What the French Call a Certain...I Don't Know What
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
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
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
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
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,
"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
"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
On to Part 2!
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