tiago, i have to know, do you still watch/enjoy teen wolf?
Nope. Gave up on it after the travesty of season 4. I can't stand Stalia and Tyler Hoechlin is leaving so there is literally no point for me anymore. I look back fondly on s1 and s2 the show was perf back then. I still love those two seasons.
Post by Charles Vane on Apr 3, 2015 2:44:41 GMT -5
you made it farther than i did lol. i was already super mad about the amount of sterek in 3b so i was completely done when allison died. i am refraining from getting into how mad i am about the white boys going to europe while the second teenaged girl died, but i am still pretty freaking angry about it.
Post by Tiago James Squalor on Apr 10, 2015 16:02:52 GMT -5
Isadora Quagmire followed the aloof Caterina Casanova throught the hallways of Roadkill Restaurant. The loud noises coming from the party downstairs informed her the party was well on it’s way, despite the mishap in the kitchen. Isadora wanted nothing more than to have ignored Caterina’s request and fled the scene with her brothers to try to get the the Gym where they believed Nemo to be. But it would not do to attract the unwanted attention of their temporary employer, Valentina Agresta. For all they knew, Valentina was in on it with the staff of Lugae Laboratory.
“Here”, Caterina uttered when they arrived at a set of magnificent double doors in the third floor. She opened one of the doors, and Isadora went in. Caterina closed the door behind them, and turned on the lights, as it was dark inside the room.
What Isadora saw disturbed her deeply.
“Mhhmmm” moaned Glenn, Ramsay Norris’ assistant, as he was gagged, blindfolded, and tied to a chair with a gold chain. He was bruised and disheveled as if he had been roughed up quite a bit, and blood trickled down his chin. It was terrible, and Isadora’s first instinct was to run, but when she turned Caterina turned the key in it’s lock and removed it. She twirled it around on her finger as she walked slowly to the center of the room. On the opposite side, the other Casanovas, Carlo and Carlotta, were sitting by a coffee table, drinking what appeared to be champagne or white wine. A blanket covered a cylinder-like object nearby, and their humongous bodyguard was standing behind Glenn’s chair. His fists were tied up in bloody bandages but Isadora quickly realize the blood wasn’t his.
‘What is this? What are you doing?’ Isadora brought herself out of her shock. This was not something she could have prepared for.
‘It’s nothing. We are just questioning Mr. Glenn here about his ties to one Ramsay Norris, or at least, that’s what he goes by, now, anyway,’ Caterina explained. ‘What I called you here for is cleanup. There are some cleaning implements on that cabinet, girl. Make yourself useful and we’ll give you a fat tip,’ Caterina added. A groan came from the other side of the room at the sound of the word “fat”. Caterina frowned. “I wish you would stop groaning whenever someone mentions the word fat,” another groan, “Carlotta, you had your surgery, your diet, and your cosmetic enhancements. You are beautiful now. Stop being so childish,’ Caterina bemoaned.
‘C-Clean-up? You’re torturing him, and you ask me to clean up?’ Isadora was very distressed. ‘Easy now, girl. It’s just a little blood. Don’t be such a coward. Get to it, we don’t have all night,’ Caterina replied.
‘Mmmhhhm,” Glenn moaned. Isadora felt sorry for him. She still remembered the screams from her time in Dread Down, the rusty city-like dwelling of the imprisoned volunteers unfortunate enough to be caught by the Great Unknown. Back then, the Unknown Agents would regularly pick victims among their prisoners to torture for information, or what was worse, amusement. She shivered as he opened the cabinet Caterina had pointed toward, and retrived cleaning supplies from inside.
‘Umberto, be a dear will you?’ Caterina asked. The man removed Glenn’s gag with his tiny but powerful hands. Glenn didn’t scream. Isadora walked toward him. She kneeled and began to use some of the cloths to wipe the blood off the wooden floor. Some of it had begun to coagulate and it was hard to remove.
‘For pete’s sake, girl, use bleach. The smell of blood makes me sick,’ Carlo Casanova begrudged her, and took another sip from his white wine. Carlotta giggled at Isadora’s ineptitude.
‘You may wonder why this one isn’t screaming for help right now,’ Caterina spoke, as she circled around them. ‘The explanation is simple. We’ve threatened to remove some of his…more important body parts should he do so. You may also wonder, why do this? Why him? Well, I’ll give you answers, girl. You see, I brought you here not just as a clean-up aide, but as a witness. I want you to look at this poor excuse for an assistant to an even more vile man. Yes. He is not our true goal.’
Isadora’s forehead was wet with sweat, part from the scrubbing, part from the tension. She had heard awful things about the Casanovas but had not particularly taken Caterina for a sadist. Apparently, she had been mistaken.
‘You see, girl, this pipsqueak is working for Ramsay, and has been for a while. He has latched onto him the minute his sister started showing signs of actual humanity, despite the terrible things done to her. We have been conducting our very own investigation, you see. Our family, we have own roundabout way of doing things.” Caterina explained. Isadora rubbed her forehead. The tension was giving her a migraine. ‘I say this, because Glenn is not this pipsqueak’s true name. And Ramsay’s true name…is Felix Casanova.’
Felix Casanova. The fourth Casanova sibling. Isadora looked at Glenn. She didn’t know who he was, but I am sure that you, dear reader, have it figured out by now. For he was none other than Nathan Finch, brother to Natalie Finch, who had once lived in an Addams Asylum. Their childhood had been terrible, and their teenager years, worse, and Natalie and Nathan had only each other to rely on, to trust. However, Natalie and Nathan had gone on different paths. She hid herself from her past and from the world, and had seeked help from others. Nathan had followed only destruction, with Felix Casanova.
‘Our dear Ramsay Norris is no other than our very own dear brother. Felix.’ Across the room, Carlo smashed his wine cup, and Carlotta nervously applied more make-up. ‘We weren’t sure up until yesterday, when this little one made a mistake. It was no hard task for Carlo to enthrall him and draw the truth out of him with one of special wines, Vino Veritas from our vineyard and chemical laboratory.’
‘Vino Veritas is a naturally made, silky, seductive red wine. You know how people tend to loosen their lips when they drink? Well, Vino Veritas works exactly like that, only a lot faster, ‘and here Caterina cackled loudly. Her speech was giving Isadora all kinds of shivers , and she was shaking as she tried to remove the bloodstains from the wooden floors. Valentina Agresta would not be happy to see those stains.
‘Why not just pour truth serum directly into his wine, then? I don’t understand it,’ Isadora couldn’t contain herself. ‘Like I said,’ Caterina retorted nervously, ‘we Casanovas have our own roundabout way of doing things.’
‘There’s an incredible market for indectectible truth wine, you see. Angry, scheming wives or husbands, lovers of all kinds, who want to draw the truth from their lover’s lips,’ Carlo added from across the room. ‘And for those who want the truth and revenge, we have our special variety, Vino Veritas Mortis’ Carlo’s smile was as despicable as he was, his vulgar shining gold tooth which Isadora noticed, had a heart shape indented, a small red ruby as it’s core. Extremely tacky.
‘Are…Are you going to do something to me?’ Isadora asked. She was far outnumbered, and she would be no match for a family of mobsters with a bodyguard shaped like a mountain. ‘No, girl. Like I said, this isn’t any of your concern. I just brought you here for clean-up. I do adore my friend, Valentina, and she would be loathe to see those hideous stains on her hard wood floors, now, wouldn’t she?’ Caterina giggled. Isadora scrubbed harder. Carlo poured himself a new glass of wine, and Carlotta was too distracted by her own image in her hand mirror. The bodyguard said nothing, staring blankly ahead, waiting for orders.
‘I’m almost done,’ Isadora quipped nervously, as she used wood polisher, which she assumed would clean the wood better. Isadora was quite experienced with cleaning blood off of metallic surfaces from her time in Dread Down, but wood was not her forte. Hence why she was not doing a very good job. To be fair, no one was examining her work from up close. ‘So am I,’ Caterina uttered as she stopped walking in circles and sat on a magnificent armchair of white velvet cushions. Her heart locked twinkled as it caught the light from the fireplace.
‘Why not go for our own brother, you may ask? Well, I’ll tell you,’ Caterina was clearly having more of a conversation with herself than speaking to Isadora, but Isadora listened all the same. She was too intrigued. ‘Well, we could have him killed quite easily. But we have known for a while that among the survivors of the accident two years ago, was someone who was the true responsible individual for our father’s untimely death,’ saying this, Caterina opened her locked, and looked inside it lovingly at what Isadora assumed, was her father’s picture. ‘When my father’s head was separated from his neck by our brother, it may have been him to deal the killing blow, but the true mastermind of the events at our family Casino two years ago was no other than Esmé Squalor.’
‘E-Esmé?’ Isadora uttered in disbelief. ‘What, do you know her?’ Carlo asked. This caught even the attention of the self-absorbed Carlotta, who snapped her hand mirror shut.
‘I read about her in the Daily Punctilio. Sixth-most important financial advisor, wasn’t she?’ Isadora answered as composed as she could muster, and went back to her wood-polishing effort. ‘Well, yes, she was. But Esmé was more than that,’ Caterina poured herself a cup of the white wine. ‘She was working for some very nasty people. People who would make you wet your bed at night. You see, our father was a longtime investor of the Lugae Laboratories Group and their special project. He also happened to own big stock in that company. That stock was prescribed to us in his will, at least his last will. He was going to leave it to Felix. When he and our father had their falling out because of Felix’s sad involvement with that dirty sailor from Norway, our father disowned him. Felix became bent on revenge. Like I said, Casanovas have a roundabout way of doing things. He went to the people who had the most to gain from my father’s death, and putting two and two together, they orchestrated the entire scenario,’ Caterina explained. She took a sip from her wine.
‘Our goal here is not some sad attempt to get back at our dear brother. We want to get him, yes, but we also want to get Esmé. And Lugae. And every single one that had any part in our father’s death. We may take our time, as we have our roundabout way of doing things,’ And here, Caterina did something quite unexpected. Opening he second part of her locket, she poured a thin white powder into the wine cup. She arose, cup in hand, and walked towards the center of the room. She nodded toward the bodyguard, and he knew what to do. The huge man forcibly opened Glenn, or Nathan Finch’s jaw with his tiny, but powerful hands. ‘We will get them, girl,’ Caterina said as she poured the poisoned wine down Nathan Finch’s throat. ‘We will get them all.” Nathan Finch’s body began to shake violently, and soon he was foaming at the mouth. Isadora was paralyzed. She witnessed as life left his body, and Nathan Finch breathed his last.
Silently, but surely, Carlo and Carlotta Casanova stood up. They left a wad of money on the coffe table. ‘We trust this will buy your silence for the time being. You would do well to leave this place as soon as you can,’ Carlo told her,smiling again. His gold tooth caught the light one las time, and he and Carlotta left the room. ‘Thank you for everything, girl. Now go, your brothers must be waiting for you,’ Caterina smiled, and Isadora stood up, terrified of the incredibly beautiful woman standing before her. Caterina’s beauty only mad her more threatening, but Isadora knew at least there was no danger for her there. Shaking, she took the money and put the cleaning supplies back in the cabinet. As went for the door, she looked one last time at Caterina Casanova. She pulled the blanket from the cylinder like object. The label on the side was distressing. ACID . Saying nothing, Isadora left the room.
Post by Tiago James Squalor on Apr 10, 2015 16:38:34 GMT -5
I intend to finish TRR this weekend and start the next installment of AQSoUE immediately. I need to make up for lost time, and i think my writing juices are flowing better now. ^^ looking forward to it. I have many things planned for my future fanfics. AQSoUE is not the end.
Finish the whole story this weekend? Well, in the past, now that I think about it, you have tended to write your finales at breakneck speed, so you might be capable of that. I can see that we must be zooming towards the climax now, as we're seeing how this installment ties into the rest of the series and its ongoing concerns. I wonder if the Quagmires might even find themselves on the same side as the Casanovas one day, sharing certain enemies as they do. They do seem to wind up with dangerous allies sometimes. Roll on The Grim Gym (or whatever it may be!).
Post by Tiago James Squalor on Jan 13, 2017 17:10:45 GMT -5
I've done this dance a few times before and i came close to finishing this book and moving on when my own troubles got in my way; but in the last few days i've been working on the Revival of my ASoUE ficverse ahead of the Netflix series premiere. I've always known how i wanted the series to end, it's all still in here in my head.
I regret spending so much time away and perhaps, losing the interest of the many readers my fics have had. But i owe it to myself to finish what i started, at least with this.
I'm delighted to announce that the next chapter in A QUAGMIRE SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS will be enjoyable and answer a lot of questions but i can also promise that it will raise new ones. If you'd like to accompany me on this journey again, check this thread again very soon. I think you will enjoy what you will find.
Post by Tiago James Squalor on Jan 13, 2017 19:51:28 GMT -5
The Nightly Discord All the news unfit for large publications Notorious Criminal Arrested nearby Rogueport
“Notorious criminal, arsonist, mass-murderer, escape artist, ironworker, inventress, among other occupations, Violet Baudelaire, aged something right under 21, was arrested this Thursday at the local Anxious Clown franchise restaurant in Rogueport after a realtor recognized her because of an earlier news article in the very same large publication from the City which this journalist will not name for personal reasons. The very same realtor called the police. When this journalist interviewed the realtor, she said “No comment!” in a very rude manner. Violet Baudelaire has been locked up in the Police Station of Rogueport to await transfer and trial.”
As soon as he had finished reading it, Duncan Quagmire had wished he hadn’t. Of course, the Quagmire triplets knew now it was always worse to not know. Quigley Quagmire, his brother, the eldest triplet by a margin of five minutes, was particularly dismayed. “I never heard of this paper, the Discord, but if it’s anything like the Punctilio, we should take it with a grain of salt,” Duncan said reasonably, a word which here means “in a charateristic chivalrous and sensitive mannerwhich was very true to who Duncan is as a person”, as he comforted his brother, Quigley Quagmire, who had particular reasons to be distraught at those dreadful – and hopefully, fake – news.
“You’re right. Even if Violet had been arrested, she’d find a way to break out. You remember. She did it before, and another time. And another.” Quigley was not wrong.
In the lives of the orphans, both Baudelaire and Quagmire, only sorrow and misfortune were a constant. In everything else, their lives were a swirling chaos of abyssal despair. Abyssal of course is a word which here means “bottomless “, or, “profound.” But this had also given them an edge in situations most adults would implode under like a condemned building lined with explosive charges in strategic places in their infra-structure. When it came to infra-structure, it took a lot more than a dubious report on an unknown paper from a town they’d never heard of to shake their foundations.
“We have to tell Isadora. Where is she?”
“She was called to do some favor the Casanovas. I know.” Duncan saw Quigley’s face become dismayed and distraught again. He himself felt only exhaustion. The uncertainty of their goals, their future, their very lives. It was taking his toll, and Duncan had also been waiting tables while his brother and sister found themselves in grisly situations that were grisly for different, but equally as grisly, reasons.
Then the door opened and Isadora came in. Quigley and Duncan saw blood on her maid uniform, and ran toward her. “Isadora, did they hurt you?”
“We need to leave. Now.” Isadora went to the cabinet and opened it. “This blood isn’t mine. I just had to clean up a…crime scene. The Casanovas, they… They’re on a rampage, and if we’re here any second longer, we’ll get caught up in it. We have to leave, let’s go!” Isadora rummaged through other employees possessions kept in the common cabinet where employees of Roadkill Restaurant had to store their personal belongings. The Quagmires had arrived at the Restaurant with not even the clothes on their backs, as they had arrived in hospital gowns, and their clothes along with their other possessions, had remained in the hazardous, ruined and cursed Lugae Laboratory.
“What did they do?” Duncan asked, but Isadora was throwing clothes their way. “Quick, there’s no time, get dressed. We need to leave, and I’m not kidding.” Quigley grabbed her wrist as gently as he could, and lifted the Discord article to Isadora’s eye level. The headline grabbed her attention, and Quigley let go of her wrist and got down on one knee, grabbing a hat.
“Well, what do you think?” Duncan asked. “It’s certainly jibberish. You can’t possibly believe this article. Violet? Arrested in Rogueport? Why would she be there? We cannot know if there is the slightest bit of truth in this.” “It’s a lead, it’s all I’m saying.” Duncan had a hunch, that which we in the journalistic field often experience when we pursue a story that is gripping, a word which here means “attention-grabbing.” “I doubt it. I’ve never heard of Rogueport before coming here and I never heard of this Nightly Discord but I don’t believe it for a second.” “And why are we running away? The party is still going on. And what did you mean by crime scene?” Quigley inquired, which means, asked, his sister. Her fearful green eyes turned to meet her brothers. “Oh…That’s right…I forgot to say…I’m sorry my nerves are quite frayed after…” Isadora then closed her eyes, turning very pale. Her knees wobbled and she fell, but fortunately, Quigley acted fast enough. Isadora had fainted, which was unusual, considering her life, but entirely understandable, given the recent events and her immediate circumstances. Quigley laid his sister on the couch, and Duncan removed her shoes. “Isadora, are you alright? Isadora? What’s wrong?” Quigley tried to shake her awake, but Duncan stopped him. Isadora was opening her eyes.
“Sorry, I got dizzy…I had to clean up a lot of blood…They…They killed someone.” Isadora mumbled, her eyes uncharacteristically feeble. Duncan approached and placed the back of his hand on her forehead. “She’s burning up. Dammit. Maybe she’s dehydrated? Or maybe it’s low blood sugar? I’ll go get her some things, you stay here with her. Give her some water. I’ll be right back.” Duncan rushed out of the room, and Quigley stayed beside his sister. “How long have you been feeling ill?”
“Not long… But if you’d been in that room, you would be feeling sick too. The Casanovas. They killed Felix’s, I mean, Ramsay’s, no, I mean-“ Quigley placed his hand on Isadora’s shoulder and pulled a blanket over her. “Calm down, let me get you some water.” Quigley went to a nearby table and grabbed a water pitcher and a cup that was lying there, left over from dinner, probably. Isadora sipped the water and seemed to recover some of her color. “Can you find me something to eat? I don’t remember the last time I ate anything.” Quigley smiled. “Sure. Anything for you.” And went to find something for his sister to eat.
As Quigley tended to his ailing, but now seemingly recovering sister, Duncan had gone up to the kitchen. He seemed to recall a cabinet with a red cross on it which might prove helpful to Isadora. Unfortunately, Duncan had choosen an specially unfortunate time to visit the kitchen, because it was at that time that a vicious villain had decided to escape the restaurant through the very same way the Quagmires had arrived. Unfortunately for him, his own enemies were one step ahead the whole time.
Duncan was mercifully well-placed; the medical cabinet was nearby the walk-in refrigerator, but behind a row of supply shelves, in a dark and often overlooked corner of the kitchen where anyone ever rarely went, by the fusebox and the pipe that carried steam from the cauldron in the basement, heating up the restaurant, which was bustling with guests, both of the invited and uninvited sort, where all sorts of schemes unfolded like cards in a good game of blackjack. But, like blackjack, restaurants are also unpredictable, and no part of a restaurant is more unpredictable than it’s kitchen. And no restaurant kitchen was ever as unpredictable, as the kitchen of Restaurant Roadkill on 1366 Roadkill Road near Chaotic Crossing, where Roadkill Road met the Haughty Highway, a dreary and desolate patch of land on the way to a nearby town the Quagmires were soon to be well-acquainted with, to their great dismay.
No. It does not do to dwell on the blights of their future, when the blight of now is so ever-present. You see, for Duncan to be of able and sound body and mind to know that, hearing steps toward the kitchen, he should probably croutch, and hide from the view of the person entering the kitchen now, a tall man wearing a purple suit under what was a very poorly-fitted winter coat and an even more ill-fitting hat. The man looked one way, then the other, before taking slow, deliberate steps towards the opposite end of the kitchen. The man made it to the door that led to the backyard of the Restaurant, overlooking the woods and the still burning, blighted area where once stood the dreadful laboratory of Gothic Works.
The man tried opening the door, but he had failed to notice something about the door. It was not quite locked, as it happens, but more so sealed. Sealed with a device that should be familiar to you if, like me, you have also pursued information on the whereabouts of the Baudelaires and the mountain of sorrow, grief, disgrace and despair that followed them like a curse, a ghost, or a cloud of overpriced perfume.
“Going somewhere?” A familiar voice asked. Duncan couldn’t see, but he could tell who it was. The silky, sultry voice of one Caterina Casanova was within earshot. Duncan heard the man turn, take one step toward the voice then one step back with the other foot. “Oh yes. I am to post my review of the restaurant to my employers in the mail post-haste. It has to be in print by four past midnight. Tell Valentina I’m sorry I couldn’t stay but the restaurant is wonderful. Now, if you’d be so kind as to unlock this door for me. I parked my car out back, and-‘
“Car? You don’t have a car,” Caterina said. It was a strange sentence. Duncan perked his ears up. He had no idea what was going on at the time. “I do, actually. A Dodge challenger with a purple paintjob. It was a gift from a former fling. Famous. Can’t say who it was, in fact. I will say that she was in many movies such as Zombies In The Snow and Realtors in the Cave”
“You talk a lot more than I seem to remember. But then again, that’s part of you.” Caterina spoke and once again Duncan had the distinct impression of hearing two people seemingly talking to each other but in a way that made them seem as If they were having entire different conversations. He’d have been particularly interested to know, that the man standing in the kitchen that he thought was Ramsay Norris, famous food critic and Daily Punctilio staff, was not, in fact Ramsay Norris, famous food critic and Daily Punctilio staff, but an entirely different person by the name of Felix Casanova, brother to Caterina and her siblings, Carlo and Carlotta.
“Hello, hello, hello.” A man’s voice was heard and Duncan heard more steps entering the kitchen. “I’ve waited a long time for tonight. We all have. Haven’t we, dear sisters?” Carlo Casanova asked. “Oh yes. A long, long time.” Carlotta Casanova had entered the kitchen. Duncan wondered where on Earth were the kitchen staff. There was no one to be seen, and he could feel an uneasiness, a growing tension that did not bode well. “I’m sorry, do you read my column? Is that it? Perhaps you are fans, and want me to visit your restaurant to review it, is that right? I’m sure it can be arranged. Give the address to my assistant, Glenn, and he’ll let you know who to call at the Punctilio. I’m sorry but I have to be off, I really do must mail this envelope.”
“He’s still going. Incredible.” Carlo uttered in bafflement. “I’m sorry? I don’t understand.” Ramsay’s voice betrayed a sense of growing suspicion, but by then it was too late. “Drop the act. Valentina is not here to protect you. And neither is she.” That sentence made no sense to Duncan, but it would, in time. Because in time, Isadora Quagmire would inform her siblings of the true identity of the man posing as Ramsay Norris, famous food critic and Daily Punctilio staff, to really be no other than one Felix Casanova, who you, dear reader, will remember to be the closest associate of Esmé Squalor in the dreadful series that preceded this one. “You see, I thought long and hard about what to do with you once we’d find you but having you here now, I just have no idea how to proceed.” Caterina Casanova, unlike her sibling and now mortal enemy, Felix, felt no need for pretense. She had her own roundabout way of doing things, and delighted to delay the moment. “Umberto.” Caterina uttered the name, summoning the large servant of the Casanovas. He entered the kitchen and the room’s atmosphere became even more tense.
“I’m sorry, I have never seen you people before coming here. I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. I am Ramsay Norris, famous food critic and Daily Punctilio staff, I have a card that says so.” Duncan couldn’t contain a sneer of disgust, forgetting his circumstances for a dark moment. “Wait, what was that?” Carlotta asked. Duncan had no choice and let out a heartily meow, as best as he could. “Oh, it’s just a cat. It’s probably good to have cats in a restaurant. They help catch the rats. You see, Ramsay, when we knew you’d be coming here, we sent a few cats ahead to make sure we’d catch you alone. And now we did. And you will be answering for your crimes, but not before you reveal to us the true whereabouts of your…associate. She will pay, just like you, for taking Father’s life.”
“You seem to be mistaken.” Ramsay had dropped his act, whatever it was. His voice was still the same, but he sounded different, as if he had changed into a completely different personality. Which, I am sure you know, he had. “You seem to be under the illusion that I will cooperate. I have nothing to lose and I will reveal nothing. You are insects to me and to my supperiors.”
“Insects, are we? Well, tell that to your dear assistant when you join him in the afterlife.” Carlo threatened. “I see. So that is that then.” “Even now, your lack of a heart disgusts me. You associated with that young man for a long time. He worshipped and followed you everywhere you went. And now we killed him, and you do not show an ounce of soul or humanity. You, my dear, are truly lost. Beyond all forgiveness or understanding. I have seen monsters before. But I’d never thought you’d stoop this low.” Caterina’s voice was almost pained, in the way that any other woman’s voice would sound pained if she knew one of her siblings and her father’s murderer to be an even worse monster than in her own nightmares.
“Don’t make me laugh. You don’t care about me. You never did. Not until I killed him. That got your attention, didn’t it? I could have let him live. I should have, really, if it meant you three coming after me. I knew this would happen.” “And yet you came here all the same. I wonder why. Makes me think if killing you here and now really is our best course of action.” Caterina pondered.
“Now is not the time to ponder over our actions, now is the time to act, Caterina. Let me at him and I will avenge Father and restore our family’s honor.” Carlo volunteered. The man who claimed to be Ramsay Norris chuckled. “Carlo. Ever so trigger-happy. Tell me, how did it feel when he left everything to Caterina? Why do you run after her like a dog or a servant? You are pathetic. And you. There’s no ammount of surgery, fashion or makeup that can make you even the slightest bit as beautiful as our dear Caterina here. I may have killed him, but you two need to really question who has hurt you more in your lives. Me, or Caterina, who wears the crown so gracefully.
“I did wonder about it. It did not seem right for her to inherit our Father’s Estate. She is a woman, after all. Women belong in the kitchen, or in a secretary desk, not running our business and money-laundering!” “I don’t seem to recall you doing much running our business or money-laundering, Carlo. Pipe down and remember who is addressing you. I asked Caterina to get you out of jail, don’t make me regret it now.” Carlotta sounded unexpectedly reasonable and made sense, which as a strange notion for Duncan, who had only heard her proclaim herself to be the most beautiful woman in the world and that without even attending the Miss Solar System Pageant.
“I’ll forgive this outburst, Carlo, but just this once. And if I hear you talk about women in that way again I’ll have Umberto here remind you that I am your sister but I am also your boss, and I can throw you in the furnace with him if I see fit to do so. Now are you through attempting to overthrow me or can we get on with our revenge?” Carlo coughed, and fell silent. Duncan shuddered, hiding behind the cluttered supply shelves.
“Men.” Caterina snarled. “Now where were we? Ah, yes. Your impending demise. At our dear Umberto’s hand, no less. Quite poetic, right? A henchman, killed by my henchman. Say your prayers-“
And it is here and now, dear reader that I must interrupt this narrative to deliver some dreadful news. You would be forgiven for thinking that this was it for the dreadful, notorious Felix Casanova and his treacherous never ending supply of disguises. For such an evil man to meet his end by the hand of a former employee of his own, in the grimy kitchen of a roadside restaurant in a county where no one ever went of their own accord, would truly be quite poetic. But alas this is a tale of unfortunate events and it’s my duty to inform you the very dreadful event that took place in the restaurant was not the death of a food critic, which in any other restaurant, would spell doom, but the death of an entirely different person, who had been in the wrong place, at the right time. Their death by electrocution burned the fuses and the Restaurant was plunged into darkness. There was a confusion of screams, voices, loud noises and alarm sounds. Steps ran up the basement staircase and through the foyer, toward the main ballroom and then, outside. Steps that ran in a pair, and towards the woods, belonging to a certain dubious duo of even more dubious character and intentions. Their assigment, complete, they stole into the night, a phrase which here means “sneaked away in the dark like thieves”. The lights came back, and Duncan heard the Casanovas cry out in dark surprise.
“He’s gone! Where is he? Find him! Umberto! Find him and kill him on sight! Leave no stone unturned, leave no corner unchecked! I will see him die before my eyes or my name is not Caterina Casanova!”
The Casanovas left the kitchen, leaving the corner where Duncan stood mercifully unchecked. Within minutes, the kitchen was swarmed with staff, who were running around trying to make sense of what was happening all around the restaurant. A guest was not answering his door or phone. A lady noticed her pearl necklace had gone missing in the dark. A dog, or something not entirely unlike a dog, had wandered in knocked several guests over in the ballroom while panting breathlessly. Upstairs, a letter and a hairpin had gone missing, for different reasons, from different rooms. Several lightbulbs had exploded, and the phone was dead. All this commotion was terribly frustrating for all the guests and workers except the select few who knew what was going on. Duncan wasted no time in getting to his siblings as quickly as he could, but luckily, Isadora had begun feeling better and the three Quagmire triplets reunited at the bottom of the servant staircase in the first floor. “Here, I brought you a change of clothes. We’re not staying one minute longer in this restaurant.” Quigley said to Duncan, and Duncan changed quickly while giving his siblings a general account of the events at the kitchen. “It was Felix Casanova. Ramsay Norris…he is Felix Casanova. Years ago, he was an associate of our enemies. Specially of Esmé’s. If anyone knows where she is, it’s him. They must have taken their time with him because they want to find her too.” Isadora explained. “You’d think Esmé would have turned up by now, what with all that has been going on in the world.”
“It has been two years and no one’s heard of her. Don’t you find it oddly curious? That one of the center pieces of this puzzle has been out of sight and mind for so long? Makes one think, right? How did she manage it? Where even is she?” Quigley turned to the wall. He saw something he’d never noticed before. It was up on a notice board of sorts, something meant only for the staff to see. A map of the nearby area. The restaurant on 1366 Roadkill Road, the nearby Chaotic Crossing, and the Haughty Highway. But it wasn’t the map that intrigued Quigley this time, and Quigley was quite interested in cartography. It was the ad printed on the side of the map that had caught his attention. It was an ad with the picture of a building that was familiar.
‘Glass Gymnastics. 333, Gloomy Grove. This isn’t too far away. Wait.” Quigley produced the photo of Nemo Vladmiroff. “See this? This building looks exactly like the one in the picture. If we go anywhere tonight, I say we go there. It’s not too far, and if we run now, we might be able to get away under the cover of night.”
Under the cover of night is an expression which here means “to utilize of the night’s characteristic darkness to make an escape”, something which, if you are familiar with our sort of life, happens quite often, and in this particular night, had already happened. For you see, Rose Hawthorne and her brother, Liam were already gone under the cover of night, but they had also attracted the worst kind of attention. The attention of people in a certain crime syndicate, who had very specific instructions concerning survivors of the Lugae Laboratory disaster. And these people, they were none other than Gothic Works.
Post by Tiago James Squalor on Jan 13, 2017 22:23:30 GMT -5
At the same time that the Quagmires were changing and getting ready to abandon Roadkill Restaurant for their new destination, a frightful new posse had entered the restaurant to investigate. They were all dressed in their characteristic black, each woman with a roman numeral number embroidered on her clothes, their corresponding male partners with matching arabic numbers. They walked in in two rows of three, or three rows of two, depending on which direction you saw them from. What happens in this chapter is the fruit of thorough research, a few certain well-placed bribes, and a dinner date with a particular employee of the restaurant and a bottle of Vino Veritas. Nothing unseemly, just the sort of mishaps I go through when compiling the troubled history of the Quagmire case.
“I’m sorry, do you have reservations? I’m afraid we’re having some difficulties at the moment”, Sookie, the hostess, asked one of the people who had just walked in and in her ignorance, assumed to be new guests.
“We are not here to eat. But you can help us. Please inform us if you have seen these two individuals. They are quite dangerous and we have been assigned to track them down.” The shortest woman said. Embroidered on her lapel was the number VI, as in, Six. “Did they have a reservation? What was their names? We might be able to find it. But I’d like to see some identification first. Are you with the police? I’m afraid we don’t have a police station nearby, which is why I ask.”
At this point a very disheveled and nervous Valentina approached the odd party and her employee. “Now now Sookie. We don’t want to offend our guests. What are the house rules again, girl?” Sookie flushed red in a second. “Don’t talk to guests. Don’t ask questions. Among others. I’m sorry, Miss Valentina, but with all the commotion-“
“It’s fine, girl. Beat it, or you’ll be sorry.” Valentina whispered to the poor girl who rushed out of the ballroom in tears. “Annoying. Makes one think why you put up with it when you could have been one of us right?” said the man with an embroidered 06 on his lapel. He was smug and oozed ill-intent, Valentina later stated.
“Really, Agresta. Someone with your talents, posted in such a dreary locale. Makes one wonder why. Now, tell us, where are Twelve and Twelve?” The blonde woman wearing an eyepatch voiced raspidly. Her voice betrayed an ill temper, not that you’d need to hear her voice to know the temper. On her left sleeve, the number IX was embroidered in bright scarlet thread.
“I don’t see what you’re doing here. I’ve been busy throwing this party together for a famous food critic from the Punctilio, but it has been a complete disaster, and now you have the nerve of showing yourselves here. In full gear. In front of civillians. What are they thinking?” Valentina was very distressed. She did not expect to have to deal with GW that night. Or any night since her assignment had been made clear. She was not part of GW, not in any official capacity.
“Careful now. Is that dissention I detect?” The oldest man of the group asked. He had an 09 embroidered on his jacket. “I have done all I can to watch over this patch of land and make sure no one approaches the laboratory. But now it’s gone up in flames and you’re here. I don’t think things are going too well for your syndicate are they?”
“Let’s not say anything we might regret, dear Valentina.” The third woman said in a mocking tone. Everyone at the scene remembers her clearly, because no one would forget a woman who walks around with a suitcase marked EXPLOSIVES in one hand, her other hand busy twirling a grenade around by it’s pull ring. Embroidered on the back of her right hand glove was the roman numeral VII. Next to her, a blonde man wearing goggles marked with a 07 chewed on some tobacco.
“You…why are you here? You shouldn’t be here. I have done everything I’ve been asked to do. You cannot demolish my restaurant. I will not stand for it!” Valentina protested.
“Now now, Tina, calm down. I didn’t come here explicitly to blow this joint up, which I can, and could, if I wanted to, just to see it light up the night with a nice show of fireworks for you and your guests. Maybe anyone would like to join?” Dahlia Wincheste Gothic Works Rank VII, then crouched and laid her suitcase of explosives on the floor and input a code on the lock, opening it. Removing one stick of dynamite with a timer. “I have all sorts of fun toys in this case here. You’d think after the Laboratory I’d be put off by explosions, but not really. It only had made me want to find more things to destroy.”
“There’s no one quite so adept at it other than you, Seven,” Said Albion Reinhold, Gothic Works Rank 09. “True. I can wreak havoc with my harpoon gun but Seven here can really put on a show.” Agreed Gothic Works Rank IX, Leona Reinhold. “Enough of this banter.” Interrupted Gothic Works Rank VI, Ferfei Von Ostermann. “Where are the Twelves? I grow weary of your retorts and avoidant tactics. You will respond appropriately or we will extract our answers. One way or another.” Valentina Agresta did not falter or betray herself. “If you want to destroy this place be my guest. But after it’s burned down to the ground, you will no longer have my cooperation. My contact network will close to you once I’m gone. Don’t be so reckless as to dispose of me carelessly.” “Quite right.” Dahlia crouched again and stored her dynamite back in the case. She stood upright, playing with her “BOOM!” necklace sheepishly. “You’ve made your point. Now stop beating around the bush. Where are the Twelves? Ranks one through Five are dying at the prospect of reuniting with our dear Twelves.”
“One through five? Either they are still all alive or you’re all bluffing. If so, you could be nothing more than a splinter cell.” Splinter cell is a term which here means “faction of a bigger crime syndicate left after the top eschelon has been snuffed out in an unforeseen disaster.”. Valentina was astute to bring it up, and this amused the Gothic Works agents in the ballroom. They shared meaningful, gleeful glances of dark delight, as if they, and only they were privy to a particularly nasty tidbit of information. Which, as it happens, they were. “I don’t know if you noticed that we haven’t killed any of your guests. Or employees. Yet. Perhaps it’s time we change that.” Saying this, Gothic Works Rank IX, Leona Reinhold, primed her harpoon gun, and closed her remaining eye and aiming at the crowd. Several shrieks, a sharp twang of string, the swirling windy sound of flying rope, a sickly sound of something very sharp and deadly, like a harpoon, going straight through something very soft and alive, like a big fat man on a night out with his wife, who fainted after shrieking in horror. “It’s been a while. Thank you for giving me an opportunity to do this again!”
At this point, dear reader, you are probably asking yourself “Whatever is happening to the Quagmires? Where are, in actual fact, the Baudelaires? What happened to Beatrice? Does this turtleneck make me look fat? And what about Jill, Cindry and Cid?” And these are perfectly valid and worthwhile questions to ask at this point of the story.
After all the chaos at the restaurant, the Quagmires were ready to jump ship – an expression which here means to “abandon this source of employment for the wilderness, heading toward a dreary region where a certain gym was located, and where, I am sorry to say, the Quagmires only found more disappointment, disaster, and despair-inducing dismay. If you were expecting some sort of major confrontation with the villains of this story, I am also sorry to report that this did not happen here either. As the Gothic Works in the ballroom argued with a less and less sure of herself Valentina Agresta, who had been unkowingly consuming Vino Veritas all night and was just now starting to feel it’s effects, the Quagmires had already made their final preparations and sneaked outside, but not before leaving a note for Sookie, who had so kindly helped them about the restaurant before, and who they thought they’d never see again.
As such, Quigley, Duncan and Isadora Quagmire had already left the disgraced and disgraceful restaurant, and had entered the woods which according to Quigley’s map would lead them to the Chaotic Crossing, where they would turn northeast and head up through a few miles on the Haughty Highway, to finally find Gloomy Grove, where they would turn right and arrive at the next stop in this tale of most unfortunate events. You see, it never occurred to Quigley, Isadora and Duncan that the Restaurant would no longer be there the next morning, or that Valentina Agresta would go missing, or that they hadn’t been the only ones headed to Glass Gymnastics. Nor would it occur to the Quagmires to turn left where they were supposed to turn right, to find the Casanova’s car, upturned at the bottom of a deep ditch, covered in tree branches, but no sign of the Casanovas anywhere.
No, my dear reader. It did not occur to Quagmires to change their minds, because Fate had already decide the location of the next chapter in their woeful search for the Baudelaires. Nor could they expect the repercutions of the restaurant’s events in the whole of shadowy conspiracy they lived in.
It had been almost a day, and the Quagmires were near their destination. A lot of things went unsaid during their hike through the wilderness. Gloomy Grove was a road adorned by ancient hemlock trees. The night’s chilly air still lingered as the first faint rains of sunlight broke through the grey clouds, only to be smothered once again by oncoming sleet.
It was all they could do but to keep going for the promise of more information on Violet and Nemo’s whereabouts. When they saw the grey building emerge form the mist, bright neon lights spelling out GLASS GYN. The M was still broken.
“Ready?” Quigley Quagmire asked as he reached for the doorbell.
“I don’t know. I just get the distinct impression that something terrible happened last night but I don’t know what could have been.” Duncan looked back. They were badly positioned to see the rising column of smoke from where the Restaurant once stood.
“Me too. I feel like there will be consequences to what happened last night. But it’s no use fretting about it now. Our time there wasn’t a waste at least. In here, we’ll find some answers, at last. I can feel it.” Isadora said confidently as she stared through the rusty iron gate. At last, the Quagmire triplets, as confidently as they could muster, put aside their fears and rang the doorbell.
- - - - -
If you have read The Ravenous Restaurant, I hereby grant you the title of
A welcome return, Tiago, and welcome closure to this story. I'll admit that my grasp on the plot has weakened a little in the intervening couple of years, but I am struck by how publicly Gothic Works has become willing to intervene and act, and how perilous a state of tension the Casanova family has been plunged into... With so many people at each other's throats, it's a wonder the Quagmires have been able to slip away yet again. The finale is a little short, but TCC Chapter Thirteen does rather remind us that not all stories can fit the thirteen-chapter structure completely to perfection, and I imagine you're keen to get onto the next book, too. We've finally cleared the midway point of the series! Good show.
tk: hey i actually did leave 667 bookmarks in ASOUE books in bookshops! man i forgot about that. good times.
May 14, 2020 19:38:03 GMT -5
Jean Lúcio: If there was a flow capacitor, I would sign up here long before ... That must have been incredible.
May 14, 2020 21:06:05 GMT -5
Terry Craig: holy salsa, tk, you legend. I've never heard of the flyers thing as part of 667 history.
May 15, 2020 15:33:18 GMT -5
tk: lol i myself forgot about it, it's been so long -- must've done that when i first joined around 2009/2010
May 16, 2020 11:34:49 GMT -5
Stay-at-homet: Just updated my profile to express my hopes that everyone stays home and safe. I tried to give my avatar a mask, but it ended up looking more like Patrick from Spongebob in overalls.
May 17, 2020 8:08:16 GMT -5
Jean Lúcio: It was great for me. I also put a mask on my Avatar.
May 17, 2020 13:16:31 GMT -5
Jean Lúcio: Why didn't anyone warn me that I had a translation error in the title of my fanfic?
May 28, 2020 14:55:55 GMT -5
Jean Lúcio: It should be Silence Knot, not silent Knot ...
May 28, 2020 14:56:58 GMT -5
Jean Lúcio: Thanks to everyone who read my Fanfic Untie My Silence Knot. I finally finished it.
May 29, 2020 0:17:17 GMT -5
Sherry Ann: Jean Lucio, I thought the title of the TBL sonnet was "My Silent Knot" for years. It sounds more natural than having those two nouns together. And congratulations on finishing your fanfic!
May 29, 2020 8:55:27 GMT -5
Jean Lúcio: Thanks! Creating this fanfic at this moment stirred many of my feelings, and I believe that this fanfic reflected my state of mind at this time.
May 29, 2020 9:48:21 GMT -5