuation.
"That seemed very anti-climactic," Cosette said.
"It was, rather," Marius agreed. "Grandfather, do you have any objections to me marrying Cosette?"
"Nope!" said Monsieur Gillenormand, dancing a little jig. "Hee-hee! Two weddings in one day!"
"Make it three!" exclaimed Joly, falling on his knees before Musichetta. "My dear mistress- you held me off with cruel persistence in the book itself before you realized how much fun threesomes were, but let us be yoked together for eternity in fandom."
"I have never had such a moving proposal in my life!" declared Musichetta, who had never actually had a proposal in her life. "I agree!"
"My God!" exclaimed Bahorel, with all the usually unspoken astonishment of an innkeeper realizing that, though he had sunk into the depths of degradation, his house-slave had become a member of the petite-bourgoisie. "This is like a horrible version of an ending of a restoration comedy!"
"We ought to read the collected works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan and love them!" cried Jehan, to show off the fact that he was gradually moving closer to a cannonically accurate characterization. "He supported our Revolution!"
"You're all so far to the left you make Napoleon Bonaparte look like a hippy," observed Monsieur Gillenormand.
"Grandfather!" cried Marius. "No more bashing on the incarnation of the French Revolution itself!"
"No bashing on the French Revolution by saying Buonaparte is its incarnation," snarled Enjolras.
"Excuse me," Eponine said, batting her long, luxurious eyelashes. "I believe we are nearing the end of the final chapter and I'm not yet married."
"We don't have a priest," Javert pointed out, ever alert when it came to the law.
"Not to wor-rah!" exclaimed Inspector Clouseau, bustling out of the room. "I 'ave a plan-uh!"
Several moments later, Inspector Clouseau toppled back into the room, dead.
No one knew quite what to do with him, so Combeferre nudged him into a waiting plothole.
"I think I have a better plan," said Eppie- Sue, gasping dramatically.
Five minutes later, a very confused bishop of Digne stepped out of the same convenient plothole that had eaten Inspector Clouseau. "I thought I was dead," observed the old priest.
"You were," said Eppie-Sue, "but I have the power to raise the dead, you know."
"Well, we didn't," said Javert, looking irate. "For God's sake, monseigneur, end this farce!"
So the Bishop did. "Fine. THE END."
And so, they all lived happily ever after, except for Clouseau, who died, and Valjean, who disappeared in a plot hole and was never heard from again.