Act One, Part Two: The Baleful Bet

"I will Love you as misfortune loves orphans,"

~Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters


To be unfair, the party wasn't lovely. Olaf's friends had arrived and trashed the already grungy house, spilling wine on the floor, making it sticky and throwing food teasingly at the Count and his newest prize. Many had toasted to her fortune and all it would contribute to, their voices gravely and excited. It caused a sick feeling to build in Violet's stomach like bile builds in one's throat.

No, this was completely unfair- something the Baudelaires had unfortunately become accustomed. Though, being accustomed and welcoming the unfairness were completely different. Olaf had gotten what he wanted, he'd gotten their fortune. So why did he insist on her having a part in this celebration? It was unfair.

The Troupe member who seemed neither a man nor a woman- newest to the Troupe- had insisted on Violet's wine. She'd had a sip but decided the red liquid foul and just pretended to sip for the remainder of the party, all the while wondering when their guests would leave.

Her husband, however, was having no such problem. He'd already consumed two cups himself and was now working on his third. Again, the feeling of bile rose to her gut as she watched him, completely repulsed.

Esme Squalor- the Count's girlfriend- was currently sitting on his lap, playing with his hair and whispering him things. Olaf only glanced at her- he seemed completely immersed in discussing some subject with a white-faced woman.

Suddenly, Desmond crouched in his chair and stood in it, looking down at the long table they were all seated at. With one large whack he smashed his wineglass against the table and stood taller. Glass skittered atop the tablecloth and crunched as it hit the hardwood floor. The table grew silent.

"I've got something I'd like to share for the Count an' his Countess," Esme snorted and rolled her eyes, but the rest remained speechless. Olaf flicked his fingers lazily, "Proceed."

The man put a hook to his chest and cleared his throat ungracefully.

"Evil's triumphed, evil's won

Orphans they 'ave been undone

Righteous plan, clever and true

'Ave left the three with hopes too few."

The Count grinned greedily and Esme giggled while the rest of the actors grumbled their due, some raising their wineglasses in a gesture to continue. Cold sweat beaded the brow of our bride as they all smirked, directly at her. Violet's heart fluttered in anxiety and Olaf's analogy of a caged bird snapped to her memory.

"But one remains- the product of our plan

Wedded to our Count, a heartless greedy man

Now, she'll remain and siblings not

Love and hate- let's stir the pot."

Olaf scowled slightly at Desmond's unexpected words. He was certainly heartless and greedy but Desmond didn't need to point it out so negatively.

"Get a heart, we'll stick it in a jar

Countess mend the thing it's tear and scar

While her mourning wears thin- Ah!-

Quiet fool there's a tale to spin!"

Desmond glared harshly at Esme, who halted her onslaught of whispers immediately. The man bared his teeth like a caged thing and used his right hook to reflect the dusty chandelier and throw the shine right in the face of the city's fifth most important financial advisor. Esme winced and glared but said nothing.

"The Countess shall mend her Count's broken heart

Soon and never want to part-

If only, if only, again and again

Evil's triumph, evil's win.

The tool with who our Count now plays,

Will leave, lament for better days

The Countess shall stay, take up her role

Clean her man now black as coal."

Esme sputtered, enraged while the Count looked entertained by her reaction and confused by Violet's lack of. "What?" Esme snarled, "I would never-"

"The Count confused, a wishwash captor,

Adores, deplores his Countess after

All she is a slave here-

Resisting the urge to call her 'my dear,'

The girl, in turn, struggles too

Weighed down by doubt and hates too few

Affection shall grow more pronounced

Until, the world, their love announced."

Desmond took a bow, kicked glass bits off his seat and sat, grinning. His fellow Troupe members applauded while Violet sat silently and Esme glared. "Count, what're you going to do about this?" she roared into the ear she had previously been whispering, causing the Count to flinch. He rolled his eyes at her and drawled, "Desmond's a poet, and everyone knows that poets can't be stopped." The crowd snickered.

"He just said you would leave me for the orphan!" Esme fastened her glare at Violet who blinked back. The eldest Baudelaire imagined a slingshot she could fashion from her wine glass, her wedding corsage and a couple of forks. Olaf merely rolled his eyes.

"Esme, if you had even an ounce of theatrical blood- you should at least have some kind of intuition from being around such a handsome, talented actor-" Olaf waved at his person. "You should know that Desmond said that you would leave me. Specifically, he said 'the tool who which our Count now plays will leave." Olaf nodded, mentally patting himself on the back for remembering.

"But I wouldn't, you know I wouldn't! What-" she snarled at Desmond and he met her glare with one of his own, "What a horrid poem! Poems are so not in!"

"I quite liked it," said the bald headed man, taking a spoonful of the soup he'd brought. It was more broth than anything. The rest of the Troupe muttered their agreement.

"Well, as did I. Desmond, you've permission to use the typewriter at the next convenient time to type up that poem." Desmond winced and looked down at his hooks; they glinted as if in reassurance. "Err…Thanks, boss."

Despite her situation, Violet felt a pang of pity shoot through her chest for Desmond and his lack of hands. Quickly, though, she smothered it. These feelings, she knew, were acidic to her hateful countenance. Pity for one of Olaf's henchmen was a no-go.

Soon, the night began to wind down. Violet had eaten her share of cake, soup and pastry-even slipping some into the folds of her dress to save for her siblings.

"I think it's time we left. The night is old and we're keeping the Count and his Countess from sleep," one of the white-faced women said, yawning, while the other one smirked, "Yes, let's leave them to consummate their marriage."

Olaf grinned wolfishly while Esme shrieked in outrage and disgust. At the woman's comment, Violet paled, feeling cold spit pool in her mouth. Throwing her hands out, the orphan shoved her way from the dinner table and bolted. She only got a few feet before she retched; bile slapping against a few of the bottom stairs. It hit the floor in chunks. Twice more Violet retched, adding more to the pile of sick. When she wiped her chin on her wrist and turned to face them, coughing, all eyes were on her.

It took a few seconds, but eventually everyone stood and quickly made their way out. Their footsteps were the loudest thing. If Violet had listened hard enough she could've heard the sounds of dresses and pant legs dragging the hardwood; dust sticking to the windows, unfiltered.

"Wow, you orphans really know how to clear a room!" When her husband returned he found his wife kneeling on the floor, eyes roaming, still coughing. Violet's legs shook as she stood. Again, the girl retched although no bile came. Olaf took his time pouring a glass of wine. He took a sip before handing it to Violet, her fingers groping the air and downing the small amount of wine once it reached them. The burn from the wine, though, was far worse than the burn from her upchuck and for that the girl was thankful. The eldest Baudelaire nodded her thanks to the man who waved his arms in nonchalance, eyes as shiny as when he was about to say 'inheritance.'

"Don't worry your pretty little head, orphan. I'm a lot of things but even I would never steal a child's innocence in such a way." Violet stepped away from the stairs to set her wine glass on the messy table. "Maybe not," she said, "but I do know you are a talented liar."

Count Olaf grinned at that, dropping the melodramatic flair. "Actors must be good liars," was all he said.

"Now. Tonight may very well be the last night you have with your dear siblings. You may sleep with them tonight, but seeing as we're married, from then on I expect you to share the other half of my bed." He raised an eyebrow when Violet exclaimed, "No!"

The villain chuckled darkly and raised his top lip in a tight feral smirk. "It's funny, Violet," he sneered her name, baring his teeth like Desmond had, "That you think you have a choice. You will share my bed, I don't care if you want to or not." He smiled as Violet flinched. "Why insist on playing the part this way?"

At her question, Olaf shrugged. "Call it sentimentality, call it cruelty, call it whatever you wish, dear thing," he spat the last two words mockingly. "But it will happen despite your best efforts. Your little monkey may end up missing a toe or two before she's shipped off."

"You wouldn't!" Olaf raised his eyebrow, smirking, accusing Violet to doubt her exclamation. She made the mistake of stepping closer to the staircase in attempt to somehow distance her sister from the Count and his malicious intent. The man took her shirk away as a backpedal of fear. Yes, he knew, he was an ideal captor. He was a perfect blend of hate, fear and affection.

"Now scurry on up to your orphans and slip into your role as Mommy. I'm sure they're quite tired of my Ultimate Husband façade. Go play house for just a bit longer."

As Violet scurried up the stairs to her siblings (carefully avoiding her drying puddle of sick) her only thoughts were on how much she loathed the man who stood below, sipping his wine and watching with a preditoral gaze as she treaded through his home.

When Violet finally made her way to their room, she saw the makeshift tent they'd built on their first night here. Sunny was still asleep, curled in her little ball of curtains right next to Klaus who had fallen asleep while polishing his glasses. She plucked them from her brother's hands and set them on the windowsill, shards of moonlight reflecting off the panes. Curling in between her siblings, Violet savored the proximity. With their parents' silhouette locket casting an ardent shadow down their makeshift tent, the three slept as peacefully as they could have within such unfortunate circumstances.


Violet awoke to the sounds of movement. Klaus' shoes clunked against the dirty floor and Sunny grumbled contentedly as she nibbled on Violet's corsage. When she sat up, the elastic headband she wore curled around her ear and Klaus glanced at her with relief. "Glad you're awake; I thought you might've been poisoned."

It seemed like Klaus couldn't decide if he was kidding or not so his sister merely brushed off his babble. "Did you sleep well?" Klaus shrugged.

"Fontone?" Sunny asked as Violet swept the girl into her arms and twirled, feeling her wedding dress slide across her calves. For only a split second, Violet reminded herself as a new Mom. At the comparison, she winced.

"Sunny's right," Klaus intoned, nodding to the door. "I smell breakfast, too. Let's see what we can find to eat." When Klaus' fingers were about two inches from the dented door handle, a familiar voice called, "Orphans! I've made you breakfast! Come and eat with your dearest brother-in-law!"

"Bah!" Sunny growled from her sister's arms. Violet and Klaus locked eyes for a second before they both grinned and cried, "Bah!"

"Watch out," Violet warned softly as they made their way down the staircase and Klaus almost stepped on her crunchy pile of dried sick. She was glad that her brother only looked disgusted and didn't feel it his duty to ask whose it had been.

As the three entered the kitchen they saw Olaf, sitting lankily with his feet on the table. Despite the one the Count held there were three steaming bowls of oatmeal, each topped with a few raspberries and powdered sugar. Sunny's stomach growled audibly. Hearing the young orphan's bodily noise, the newlywed man stood and turned to face the three.

"I made breakfast, enjoy it." He made the last two words sound like a threat. "And don't worry about poison, I've checked- we're all out of arsenic. I had to kill the rats in my Tower," Olaf grabbed Violet by the shoulders, the physical contact making her flinch. His hands were warm against her bare shoulders. He sat her down at the table and Klaus followed closely behind, taking Sunny and setting her on the chair in between them. Carefully, the three began to eat.

Just as he was leaving and the orphans were relaxing, Olaf turned to look at his disheveled wife. "Countess, you can't wear that dress forever. I know that being married to me is so unbelievably great but please change clothes. You need to move on!" With that the actor launched into a fit of melodramatic crocodile tears.

"I'm just so touched! To think that you're this excited to be my Countess- it's just too good to be true! Oh, Violet," the Count stopped leaning against the giant doorframe, pretending to sob and merely looked her over with disgust. "You're looking frumpy. Change your clothes."

With a flourish of his hand towards the stairs, Olaf flicked his eyelashes at her. The girl shook her head at him, remembering her headband that had wrapped itself around her ear only when it fell into her lap. Finishing her spoonful of oatmeal, the eldest Baudelaire said, "I can't. The white-faced women took my dress after I changed into this." She waved at her person. Olaf merely raised a side of his eyebrow.

"Well, lucky for you I've recently come into a very large sum of money. Did you know that you also legally inherited your previous guardian's fortunes as well? Maybe if you're a good Countess I'll have someone take you shopping." Olaf winked and three oatmeal-filled stomachs dropped. He turned to the door then just as quickly back to the orphans. Sunny had a spoon halfway to her mouth, Violet was flushed in fury and Klaus was gaping. Olaf pointed at the monkey and the bookworm.

"The two of you will spend the day cleaning. I require chopped firewood, all the rats cleaned from my Tower, dinner for tonight- make whatever you want- the bile cleaned from the staircase, and the entryway swept. Don't even think about trying to help, Countess or else dinner will be my choosing and we will serve monkey!" He all but hissed at Sunny. Violet ignored his theatrics and for a final time he turned and exited the house, slamming the door with a bang that shook the floorboards.

Everything was silent for a few seconds before the siblings all exhaled in unison. "Well," Klaus stood and took his empty bowl to the overflowing sink. "Toady may be our last day with each other for a while so I propose that we get our work done quickly and spend the day at Justice Strauss' next door."

Cleaning wasn't hard. It was something the Baudelaires least the elder two- had become accustomed over the years. The two had recognized it as a regular part of having things to appreciate- you took care of them. But cleaning Count Olaf's was entirely different than what they were used to! This was like blowing onto glass- a thin veil of fog would temporarily mark the barest surface before it was again smothered by the remaining glass. So it was with their newest home- they'd clean enough to have a small circle of clean before it was again occluded by dirt, filth, and grime.

To save time, the three set tasks individually. Klaus went to chop firewood, saving time by using an invention Violet had conjured up from an old bicycle, a tire, and yards of string, a sharp gutter and some cooking grease. Sunny was up in the Tower, presumably crawling her was past cobwebs, prop boxes, and typewriter ink to and collect all of the rat corpses. Their elder sister was currently at the foot of one of the staircases that lead to the kitchen, armed with only a spatula and a plate.

Now, if you've ever had a pet- namely, a cat- then you or someone whose company you just happen to be in, have had to clean their insistent upchuck. There are many ways it could be done. You could clean the mass like a normally functioning person, or you could use some kind of strange method because you don't have the proper supplies or using the proper supplies didn't occur to you in the first place.

Violet's situation was not the latter. Because Olaf's house was so dirty, then he obviously didn't care and because he didn't care, he had no cleaning supplies. The girl was making the best out of her lack and chipping her sick off the stairs. It came off like it had gone on- in chunks.

When it had all been scraped off the stairs and onto the grungy plate, Violet wrenched open the sliding back door- with much difficulty, the dust made it stick- and flung everything into the yard. It fit in quite nicely with the rat bodies Sunny was flinging out the window. Klaus had almost all of the firewood chopped, so Violet rooted through the kitchen drawers to find something worth cooking. They still had a few handfuls of noodles from the Putenesca Fiasco so she picked them out and set the dusty things atop the counter.

"Sunny," she lifted the infant from where she appeared at Violet's feet, her horrendous task finished. "Please wash your hands and then rinse these off."

She set the noodles next to her tiny sister who sat next to the sink. "Visu!" Sunny laughed as the water sputtered through the weary pipes, turned hot, and erased the dust from her palms. Once Violet had selected a few pans, she rinsed them off and, turning the stove on, began to boil the water.

I'm not sure if you've ever noticed this or not- you might not have because someone else cooks all your meals, like a mother or a butler or a captor- but cooking a good meal with people you love is a perfect way to spend the afternoon; whereas scraping up puke and sniffing around for dead rats is not. Violet, Klaus, and Sunny, however, did know this and as their brother came into the house they had to grin at him.

Disheveled and sweaty, Klaus Baudelaire brushed his arms across the table and grinned easily back at his sisters. "Look what I've found." He separated his findings into five piles.

"Here," he pointed to a bunch of gray caps, "these mushrooms are edible. I've also found cilantro, chives, and sunflower seeds, as well as this edible moss." He pointed to a silky lump of green.

Violet grinned at her brother, "It's perfect but I'm not sure if we'll use them all." Klaus shrugged and went to stand next to Sunny and rinse out a pan and fill it with water. Violet set the pot gently next to the other and turned on the flame.

"Count Olaf left money folded up under your bowl, Klaus. Could you run down to the supermarket and pick up a few things?" Surprised, the twelve-year-old nodded. "Of course."

After Klaus left with a brief goodbye, Violet's scribbled list folded in his hand, the two Baudelaire women set to work. The eldest stirred the noodles and looked around for something to use as a strainer while Sunny worked on shredding all the spices with her four sharp teeth.

Sunlight shone brightly through the grimy windows, casting spotty fingerprints everywhere. The hardwood had a luminous glow and dust twirled in the air, thrilled to be active again. Because of the moss and mud that had grown on the panes, Sunny had their spotty shine cast down the side of her face. The infant grinned at her sister.

Soon, Klaus had arrived and set down his grocery bag with a huff. His countenance reflected fear and worry just as water will reflect telephones right before they hit the surface and sink to the grimy bottom of- in a certain case it had been a lake- whatever body of water one chooses to throw a turncoat organization's telephones; like puddles of cups of tea.

Seeing their brother's distressed, telephone-like appearance, the two females stopped. Before Sunny could incline, "Chagiba?" which would probably mean something like, "Klaus, why are you so absolutely distressed that you resemble a telephone?" the boy interrupted.

"Do we know a man," he huffed, "with a top hat and a liking of bats?" As an afterthought he added, "And perhaps us?"

Violet scowled in concentration. "Bats? I don't think so. Mother said something about liking bats when she was younger but that's all I've heard of them." Sunny mumbled in agreement.

"Well, there was a man following me the whole time I was gathering groceries. He had a top hat, a scarf, a book about bats and a paper bag in his left hand."

"I can't remember anyone like that. Do you think it might've been the one that looks neither like a man nor a woman?" Violet asked and Sunny interjected, "Pice!" which meant, "Maybe the very large one that pretended to run sailboats when we were with Aunt Josephine?"

Klaus shook his head negatively. "No, I know both of their faces and it wasn't them. And this man wasn't nearly as big as the one with the sailboats. I guess we'll just have to be careful." The two Baudelaire women nodded, still a bit distracted, before resuming cooking. Klaus had brought bread, cheese, and the meat they needed.

The bread became toasted, the meat cooked well, and the noodles perfect. In between then, Violet taught Sunny how to throw a noodle on the wooden cabinets to see if it was fully cooked or not. "Here," Violet handed Klaus a sandwich, "Try it."

He eyed it speculatively under his glasses. "A noodle, beef and cheese sandwich?"

Soon, the three were happily munching on their dinner, grinning and giggling as they threw leftover noodles at each other. One stuck around the rim of Klaus' glasses and Sunny enjoyed threading the stringy food through her teeth.

The three orphans laughed and danced and ate well into the evening. Klaus brought in armfuls of freshly cut firewood, smelling of sticky oak and pine. He lit a fire in the regal fireplace while his sisters rolled around on the floor and pretended to wrestle. Sunny squealed as Violet blew raspberries onto her stomach, causing all three to grin.

The night was a happy one full of joy. They were together and they were alive. Violet reveled in her sibling's closeness; noticing the way Klaus' eyes crinkled as he grinned and how she wanted to keep a list of all the different notes Sunny's laugh could hit. Her siblings took her breath away. She missed them already.

With a sound as welcome as blow horns and as unwelcome as a murder of crows, the front doorbell rang, startling the orphans out of their happy alcove. Klaus scooped up Sunny and the three of them made their way to the front door.

Peeking through the windows, the children could see a long shadow slithering down the front steps but nothing else. Clicks bounded from the doorknob as Klaus turned it. Upon opening the door, a grinning face greeted the three and they gasped in return. "Hello, dears." Justice Strauss smiled.

"Justice Strauss!" Violet gasped, "What are you doing here?" The woman smiled again and handed Violet a little basket. Once opened, it revealed a loaf of fresh pumpkin bread wrapped in a black and red checkered cloth. Sunny clapped in delight, she couldn't wait to chew on the basket.

"I just wanted to make you a little something for doing such a fantastic job in The Marvelous Marriage- the ending was quite memorable. I couldn't even tell you were acting!"

The three siblings shook their head in unison. "No, Justice, you don't understand-"

"Oh, and please be sure to give some to the Count, he did such a marvelous job as well. I do hope I've made enough," She looked fretfully at the basket.

"But-" The three children started, but a tall, lanky shadow leaned against the outside doorway, stopping them cold.

"Hello, hello, hellooooo," Count Olaf drawled, causing the Justice to yelp in surprise and turn to face him.

"Count Olaf!" she sputtered, "You surprised me!"

"Yes," he purred, "I tend to have that effect on people, being as handsome and talented as I am." The Justice only blinked at that. "I just came by to congratulate Violet and yourself on such a brilliant show- dear me! Violet's so happy she hasn't even changed out of her dress yet!"

The girl flushed in anger and embarrassment at how wrong the Justice was. Count Olaf nodded jeeringly, "Yes, it seems she adores the thought of being married to me, I mean who wouldn't? Look, she still has on my ring!" The Justice grinned at her conspiratorially, like an Aunt just discovering her niece's first crush while her husband's shiny eyes teased her relentlessly.

"Yes," Violet agreed, frowning. "But so are you."

The five people all looked down to notice the gold band, still around the Count's finger snugly; as if it actually belonged there.

He only shrugged, "Call it sentimentality, call it cruelty, call it whatever you wish, dear thing." He looked Violet right in the eyes and saw remembrance of their previous conversation bloom in them. "But I did keep wearing the ring only because I'm afraid I might lose it. You see, Justice, I'm having a few renovations done to my humble home. Maybe one day it will look as stunning as yours, but for now, I'm simply in the packing process. We'll be staying with acquaintances for a few weeks while they're happening."

"Oh yes?" Justice Strauss chimed. "Well, good for you, Count. It's nice to see that the children will actually have a respectable place to live." The Count smiled menacingly down at the woman but she was too busy trying to peer past the children to get a look inside. Recognizing the malice, Violet grabbed her husband's hand and tugged him inside the decrepit home. "Sorry, Justice, time for dinner!"

With a slam, the front door closed, leaving the woman alone outside but safe. Klaus and Sunny retreated to the kitchen while Violet stood with the Count, trying to decide if she should retreat as well. The Count glanced at her hands, still around one of his, and then to her face.

"That woman's despicable." He scowled, eyebrow furrowing. Violet held the basket a bit higher. "Yes," she said, "because despicable women make great pumpkin bread." Olaf grinned, half in annoyance and half in amusement. "Well, I once knew a kidnapper who could make great enchiladas. " With that, he handed her a crystalline bag he'd had at his side.

"Here. You look more hideous than usual in that wedding dress and I need you to look less like an orphan and more like a Countess." With that, he swung around her and into the parlor that lead to the kitchen calling, "Try it on!"

Once the eldest Baudelaire was upstairs she took a deep breath, tried on the dress, and woefully decided it perfect. It sickened her, though, that her husband could choose such an apropos dress. Violet would've bet money she didn't have that he had bought the thing in hopes that she'd loathe it.

The dress itself was a cream color with sleeves that stopped and folded into red cuffs right above her elbows. The bodice was trimmed with red lacey fabric as was the hem at the bottom that fell just above her knees. She loved it for mainly two reasons.

One: the sleeves were the perfect length were inventing. Before now, the wrists of her outfit would become grubby, especially when working with motor oil to fuel a hot air balloon, or with ink to write a pseudonym, or with bubbles to make her sister giggle.

Two: The bottom hem was shorter so it was easier to run. She'd been in situations- most involve running from her beloved downstairs- where her dress hem would slow her down. The hem had gone to the tops of her ankles, so when she bent her knees to run, she couldn't stretch her legs fully- restricted.

When Violet went to pick the paper bag off the floor, she was startled to see a stream of fabric slither through the air and curl onto the floor. Bending down- successfully, thanks to her new dress- Violet realized that it was a hair ribbon. Disgusted, she flung the thing back where it came, suddenly terrified to be alone.

The ribbon she wore now was fraying at the edges and stained from sweat and Lachrymose Lake water. She didn't need a new hair ribbon, not from a murderer, an arsonist, her captor. Violet didn't need anything from Count Olaf.

The eldest Baudelaire turned and bolted into the hallway, fingering her grandmother's mother's ribbon all the way. "Klaus!" she gasped as she collided with him head on.

Violet shook her head as her brother's figure grew taller, his mouth drew into a smirk, and completely different eyes stared her down.

"Sorry, dear thing," A spidery hand found hers and took it for possession, "Not quite."


Hopefully, this chapter will look better than the last. Oh, if random poems aren't your thing, sorry about that. I just think they add to the story, but they won't be in every Act despite my best efforts.

Chapters are called Acts because I wanted to play off of Count Olaf's theatre obsession- this will never be written as a play. I thought it would be more fun this way. (smile)

Also, I'm trying to preserve both of the way Count Olaf is portrayed. One, through Mr. Snicket's work as the completely hedonistic villian. Two: by at least making him seem more human like Jim Carrey did in the ASoUE film.

All credit goes to the lovely, wonderful, megaperfect, Mr. Lemony Snicket and his representative, Mr. Handler. This is in no way associated with Mr. Helquist and definitely not any of the publishers like HarperCollins.

Let me know what you think!

Let me know what you think!