Act Two, Part Four: Vessels, Friends, and Emerald Ash
"I will Love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all of the secrets have gone gasping into the world." –Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters
"Count Olaf," Mr. Poe was waddling around backstage, pronouncing the Count's name wrong, and waving his fat little hands around to try and get some attention. The backstage lights snagged on his glasses and cast a shine down his face making him look sickly, distorted. "Count Olaf!"
But the Count was too wrapped up in his Countess to care. He asked with a smirk, "So, how was that kiss, orphan?"
Violet grinned and tugged on his fake beard affectionately. "Perfect. It was perfect. You're perfect." Olaf grinned down at her, feeling his heart constrict and his breath catch.
"How do you feel?" She asked quickly, a bit embarrassed by her immediate gushing. The Count took a step back, almost bumping into the annoying banker and crowed, "I'm happier than a pig eating bacon! I'm tickled pinker than a sunburnt Caucasian! I'm in higher spirits than a brand-new graveyard! I'm so happy-go-lucky that lucky and happy people are going to beat me with sticks out of pure, unbridled jealousy!"
His pure, adoring grin made her want to kiss him again until neither of them could breathe, to find out what exactly it was about having a husband, or a lover, or a secret that made it so precious and impossible to let go of. Violet wanted to know the tug that made heartsick ex-lovers mourn. The fact that she could earn that knowledge willingly through this man that denounced his every evil act, every slippery made-up moral, just for her made Violet eager and sure. In that moment, she was electric and ready to take on the whole quiet world.
"Count Olaf!" Mr. Poe tried again, but realizing that his endeavors were in vain, rushed over to the eldest Baudelaire orphan. "Violet," Mr. Poe grabbed her arm and tugged until she looked at him. "Just because you played his wife in one musical, Violet, does not mean that you can kiss your legal guardian on stage!" Mr. Poe sputtered, "Or anyplace else for that matter!"
Violet glanced up warily at her husband who looked ready to defend their strange relationship to any who asked, well-wishers or not. She blushed, feeling the veins in her neck and cheeks swell with heat.
"Mr. Poe," she insisted, "It was just a stage kiss!"
The banker's coughs slowed and stopped just as quickly as they appeared. "A… What's a stage kiss?" He asked. Count Olaf looked like he was trying very hard not to insult the man's lack of theatrical knowledge.
"It's a fake kiss." The Count stated flatly, "Used by the most fickle and pretentious of actors and as a scapegoat for the most cunning and quick-thinking of the illegally wed."
Mr. Poe squinted in confusion while Violet tried hard not to laugh. "Oh." The banker said, polishing his glasses as a distraction. "Alright. As long as it was a fake kiss and not a real one, which, had that been the case, I'd have been forced to, -"
"Olaf!" A familiar voice shrieked. Esme stormed out of the back dressing rooms with a glare. She'd changed outfits and had way too much make-up on. From the tacky stage light, she had morphed into a sexy, too-tight green dress. Her black heels clicked like popping embers as she stomped towards them. On her nails she wore red glitter and around her neck, dipping into her unimpressive cleavage, was the VFD eye. The metal of it had been dyed to match the colors of fire. Her blue eyes glittered with an unfamiliar rage.
"Er, I'll just be going then. Say hello to Klaus and Sunny for me, will you Violet? I enjoyed the show, lovely show…" With that, Mr. Poe ducked onto stage where his sister, Eleanora was waiting to tell him of the former theatrical critic she'd seen.
"How could you, how could you?" Esme shrieked, pointing a finger right in Violet's face. "You dumped me for her? You want the orphan?"
Around them gathered the rest of the Troupe, gawking and placing bets on the probability of a catfight and who would win. Desmond was clicking his hooks together nervously, secretly cheering on the newest Countess, while the two women next to him were cheering on Esme.
Again, Count Olaf was in a bit of a fix. He could accept Violet as his Countess in front of his Troupe and possibly lose all of their respect, their loyalty, their unyielding devotion. Or, he could denounce her; feel the smirk glide onto Esme's face as a tangible gesture of smug success and watch as Violet's face would fall, humiliated, hurt and confused- as mournful as an ex-lover's. Count Olaf had a choice to make, and quickly.
"Of course I want her!" Olaf said fiercely, snatching for his wife's hand like a possession jeopardized. She grabbed it reflexively. "How could I not? Look at her!"
The man waved a hand to his Countess who blushed as Esme's unimpressed sneer looked her over.
"Violet has been kind and lovely and noble and- and perfect! She adores me, Esme, me! Count Olaf: hedonist, arsonist, murderer, she wants me! And I can tell you honestly, she'll always mean more to me than you."
Esme looked affronted, cheeks flaming, bosom heaving, as she nearly snorted in rage. "Fine!" she shrieked, clutching at the flaming eye necklace as if it were some sort of promise, unchangeable, omnipresent. "You can wax noble all you want with your newest plaything, but I know you, Olaf!"
She stabbed him roughly in the chest with one glittery finger and leaned in close enough so that he could smell her new perfume, heavy and spicy and sharp. "You'll just play the renounced villain until it suits you! Then you'll run back to your secrets, eyes, schisms and theft!"
Esme Squalor, city's sixth most important financial advisor, smiled sweetly at the couple, a parody of a well-wisher. "And I'll be awaiting your return."
She sneered at the Troupe and strutted towards the back exit where a frantic adoptive father burst in and smacked her with the door. He rushed in, oblivious, while the Esme ducked away with a bent nose, bloody palms, and slashed pride.
"Oh, goodness!" Loid cried, stumbling into the backstage landing. "Oh, Olaf, it's happened! Your skylight- the crow- nighttime- Aah!" Loid had bumped into the bald man who had obviously scared him, for the father yelped and retreated.
"Don't speak of it!" Count Olaf hissed and turned to face his Troupe, suddenly not caring if they left him. "Go away," he snapped, "Leave. Go home."
Begrudgingly, they complied, uneager to leave the obviously unfolding drama, but exhausted nonetheless. For some reason Desmond looked extremely sad as he shuffled away.
Finally alone, Count Olaf rushed over to his father and asked, "It's happened? It's arrived?"
"What? What's arrived?" Violet asked, distracted completely as Sali entered through the door her husband had. A puff of green smoke entered behind her, filling the room and quickly as a spark can grow to a flame.
Count Olaf twitched and an emotion very similar to pure terror flickered over his face. It was in that moment that he realized that Lemony Snicket hadn't yet presented himself. And there was only one building around anymore who would burn smoke that color.
"Violet," he grabbed his Countess and tugged her towards his adoptive parents. "Go with Loid and Sali. Dad," Loid actually looked like he was about to burst into tears from both stress and his adoptive son's informal title. "The Rhetorical Building. Follow me there."
With that, Olaf dashed out of the small civic theatre and into the alleyways. "He's cutting through alleyways, over streets, and through occupied backyards! He'll surely beat us there!" Loid said as he ushered his still-coughing wife and confused daughter-in-law outside into his vehicle.
"What is the Rhetorical Building?" Violet asked, shoving a bottle of water at Sali that her husband had procured as they pulled out of the alleyway and sped down the street.
It wasn't hard to tell where the fire was. Ashes, flaky and dark, blotted the sky like sick green bruises. The sight made Violet's stomach drop.
As they pulled up a safe distance away from the fire, the three had just enough time to see Count Olaf: husband, hedonist, son, dart into the flaming building.
"No." Violet and Sali stated in unison, both shocked and wholly unprepared. "No! How could he-? Why?" Sali wailed. Loid seemed to crumble in on himself, shoulders sagging, eyes unseeing. "Um," seemed all he could say, "My son has always been very brave."
"Count Olaf!" Violet sprung free from the vehicle, Sali following closely behind. Fire seared the tears on her cheeks, turned them sticky.
"That's my boy in there." Sali moaned quietly over the crackles of the fire. She came to hug Violet close and clutched her tightly like she wished she could to do her son. "He's my son. He can't…"
With fire searing her face, a broken man in a car behind them, and clutched in the arms of a mourning woman she had thought hated her, Violet Baudelaire wondered if, now, she had truly lost everything.
"How could he? I thought…" Violet started to say, her voice wobbly, unlovely, but untangling all of her emotions to form a real sentence wasn't something she wanted to continue with. Sali just clutched her tighter understanding because sometimes words aren't enough.
"Look!" Loid suddenly boomed as two figures, faceless, shapeless through the green smoke, darted down a crumbling set of stairs and leaned out of a second-story window. The two women clutched each other silently in a shared knot of terror.
The shorter of the two figures lurched and quickly pulled a concealed ladder from the burning, crumbling wall. Once it was out, the two slid down it with a practiced, detached demeanor. They'd slid down fire escape ladders too many times at school for the act to become anything less than second-nature. Once the two figures were down, the ladder quickly caught fire, brighter than the burning Rhetorical Building.
Count Olaf and Lemony Snicket stumbled forward, oval masks atop their faces and strange boxes clutched in their arms. Lemony was the first to fling off his mask and lean against the car, the Count following quickly behind. They both had rings of green soot around their faces. As Sali was fluttering around anxiously asking, "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" Loid had emerged and was brushing the soot off of both his son and Mr. Snicket, trying to comfort them as best as he could.
"I thought- I didn't know if, -" Violet suddenly felt undeniably angry at the tears that refused to slow down. She exclaimed furiously, "You could've died!"
Olaf's face twisted sympathetically, those glittering black eyes red-rimmed. Instead of answering his wife, he reached out and grabbed her. With one hand on her hip, and one on her face, he kissed her passionately, full of comfort and tenderness and reassurance. It was a brief kiss, but full of the understanding, 'I could've lost you, too…'
Lemony Snicket flinched at the sight and cleared his throat awkwardly. The two separated, but kept one hand threaded, a definite hold on the other.
"I'm glad you're safe, Mr. Snicket." Violet told him, with one green-smudged handprint painted across her cheek. "But why'd you run in? What was so important?"
For a moment, all five of them watched the building burn, trance-like. There were no fire-fighters employed to stop it from spreading. There never had been. Finally, Lemony looked down at the box of letters in his hands, then to the box in her husband's. "My research," he nodded to Olaf's box. "And my letters. Most of which are correspondences between your mother and myself."
Before Violet could reply, Count Olaf stood and stretched. "Mr. Snicket, come stay at my parent's home for tonight. It's not far from here and we have enough room for you." It wasn't a question. Lemony didn't respond.
As the fire burned to the ground, the five entered the car and Violet became almost symbolically wedged between the two former schoolmates. "I'd been sleeping in my office." Lemony admitted, "And I think that saving my life as proven you somewhat trustworthy."
Violet raised her eyebrows at Olaf. "You saved his life?"
The Count shrugged, "I found the emergency masks. They're supposed to keep out snow gnats, but they're used by volunteers and hidden in marked places in buildings that could possibly burn down. I just knew where to find them without having to look."
With that, Violet sighed and rested her head against the seat. Closing her eyes, she tried to kill the image of two men she cared about inside a burning building.
Count Olaf carried his sleeping wife inside as Loid and Sali tended to Lemony and helped him move his small amount of things into a spare bedroom. The Count sighed and stared down at Violet as he carried her past his Theatre and up another set of stairs. The lights cast her spiky lashes down her cheeks, another layer atop his handprint.
The terror on her face when she thought she'd lost him had spoken volumes. Violet cared about him, adored him. She was truly adamant in wanting him and, twistedly, Olaf was thankful that the fire had helped him see that.
"Goodnight, dearest." He whispered to her as he took of her shoes and laid her atop his bed. In response, Violet mumbled unattractively and flipped over, taking up the whole bed. Olaf smirked in amusement and snapped off the lights before closing the door.
Lemony Snicket was waiting for him in the kitchen looking fresh-faced, relatively clean, and sipping a hot cup of star anise tea. He'd brushed all of the soot off of his fire-proof suit.
"So," Lemony said with a sigh as he stared over his cup at the Count. "Judging by your mediocre attempt at Sebald Code," At that, the Count smirked. He knew Lemony would make some perfectionist comment. It amused the Count more than he thought it would. "You adore Violet and are intent on earning forgiveness and becoming noble?"
Olaf nodded, wishing he had something to do with his hands. Lemony said, "I wasn't sure if I believed you. But after the fire… And it's obvious that Violet cares about you a great deal."
When Olaf said nothing, Lemony stated, "You knew she was seeing me." Olaf nodded and said, "After I saw you at the civic theatre, I figured you'd been in contact."
After a thoughtful silence, Olaf admitted, "I thought you'd steal her from me." Lemony grinned genuinely, surprising the man across from him. He said, "Oh, I'd thought about it but she was adamant in staying with you. She trusts you. I'd never have guessed that she was willingly accepting her role as Countess, though."
Olaf shrugged and stood, suddenly feeling the weight of the man's stare on his wedding ring. He held out his hand and ventured, "We were friends once."
Remembering their very early VFD days, Lemony stood and returned the handshake. "Yes," he agreed, "We were friends once." A smile from Olaf shocked Mr. Snicket as he said, "Good. Now come look at this."
It took only a few moments for Count Olaf to disentangle the sugar bowl from Violet's pulley and an even shorter amount of time to hold it in his hands.
When he realized what it was, Lemony gasped, "The Vessel For Disaccharides!"
Olaf nodded and kicked away broken glass and mirror panes so they could sit on the floor with the bowl between them like two children playing with a scattered tea set.
"I've heard," Lemony said as he sat across from Olaf, "That various volunteers have added things to it over the years." Olaf nodded. He'd heard the same. He waited for Lemony to open it and the man complied warily.
The two volunteers gazed at the contents of the sugar bowl, all five of the things jammed tightly together. Lemony was quick to snatch up a note that his Beatrice had written, recognizing the familiar scrawl in an instant.
Olaf unfolded a very large stack of papers and looked over the evidence, recognizing it for what it was. Both of the men admitted in unison, "I… I know what this is."
"I'm happier than a pig eating bacon! I'm tickled pinker than a sunburnt Caucasian! I'm in higher spirits than a brand-new graveyard! I'm so happy-go-lucky that lucky and happy people are going to beat me with sticks out of pure, unbridled jealousy!" Is a quote of Count Olaf's from The Grim Grotto.
I've been watching the ASOUE DVD and I can't help but giggle when I watch it now, is that weird? I'm all, "Hey Violet, hey Olaf, you guys are gunna be in love, right? Because you need renovations, yes? So you'll move to your parents and..." Yeah, I've decided. That's weird. ;)
Also, one thing I've always wondered, is that if Josephine and Monty had VFD training with Olaf and knew that the disguises he wore were standard disguises that one learns in VFD then why didn't they notice? Their years of training were staring them in the face and they didn't act cautionary...
Has anyone else read the second chapter of Who Could That Be At This Hour? You can find it on tumblr.
I've drank an alarming amount of root beer floats since I've started writing this...