What the French Call a Certain...I Don't Know What

Part 1

by Mary Christmas (unicorn_76010 at lycos.com)

All right, to help me get over a bit of writers block (On several different fandoms actually...gees those people reviewing for my Harry Potter story just about killed me when it took me so long to update...and I'm kinda afraid of what will happen if it happens again) O.o I wrote this. It is purely in fun, and even though it's a lot like my "Truth or Dare" ficcie, it's better written (I think).

I sat at the computer staring at the blank screen, entranced by the blinking of the cursor. It really was an interesting sight, coming into sight and then going out. Really fascinating. I let loose a sigh of frustration. Here I was again, fingers poised over the keyboard, unable to type anything else. So, I opened up another of my as of yet unfinished stories and briefly read what I already had. It didn't work.

Realizing that I wasn't getting anywhere by gazing dumbly at the computer, I closed Word and shut the darn thing down. Then, I sat there and stared at the now black screen. Oh, what a stimulating pastime. Grumbling under my breath, I turned it back on and connected to the internet. Sometimes fics I read, or even just being on the net, got the creative juices flowing.

At just about that time, I heard an odd sound coming from behind me -- the sound of someone breathing. It was odd because the way my computer is situated, I can see my bedroom door. And I certainly didn't see anyone enter. I decided to ignore the breathing. It was obviously just my imagination anyway. I sometimes hear things like that.

Anyway, I logged onto my e-mail account and quickly deleted all the stupid spam-mail that I got, and muttered over why Lori hadn't sent me a reply to my question. Oh well, I'm just as bad, perhaps even worse about returning responses. Afterwards I went over to the Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century site (Maureen is the best webmistress ever! All bow down to her! Ahem...sorry....) and briefly perused the messages there. Nothing new had been said since the last time I had been there and so I closed the browser window.

I do that a lot. Forget what it is that I'm about. Then of course I remember, and it's way too late. I turned the computer off again and stood up, stretching slightly. I don't recall much else after that, except that my fingers touched something very soft and then I turned around and saw someone standing behind me. (It hadn't been my imagination after all...) And then I passed out. I didn't even remember what the person looked like. Oh wait...it was definitely a guy. I don't know how I know that, but it was a guy. I think.

When I came to, I found myself lying in a darkened room, and my first thought was that a freak storm had suddenly come up and knocked the power out. That would probably never happen, so I dismissed it out of hand and decided to use my eyes and brains to figure out what was going on. Unfortunately, my eyes were of no use, as I couldn't see a thing. And my brain, well, it was the reason I was having writers' block, and so was no help whatsoever. Therefore, I was completely helpless.

Making a face, I carefully stood up. At that moment the lights--so to speak--came on, and I found myself standing in a very large room. In the center was a circular table with chairs all around it. In the chairs were three people that I didn't at first recognise. When I did, I was kind of glad I was standing in a corner where none of them could see me as their backs were to me. They were -- in no particular order -- Austin Powers, James Moriarty, and Sherlock Holmes.

I glanced around in a panic, trying to locate the door to this chamber. No such luck. I groaned to myself and shook my head, thinking -- this is not happening, this is not happening--. Well, it was actually happening, and being the sort to simply take things as they are, I got used to it pretty quick. That didn't of course change my mind about wanting to get out of there. What if those people knew who I was? I would be in deep doo-doo if they did.

Before I could think further on the subject, a man stood up, his back to me. He wore tight black trousers, a cummerbund and a vest over a white, high-collared shirt. "This is all very interesting," he said, almost purring, "But why are sitting here arguing when we should be trying to find out who has brought us here, and for what reason?"

Another man spoke up, this one wearing clothes straight out of Victorian England. "Very true, Moriarty, but how do you suggest we do this? We are, to put it quite frankly, trapped like rats."

"Oh, put a sock in it, both of you!" shouted a man who was shorter than the other two. He had on a frilly laced shirt like Moriarty, but looked more like a member of the Beatles. He also had on a pair of really thick glasses. "I mean, honestly, can't we all just get along?"

"Why don't you 'put a sock in it', Powers," Moriarty retorted, "You obviously have less intelligence than a sponge. And less absorbency."

If Austin were going to answer this insult, I had no way of knowing, for at that moment a few more people dropped in. Literally. They just fell down from out of nowhere, dropping into some of the chairs. Lestrade, the first to recover her wits, stood up and glared at Moriarty.

"What are you up to this time, Moriarty?" She placed her hands on her hips, her eyes sending daggers towards the man.

The other two, Dr. Evil and Mini-me, looked at each other and then at the others sitting around the table, ignoring Lestrade's outburst.

Moriarty, for his part, simply sat back down in his chair as though nothing untoward had happened, also ignoring Lestrade's outburst. Holmes, who was very conveniently next to Lestrade, put a hand on her arm to calm her.

"He is not behind this, Lestrade; please do refrain from jumping to conclusions."

Meanwhile, I had to cover my mouth with my hands to keep from either laughing or gasping out loud, whichever was tickling the back of my throat. Now I really didn't want to bring attention to myself, as I recalled all the times I had tortured Lestrade in my writings. I mean, the chances that she even knew about them were next to none, but I wasn't about to take any chances. She's very scary that close, let me tell you.

"He's not?" Lestrade asked, "Then who?"

"That, would be me," a silken voice purred from somewhere. Everyone, including me, looked around for the source of the voice. It became clear a moment later, when a man (also dressed like a pirate...what's up with that?) appeared, standing on the table. He had spiky blond hair and a wicked grin. I very nearly groaned aloud. It would have to be Jareth, the Goblin King, wouldn't it?

"And why pray tell," Moriarty asked, trying to be as suave as the man on the table, "have you brought us all here? We would not normally even be in the same dimension, much less room."

"And, how would we even know about dimensions or each other?" Austin put in, trying to outdo Moriarty.

I wondered that myself, and was glad I had stayed back in the corner. If they knew about each other, then they would most likely know about me. Especially if Jareth had brought me here the same as them. What was I thinking 'if'? That stupid, annoying, royal pain in the @#$$# had! Not that I was going to let my anger give me away. I mean, if there was a way I could get out of....

"Why, that's simple," Jareth said, interrupting my thoughts, "I've brought you here to help out a dear friend. Meet Mary Christmas." He indicated me with a sweep of his arm. Everyone turned to look.

The silence in the room was deafening. I swallowed nervously and managed a tiny wave of my hand, even as I tried to melt into the wall. Oh, this was not good...not good at all.

Okay, folks...want me to continue? My hands are sore from typing....

On to Part 2!

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