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NOT A CHAPTER

Myster10us tr1ptych. 00h. Scary, r1ght?

Basically, you can read these in any order. Saves another twenty-page paragraph, doesn't it?

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The Long-Awaited Chapter...Four

Gleaming...Sun...Mirrors...Violet...Sunbathing...Salon...I'm good at saving paragraphs, amn't I?

So, this dude was like standing in the corner, and since V is like a volunteer, maybe she should've noticed him, but y'know, this sucks, so like, on with the story?

He had two big spatulas that were flipping people. No comment. Anyway, suddenly, and totally out of the blue, (and no one ever knew this was going to happen), all of a sudden, ehmagod, who knew it, did NOT see it coming a mile away, omfg, wth, wtf mate? ESMÉ SQUALOR. AND HER LITTLE BEBE CARMELITA.

"Gasp!" Violet said. "What a koh-ink-ee-dink!"

"Yes," Esmé drawled from behind her ginormous glasses. "YOU! I have seen you before, and I know who you really are. You are in disguise!"

"Habada-what?" asked Violet politely.

"Are you deaf, biznatch? As a concierge! Haha! Wasn't that hilarious and not see-through at all? Now, concierge, because I'm too in to call you by any other name, fetch me a-what shall we have, Carmy dearest?"

This is where I FAIL to describe something that makes me vair queasy-women. Especially since I was engaged, I think they have cooties.

Let's skip over it, and get to the good part.

I AM NOT GAY. Anyway.

"I can see the headline now!" said obsessed fan girl/newspaper reporter Geraldine Julienne. "BEST PERSON IN THE WORLD COMPLAINS ABOUT FILTHY NASTY DIRTY STINKY HOTEL THAT BELONGS IN HELL!"

"Whatever," Violet said, filing her nails with an imaginary file. "Just give me the orders, lady."

"Well, it's about that little tomboy wonderful person over there whom I love and will cherish forever."

"I'm not an adorable little girl!"

"I didn't say you were, sweetie," Esmé leered.

"I'M A BALLPLAYING COWBOY SUPERHERO SOLDIER PIRATE!" Carmelita whined. "Get it straight, bitch!" She smacked Esmé across the face.

"Isn't she adorable?" She asked no one in particular. She looked at Violet, as if she had forgotten she was there. "Oh, right. She requires a—" (ZOOM IN ON THE END OF ESMÉ'S GLASSES, THE CLOSEST THING SHE'S GOT TO EYES RIGHT NOW) "harpoon gun."

"Sure," Violet smiled cheerfully, and skipped to the elevator, then waited patiently and angelically for it to come. It did, and she was ecstatic, and jumped around for a bit. Once she got downstairs, she was still smiling, and Frernest greeted her solemnly.

"Hello. Do you need something, or are you just gonna stand there smiling?"

"Gimme a minute," Violet said through her teeth. Ten minutes later, she was done. "So, have you a harpoon gun?"

"Why, yes, at this hotel we have EVERYTHING." He smiled UNFATHOMABLY. "Are you who I think you are or am I who I know I am? Or is Esmé—I mean, who?—I mean—oh gosh." He bit his fingernails.

"It's okay," Violet whispered, patting him on the back. "You're doing very well." She smiled unconvincingly.

"Here's the gun. Let a little girl kill someone. It's alright. Just—I can't do the role—just please get out."

"Sure," Violet said, returning to her perky self, and skipping away, which is admirable because it is very difficult to skip when holding something that dangerous and heavy.

The clock went off.

VIOLET, YOU'RE WRONG! went the clock. YOU DID EVERYTHING WRONG AND YOU CAN'T HELP YOUR SIBLINGS, IDIOT! YOU CAN'T TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN TWO TRIPLETS (COUGH) TWINS! CRY, VIOLET, CRY!

It repeated this phrase two more times and Violet wondered if there was something odd about the Hotel Denouement's clock.

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