Journal the First

[theabjectauthor]

[the lobby door creaks open a few inches, just enough for a man in a fedora to poke his head in carefully. his eyes widen, and he ducks back out and shuts the door. from without, there's a muffled yet still pretty pronounced shout:]

O, LORD.

[with that, the door opens again, all the way, this time, and he shuffles in, shutting it quickly behind him and clutching a worn leather messenger bag to his chest as though his very life depended on it. his pinstripe suit is slightly rumpled and spotted here and there with ash, and there's a thick scarf wound around his neck. he moves carefully away from the door, eyes wide as he takes in his surroundings]

... I certainly think I'd remember this being on the map.

[and with that, he sits down on one of the lobby couches and starts going through his bag - getting more and more distraught the longer he rummages. clearly, whatever he's looking for isn't there...]

Comments

[onlyanapple]

[Crowley's just lounging around in the lobby, when...oh. Oh he remembers this guy! The demon grins, sauntering over to lean on the back of the couch, inches from Lemony's head]

Neurotic Guy! You came back.

[theabjectauthor]

[rather predictably, he jumps about a mile off the couch cushions and drops the bag, odds and ends - a phrase which here means a tin of lemon drops, several fancy pens, a loose accordion key, a stray scrap of wood with a tag tied to it, and the bottle cap from a bottle of parsley soda - spilling out onto the floor]

AAAH! [pant. pant.] Sir, I beg your pardon, but it's quite rude to sneak up on people. Didn't your parental figure of choice and or circumstance ever tell you that?

[onlyanapple]

[Crowley chuckles. That was fun. He missed doing that, and it seems there's no recognition here on Lemony's part. Even better]

I'm sure He might have mentioned it once or twice, but I was never one to listen to Him.

[He'll continue to lounge against the couch, the smirk still on his face. Then, very deliberately, he'll give a slow wave. This part will be even MORE fun]

Hello, Lemony

[theabjectauthor]

[and you thought his eyes couldn't get any wider, sir. YOU WERE MISTAKEN. he sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiides slowly to the far end of the couch, reaching down to try and retrieve his briefcase at the same time. oh no. oh, no. this is - he's with Them, never mind that They were right on his heels right before he arrived, there was someone else with Them, THIS Someone Else, and now he's HERE and he himself, Lemony Snicket, is somewhat doomed if he can't figure out a way to escape.

thankfully, there are numerous doors and staircases in sight, and he got an A- in Stalling that one year]

... Are you who I think you are?

[onlyanapple]

[Crowley rolls his shoulder a little. Gosh it's been ages since he's been able to mess with someone like this. Most people are used to him by now]

That depends. Who do you think I am?

Chances are, you'll be wrong.

Action

[fuckinghateadrenaline]

[Stuart is sat on another couch in the lobby... Watching this guy.

All. The. Watching.

What the hell?]

You're new.

[theabjectauthor]

[still rummaging, Lemony jumps a little at the sound of another voice and looks up]

New? Um. Well ... yes, I suppose I am. Excuse me, sir, but what, exactly, am I new to?

[fuckinghateadrenaline]

[Blank look from over his book.]

We call it Castle Wonderfuck, but it's actually called Paradisa.

...If you've lost something, it's probably because the castle took it. It can be a right bloody bastard like that.

[theabjectauthor]

[his eyes widen, and whatever he'd moved to peer further into the bag settles back with a clatter]

SIR. While I appreciate your eagerness to assist, your language is simply reprehensible. Not only that, but I find it difficult to conceive the concept that a castle could have parentage, legitimate or otherwise.

[fuckinghateadrenaline]

[Stuart is going to like this guy.]

You took me literally, didn't you?

[nihilo]

[ Have an Alice standing over him, playing with a golden hairpin against her lips. ]

I took it.

[theabjectauthor]

You -- [he looks up and frowns, dismayed] Why would you do such a thing?

[his second thought: that is a lovely hairpin. but he'll keep that to himself for now]

[nihilo]

[ Alice smirks, gleeful, then tries to contain herself and seem more indignant than amused. ]

Because I wanted to.

[theabjectauthor]

[there's the briefest of pauses. maybe she doesn't know. maybe she was never told otherwise. it's possible. there are such people in the world. so he'll just ... politely enlighten her:]

Well ... in most circles, if you have an interest in someone else's possessions, it is considered polite to ask before borrowing them.

[nihilo]

[ Alice widens her eyes at him, as if all of this is very new to her. ]

Oh. Well, in that case, may I?

[persequor]

What are you looking for?

[ Nymeria pads forward to sniff the bag. ]

[theabjectauthor]

... My map of the Mortmain Mountains. [rummage. rummage. something is sniffing his bag ... probably a poodle or a laborador or -- or --

yeah, he looks, and pulls his feet up onto the couch]

O!

[persequor]

Nymeria, to me!

[ Nymeria returns, albeit begrudgingly. Arya pets her. She looks back at Lemony, entirely unaffected and unsurprised. ]

Are those mountains here?

[theabjectauthor]

Well, I was just there, so I would think they would be here. [he tilts his head and gives her an odd look. little girl with the large wolf, how do you not even know where you are?]

[persequor]

Ah. You've just come. You're not where you were.

action;

[signedlefthanded]

[Unbeknownst to her, Violet is walking through the lobby. Her hair is pulled back in a black ribbon. It is not hers, but it is one that will suffice, a phrase here which means 'will not let such a fickle thing like hair get in the way'. She's too busy with a box of metal parts, heading back to her shop.]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

[theabjectauthor]

[as Lemony's rummaging, one of his pens falls out of the bag and rolls across the floor. setting the bag down, he gets up and dutifully goes after it ...] Oh, no, come back, please. I'd rather not lose you, too...

[and he stops, just short of the young inventor, picks up his wayward pen, straightens, and looks at Violet as though he's seen a ghost - which means he resembles one a bit more than she does, himself, having gone a bit pale in the face. really, there's only one thing he can manage to make himself say: and thankfully, it's the right question for once, even if it comes out in a whispered hush:]

... Are you who I think you are?

[signedlefthanded]

[The pen falls short of reaching her, and if she didn't have an arm full of materials, Violet would gladly bend to pick it up. However when the man reaches her, she stops short.]

You were the taxi driver. [It has been years since that moment, even though only weeks had passed her back back home.]

[theabjectauthor]

[that wasn't quite the answer he was expecting, but he can tell without a doubt: between the hair ribbon, the mechanical parts, and the fact that his heart hurts a little just to look at her, she is Violet Baudelaire and the spitting image of her dear mother. confusion is the only thing keeping him from copious weeping, at this point]

Taxi driver ...? Well ... I do have a license, somewhere in my bag ...

[signedlefthanded]

[She straightens some. Violet already knows about how people can come from different times, and it's best to test this out.]

You are a very fortunate driver then, sir.