Okay, so this is my first attempt at an ASOUE fan fiction. It will switch around points of view quite a bit, probably, and the writing style is a bit off, but it's an idea that's been in my head a while now. Enjoy.
Beatrice
You could not possibly interested in the reason Lemony Snicket was squatted in the dark, dank - a word here which means 'unpleasantly damp and cold' - secret passageway which lead from the ruined remains of the Baudelaire mansion to a certain home in Dark Avenue.You could not even faintly be faintly curious as to why the only surviving member of the three Snicket siblings was hunkered - a word here which means 'squatted' - in this unpleasantly damp and cold place in front of what appeared to be a wooden box he was using for a table, a pen in one had and a match in the other.
The match he was using to light a candle, as opposed to using it to burn anything down, and as he stared at the flame he thought of the many other uses for a match that weren't as useful as enkindling a stick of wax.
Lemony had finished recording the story of the Baudelaire orphans, and all thirteen books had been sent out to the general public, in hope that some brave remaining volunteers would find them and learn the truth of the matter themselves. Lemony also sincerely hoped that no unsuspecting, well-read and happy people came across these books, for he did not mean them to spend their night weeping as he did when he remembered what the flames had done to all the people he knew and - or indeed, or - wrote about - the Baudelaire orphans and their father, the Quagmires and their parents…and his darling Beatrice, who was somehow separated from the rest of her family in his thoughts.
Beatrice. He gazed at the flickering glow of the candlelight as he thought of her. How kind, how brave, how beautiful…and how extremely flammable.
His gaze turned from the candle to one of the numerous books surrounding him. His eyes rested on the novel consisting of two hundred heart-breaking pages describing how he and Beatrice could never be together, and how it was better for them both that she and Bertrand were married and exactly why Mrs Baudelaire and Lemony should sever ties from the moment the book began with the words 'My darling Lemony…' and ended with 'I will not send my love, because it simply wouldn't do to upset you. Beatrice.'
Lemony has wept and wept upon reading this novel, just as he had wept upon the news of Beatrice's death, which he was almost certain was much more accurate than the news of his own.
His pen was still poised, motionless, above the piece of paper in front of him. Beside him were many old copies of The Daily Punctilio, a phrase which many well-read people take to mean 'pieces of paper strung together with a mess of lies printed on them'. On the front of one was a picture of himself, and the article told of how he'd died and had a short piece about his funeral. Lemony had attended that funeral. He was almost certain most of the people there had come to make sure the evil arsonist that Lemony had been made out to be by the very newspaper he was looking at now was actually dead. Lemony had found the funeral quite satisfactory in confirming their very wrong suspicions.
He had not attended any funeral for Beatrice, for two reasons. One, because he was busy being on the run, and two, more importantly, he was far busier being dead.
Beatrice.
Oh Beatrice.
"Beatrice!"
Lemony looked up, startled. Surely it was just his imagination, after all, he had just been thinking of her. It was impossible to think he could hear Bertrand Baudelaire calling on his wife in the ruins of the mansion above where he sat.
"Beatrice!" a different voice called, a female voice.
"Bea!" another female, somewhat younger.
There was no point in denying it now. At least three people were above where the Baudelaire home had once stood, and they were searching for Beatrice. Impossible, Lemony's rational mind told him, simply not feasible.
The male voice called again, and Lemony could now tell that it was not, in fact, the voice of Bertrand Baudelaire, but instead the voice of a young man, probably a teenager or a young adult.
Just then, something very small and inquisitive appeared seemingly from nowhere. It was a child. A young girl, of about five years old. She grinned toothily at Lemony and started to make towards him. He stared at her, suddenly experiencing a strong sense of déjà vu as ran forwards. Lemony struggled to remember what he was remembering, a feat which is not incredibly easy to accomplish. But, just in time, he stood and snatched the candle off of the box, just as the little girl banged into it.
Lemony blinked. How had he known that was going to happen? The girl stared up at him curiously, and Lemony knew that face…but how?
Just then, something clicked. Lemony remembered years ago when he and Kit and Jacques were children, and Kit had ran straight into the table, knocking over a candle onto a stack of newspapers causing a panic while someone tried to calm down the sobbing five year old and someone else threw water everywhere to extinguish the fire.
The little girl in front of him, now snivelling and running her head, looked almost exactly like his sister.
And the people above were calling on Beatrice.
It made sense now, he thought, thinking of the last piece of information he had managed to gather on the Baudelaire siblings.
But what a strange coincidence that they would be here.
This little girl was Kit's daughter. His niece.
Which meant the three voices above were…
"Beatrice!"
Lemony looked up from the little girl's face to see a young woman of about twenty years old standing in front of him. The woman walked forward and picked up the crying child, eyeing Lemony warily as she retreated again, to where two people were standing giving him similar looks. One was a boy of about eighteen, and the other a girl of about ten or eleven.
There was silence for a moment, then-
"Who are you?" the boy demanded.
Lemony continued to stare. Then he realised he'd been spoken to. "My name is Lemony Snicket." he said.
The three stared at him.
"And I know who you are, too." he added. "Violet, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire, and the child…her name is Beatrice, she's the daughter of my sister, Kit Snicket, and Dewey Denouement."
The Baudelaires continued to stare. Lemony knew exactly what they were thinking. What were the chances of meeting Lemony Snicket, a man most of the world assumed dead, the brother of Kit and Jacques Snicket, here, of all places?
Impossible, was it not?
The group lapsed back into silence.
It was Sunny who spoke next. "Why are you here?" she asked.
And then Violet said "How can we trust you?"
Lemony paused, considering how best to answer. Then he decided to give an answer to them both in one sentence.
"The world is quiet here."
Please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed.
