|
Post by Dante on Apr 12, 2010 15:23:17 GMT -5
That you keep it consistent is pretty neat.
|
|
|
Post by Christmas Chief on Aug 22, 2010 14:23:41 GMT -5
(I'm worried it contradicts the canon, but ah well, I'll take a closer look when I read through the UA.)
--- Chapter Six: The Garden Gardens are interesting places, for most of them are filled with all kinds of living things, given the gardener isn’t a horrible villain and the living things aren’t only pretending to be alive. The garden Lemony was visiting today was fortunately in the “genuinely living and taken care of by a person who was not a terrible villain” category, and there was an assortment of things he investigated there. Firstly he examined the lonely part of the garden, where Aster flowers were blooming splendidly and, because it was a public garden, an old man was sitting nearby on a bench, drinking a clear substance from a glass. He then explored a more populated, though still reasonably quiet section in which he saw a religious group going about their service near the Fennel plants. Moving over to a uniformed group, where Nasturtium flowers had grown, he found veterans of war having conversation—he was, unfortunately, unable to hear a word they said, but didn’t think it too great of a loss. Overall the garden was a vast and calm place, with blotches of color spouting from places you’d least expect it. Because it was the latter part of the evening, the last rays of the sun reflected off the pond, just like a mirror, and made the entire scene look twice as pleasant. There were also many places to hide, and it was for this reason that the Royal Gardens were chosen as the next safe place. The meeting took place near a small circle of weeds that, for some reason, had not been trimmed for years. Lemony was the second to arrive, the other person being a man with gloves and sunglasses performing some odd ritual with a pair of scissors. “I didn’t realize this was a sad occasion.” The man said cheerfully. Lemony nodded in acknowledgement as the man went on to explain what he was doing. “You’re probably curious about what I’m doing,” the man said, “and with reason. This is one of the exercises we gardeners have to perform in training for growing plants on hotels and similar buildings.”
“Interesting.” Lemony said, and walked closer to the patch of weeds. “What, precisely, are you doing in this particular part of the garden?”
“Ah, you must be Lemony Snicket. They told me you wouldn’t recognize me, but I argued a man like yourself couldn’t forget someone as charming and resourceful as me.” The man boasted.
Lemony stared closer at the man, and realized he did recognize who he was, though not for the reasons he had stated. “Hello, Larry.”
“I knew you’d recognize me! Well, it seems my work here is almost done. Good to see you, my friend, and have a good”—Larry here lowered his voice—“meeting.” Larry shook Lemony’s hand, leaving a scrap of paper inside it, and ducked behind a cluster of nearby lily pads painted to look like roses.
It wasn’t long before others began arriving, the last person showing up five minutes before the meeting officially began. There were thirty-one people and one cow total, and when the first person began to speak, everyone was organized around the weeds.
“Thank you for coming, everyone.” Said a woman wearing gardening gloves. “As you know, our enemies will be here shortly. We’ve not much time left. Unfortunately we can’t do anything about what they’re going to do, but within the next few minutes we must scavenge from these grounds all the important items we’ve hidden over the years, starting with this pile here.”
The woman reached into the weeds and began pulling out documents and assorted evidence into piles while everyone else spread out across the grounds.
Lemony looked at the piece of paper Larry the waiter/gardener had given to him:“Save the benches” Was all it said. Lemony looked around at the benches, with many stains from different glasses over the years. He quickly removed them (except for the one the cheerful old man was sitting on) and brought them to safety, then resumed retrieving important files from the Aster plants.
All the volunteers did the same in various parts of the Royal Gardens until they heard a bell.
“They’re here! Everyone evacuate!” The bell rang louder.
Quickly, volunteers—and all the other visitors, alarmed by the announcement—rushed out of the gardens and could only watch as eagles swooped from the sky dropping a net of people with matches in their hands.
Which was when Lemony realized he'd forgotten one bench, and it so happened that it was this bench the most important piece of evidence was being stored. ---
|
|
|
Post by Hermes on Aug 22, 2010 14:50:30 GMT -5
Excellent! No, I don't see anything inconsistent with TUA. I'm guessing the RG became their headquarters after Olaf penetrated the previous one, at the Building Committee meeting. This provides a good explanation of why it was burnt (since it's hard to see how this would help the villians get any fortunes) .
|
|
|
Post by Christmas Chief on Aug 22, 2010 14:56:47 GMT -5
Thank you! That it stays consistent is reassuring--along with the timeline, I couldn't remember if they had trained eagles at this point, but thought it'd still be possible.
|
|
|
Post by Hermes on Aug 23, 2010 9:11:57 GMT -5
Ah, the eagles. Well, they are a bit hard to make out - they were taken by the villains at the schism, and yet Lemony remembers them being used by the good side - which is hard to make sense of if we use the TPP dating of the schism. But in any case, this episode is happening after the schism however you date it.
|
|
|
Post by Christmas Chief on Aug 23, 2010 9:40:34 GMT -5
Chapter Seven: According to the Accordion[/u] Lemony fastened a black sheet made of umbrellas around his head and let it fall so it was covering his entire body. Cutting out two arm holes, he placed long black gloves over his hands and arms so he looked like nothing more than a piece of the scenery. Carefully, he picked up his accordion and proceeded to the stage where a voice was welcoming someone named “Emony Nicket.”
“And now, for the accordionist, author, and criminal—” A woman ran up and whispered something into the announcer’s ear “—I apologize,” the announcer said, “what I meant to say was accordionist, author, and birdwatcher—it’s sometimes easy to confuse the two. I give you, ladies and gentlemen, Emony Nicket!”
There was no clapping from the audience. Lemony in his disguise walked up onto the stage with accordion in hand and began to play a piece that was dismal enough that the audience was instantly depressed, but not so dismal that they ran away sobbing in despair.
Meanwhile, a careful eavesdropper would be aware of a conversation two people were having near the back row.
“What was his name again?” One of the people asked.
“Emony Nicket.” The other answered.
“That sounds somehow familiar.”
“It says on the sheet he’s new to the world of music.”
“What sheet? I thought he was wearing black cloth.”
“I think it’s made of old umbrellas, actually, but that wasn’t what I was talking about. Look at the pamphlet they gave us, on the last page in the second line, right under the big letters of the last performer.”
“‘Buy a cocktail’?” “No, above that. Here, use my magnifying glass.” The second audience member handed the first a small piece of glass surrounded by plastic and when held over the pamphlet the full name “Emony L.S. Nicket” could finally be seen.
“Aha! That makes sense. Could it really be him? That cloth—or those umbrellas—are covering his face.”
“Yes, I think it’s him.”
“Then what should we do about it?”
“We should leave. Lemony equals trouble in my book.” The two members nodded to each other and left, not without Lemony being aware.
He sped up the accordion playing, making the sorrow go by faster, but unfortunately this made the tune more recognizable to the audience, and shouts filled the room.
“You didn’t write that! That song was composed by Tephen Errit!”
“This competition is for original compositions only!”
The people began to throw cocktails at Lemony, the glass shattering on the stage and making it a very dangerous area.
“Stop! Stop! Stop!” cried the manager. “Those glasses are very expensive! Now, Mr. Nicket, I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave. This competition isn’t for people who steal the work of others.”
Lemony gave a hurried nod and quickly left the room. He got far enough away that no one could see what was going on, and then delved into the material of his accordion so a man could step out.
“That was rather unpleasant. Granted, though, you did warn me it would be; I’m surprised I could fit at all!” He said.
“Well, Buschmann, there was lots of extra room in these black umbrellas, so keep in mind you weren’t stuffed entirely into the accordion.” Lemony told him.
“Nonsense. Anyway, I regret to say your identity has been identified, and by two of your associates. Well, I guess they aren’t really your associates any longer, but they’re still on the better side of V.F.D.” Buschmann informed him.
“We’d best be moving. It won’t be long until the rest of the crowd recognizes me as well.” Lemony began to walk away.
“Not so fast.” Buschmann said, suddenly taking on a sinister personality, and Lemony turned.
A harpoon fired from his gun, and missed Lemony by several feet while hitting a vase that then shattered into a pile of green knives. Lemony turned to run, just as another harpoon fired from the gun and hit the ceiling, which destroyed the chandelier into small fragments and made the crystals fall around them.
Screams could be heard from the audience. The manager rushed into the room where this scene was taking place, and tried to put a stop to this nonsense.
“I’m putting a stop to this nonsense!” He tried, as a third harpoon fired.
If you are familiar with the concept known as “bad aim,” then you will know by now that this is what Buschmann possessed. You will also know that when someone is cursed with this trait, that person tends to hit things they didn’t intend to hit, but sometimes it is too late to do anything about it.
The third harpoon hit the manager (how he did this is still somewhat unclear), causing him to sway backwards into the pool of green and crystal shards, and turning the floor red with his blood.
Buschmann looked shocked, but not shocked enough to forget what he was doing in the first place.
“Don’t try to run now, Lemony Snicket,” he said, provoking many gasps from the audience. “I still have what we came to get—the prize check!” There were all kinds of responses from the onlookers.
“That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. While you were all busy watching this sad excuse for an accordion player, I stole the prize money! Ha! And you can’t do anything about it!”
“Sure we can,” said one person from the crowd, and plucked the check out of Buschmann's hand. “You have no harpoons left. Wow, is my family going to be pleased!”
Rather than argue that the construction of a new headquarters was vital to their organization, Lemony quietly made his exit.
|
|
|
Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 23, 2010 10:59:27 GMT -5
Chapter Six: This is a wonderful fic, and I'm glad to see you've picked it up again. I have only skimmed through LSTUA, but as far as books 1-13 go, I didn't catch any inconsistencies. I really like the setting you've chosen for the V.F.D. gathering, and seeing Larry as a gardener rather than a waiter was an interesting twist. Chapter Seven: Yet another great chapter, not to mention the title. I feel bad for Lemony (Emony XD) having been booed offstage like that - it's a good thing the onslaught of cocktails didn't cause him any injuries. Was the man with the harpoon Olaf? And who is the one hidden inside Lemony's accordion, I wonder?
|
|
|
Post by Christmas Chief on Aug 23, 2010 11:17:14 GMT -5
Thanks! The man with the harpoon wasn't Olaf, though I actually didn't have an identity for him when I wrote it--he's just another traitor.
The man with the harpoon and the one that hid in the accordion are the same person, but rereading it now I can see how that might be confusing. I'll think up a name.
Edit: "Buschmann" seems appropriate.
|
|
|
Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 23, 2010 15:18:17 GMT -5
You're welcome, Sherry Ann. I'm not sure what led me to assume that the man with a harpoon was Olaf. Probably because he seems (to me, at least) the most likely of all (canon) villains to crash a V.F.D. meeting. But I like your idea for making the man a random traitor better, as it makes the reader think more. And I agree that 'Bushmann' is a name that suits him perfectly.
|
|
|
Post by Hermes on Aug 23, 2010 15:36:55 GMT -5
Nice! I particularly like this line:
I find it hard to see how someone could hide in an accordion, though.
|
|
|
Post by Christmas Chief on Aug 23, 2010 16:08:56 GMT -5
It's a special accordion, you see. Like Friday's special robe that hides a snake the size of a sewer pipe.
|
|
|
Post by Sophie-Senpi on Aug 23, 2010 21:20:07 GMT -5
Awesomesauce!!!!!!!! Cant wait for more (include Beatrice in a chapter )
|
|
|
Post by Christmas Chief on Aug 24, 2010 3:44:00 GMT -5
Thanks, Ivey! I did actually intend to write a Beatrice/Lemony chapter before the story was through, so I'm glad you suggested it.
|
|
|
Post by Hermes on Aug 24, 2010 10:57:59 GMT -5
It's a special accordion, you see. Like Friday's special robe that hides a snake the size of a sewer pipe. Ah, of course.
|
|
|
Post by Dante on Aug 28, 2010 9:04:00 GMT -5
I think the series has certainly had strange enough disguises that I can buy a man hiding in an accordion. And let me say that I've very much enjoyed these two new chapters, particularly the garden chapter; I think hiding documents in the untrimmed weeds was an inspired idea and the sort of thing I would expect to hear of in canon.
|
|