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Post by Tiran O'Saurus on May 26, 2022 7:14:47 GMT -5
Dear Reader,
If you are looking for stories about happy reunions and pleasant children who have frolicking good times, you are in the wrong place. This story contains such unpleasant things as petty tyrants, unstable houses, internal divisions, separated brothers, and bedtime stories. Please read something else.
With all due respect,
Lemony Snicket
Authors note: After my last story was released to underwhelming applause, I decided to make the sequel.
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Post by Tiran O'Saurus on Jun 2, 2022 8:32:49 GMT -5
Chapter 1: Returning to civilization after a long period of absence is like if a baby taught themselves to read and picked up a newspaper. They would have little idea what all of the references to recent events meant, no way of knowing what was right or not, and most of all the feeling of being in over their head. The Baudelaires felt like they were in over their heads, and not just because they had been swimming for three days and were almost out of strength. They had been in over their heads when a terrible villain adopted them when their house burned down. They had been in over their heads when they learnt of a secret organization known only as VFD. They had been in over their heads when they burnt down a hotel in order to send a signal. They were in over their heads when they had to raise a baby, and they were in over their heads right now, as they washed ashore like particularly unfortunate pieces of driftwood. Violet and Klaus, the oldest, washed ashore and were too tired to do as much as look up at Briny Beach. Sunny and Beatrice, the two youngest, crawled off their backs and walked around. It was their first time being somewhere that wasn’t the middle of the ocean for a year, or in Beatrice’s case, her entire life. Someone had dropped a newspaper on the ground, and Sunny dragged it over to her siblings so they could all read it. The Daily Punctilio All the News, in Fits of Print
ONE YEAR AFTER HOTEL DENOUEMENT FIRE, BODY COUNT STILL UNKNOWN
It has been one year since Veronica, Klyde, and Susie Baudelaire destroyed the Hotel Denouement because they are terrible people. They escaped by kidnapping the wonderful Count Olaf and sailing off the roof in a boat named after him. They were recently reported robbing a mail delivery boat. Count Olaf was not recently reported doing anything, and might have been murdered like his fellow count, Omar. The Baudelaire murderers seem to hate aristocrats, but they might just hate everyone because they seem to have killed a lot of people at the hotel. Speaking of the hotel, here is our up-to-date list of casualties.
Known Dead: Justice Strauss, who was thrown off of the roof by the murderers. The search for a replacement judge is still ongoing.
Mr. Arthur Poe, who was burnt to a crisp looking for a bank robber.
Unknown Dead: A man named Charles and his partner, who owned the Lucky Smells Lumbermill in Paltryville.
Mrs. Esme Gigi Geniveve Squalor, and her daughter Carmalita. This reporter hopes they are alive.
Known Survivors:
The Justices… CONTINUED ON PAGE 9.
The Baudelaires would never read page nine of that article, although it would tell them many useful things. They never read it because they were interrupted, and I hope you are interrupted because this story is surely too terrible for you to read.
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Jun 4, 2022 7:47:50 GMT -5
Is the reporter Geraldine?
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Post by Tiran O'Saurus on Jun 4, 2022 8:07:31 GMT -5
She was in the Hotel Denouement fire, so I'm trying to keep it ambiguous. It's someone with very similar opinions to her, at least.
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Post by HAL 10,000 on Jun 4, 2022 19:31:32 GMT -5
The article sounds like Bear wrote it.
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Post by Tiran O'Saurus on Jun 6, 2022 8:08:32 GMT -5
Chapter 2:
The Baudelaires heard footsteps and quickly raised the newspaper over their heads. A voice, like that of a child trying to sound like an adult, spoke. “The Punctilio? Why would you read that garbage?” As you hopefully know, it is very rude to walk up to people on the street and tell them what they’re reading is bad, but the voice had a point.
“There isn’t much choice if you are just reading something you found on the ground.” Violet said.
“I recognize that voice. Do I know you?” The voice said. Violet also found it familiar.
“Do I know you?” She asked back.
“My name is Ben. You can call me Ben. Now, do I know you?”
It can be very odd to run into someone of your acquaintance, a word which here means person you were friends with a long time ago, after a great deal of time. If I were to meet my old friend J. or S. or H. or W. or even O., I would feel very shocked indeed. In the case of Violet Baudelaire, she was as befuddled as if I started only referring to words with their first letter. V G A T N O B, W K S. S L T N T R H. “T B?” B A.
“Benhoo?” Beatrice asked.
“Ah, little baby Sunny. Still haven’t learnt proper English, I see.”
“Wrong!” Sunny yelled like a bell. She walked out of the newspaper covering.
“Huh?” Ben said, “In that case, who just said random gibberish?”
“Me!” Beatrice said, and stepped out of the newspaper.
“I don’t remember you…” Ben said suspiciously.
“It’s a long story.” Klaus said.
“Well, this beach probably isn’t the place to tell it. Come with me.” Ben said. He turned and walked towards a car parked at the end of the beach.
“Are you even old enough to drive?” Klaus asked.
“Does it matter?” Ben responded. Too tired to answer, Klaus entered the car. It drove down Briny Boulevard and into the big city. They turned onto Doldrums Drive, drove down it until they hit Dark Avenue, took it until they’d gone through Plaice Place in the fish district, and headed up Columbia Road until they reached a section of the city that had been wrecked by earthquakes.
“Are you sure this place is safe?” Klaus asked.
“Relax, we’re almost there.” Ben said. He turned the car onto Montague Motorway, and they rattled down it until they reached a large house. It was very, very, old; but that wasn’t what the Baudelaires noticed. It was very, very, large; but that wasn’t what the Baudelaires noticed. What they noticed was the huge crack in the earth behind it, or perhaps through it. For half of the house sat on an island of rock in the midst of the ravine, connected to the rest of the house by an unstable rope bridge.
“Welcome,” Ben said, “To Capulet Clubhouse!”
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Post by HAL 10,000 on Jun 6, 2022 22:07:59 GMT -5
Is Ben the Ben who was mentioned in TEE?
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Post by Tiran O'Saurus on Jun 7, 2022 6:29:32 GMT -5
Yes. I like to use canon people whenever possible, so when I decided I needed an old friend of Violet, I picked the only one canonically named.
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Post by Tiran O'Saurus on Jun 7, 2022 7:27:29 GMT -5
Chapter 3:
The Baudelaires had lived in some unsafe places. Their Aunt Josephine’s house had dangled over Lake Lachrymose. The Orphan’s Shack at Prufrock Preparatory School was full of pinching crabs. The unfinished half of Heimlich Hospital was full of sharp nails and falling boards. But nowhere had been quite as frightening and unsafe as the earthquake-battered domicile that was the Capulet Clubhouse.
“Don’t be frightened, it’s perfectly safe.” Ben said as he walked up to the door. He knocked on it thirteen times. A quiet voice, like that of a child who had been hit with a large stick whenever he spoke too loudly, asked, “Password?”
Ben looked irritatedly at the door and then opened his mouth. Instead of speaking, he then sang. “When we grab you by your ankles, where our mark is to be made, you’ll be doing noble work, although you won’t be paid. So when we ride away in secret, you’ll be a volunteer, so don’t scream when we take you, the world is quiet here.”
The Baudelaires were very tired, almost too much to properly understand that awful song. Looking back on their lives, they will wish that they had listened more to Ben, or asked him where he had heard it. But that’s not how this story goes.
“Access granted.” said the voice, and the door opened. Standing behind it was a boy, either a bit younger than the Baudelaires or just a bit shorter. “You brought new people,” he added, “How do you do?”
“This,” Ben said while pointing at Violet, “is an old friend of mine. Those are her siblings and an unidentified baby.” They all stepped into Capulet Clubhouse. It was an old building full of couches and children. One of the walls, the one that was closest to the ravine, was covered in posters. Each one told people who looked at it to not do something. “Don’t Fight! Don’t Argue! Don’t Let People In Who Don’t Say The Password! Don’t Remove Demotivational Posters!”
“Jamin,” Ben said to the boy, “find these people a bunk in the dormitory.” The boy, named Jamin, led the Baudelaires through a door and into a long and narrow room. Bunk beds lined the walls. Jamin walked all the way to the back of the room and told the Baudelaires that two of the bunks were theirs. Violet and Klaus were so exhausted they immediately went to sleep.
“Seuss?” Beatrice asked, which meant “Who will tell me my bedtime story?”
“I’ll do it.” Sunny said.
“Opportune!” Beatrice said, which meant “Tell me a story Violet and Klaus wouldn’t have!”
Sunny then told the story that can be found in volume 10 of my series, not that anyone would want to read about long climbs, dastardly villains, separated friends, separate siblings, and snow. Sunny told a much less horrible version than the original, but like most attempts at watering down misfortune it was very boring, and soon all four Baudelaires were asleep.
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