AN: Hello dearest readers. And new arrivals—and there better be lots of you or no coal in your stockings! I is back again for another installment of TPTDUA. :D

Here we go again…another SHORT chapter.

And a special thank-you to Doug, not only for two reviews, but for constructive criticism, which I can always use.

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Chapter Three

Here is a random sentence in which insert code for VFD here. Dramatic, no? (raises one eyebrow) NOTHING SECRET IS GOING ON. ?ff uoy ssip siht t'nseoD .gnirorrim erom tey dnA

The Baudelaires walked into the enormous NOT-QUIET hotel lobby, not knowing exactly what to do, though they did have instructions.

"Waddawedo?" Sunny asked, but she certainly wasn't whining, because we all know babies, such as Sunny, do not whine. Ever. Or have tantrums. You get the point.

Numbers were everywhere, 101, 118, 152, 123, 131, etc. The Baudelaires were bewildered, and when Sunny mentioned something about finding the volunteer or his TRIPLET (cough) twin brother, they were lucky when a tall, skinny, very odd-looking man came over, either trying to murder them or assist them, had he known who they were. "Frank or Ernest?" Violet asked, saying something that would certainly not help.

"Yep," the man said, also not helping. "Anyway, howdy ho. Here's how to work the numbers, concierges. Oh wait, I can't tell you." He looked down. "You are very short. There's nothing unusual about that, though, especially considering that absolutely nobody is here in disguise." He laughed and the Baudelaires nodded. He gave them an UNFATHOMABLE look. "First, you must do everything for the guests, even stupid things, like getting an evil villain a harpoon gun that will—"

He was interrupted by the sound of a person far away. "You idiot! Don't tell them that!" They realized that it was the studio audience. They chose to ignore them and continue.

"By the way, I have to leave so my TRIPLET (cough) twin brother can come and make you even more anxious."

The Baudelaires looked at each other. People seemed to talk a lot 'round these parts. They discussed about the mysterious Frernest and were interrupted by a man identical to the one before. "Hello, concierges. Now—"

At the perfectly wrong time, a bellgirl appeared to make the Bauds nervous. "Here's the DAILY PUNCTILIO," she said in a cold voice, hinting nothing whatsoever, because who ever heard of that?

"Look at that, Baude—er, concierges. Baudelaire murderers again. What do you think of that?" he said UNFATHOMABLY.

"Hmmm," the Bauds said in unison, also UNFATHOMABLY.

UNFATHOMABLE is now being quite overused, but we choose to ignore this. "Now I must make my leave, so my TRIPLET (cough) twin brother can come back and confuse you even more, and maybe perhaps sorta kinda not really give you a code that you can't understand."

He promptly did so, not noticing each other as they made a quick switch, because hey, that would ruin the story, man. Oh wait, the Baudelaires had to "discuss." Sorry. Rewind. And, there. Good.

"He was Frank!"

"Ernest!"

"Frank!"

"Ernest!"

"Shaddap!" Sunny shrieked at her siblings. "Gohdammet." She crawled into a ball and sucked her thumb, cueing Frank—I mean Ernest—I mean—ah man.

"What do you mean by 'Gohdammet?'" the attendant said, returning suddenly.

"SHOW US HOW IT WORKS AND STOP MESSING AROUND, GODDAMNIT!" Sunny said from her spot on the floor.

The three elders stared at her and each raised their eyebrows. "She can talk!" Violet said, and raised Sunny up by her legs. "It's a miracle!" She and Klaus briefly danced, still holding her up by her legs, then put her down, Sunny very annoyed.

"Anyway," Frernest said casually, "here's how it works. It's set up in the Dewey Decimal System, and—the first floor is 101-199, and for—"

He continued. The author didn't want to write what he said. Lalalala, dedadum, shoobop baby.

Ahem. Anyway. "So, what would be here?" he said, pointing to a very badly-made diagram, out of breath.

"Well," Violet said, "x over y is the same as 7 over 2 ½ divided by the number of strands of hair on a hippo's toe, so maybe…243, 764?"

"No," Frnernest said impatiently, wiping his brow. "It's par on a mini golf course in San Francisco divided by—BAUDELAIRES ARE YOU IN DISGUISE CUZ I HAV LIKE GOT TO KNOW MAN AND UH EVEN THOUGH THIS IS IN CODE I COULD BE EITHER FRANK OR ERNEST PLEASE RESPOND EVEN IF THIS MAKES IT MORE CONFUSING FOR YOU—the number of 23.77662. Got it? Great."

"Wait," Klaus paused. "Did you say 'Great?' Cuz I sorta missed that part."

Frernest paused, as if the middle Baudelaire had given him the wrong answer. "Now split up and be off with you! I'll just follow after my enemy—er, friend—associate—unknown person Kit and drink lemonade!" He frolicked and the audience sighed.

"Go," Violet said. "We'll meet whenever we feel like it," she said gruffly and stomped away.

"Kay," Sunny said at Violet's mood swing. "I'm not scared cuz I'm a big girl." She puffed her chest.

"Gaga," Klaus said, tugging at Sunny's dress.

"Klaus," Sunny said in a suddenly stern, deep tone, "Just remember the hotel is like a library and nothing bad can happen in a library."

"Yuh-huh," Klaus said in a very grown-up manner. Sunny kicked him off her leg and pointed in the direction of the elevator. He obeyed.

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