Please do not destroy me for the lack of chapters. I WILL finish this story. I've had some pretty hard stuff come up in my life, so I'm sorry. Enjoy!

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"What do you mean, she isn't here?" snapped Lip, banging his fist on the marble counter and making the little man at the counter jump.

He had arrived to New York at six o'clock in the fucking morning, and hitchhiked from the bus station straight to the Waldorf. He had endured endless hours of sticky bus seats and coughing hobos, and many other nightmarish things of which he never wanted to talk about ever again.

And apparently, all for nothing.

"Where the hell is she?" he roared, frightening away the two Armani-clad children behind him.

The concierge gasped and whispered hysterically, "ah, sir, please calm down! Ms. Vorahnov left about three days ago."

"Where. Did. She. Go?"

The man shook his head. "Oh sir, I am afraid-" he was cut off by Lip grabbing his shirt and yanking him forward.

"I'm not your normal customer today, asshat. So get on it," he bit out, shoving the man back. He did not have time for this; he would hunt Vivette down like a fucking bloodhound, to Africa or Iraq or wherever the fuck her screwball mind had thought was a great vacation locale. He would hide away in someone's luggage on a boat if he had to.

The man - whose nametag branded as Jacque - held up a meek finger. "How do I know you are not some murderer out for her head? We have had some very famous guests here at the Waldorf, and they all depend on me to keep their location and identity hush-hush. Do you understand?"

"You're right. I could be a mass murderer."

Jacque's eyes bugged out comically.

"But I'm not," Lip finished, a smirk coming to his lips. "And I'll show you why."

He pulled out a blueberry cheesecake flavored Ring Pop package.

"You see this Ring Pop, Jacque?" He held in front of the man's bewildered face. "I had to search every-fucking-where to find one in this flavor, because on the night I met her, she served us blueberry cheesecake cream fluff in teacups." To further prove his point, he pulled out a delicate china teacup painted with tiny black wolves and held it up also. "And you see this china cup? You know how fucking hard it is to carry this delicate thing from Chicago to New York City on a Greyhound? Very fucking hard, Jacque.

"And do you know why I did it?" Lip paused, waiting for the man to give a reaction. Finally, Jacque shook his head slowly.

"Because I love her. I love her so much, that I am risking getting killed by a truck driver to hitchhike to wherever she is. Unless she's overseas, in which I'll figure something else out. And I love her so much, that I will find her."

Jacque blinked. And blinked. And blinked. Then smiled.

"Very well then. Let me look up her travel details." He turned professionally to his computer, and began typing extremely fast. Lip wondered surreally if he, too, should learn to type efficiently. He might need to, just in case Vivette need to type up something. Knowing her, she would reject the modern keyboard as some 'intrusive device which is ruining the ideals of the ancient world' or something.

He smiled wistfully.

Jacque stopped his clacking, jerking Lip out of his thought process. "Yes, I've found her. Vivette Vorahnov, correct? The girl who lived at the very top of the tower?"

Lip nodded. "That's her. Where does it say she is?" He tried leaning over the counter to see, but Jacque's body blocked his view.

"Let's see….she left New York City three days ago at the John F. Kennedy International Airport, and arrived at Chicago's O'Hare International Airport about two hours later. From there, I don't know where she booked a hotel, or even if she did. But my guesses would be…" more clacking. "Park Hyatt hotel, or the Peninsula hotel, assuming she still has her taste from her residence here."

Lip, however, had stop listening since 'Chicago'. Why would she go to Chicago…? To shop? No. To sightsee? Perhaps, but she would go somewhere more exciting. For business? Laughable idea.

He knew why she came. He knew precisely why, though he was abashed with the idea.

She had come to him. Of all the romantic notions he could think of, however, the ball was most definitely in his court at this point. So must likely, it was to give him a piece of her mind.

Lip looked back to Jacque with a renewed gleam in his eyes, like that of a mad scientist. "You say you don't know where she is?"

Jacque shook his head in sympathy.

"May I please go up into her room?" He knew it was a long shot, but he had only one shot left.

Emma, Emma of the Three, under the tree, hacked him in three. Darling, he's supposed to give me the ring!

The man worried his lip. "…Under my supervision only, for two minutes."

Lip grinned and cracked his knuckles, ready to solve the mother of riddles. "All I need."