Act One, Part One: The Woeful Wedding

"I will Love you as Justice loves to sit by and watch as everything goes wrong,"

~Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters

To be fair, the wedding was lovely. She was dressed in white, which was appropriate for a bride of only fifteen years. Her dark hair hung low in shiny, silky ringlets that curled around her shoulders and provided the cover her strapless dress didn't.

This was the kind of wedding that Violet knew she would adore when she was older, more grown-up, more able to take on the responsibilities of marriage. The stage, the outside setting, dark flowers and bright antiqued lights were perfect. The setting for such a wedding was absolutely perfect. There were only a few things Violet could wish differently which, actually, were very understandable things to want up to expectation.

For one, her infant sister, Sunny Baudelaire, was currently dangling from the very top of a lanky tower, distressed and cold. Violet hadn't put her sister there, she would never, but the infant was there because of her sister. That was one problem.

The other problem was the groom.

Count Olaf didn't have many people to insist that he was a great man. He was an arsonist, a murderer, a thief, and a hedonist most of all. Not exactly the man Violet Baudelaire had pictured herself being wedded to. He was attractive enough- when he actually bothered to bathe and scrape the plaque from his teeth. Other than a distinct lack of appropriate hygiene and morals, Olaf could have been considered a looker. He was tall with a lanky frame, sure square-tipped fingers and a smirk that could give anyone butterflies. Although, Violet had tasted both the butterflies of seeing someone who was not ugly and quite deserved her attention rather than the sharp, wicked butterflies of fear that Olaf caused her and her siblings. The man had dark hair, shiny eyes and a mysterious tattoo of an eye on his left ankle.

Olaf was the reason that Sunny was in her rusted birdcage, waiting to be dropped and clash lifeless, limp against the ground or hoisted to joyous safety. Violet hoped with all her heart it would be the latter.

This marriage wasn't about love. No, it was about blackmail, hedonistic focus and money. The Baudelaires: Violet, the eldest, Klaus, the middle child, and Sunny, the youngest, were orphans. Their parents perished in a fire that destroyed their entire home, leaving the three children with a very large inheritance and the even larger burden it bestowed upon their tiny, albeit capable, backs. The kids had been jostled around, even living at a banker's house with his dreadful family that gave them itchy clothes and had terrible mannerisms before Count Olaf had stepped in and snatched them up as quickly as a codependent could mumble the words, "It's my fault; I'm sorry."

He'd been a terrible guardian, forcing them to cook and clean and do, "Every little nasty thing that pops into my head!"

Eventually, Olaf realized that he couldn't swipe the Baudelaire fortune without either some kind of death or a marriage- and death was completely out of the question. He had too many death accusations held against him to add another to his weary stack. Most of which were true, a slim number were false, and an undecided number were completely undecided. He would most certainly lose guardianship, thus besetting any chance he had to get his filthy hands on all that cash. If death was out, that had left one thing…

"Oi," a man with hooks for hands, one in the Count's acting Troupe, stepped from behind a dusty red curtain and jostled Violet forward, closer to center stage. Another large curtain of intimidating velvet hid the couple from view of an audience of acquaintances. From where she stood, the girl could hear Olaf sing.

"My darling Countess, your dark hair and warm eyes

Clothe my shame- see through the disguise

For I love you, dear thing, but listen to me-

Countess, my dear, you'll never be free."

Violet shuddered through the thin fabric of her wedding dress, glancing from the curtain, to the hook-handed man and lastly to her brother. Klaus was pale, sickly; the corners of his mouth flushed an acrid color. Antiqued bulbs bobbed off the face of his glasses and threw the shine in his sister's eyes. Shadows from behind the stage, however, cast ruddy, slanting smudges, frumpling his person.

Before he could say anything, and her in return, Olaf's voice sounded again, smooth, too much like a lullaby.

"The free bird sings sweetly, but so does the caged,

You best not fly, dear, or I can arrange

For my lovely Countess, her pet and it's slave

And for me alone my Countess shall crave."

The words made Klaus and Violet wince, and if the third Baudeliare had been there, I'm sure she would've reacted accordingly. "You're on!" The hook-handed man shoved Violet forward and she stumbled, blinded suddenly by the bright stage lights- they were pointed at her from all directions. The illumination warmed the gooseflesh that cobbled our bride's arms. Olaf grinned at her, placing a hand on her hip and taking the other in his own, they danced.

"Siblings may wither and fade to gray,

Your love, so pure, now frothing decay

But you and I, my blushing wife,

Shall remain faithful and loving most all of our life."

Count Olaf dipped her, then, and whispered, "Smile, darling," in a sinister tone that made her skin crawl. Remembering her sister and her responsibility to protect her, Violet obeyed.

Two white-faced women stepped onto the stage and sang together wordlessly, like a wailing gypsy or a broken accordion. Violet caught Olaf's eye and he flicked his lashes at her, signifying her cue.

"Likewise, my Count, serve you I shall forever

Dream of leaving you, I shall never

Now that we dance and now that we sing

Tell me you love me and present me a ring."

The man grinned at his audience and chuckles disguised as rumbles came from them as the unanimous reply. Mr. Poe, the kids' banker, coughed. The ladies still sang in tune as Justice Strauss chimed out all the legalities, everyone gazing at the Count and his Countess-to-be.

"And do you, Count Olaf, loving and true

Take this girl's hand, forever and through?"

Violet grinned sweetly, slipping on her expert façade. At her look, the Count flushed in confusion although he quickly smothered it. "I do," he purred, ducking down to kiss Violet on the cheek. Somewhere, Mr. Poe sputtered.

"Now you, Violet, shiny and new,

Do you love this Count, he loving you too?"

The pair stepped up to a podium two men had dragged out, it was bedecked in wonderful purple flowers and ivy that snaked to the wooden floors of their stage. Our bride's heart palpated in fear, almost choking the breath from her delicate lungs. In a split moment she almost didn't know what to say, Klaus' words spinning in her head: 'you could just say 'I don't'. Only when Olaf nudged her roughly did she remember. "I do."

Soon the Count had signed his name on their marriage document in handwriting as spindly as his fingers and as sloppy as his house which was very. "Your turn, dearest." Olaf growled, and set one of those spidery hands on her waist. Violet's left hand trembled as she took the quill and slowly, neatly, began to write her name.

Barely a dot of ink had marred the yellowing document before Olaf had noticed the girl's trickery. Quickly, breath hot against the girl's ear, the Count growled, guised in sugar, "Right hand please."

As quickly as it took Olaf to notice the girl's trickery, the eldest Baudelaire's heart sank just as fast, if not faster. Hers was more weighed down with unfortunate events that had taken place in the past years. In a brief, rogue thought, Violet wondered how Olaf had only mentioned his childhood once, merely stating that he liked raspberries very much when he was younger. Beneath that runaway thought, Violet contemplated if Count Olaf had faced monumental amounts of unfortunate things like her siblings and her. It was a very bittersweet thought.

Finally her signature was finished, as neat as her inventions and as smooth as her skin, which was very. Count Olaf turned to grip the girl's hands and she swayed and he turned.

The Count wasn't an actor for nothing. On stage he could be a bit melodramatic at times. The man remembered how in a brilliant play by the genius Al Funcoot, the hook-handed man had told Olaf, the main character of course, that his neighbor to which he had absolutely no relation, had moved away forever. He had responded with shrill curses and throwing plates around like a battered housewife. A few in his audience had been injured but that was unimportant.

When he had first adopted the children they had served as his slaves and his future income, seeing as he had no access to it yet. But those brats had made quick friends with Justice Strauss, his unfathomable neighbor. Thinking of the woman and her adorable house the Count shuddered. She was the reason his orphans had been stolen the first time; nothing but hollow emptiness replacing them, rings of dust settling in the rooms where they had slept. Justice Strauss had determined rather forcefully that Count Olaf was not guardian material one the Baudebrats had whined to her.

That had been the first time.

He ha followed the three to their Uncle Monty's and his rage and jealousy nearly incinerated the very air every time one of them even glanced at their adoring Uncle.

They loved him.

It had been unfathomable to the Count. Once 'Stephano' his foolproof disguise, had killed off Monty, the kids reacted unlike how he had planned. Olaf had prepared himself for screaming, wailing, sniffling, and anger.

Instead, Klaus' face went pale, his voice squeaky. He was the one filled with rage while the other two- devastation. Sunny preferred to keen, like an animal in mourning. Violet, her beautiful eyes- usually so alive, so full of ideas- fell flat. The youthful shimmer again extinguished and replaced with pure agony. When the young woman looked up to meet the eyes of her future husband, hate had wriggled into her countenance and stung him from her glare. That look had left the Count breathless, though he didn't show it. He had merely raised his eyebrow, mockingly innocent, while inside his guts were frothed with guilt. He hadn't felt guilt in years. But with one charged, agonized look from his future Countess, Olaf understood her hate and grief.

The look clearly said: You're taking everything from me.

It was soon afterwards that Olaf decided to try again. His orphans were in the residence of their Aunt: Josephine Anwhistle. They had history, too. Her and that brother-in-law of hers could be quite the troublesome duo with their leeches and their fungi.

She had changed since he had last seen her. She was now a thin, boney woman whose sole purpose in life was grammar instead of the boisterous, headstrong thing she'd been before. He had snuck away to them disguised as a local- Captain Sham- and made sure the fretful, untouchable psychosis of their dearest Aunt was out of the way. He'd had to woo her. One more woman overcome by his sheer handsomeness- all the while, his Countess had watched with unwavering, careful eyes.

He didn't feel as guilty for murdering Josephine, for his orphans weren't as attached to her as they had been to their Uncle. Still, though, they felt her loss.

Suddenly free from the shackling façade of a dirty, crippled captain, Olaf had appeared and looked as if he had saved the three, assuring Mr. Poe that he was happy to help. Happy to help his damn guilt, that is.

And now, here he was. Yet again the guardian of the trio of orphans. His newest role, however, was a bit different…

Violet had slipped a silver band around the Count's ring finger, her thin ones trembling. The crowd would take the shivers as excitement and anticipation. Only the engaged knew it was fear.

When it came time for Violet's ring, he whipped it out- one of those crappy plastic things that cost a quarter- and put it on gently, playing the part of an adoring husband. The happy couple grinned falsely as Justice Strauss chimed,

"Rings exchanged, all part of the plan

Signature, truthful, of wife and man

Now in each other, you've confide-

Permission given, Count, you may now kiss your bride."

Violet paled further as Count Olaf swept her into his arms and tipped her, leaning dangerously close. The lights reflected little twinkles across her wide brown eyes- those eyes- entranced him. Centimeters away, the Count winked and smirked, flipping her back on to her feet before turning to the crowd, arms outstretched in a gesture of welcome. "There is no need to continue this musical for what's needed is done. I'm off with my wife, now leave."

For a few seconds the crowd said nothing, trying to decide if the Count was serious or merely toying.

With an echo that rocked the whole stage, the lights went off, leaving the stage, the stadium, its people, in an abyss of inky dark. Sound erupted as everyone stood up. Above the footsteps, the voices, the clamor, Mr. Poe was coughing.

Again, Olaf's spidery hand found its way around Violet's hip, leading her through the darkness. Despite her husband's loathed closeness, Violet found Klaus and dragged him behind her. The three of them created a human chain.

Before she knew it, Violet was outside- the moon serving as a spotlight for the three of them. Once they reached it, Olaf threw Violet into the car, making her crawl over to the passenger's side while Klaus stayed with Sunny and the hook-handed man in the back. Since she didn't have a ribbon, Violet merely bundled her hair at the top of her head and leaned back.

"And 'ere are the newlyweds! Congrats, boss!" The man shook a hook in a cheer while one arm remained wrapped around Sunny where she sat on his lap. "Moog!" Sunny yelled and both Klaus and Violet knew she meant, "Really, there's no need for congratulations at all!" Olaf grinned proudly, baring his crooked teeth.

"Why thank you, Desmond. I see that monkey still hasn't learned to speak, you'd think being alone for so long she'd have the time to learn," He eyes Sunny maliciously in the mirror. Violet glanced at her husband, thinking his point ludicrous before stating, "Sunny's an infant."

From the back Desmond chimed, "Infant, monkey, same thing." Count Olaf nodded his agreement as they sped from the parking lot, jostling them all.

"Hey, boss," Desmond chimed from the back seat, his voice lugged a heavy note of mockery. "Why ain't you and your miss 'olding hands? That's what couples do, yeah?" Olaf glanced at his wife and reached across the car to grasp her hand like a possession jeopardized. Violet noticed awkwardly that his hand was warm, smooth. She wouldn't have thought of Count Olaf- murderer, accused arsonist- as the kind of person who would have nice hands. It was unnerving- she didn't want to find anything about the Count nice.

Desmond's confused expression shone upon the mirror.

Soon, Violet let her hair fall back across her shoulders. The girl figured that since she didn't know what was coming, she couldn't invent a way to avoid it. Soon, obviously unknown to him, Olaf began rubbing tiny circles into the palm of her hand. She couldn't decide if it was annoying, sickly, or calming. She wasn't leaning towards the latter.

The unfortunately familiar car bumped down their home road, Justice Strauss' house was empty and dark; the black front windows like eyes- blind to the children's woe just like its absent inhabitant.

Once they arrived at Count Olaf's the group meandered out of the car, Violet cradling Sunny as she slept. It was well deserved- she'd spent the last few days in a cage thirty feet off the ground. The infant had probably been too terrified, cold, or hungry to sleep properly. Klaus looked just as worn, dark circles hung like curtains under his eyes. When the five entered the dirty, empty home Count Olaf inhaled deeply and grinned in malice.

"Orphans, off to your room. There will be a post wedding celebration and I expect you to be silent as mimes. And do not worry your lonely little heads, there's no need to cook for us." His gray eyes shimmered as the three made their way up the filthy, peeling staircase. Suddenly, he turned, pointing a finger at the trio.

"No, not you, Countess. You stay. We cannot, in good mind, have a wedding celebration without our bride." Loathing spread thickly throughout Violet's gut as she slipped down the stairs to join Olaf and Desmond. If Sunny had been awake, Violet was sure she'd say, "Agoop!" which would probably mean, "What kind of horrible people would want to celebrate this?"

Turning to her brother, the eldest Baudelaire whispered, "I'll join you later." He nodded and made his way up the stairs. Each footstep creaked loudly.

"Again, orphans," the groom grinned, "silent as mimes."

This is the first fanfic that I've ever decided to publish, so please blame any errors on my lack of experience here!

I know some people may be upset that I decided to change Fernald's name to Desmond, but I just thought it suited him better. I'll try to make almost everything else as canon as possible.

The beginning quote comes from Lemony Snicket's, The Beatrice Letters, which this whole fic shall be based off of.

Let me know what you think!