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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 14, 2007 20:09:36 GMT -5
[Okay, I decided to post the first chapter of my newest ASOUE story, which is currently in-progress so I doubt I will be updating every day like the last one. I hope you enjoy it and if anyone has any suggestions, don't hesitate to tell me.]
Title: The Return Cast: Esmé Squalor; Carmelita Spats; Jerome Squalor; Vice Principal Nero. Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own any of the A Series of Unfortunate Events characters or places mentioned herein. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler. Rating: PG-13 (for language, minor violence and some minor sexual references) Genre: Drama/Romance Story-Type: Multiple-Chapter Status: Complete Summery: Sequel to The Escape. Upon discovering she is pregnant with Olaf’s child, Esmé returns to the city with Carmelita and seeks the help of Jerome.
Reason for Editing: Had to change the rating from P.G. to P.G.-13
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 14, 2007 20:10:44 GMT -5
Chapter 1 Esmé’s Decision Esmé Squalor staggered out of the bathroom, clutching her aching stomach. It was barely three o’ clock in the morning and the little whatever-it-was had insisted on making her begin yet another miserable day before the sun had risen in the sky. Even though she had brushed her teeth three times she could still sense the unpleasant taste at the back of her throat as she ran her fingers along the wall in an attempt to find her way through the darkened hallway and back to the bedroom. It had been nearly six weeks since she and Carmelita had arrived at the last safe place, which turned out to be a cabin nestled within a secluded area of woods atop the Mortmain Mountains. Esmé had noticed the brief but unpleasant bouts of morning sickness shortly after their arrival, and at first had dismissed it as nothing more than the flu since they had spent a considerable portion of the day trekking through the snow-covered mountains without any proper clothing. By the time the middle of the second week approached and Esmé’s symptoms had not yet decreased, she realized that she must be suffering from something more than just the flu. The unpredictable retching combined with Carmelita’s constant questioning as to when they would be seeing Olaf again was quickly becoming more than Esmé could handle on her own. It was during the time she had spent staring down at the remains of last night’s dinner that she had come to a decision: If she was going to get through this pregnancy, and if Carmelita was going to capture what was left of her childhood, then Esmé was going to have to set aside her pride and villainous position and contact the one person she had counted on to never see again. As she stumbled back into the bedroom and approached the twin bed that she and Carmelita were forced to share, Esmé noticed the little girl thrashing about violently like a wild animal. Ever since they had escaped the fire at the Hotel Denouement, Carmelita had frequently complained of nightmares involving fires and harpoons. That was another reason why Esmé wanted to get them out of here— she was worried that Carmelita could be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, for she had bared witness to many horrible things in the past six weeks… things that Esmé couldn’t help feeling partially responsible for. Allowing Carmelita to drag an enormous boat up to the swimming pool of the rooftop sunbathing salon of a hotel was one thing, but Esmé should never have let the twelve-year-old girl get a hold of something as dangerous as a harpoon. “Carmelita,” Esmé whispered as soon as she reached the bed and laid her hand gently on the little girl’s shoulder. “Wake up. You’re having another nightmare.” She shook her slightly. A patch of moonlight had seeped in through a nearby window and flooded across Carmelita’s face, which was streaked with perspiration. She murmured something that sounded like “Mr. Denouement” before swinging her right arm towards Esmé, who ducked and was able to avoid being mildly slapped in the face. “Carmelita,” Esmé said again, this time more firmly as she took Carmelita by the shoulders and shook her roughly. “Please, darling. You’ve got to wake up!” The force of these actions and the firmness of the voice soon proved to be enough to lead Carmelita out of what must have been an extremely terrifying nightmare. Esmé watched the azure eyes of her adopted daughter as they fluttered open and stared up at her in horror for one brief moment before Carmelita burst into tears and threw her arms around Esmé. As she stroked the soft red hair of the little girl she thought of as the daughter she’d never had, Esmé realized even more now that there was no way she would be able to do this alone. If she insisted on raising Carmelita (which she did) and get through what was quickly proving to be a very difficult pregnancy, then she was going to need the help of someone who not only liked children but who could also afford them. It wouldn’t be easy, but Esmé could tell by the hysterical child in her arms and the other one kicking about inside of her that she really didn’t have much of a choice. She shifted her eyes about the room until they were resting on the digital clock placed atop the dresser which was located in a far corner of the room. The clock read 3:08 A.M. Exhausted from both the lack of sleep and vomiting episode, Esmé managed to pry herself out of Carmelita’s grip, which was surprisingly strong for someone so small, long enough to set the alarm to four hours from now. If they left early, then they would be able to make it down the mountain and into the city just after two in the afternoon. As Esmé crawled back into bed, she put her arms around Carmelita and inched closer to her, telling the little girl not to worry and that everything would look better in the morning. With that said, the two of them drifted off to sleep once more, waking only once when the alarm resonated in their ears.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 15, 2007 8:18:01 GMT -5
Aww, yay!
I never saw Carmelita as old as twelve, but th only reason for that is because she's so unbearably bratty, but I know people like that of my own age. I don't know why it suprises me...and she also should be sort of that age, for the pictures of her and the school and stuff...
This is really quite sweet, all the decision making and dynamics between them. Love!
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 15, 2007 10:37:20 GMT -5
It was just my guess that Carmy is somewhere around twelve... I read on Wikipedia that she is elementary/middle-school age. Even though Wiki isn't always correct, I figure she must be around that age judging by the pictures of her like you said.
Heh... when I was in middle-school I felt just like the Baudelaires when they are being tortured by Carmelita. Thankfully it all stopped at the beginning of high school when my mom and I went to the principal and complained after some kids had been throwing rocks at me. ^^;;
I'm really glad you're lovin' the story so far! *big grin* I will be posting more soon enough.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 15, 2007 13:20:34 GMT -5
Aw! Throwing rocks! I hate people sometimes. I never felt like the Baudelaire's because I have the tendency if someone is really mean to go super mental at them ;D
Anyway, I do heart this story. I wish I wrote as well as you. And could write chapters without...just...giving up...
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 15, 2007 14:49:16 GMT -5
I wish I could give it back to people when they're rude to me like you can. Unfortunately, I've had a lot of social problems since I was a kid which makes it very difficult for me to say what I'm feeling most of the time.
I think you write wonderfully! I used to start writing projects and then give up on them almost immediately (I blame that anti-psychotic medication I was on for my OCD, which I've since gotten off of thank God). This is the first year in a number of years where I've started stories and actually finished them. ^^;;
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Post by Jenny on Aug 16, 2007 10:50:58 GMT -5
Still wish I could just somehow learn how to finish things.
I can do it with essays. I never have much trouble finishing them. That and other schoolwork--these are also better, more accurate and often written better as well-- than any of my creative writing. I can only do technical! *cries*
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 16, 2007 15:49:30 GMT -5
Aww *hugs*
I always struggled with schoolwork. I mean, I always managed to finish it, but there was always that whole "I'd rather be doing something else right now" feeling.
Just take your time with your creative projects. I usually wait until I'm feeling creative before I attempt something, and that seems to work. That and the lack of medication in me. XD
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 19, 2007 13:47:15 GMT -5
Chapter 2 Reunion It took them all morning and most of the afternoon to climb all the way back down the Mortmain Mountains. Esmé felt frustrated and somewhat embarrassed for miscalculating the timeframe of how long it would take them, but soon dismissed the matter seeing as there was really nothing that could be done about it. To make things even more difficult, Carmelita complained either about being tired, hungry, thirsty, or all three every ten minutes. And even though Esmé could sympathize, she forced herself to be firm and remind the little girl of just how important it was for them to be out of the woods before nightfall. When at last they came to an open road, Esmé waved down a cab that drove them to the nearest convenience store. As soon as she had paid the driver, she and Carmelita headed for the phone booth located around the corner of the store. “Who are you calling?”Carmelita asked. “Never mind,” Esmé replied, not wanting to get Carmelita’s hopes up in case the plan didn’t work out after all. “Here—” Esmé reached into her pocket and pulled out a single ten dollar bill and three fives, which she handed to Carmelita. “—go inside and get us some food.” Esmé waited until Carmelita had disappeared, and then dialed the numbers. Esmé listened to the telephone ring three or four times before she heard the sound of someone picking up at the other end. Soon enough, a familiar voice resonated in her ear, and she wondered what had ever convinced her to take such a weak approach in the first place. “Hello,” the voice on the other end said, “Jerome Squalor speaking.” Esmé froze. Carmelita’s incessant whining had prevented Esmé from planning what she was going to say to the man she had married and then left a month later to return to her villainous boyfriend, and so she struggled for several moments to find the right words. “Hello?” Jerome asked. “Is someone there?” Whether it was her out-of-control hormones or the guilt talking, Esmé had no idea. But when she heard the gentle voice of her husband, who was so well known for having such a sweet disposition, she burst into tears right then and there. “Jerome!” Esmé sobbed. “Esmé?!” he exclaimed. “Yes! Jerome, I… I need you to come and get me.” “Where are you?” “Right now I’m about twenty miles outside of the city,” Esmé explained, and glanced over her shoulder at a sign reading the name of the store, “at the Last Chance General Store. I’m with Carmelita.” She took a deep breath and prepared herself for what came next. “Jerome, I… I’m pregnant.”There was a long, awkward pause on the other line. “I’m not making this up,” Esmé continued. “I haven’t been to a doctor yet, but I’ve been having symptoms for several weeks now. At first I thought it was just the flu, but now—” “It’s alright,” Jerome said finally. “You don’t have to explain now. I’m on my way. Stay where you are and I’ll be there just as soon as I can.” He hung up. Esmé stood there for several minutes, listening to the dial tone blaring in her right ear until the sound of someone banging on the window of the phone booth caused her to turn around. There stood Carmelita, holding a large paper bag in one hand and two bottles of fruit juice in the other. Smiling slightly, Esmé returned the telephone to its place on the receiver and stepped out of the booth. “Who were you talking to?” Carmelita asked as they sat down together on a bench in front of the store. Esmé reached into the bag and took out the two ham-and-cheese sandwiches that Carmelita had purchased. “A friend of mine,” Esmé replied, handing one of the sandwiches to Carmelita and keeping the other for herself. “I explained our situation and they’ve agreed to provide us with a place to stay. They’re coming all the way from the city, so we’ll have to sit and wait a while.” They passed the remainder of the afternoon in silence. Carmelita seemed to be getting quieter and quieter lately, which meant that her constant whining and frequent temper tantrums were also dissipating. Although Esmé was grateful for the newfound peace and quiet, she was still concerned for her adopted daughter and often wondered if this was simply the calm before the storm. It was early in the evening when the two women finally drifted off due to a combination of exhaustion and a lack of anything better to do. Esmé let Carmelita stretch out on the bench and rest her head in her lap while Esmé stroked the little girl’s soft red curls. It was around ten o’ clock when Esmé was awakened by a pair of headlights blinking their way across her tired face. She opened her eyes just in time to see a familiar presence approaching her from beyond the headlights. “Jerome,” she murmured, lifting her head a little from where it had been resting in her hand. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long,” Jerome said as he reached her. “But with it being rush hour and everything—” He paused, suddenly noticing the sleeping child beside Esmé, and smiled pleasantly. “Carmelita,” Esmé said gently, giving her a mild shake. “Wake up.” Carmelita’s eyes fluttered open and she sat up, somewhat oblivious to her surroundings for a moment until she remembered where she was and how she had gotten there. Rubbing her tired eyes, she lifted her head and stared at Jerome. “Carmelita, you remember Jerome Squalor,” Esmé said. Jerome crouched down across from Carmelita and took her hand in his. “It’s very nice to see you again,” he said, and planted a light kiss on her hand. She blushed brightly before pulling her hand back and drawing her legs up onto the bench where she huddled closer to Esmé. “We should probably get going,” Jerome advised, “before it gets any later.” Esmé’s reply was a silent nod of the head. Taking Carmelita by the hand, the two of them followed Jerome to his car.
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Post by Semesther, the Dolphin Vampire on Aug 20, 2007 17:27:51 GMT -5
Great job and I love it!
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 20, 2007 18:56:13 GMT -5
Thank you so much! : D
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 20, 2007 18:57:50 GMT -5
Chapter 3 Currently Untitled
Esmé and Carmelita watched through tired eyes as Jerome inserted the key into the door of the penthouse apartment, and pushed it open. He stepped aside and motioned with his hand for the two women to enter first.
They did.
Jerome followed, closing the door behind them.
During the long drive up to the Last Chance General Store, Jerome had plenty of time to consider the sleeping arrangements— not that this sort of thing was a problem, since the penthouse apartment did consist of seventy-one bedrooms, and in the end he had decided that giving Esmé the master bedroom would be best. Not only because it would be the gentlemanly thing to do, but also because the master bedroom contained all of her clothing and other possessions she’d left behind. And besides, it would have been a lot of trouble and taken a lot of time to move everything she owned out of one bedroom and into another.
“Well,” Jerome said, “it’s very late and the two of you are obviously exhausted.” He smiled anxiously. “Why don’t I show you to your rooms? And tomorrow morning I’ll make us all a delicious batch of blueberry waffles and we can sit down and discuss everything. Right this way.”
Esmé and Carmelita followed Jerome passed an assortment of bedrooms, living rooms, dining rooms, breakfast rooms, snack rooms, sitting rooms, standing rooms, bathrooms, ballrooms, and kitchens, as well as an assortment of rooms that seemed to have no purpose at all, until at last they reached the master bedroom.
“Esmé,” Jerome said, “you can have the master bedroom, and Carmelita can take the one next to it.”He gave another anxious smile before continuing. “And I… I’ll be sleeping in the bedroom between the two of you. Well, goodnight.”
Before either Esmé or Carmelita could utter even a “thank you”, Jerome turned and disappeared into the middle bedroom. The door slammed shut a moment later, and Carmelita turned in confusion to Esmé.
“Don’t mind Jerome,” Esmé said as she turned the knob of the door leading into the master bedroom. “He’s just very tired. Come inside and we’ll find you a suitable nightgown to wear.”
Carmelita nodded and followed Esmé silently into the master bedroom.
It was hours later when Esmé found herself staring at the shadows darting back and forth along the walls of her bedroom as she listened to the sounds of cars and other automobiles driving by outside. It had been so long since she’d heard the noises associated with the city that she supposed it was going to take some time for her to grow accustomed to them. She wondered how Carmelita was doing in the room next door, or if she too was having trouble getting to sleep.
Esmé glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand, and sighed. It read 2:15 a.m. She had gone to bed nearly four hours ago and hadn’t slept a wink. She knew what it was— she wasn’t used to sleeping by herself. She had slept with Olaf every night since their departure from 667 Dark Avenue (not counting their last night in the Hotel Denouement, of course) and with Carmelita during their time in the Mortmain Mountains together. Sighing heavily once more, Esmé sat up, threw her legs over the side of the bed, and headed for the door.
She stepped out into the hallway— which looked even darker than the bedroom —and turned toward the bedroom where Jerome said he would be sleeping. As quietly as she could, Esmé turned the knob and pushed open the door, which creaked slightly. Jerome had always been a light sleeper, and she waited for a sign. When she didn’t receive one, she tiptoed into the room and over to his bed.
Esmé stopped for a moment and just stared at him. He was wearing a pair of black and white pinstripe pajamas— the same pair she had bought him only a few days before Olaf had called to inform her that he was putting the next part of his plan into action, which had involved two triplets and an elevator shaft. She felt a pang of guilt as she looked down at the sleeping man she had vowed to love, honor and cherish nearly a year earlier, but had ended up doing just the opposite. She wouldn’t have bothered to contact Jerome at all had it not been for the fact that she was pregnant, not to mention she had no one else to turn to.
Being especially careful not to disturb him, Esmé pulled back the covers and climbed into the bed beside him. This was the first time they would lie together, as Esmé had made it quite clear from the beginning that she didn’t intend for their relationship to be anything beyond the occasional kissing and holding hands deal, even though they had never done much of that beyond the public eye. Since Jerome was so mentally weak to begin with, Esmé had taken full advantage of this when she had forced him to marry her (after some convincing from Olaf, of course) in order to gain access to the penthouse apartment— which just so happened to contain a secret passageway leading into the Baudelaire mansion where the sugar bowl was.
But things were different now. Olaf was no more a part of Esmé’s life than he was the day she had walked into the auditorium of R. Dahl Junior High School and discovered that he would be replacing her former acting instructor.
But Jerome was a part of Esmé’s life even more now than he had been in the beginning, and here he was, right in front of her. He was facing away from her, but still that didn’t keep her from pressing herself up against him and clinging desperately to his broad shoulders. She could close her eyes and pretend he was Olaf just for a little while, just until the sun came up. Then she could sneak back to her room and Jerome would never even know she had been there.
After a moment Esmé began to weep softly, struggling not to let her voice get beyond that of a whimper. She had given up everything to be with the man she had loved since the age of thirteen, the man she had given herself to at the age of eighteen, and now, the man who had discarded her like an old pair of shoes in a burning hotel at the age of thirty. She felt two tears slide down her cheeks as she thought back to that afternoon on the rooftop sunbathing salon when she had ended their relationship. And even though she knew she had done the right thing, that didn’t make the pain it left her with any easier to bear.
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Post by Semesther, the Dolphin Vampire on Aug 21, 2007 19:43:53 GMT -5
I love! More please!
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 21, 2007 21:20:21 GMT -5
*does the happy dance*
I am so glad the reviews on this have been so positive... if they weren't I think I would quit writing this altogether.
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Post by Amy Lee ALOE Aunt Jo on Aug 21, 2007 21:55:52 GMT -5
You know, this is actually quite good.
The reason I ast surprised is because it takes a lot for a new member to earn my respect as a writer. Most of the newbies that post stories here are gag accounts or are really bad writers that couldn't put together a proper sentence if they were provided the noun and verb. But I try to give everyone a chance, so I forced myself to read this story tonight after avoiding for several days, and found, to my surprise, that I liked it.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, keep it up. You're good at this. I hope to see an update soon!
EDIT: Oh, a little advice. Next time you post a story and write a summary, I suggest you don't inform us about the stuff in the fic, like, for instance, Esme being pregnant. Kinda ruins it for the reader, knowing what's gonna happen.
You know, just saying...
Reason for Editing: Giving advice to a newbie.
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