A/N- Man, I rock at cop-out last chapters! See also: The New Production, The Inspector's New Groove (okay, it's not there YET, but it will be someday), and… probably some other stuff. Apologies in advance for any sucking-ness you will see as you read on. Also, I'm pretty sure I ripped off a lot of my own stuff in this… like, using phrases almost exactly the way I used them in other stories. And you'll only know if you read and review EVERYTHING. Muaha.
The ENDING is from an older review from cowsgomoo23. Though I did my best to salute as many of you as I could, because, hey, you tried and mostly had hilarious ideas. I just couldn't get this one out of my head.
Princess Pajamas- Oh no! Haven't you learned to never, under any circumstances, drink things while reading fanfic? Even if it's not funny, you never know what a deranged authoress can produce.
GizmoBunny- Gasp I'm uncreative too! I used to write original stuff in middle school, but ever since eighth grade the only stuff I can do is fanfic. And most of that is fairly crossover-y or inspired by something else.
Nathalie- If you insist… er… tada!
Mabeuf- Your idea was my second favourite! I mean, I know it was in the movie, but I never really considered using it. Can't you just picture the Mizzies being sucked out of the plane? Enjolras hanging desperately onto a chair, and Grantaire clutching his leg? Ahh that was genius.
Kates Master's Sister- Hehe, depends on your point of view.
Chorus girl 24601- Huh. If Easy Mac killed, I would be the deadest person alive. No, really. I thought about doing that, but Elyse3 did it in one of her fics (The Curse of the Marie-Suzette? Maybe) and also… I might use it at the end of The Inspector's New Groove. If I ever post the last chapter.
BregoArodShadowfax- Hurray for your midterms not sucking! I actually tend to call him "Enj" in conversation and in reviews, because his name is entirely too long and "Enjy" is far too fangirl-y. Yeah, I'm TOTALLY not a fangirl.
unseengenius- No, don't try to make sense of it! That'll kill brain cells. And no one wants that. I'm serious. Baaaad idea.
Steven Kodaly- I gave that last suggestion serious thought. Seriously. As for dragging the Narrator into it, I tried that in Into the Streets, and it ended up being really weird. Plus I'd written the entire fic in present tense just to be able to do that later… and then I died. Haha, good times.
Sarah leapt back to her feet and whirled around. "That's my seat!"
"Sorry," mumbled Grantaire. He was clutching a tiny bottle of airline liquor, which he proceeded to empty in one fell gulp.
Disgusted, Sarah pushed herself back to her feet and moved further down the aisle, stepping over Fantine, who had been pressing Gavroche and Cosette to her bosom for a rather long time now.
At that moment the entire plane jolted and titled downward into another nosedive. "What now?" Sarah moaned as she found herself hurtling down the aisle again, sliding feet first toward the cockpit.
The cockpit door was open, and out of the corner of her eye Sarah saw Javert stuffing something into the bathroom stall as she flew past. When the pilot's chair finally broke her fall, she realized that it was empty. "Where's the blowup doll? The autopilot?" she asked the empty cockpit.
Javert himself tumbled into the cockpit a moment later, cracking his skull against the doorway and muttering, "Jail!" before slipping into unconsciousness. Again.
Mindful of the rattling of the plane, Sarah leaned out far enough to see a bit of plastic sticking out of the bathroom jail. "Good God, Javert!" she groaned. "You incarcerated the autopilot?"
The unconscious Javert did not reply.
"You guys sure get knocked out easily," mumbled Sarah. "Probably because it's funny and someone out there has a sadistic streak when it comes to Les Mis characters."
To agree with that statement, the unconscious forms of Marius, Jean Valjean, and Éponine fell into the cockpit, landing in a pile atop Javert.
Turning her mind back to their imminent doom, Sarah slapped the autopilot button on the dashboard again, but to no avail. Apparently there was only one blowup doll. "Well, I guess no one took into consideration the idea that a deranged inspector might lock the autopilot doll in the bathroom and send the whole plane into a downward spiral and certain death when they were designing the safety features."
One may notice that Sarah is quite calm and rather snarky in the face of death. It must be said that she had been through quite a lot of impossible things within the last few hours, and giving a fictitious and dead character a makeover is slightly more incredible than dying in a plane crash, so she was beginning to cope. And there was a nagging suspicion that she would wake up at any given time—
There was a massive crunching sound, and everything went dark.
Sarah slowly opened her eyes. Green, she thought disjointedly. Death is green. But things began to resolve in her mind and—along with a splitting headache—she found her sense. She was looking at a tree. A very tropical tree.
She heard footsteps—running footsteps—and carefully sat up, holding her head. A ragged little boy ran by. In the jungle. A ragged little boy…
Gavroche!
Sarah pushed herself to her feet and ran—shakily—in the direction the urchin boy had taken. The jungle ended abruptly and she found herself on a beach.
The remnants of the massive plane were sprawled across the sand, and under the deafening roar of one of the turbines, she heard shouts and screams. Oddly dressed people were running back and forth—the Mizzies! There was a shuddering noise as the speed of the remaining turbine began to increase to a frantic level; Sarah ducked her head just in time to miss seeing the explosion.
She looked back up and took in the entire scene. The beach was dotted with Mizzies and shrapnel. All of them were staring at the plane, mouths agape. The Mizzies, that is. Not the shrapnel. Shrapnel cannot stare. Sarah moved into the middle of the crowd.
There was a screeching roar from the jungle behind them, and all of the castaways spun around in time to see something enormous rustling ominously amongst the distant trees.
Sarah looked at the Mizzies, then back at the jungle.
"Guys," she breathed, hardly daring to tear her eyes from the forest, "where are we?"
Montparnasse took it upon himself to reply. "It seems we're lost."
WHOM.
A/N- Hahaha. Maybe someday I'll write a sequel, but probably not.