Chapter 4, The Most Awkward Dinner Party in History

Disclaimer: You get the idea.

A/N: This chapter was insanely fun to write, you can't believe. Just the dynamic of so many characters together in one uncomfortable setting...oh, it was a grand time. I shan't detain you further, you may read on.

"A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down! The medicine go down! The medicine go down! Just a spoonful of sugar—"

"Will you stop singing that infernal song!" Olaf tossed a candlestick at his singing associate, Flo the white-faced woman.

"Sorry, the song just reminds me of that peculiar woman we met the other day!" Flo paused in her polishing of Kit's silver, "What was her name—Alice, I think."

Olaf gritted his teeth and hissed the words through his lips, "What. Did. I. Say. About. Mentioning them?!"

Flo stared at Olaf, threw down the polishing leather, and left the lounge.

"I have a pack of loons for henchmen, that's all they are." Olaf grumbled to himself as he tossed another log on the crackling fire, "That'll all change though. That'll all change."

"It's a big place."

"Ours is bigger."

"As you say, darling."

"I know."

Lucy didn't pay much mind to the arguing of her parents, as they stood in the shadow of the house. It was grand, certainly, with four towers—one at each corner—grand ramparts on the top, and bay windows.

"Good heavens, no!"

"Yes, dear?" Father Blackwoodshire looked at his wife.

"The skank has a statue garden!" she looked aghast, staring in horror at the walled off area to the side of the estate, where frostbitten figures stood in various artistic poses.

"We don't have a statue garden!"

"But we shall get one, dear."

Lucy sighed inwardly. She knew what this meant. Once they got home, she'd have to take up sculpting.

The doors were finally opened by a little hunchbacked man in a black cowl. He stared at them all for a few moments before crumpling to his knees.

"The guests to see Madam Snicket! By all means, come in, come in."

For some reason, Lucy noted, the little man did not sound very enthusiastic. It must have come from being a servant. Heck, Lucy was a servant in her own household. She supposed there was some bitterness to be felt.

As they were led into the house, Lucy heard Mother Blackwoodshire whispering heatedly to her husband, "The sniveling woman's employed some sort of—monkey man!"

Lucy—and the hunchback—both turned to look at her.

"What are you two looking at?" Mother Blackwoodshire said, "On we go!"

They went further into the house, past grand colonnades and gilded balconies. There were portraits of past Snickets hung on the walls, similar to the ones that were displayed in the Snicket Palace in Dirty Bastard.

Lucy was awed by everything from the crystal chandeliers to the velveteen carpets. The wooden panelings looked to have been recently polished, and the floors were equally scrubbed.

"Does she employ many staff?" Mother Blackwoodshire asked, not dignifying Kit Snicket's name with an honorific.

"No, mam. Just me and two others."

"There are many guests?"

"You are the first to arrive, except the boarders that Madam Snicket is keeping."

"Boarders?"

"The Count Olaf and his troupe of actors."

"Count Olaf?"

Lucy had never heard the name mentioned at home before, but it caused her parents to exchange significant looks.

Said Father Blackwoodshire: "What business does the Count have here?"

"He is an honored guests of my lady." said the servant in a rather strained voice.

He left it at that, and they were led into a dim-looking parlor. A fire was crackling in the hearth, and the chintz armchairs and couches looked very inviting after their long drive.

Sitting in the chair nearest to the fire was an elegant woman in a black gown, which did little to hide her pregnancy.

"Oh, Lord Blackwoodshire." she rose and did a little bow.

Mother Blackwoodshire looked affronted at not being addressed first, and cleared her throat significantly.

"And his wife as well."

She didn't sound very happy. Why were they here if everyone seemed to hate each other?

"We are still waiting on some other guests. In the meantime, the troupe of actors who stay here have volunteered to perform a bit of Shakespeare.

"Shakes!" exclaimed Father Blackwoodshire suddenly causing them all to jump and the servant to drop the tea tray he was bringing in.

"Pardon?" said Madam Snicket, raising her eyebrow.

"Nothing." Father Blackwoodshire went over to the tray and bent down, "I'll help clean up."

"You are very kind."

But Madam Snicket didn't sound very grateful. Grating was a better word, perhaps.

A bell rang. They all turned around just in time to see a little stage at the end of the room be lit up, and the curtain to rise.

The set was done up simply. With some wooden chairs and a table.

Two men—well, one of them was a man. The other looked vaguely unisex—were sitting at the table, both dressed in chain mail that looked to have been hewn of paperclips.

"Hark!" said the skinnier one, a man with gloves on over something that didn't look like hands.

"And liege-men to the Dane!" replied the unisex one in a booming voice.

"A Dane?" said the other.

"Aye." replied the other.

"Then eat me!"

The only one to laugh at this ridiculous parody of Hamlet was Father Blackwoodshire, eliciting a sharp glare from Mother.

Now a man even skinnier than the gloved one entered stage left. He wore a pair of black bloomers and a hat with a scarlet feather in it.

"It is I!" he said grandly, "Hamlet, Prince of Denmark!"

"I am the Dane!" said the gloved one.

'Hamlet' flourished his head grandly, showing off his unsightly uni-brow, "How goes it, Dane-mates?"

"There is a ghost." said the fat one dramatically.

"Than I will speak to it!"

"The man can't act." Mother Blackwoodshire whispered to no one in particular, "Besides, Hamlet's not supposed to be in the first scene."

"Hecklers!" 'Hamlet' roared, "Who dares insult my production?"

"I did." said Mother Blackwoodshire.

"I'll kill you!"

He jumped off the stage and proceeded to trip over his breeches. Mother Blackwoodshire laughed loudly. Father Blackwoodshire grimaced. The servant rolled onto his back for no apparent reason. Only Madam Snicket seemed remotely concerned in the well-being of the injured man, and went to him, calling, "Hugo, fetch a cold compress!"

The servant—who must have been Hugo—bowed and scurried away, as a pudgy woman done up in white power and an equally white sheet entered stage right, moaning.

"It is I!" she said, "The ghost of the very sexy Hamlet's father! Fear me! Word to your mother! WOOO!"

"Shut up, you cow!" screamed 'Hamlet' from the floor, "The show's canceled!"

"Sorry."

"This is where we sent her?"

"Yes. I believe you selected this estate particularly, Lemony."

"I don't recall issuing a statue garden?"

"You didn't."

"Well make a note: We need a statue garden back home."

Madame Anwhistle sighed. She was getting very quickly fed up with her employer. As a matter of fact, if it weren't for all the rich opportunities this trip offered, she would have refused to come.

"Do you have my skates?" Lemony asked, suddenly sounding worried.

"The pilots are bringing them in with the rest of the luggage."

Lemony breathed a deep sigh, "Oh, good. I thought for a moment that we were lost—'Skates' is a word which here means, 'A pair of shoes with dangerous blades attached to them that can be used for hours of enjoyment walking in the ice and slicing up people who offend you."

The doors were opened by a man that quite scared them all. He was middle-aged and wore a tailored sports coat with eight sleeves, to accommodate his eight arms. The sight of him made Madame Anwhistle cringe, and caused Lemony to screech in undiluted terror.

"Sweet bejesus and Mark Twain!"

The man looked offended at being responded to this way, and said, "Welcome to the manor of Kit Snicket. Your names."

Lemony, forgetting for a moment that he was scared, said, "Ahem! I am the Snicket of Snicket Land and this is my lowly secretary."

The man eyed Madam Anwhistle, who shrank back suspiciously.

"Oh, hello lowly secretary!" he smirked.

Madam Anwhistle tutted and let herself be led into the house while Lemony trailed behind, looking offended at being ignored.

"The other guests are congregating in the parlor." the servant said, reaching his fourth and second arms to stroke Madam Anwhistle's back. She swatted him away without blinking.

"My name's Kevin. What's yours toots?"

"Josephine." she replied, "You may call me Madame Anwhistle."

"Okay, Madam Anwhistle." Kevin winked in a way that Madame Anwhistle found absolutely repulsive.

They entered the parlor, where they were met with a picture of pure chaos. The Lord and Lady Blackwoodshire were arguing very loudly. A young lady was helping a hunchbacked servant clean some smashed china. A man Madame Anwhistle recognized as her past student Count Olaf was sitting in a chair, holding an ice pack to his head.

Kit Snicket was in the midst of this, staring at them. Of course, they were unexpected guests.

"Lemony?"

Everyone looked up.

"What are you doing here?"

"You are to address me as 'Your Snicketness, you worthless dung." said Lemony, not seeming to realize how stupid he sounded talking like that.

"Ah, dearest sister Kat—"

"Her name is Kit!" Madame Anwhistle hissed in his ear.

"Yes, Kit. How incredulous to see you again. 'Incredulous' is a word which here means—"

"What are you two doing here?"

"You must forgive me, Kit dearest." Madam Anwhistle said, removing her traveling cloak with a flourish, "I heard of the invitation and simply couldn't resist an urge to call on my star student. You were the finest Head Girl ever to attend ZYK Academy."

Lemony flinched a bit at hearing mention of ZYK. He had long ago forbidden mention of the secret organization, shortly after he had taken power. Then again, Madame Anwhistle had been headzykstress at the school there. She merited talking about it.

"Josephine," Mother Blackwoodshire said, as if just noticing she was there, "I didn't expect you to come calling. I was under the impression that—"

"I don't think a little extra company will hamper things any more for you." Madam Anwhistle tossed her cloak to Kevin who caught it, kissed it, and hurried away with it.

"Is there anything to drink, Kit dear? I'm simply parched!"

"Hugo go set some tea."

"Coming!" screeched the hunchbacked servant, getting up and sprinting out of the room.

"I must say, Kit. The house looks lovely. You are making the most of your exile."

"I want to go skating!" said Lemony sharply.

"It's eight o'clock in the evening, Lemony." Madame Anwhistle said, "Save it for tomorrow."

"Hm." Lemony went over and sat in a chair, evidently not noticing that he was in Olaf's lap.

"Get off me, you bureaucratic fool!" he said, pushing the monarch off of him and onto the floor.

"INSOLENCE!" roared Lemony, rearing himself up to full height, "KNAVISH FOOL! YOU ARE HENCEFORTH SENTENCED TO SUPREME EXECUTION—"

"Give it a rest, Lemony." said Madame Anwhistle, "Don't you recognize your old school mate? It's Olaf, Kit's old squeeze!" she looked at Kit and winked, not very kindly, "Or should I say, 'new squeeze'?"

"Please say nothing." Kit replied, also rather unkindly, "Oh, here comes Hugo with the tea."

Indeed, the hunchback was just tottering in with a new tea tray. The young girl got up, "Oh, let me help you!"

"Sit down!" snapped Lady Blackwoodshire.

The girl sat down so quickly that she fell onto the floor.

"Who is this darling child?" Madame Anwhistle asked.

"That is Lucy." said Lady Blackwoodshire indifferently.

"Our daughter." Lord Blackwoodshire said, lighting his pipe.

"She is very darling."

The girl smiled sweetly and did a simple curtsey. Madame Anwhistle nodded. Simple child. Very humble for the daughter of two loudmouth aristocrats.

They sipped tea in silence for some time, before Madame Anwhistle asked, "Will there be any more guests, Kit?"

"Yes." she replied, "Just two more."

This seemed to cause a stir of surprise among a few people in the room. Surprisingly, none of the guests were shocked at all. Well, why would they be? Madame Anwhistle was sure they had all read the guest list. She had, at least.

"Who else is coming?" asked Olaf, "Must we have any more surprises?"

"Ooo, surprise guests!" Madame Anwhistle simpered, "How very novel." This could play to her advantage.

"Dewey Plot Twist is coming."

"WHAT?" Olaf threw his teacup across the room, where it struck Hugo square on the head, "What the hell is this?"

"It is a courtesy." Kit said, "He is really a very pleasant man."

Madame Anwhistle noticed Kit look at Lemony. As she must have expected, the ruler of Snicket Land was quite flared up.

"HOW DARE YOU INVITE THAT SCUM, YOU WORTHLESS GIRL?! HE IS A MURDERER!HE HAS STOLEN GREAT KNOWLEDGE! 'KNOWLEDGE' IS A WORD WHICH HERE MEANS—"

"Oh, stow it Lemony!" Madame Anwhistle said, not able to express her joy, "This is too much! That old Chamber Pot scandal is years ago. It might not even exist."

Madame Anwhistle knew this was not true. She also knew that Lemony had had a vendetta against Dewey Plot Twist from the day the original ZYK headquarters was destroyed by Olaf. Dewey had stolen the most confidential of the confidential archives and hidden them in a chamber pot. This pot had been lost soon after, and then recovered by Dewey years later. Lemony had wanted it back. Such power was not fit for the hands of common men and criminals, he had said. Only the men in power could control such knowledge.

Lemony had sat down, and was now breathing deeply in and out of his nose. Madame Anwhistle tittered. He was so very simple!

"We're here."

Dewey landed on the front porch of the house, Esme in his arms.

"Are you really sure about this?" she said, "I don't want you to do anything stupid."

"Esme, Kit wants to make peace. You read her letter."

"Yes, and it is very easy to lie in a letter!"

"Esme, I am the father of her child."

"Don't start with that!"

"She probably wants to execute child support fees."

"Oh, please! You are an outlaw! She's probably trying to frame you or something—"

"You're being foolish, Esme."

"Don't tell me I'm being foolish! You ought to—"

The doors opened now, scaring both of them. In the doorway stood a shapely woman in a colorful leotard.

"Hello. I am Dewey Plot Twist, and this is Esme Squalor. We're guests at the party."

"Oh, like, of course!" the girl gushed, "Follow me!"

She literally pranced into the house, allowing them to follow her.

Esme knew this was a dunce's move. Nothing good could come of this, if only Dewey would listen to her. He was all she had left—Olaf had betrayed her. Olivia was gone. Carmelita—dead.

No! Steady on, dear girl. You mustn't lose control at a time like this. Stay calm until something bad happens.

They were led into the parlor, now. A group of people were gathered around on settees, armchairs, and sofas. Among them were the other two guests who had been on the list: the Lord and Lady Blackwoodshire of Snicketian Parliament. They were looking impassively off into space, the woman seemed miffed. With them was a young girl of about sixteen, who was curled up on an Ottoman, sipping awkwardly from a cup of tea.

Then there was Kit Snicket, who was sitting in an armchair, looking blank-faced as they entered. And then there were the people they hadn't expected at all. Namely, the the ruler of the country and his press secretary, alternately known as Dewey's sworn enemy and Esme's old role model. Oh, and there was Count Olaf, the man who had pretended to Esme that he loved her, only to cast her aside for a baby, and then for Kit.

Madame Anwhistle was the first to her feet, "Esme, darling! It's been too long!"

She rushed forward and lay a cold hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, and here was your kidnapper!" she beamed at Dewey, "Thank you, loyal kidnapper, for bringing our beloved Whore back to us."

Madame Anwhistle seemed to have forgotten that is was she who had spread the story of Esme being kidnapped to the world, probably so that the people would not feel cheated at losing their mascot.

"You both must sit and have tea." Madame Anwhistle went on, taking some cups from the table. She looked at Kit, "I take it that there will be no further surprises, Kit dear?"

Kit stiffly shook her head. Olaf stood up and said, "Is this some ploy, Kit? I did not ask you to bring any of these people!" he paused, then added as an afterthought, "Except the Blackwoodshires, of course."

"I didn't invite my brother, Olaf. Believe me, if I had any say, I would throw them both out into the snow."

"How droll!" chortled Madame Anwhistle, in good spirits.

"But you invited them!" he pointed at Esme and Dewey.

Dewey stood, "See here, Olaf. Kit can invite who she wants. Then again, she apparently neglected to mention that you would be here."

"I'm sure you're devastated by my presence, Plot Twist." Olaf drawled, "But what matters to me is her!" now he pointed solely at Esme, who said brazenly, "Olaf, if you'll recall, the only reason with separated was your obvious lusting after a smelly, spoiled, little one-year—"

"Swivvly!"

They all turned to the door, to see the presence that stood on the threshold. Sunny Baudelaire, clad in a corn-colored chiffon dress several sizes too big for her.

'Swivvly', by the way, means: "What the hell is this? Where did all these people come from?"

"Why is she staying here?"

Esme was out of her seat in an instant, advancing toward the baby, who snarled, "Dolby-booby-doo!" which means: "Now who invited this little ho?"

"What did you call me?" Esme spat.

"Ho!" which means, "Bring it on, you corn-swallower!"

"I don't even know what that means!"

The two women were about to come to blows when Dewey and Olaf broke them off. Esme noticed, though, that the baby didn't seem to take much comfort in Olaf's arms, preferring instead to bite them while shrieking, "Trevelyan!" which means: "Let go of me, slave master! I thought you were holding me for ransom, not throwing me in front of all your past crack ho girlfriends—"

"What a mouth that baby has!" Madame Anwhistle was enjoying this far too much, "Did you teach her that, Olaf?"

"Shut up!"

"I'd suggest dinner." said Kit coldly, "But I don't know if human food is appropriate for the present company."

"You invited them!" Olaf insisted.

"Not them!" Kit pointed at Dewey, "Them!" she pointed at Lemony.

"I only came to skate!" he yelled.

"Oh, just come on!" Kit hurried out, "Dinner will be cold, anyway."

Dinner was a lukewarm affair. Kit sat at the head of the table, with Olaf on her left and Lemony on her right.

Sunny was next to Olaf, with four odd people—apparently Olaf's associates—lined up next to her. Madame Anwhistle sat next to Lemony and Dewey and Esme were next to her, with the Blackwoodshires and Lucy bringing up the rear.

They went through the—congealed—soup course very slowly. At one point, the enormous associate of Olaf's began to choke on its meal and had to be patted on the back.

"I find some lemon rind usually sweetens the broth." said Madame Anwhistle, who alone was enjoying the food.

Then, during the fish—Swervy Salmon filets—Lady Blackwoodshire got up and and said, "I've had quite enough! I'm leaving!"

"Don't leave!" Olaf roared, slamming his fist down on the table.

"I don't have to listen to you! You—you—ugly man!"

"I must say she's got that one head-on." remarked Esme.

"Oh!" Olaf looked at her, "Well if it isn't Miss Bighead! Care to tell us what it's like in Bighead World? Are you queen there? I bet you are! What's it like to be Queen of the Bigheads, hm?"

"Olaf, just shut up and enjoy your meal." Kit said, rubbing her temples.

The Blackwoodshires ended up staying. The meat course was served—short ribs with homemade glaze—and they dug in.

"Well, this meat certainly looks—interesting." Lemony was prodding his share of ribs with his fork.

"Its' normal pork, Lemony." Kit sighed, "Have you a problem with that?"

"Well, you see, if I act frivolous, things like this could well be taken as an attempt to poison me, something which I don't want to happen."

"I assure you Lemony," Kit spoke through gritted teeth, "That as much as I would like to poison you, that meat is clean."

"SO YOU SAY!" Lemony stood up, through his plate against the wall, and left.

"He's in a mood, today, I'm afraid." said Madame Anwhistle, "Though I must say, this glaze could do with a bit of work."

"I'm sorry my cooking doesn't please you." Kit said, "Would you like, perhaps, to make it yourself."

"Really," Lucy spoke up timidly, "Can't we all just get along?"

Everyone looked at her.

The skinny white-faced woman—Flo, apparently—got to her feet and went into the kitchen, complaining of nausea.

Dessert was a chocolate flambe that had been artfully prepared by Collete—the female servant—and Hugo.

"Delightful." Madame Anwhistle simply couldn't get enough of her meal.

Sunny, who had been silent throughout the whole affair, finally said, "Be in my room."

She slid out of her chair and tottered away.

"Oh she can speak in sentences, now?" Esme remarked, "She's learning. Where did you find her, Olaf? Are her siblings dead, yet?"

Lucy peeped, "Please, let's not talk of such things—"

Esme went on, "Have you murdered her siblings like you murdered her parents? Have you inherited the fortune yet? Well, I suppose you haven't, considering that you're still living with Missy Exiled, over here."

"I will not be talked to like that in my own house!" Kit fumed.

"Considering the way I've been treated—"

"Esme, don't do this." Dewey muttered.

"Oh, I will do it!" Esme stood up and went over to Kit, "Why did you invite us here? For a bit of dalliance with Dewey, hm? Or maybe to turn us all against each other, you're so very good at that."

"I don't think you're in any position to—"

"Don't tell me what I'm in a position to do!"

"Temper, girls! Temper!" Madame Anwhistle said, still eating.

"I'm going to bed." said Lucy getting up.

"STAY HERE!" everyone spat.

This evolved into a full out shouting match, in which everyone vied for a moment to scream the loudest. Lady Blackwoodshire took pains to insult the house, the staff, and Kit; Madame Anwhistle was attempting—very carelessly—to quiet everyone down; Flo returned from her vomiting spell and began to yell about what was going on; Fernald and Enya—the hook-handed man and the man/woman respectively—were arguing with each other about the placement of the tableware.

All in all, is was outright confusion in the dining room.

Things would only get worse as the weekend progressed.

Sunny had retreated to her room, where she sank onto the bed {after taking ten minutes to reach it} and burst into tears.

She bawled and bawled and bawled. She thought of all she had lost. Her family, her friends {if she could call those Quags her friends}, and more importantly, her dignity.

She smoothed out the creases of her shift and looked in the old cracked mirror that hung over the dresser.

She screeched at it, hoping it would work:

"SLAVE IN MAGIC MIRROR! COME FROM FARTHEST SPACE! THROUGH GAS AND ESTRUS I SUMMON YE-SHOW ME A PLACE!"

It was a chant she had worked ages to memorize. She hoped it would work.

It did.

Through the grime that coated the glass, Isadora Qaugmire appeared, looking down at something she held in her hands. Something Sunny knew to be her compact mirror.

"Holy smokes!" were the first words out of her mouth. She turned 'off-screen' to cry, "Chubs, Duncan! Sunny learned how to use the eternity spell!"

"That old bit of Deus ex Machina?" came Chubs' voice, "I thought we were well rid of it."

"Come over here, both of you! It's Sunny!"

Soon enough, it was Chubs' face in the mirror, beaming all gummily at his sister.

"Why, Sunny, bless my soul! I was beginning to think I'd never seen you again! Where are you?"

"Dirty house!"

"Oh, the chateau. We suspected as much."

"We knew as much," came Duncan's voice, "Olaf spelled it all out."

"Silence!" barked Chubs, "Sunny, are you being held in some sort of nasty place?"

"Smelly bed."

"Oh. What is the best way to get to Mount Fickle Nickle from the northwest bank of the Swervy Stream?"

Sunny smiled knowingly and clapped her hands, causing a detailed list of directions to appear on the mirror.

"How did you do that?" asked Chubs in sheer amazement.

"Deus ex Machina!" said Sunny in her proudest voice.

"We'll see you soon, Sunny!" said Isadora, "But we have to go now. We should be there by..."

She studied the estimated arrival time on the head of the map.

"Two AM."

With that, the transmission ended, with Sunny just remembering one very niggling detail.

"Where Vi...?"

But it was too late. The mirror now showed nothing but Sunny's frustrated features.

Sighing dejectedly, Sunny lowered her head on the pillow, and went to sleep.

Lucy stared at the spinning suds and articles of clothing going through the wash cycle.

She had been commanded by Mother Blackwoodshire to 'go and do the washing' while they conducted some sort of clandestine chat. Of course, the clothes had already been washed by Lucy before they had set out from Cattlebury, but Lucy hadn't wanted to mention that.

She reached into the breast pocket of her mousey cardigan and pulled out a faded photograph.

It was of Lucy, when she was a mere infant. She was flanked by her parents. It was the only photo she had of them. In the picture, her mother Laura was wearing a loud lavender shawl and her father George was peering skeptically through his slightly smudged spectacles.

Lucy sighed and tucked the photograph away again. Suddenly, with a great groan, the washer stopped dead.

Now it was Lucy's turn to give a great groan as she stood up to examine the dodgy old contraption.

"'Allo love."

Lucy screamed her head off and promptly fainted, without once turning around to see who was talking to her.

A DREAM IS A DREAM: INSIDE THE SLUMBEROUS SUBCONSCIOUS OF ONE LUCILLE TENCH

In her dream, Lucy was making pies while riding on the back of a mauve gorilla that vaguely resembled the statue at the zoo where her parents' honorary plaque was.

The gorilla spoke to her, in the voice of James Earl Jones, "Your parents are not dead."

Lucy, still getting over the fact that she had a celebrity gorilla in her dream, dumbly said, "What?"

"When we die, we become the grass, and the pigeon poos on the grass."

"What?"

"Your parents watch over you every day and beseech you, through me, to tell you something of the most grave importance."

"Okay. What is it?"

"Someday, your rinse will come."

And now, as dreams do, the whole setting changed into a swirling rinse cycle, in which Lucy was caught.

Also spinning around amidst Tide Detergent and dirty water was Count Olaf.

He said to her, "You must believe, child! You must...BELIEVE!"

Now Lucy was sucked into a void and dumped right in the middle of a flamingo stampede.

Riding one of these flamingos was Kit Snicket.

"Someday, child! SOMEDAY!" she shrieked wildly.

Lucy was just beginning to question what was in that dinner of the previous night, when music began playing and the flamingos began to circle around her expectantly.

And them, strangely, Lucy began to sing.

SOMEDAY MY PRINCE WILL COME {from 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs'}

Lucy: Someday my rise will come.

Someday we'll meet again.

And the birds will sing!

And dryer bells will ring!

Someday when my rinse...Does come.

And Lucy woke up. She was alone in the room.

And...FIN!

A/N: Hopefully, I can get chapter five up by next Friday. Even more hopefully you have enjoyed these two chapters and can't wait for more. Because, honestly enough, that's the reason I'm writing this. And also because I really adore the Baudes and the Quags. So much so, that I once accidentally called Klaus Baudelaire {I was reading the books again} 'Chubs', and was confused when they called him 'Klaus'.

Hopefully I'm not going mad with power, but either way, enjoy your week!

Update Coming {Hopefully} Next Friday!