~a/n: wow, I did *not* mean to swear like that in the last few chapters. My
muse is jumping up and down in my head, chanting "you're not a wuss! You're
not a wuss!" and I really got into that chapter there. Anyway, it doesn't
seem like Olaf is the sort who would go out of his way not to swear. I
apologize for that profanity and any more that my little muse (who at the
moment is embodied in a little stuffed moose wearing a green Odyssey of the
Mind shirt) and I can come up with.
C h a p t e r F i v e
Looking up at the dark, clouded sky, Violet prayed that the threatening rain was not foreshadowing her and her sibling's future. She sat down on the wide stone steps leading up to the hotel and leaned her head back against the railing to watch the sky.
She felt so small and lost, out there alone in the dark. She pondered what had happened last night as thunder broke the silence and lightening ripped the sky apart. The rain fell, plastering her hair against her face and neck.
What was wrong with her? She should hate Olaf--stalking her and her siblings, trying to kill them every step of the way, and then randomly kissed her, all much against her will.
Right?
She was supposed to hate him, had to, wanted to--but she couldn't. Violet couldn't bring herself to hate him, no matter how hard she tried. He was responsible for about 86.7% of the misery in her life (the other 13.3 could be attributed to Mr. Poe and the death of her parents), but here she was alone on the steps feeling pity for him. Pity, and a strange connection. Many years later, lying in her bed, she would feel that same connection, but not nearly as strong as she did that moment on the steps of the hotel. The feeling flushed over her, drowning her in that morbid attachment. She shut her eyes and her hands fluttered to her face again.
She was rather alarmed when she realized she was smiling.
***
The tall slender man stood away from the window. It saddened him to see her down there in the rain, smiling to herself with her hands to her beautiful lips. On one hand, it was pleasant to see her smiling, and he would like to think she was thinking of him. However, he didn't want to think about her right now.
Not like his will, no matter how strong, could keep her out of his head. He knew how sick this situation was. He knew that he had to stop this, kill this, get her out of his system. He lit a cigarette and puffed it angrily.
"GODDAMN IT!" he shrieked suddenly, throwing his now-empty glass across the room. It shattered, and the smash made him feel a bit better. But the fact remained that he had done nothing productive that evening.
He shuffled through the papers on the desk before him--the floor plan of the hotel, old letters, and the lyrics to a song he wrote many years ago. He had written it for Celery, Celery who looked so much like Violet, Celery who was still locked away in the little corner of his mind. Celery. He remembered the first time he sang the song to her, scratchily and leaning over the little old guitar that was missing a string. He knew he had sounded horrible, but Celery had laughed and clapped. That day, crouched next to that ancient space heater in that tiny apartment, was the day he asked her to move in. He had little to offer her, but she said yes. The memory brought a smile to his face.
The memory brought a smile to his face as he read over the lyrics. God, but what the hell was her name? He had only ever called her Celery after he got to know her. He folded the faded paper and stuck it in his pocket, still smiling.
He went back to the papers on the desk. There was a faded photograph of Esme standing in front of the building where she preformed her first show. Olaf had secretly pulled a few strings to get her the lead role in an unknown play, and it was worth the way her eyes lit up when he told her that she had gotten the part. He remembered a time when she was quiet, sweet, serene....but no she was a barely tolerable girl he couldn't stand to be away from for more than a week.
Shut up, he thought to himself, you are not here alone to dredge up all your emotional baggage. You are up here to be alone, to figure out what in god's name you are going to do now.
He turned back to the floor plan of the hotel and stared at it for about 16 minutes. He stared at it some more, but he saw nothing that would get them out of his mind.
Celery. Esme. Violet. He growled in frustration, lit another cigarette, and settled back in his chair. He decided that tonight, he would relinquish control of his sanity to memory.
C h a p t e r F i v e
Looking up at the dark, clouded sky, Violet prayed that the threatening rain was not foreshadowing her and her sibling's future. She sat down on the wide stone steps leading up to the hotel and leaned her head back against the railing to watch the sky.
She felt so small and lost, out there alone in the dark. She pondered what had happened last night as thunder broke the silence and lightening ripped the sky apart. The rain fell, plastering her hair against her face and neck.
What was wrong with her? She should hate Olaf--stalking her and her siblings, trying to kill them every step of the way, and then randomly kissed her, all much against her will.
Right?
She was supposed to hate him, had to, wanted to--but she couldn't. Violet couldn't bring herself to hate him, no matter how hard she tried. He was responsible for about 86.7% of the misery in her life (the other 13.3 could be attributed to Mr. Poe and the death of her parents), but here she was alone on the steps feeling pity for him. Pity, and a strange connection. Many years later, lying in her bed, she would feel that same connection, but not nearly as strong as she did that moment on the steps of the hotel. The feeling flushed over her, drowning her in that morbid attachment. She shut her eyes and her hands fluttered to her face again.
She was rather alarmed when she realized she was smiling.
***
The tall slender man stood away from the window. It saddened him to see her down there in the rain, smiling to herself with her hands to her beautiful lips. On one hand, it was pleasant to see her smiling, and he would like to think she was thinking of him. However, he didn't want to think about her right now.
Not like his will, no matter how strong, could keep her out of his head. He knew how sick this situation was. He knew that he had to stop this, kill this, get her out of his system. He lit a cigarette and puffed it angrily.
"GODDAMN IT!" he shrieked suddenly, throwing his now-empty glass across the room. It shattered, and the smash made him feel a bit better. But the fact remained that he had done nothing productive that evening.
He shuffled through the papers on the desk before him--the floor plan of the hotel, old letters, and the lyrics to a song he wrote many years ago. He had written it for Celery, Celery who looked so much like Violet, Celery who was still locked away in the little corner of his mind. Celery. He remembered the first time he sang the song to her, scratchily and leaning over the little old guitar that was missing a string. He knew he had sounded horrible, but Celery had laughed and clapped. That day, crouched next to that ancient space heater in that tiny apartment, was the day he asked her to move in. He had little to offer her, but she said yes. The memory brought a smile to his face.
The memory brought a smile to his face as he read over the lyrics. God, but what the hell was her name? He had only ever called her Celery after he got to know her. He folded the faded paper and stuck it in his pocket, still smiling.
He went back to the papers on the desk. There was a faded photograph of Esme standing in front of the building where she preformed her first show. Olaf had secretly pulled a few strings to get her the lead role in an unknown play, and it was worth the way her eyes lit up when he told her that she had gotten the part. He remembered a time when she was quiet, sweet, serene....but no she was a barely tolerable girl he couldn't stand to be away from for more than a week.
Shut up, he thought to himself, you are not here alone to dredge up all your emotional baggage. You are up here to be alone, to figure out what in god's name you are going to do now.
He turned back to the floor plan of the hotel and stared at it for about 16 minutes. He stared at it some more, but he saw nothing that would get them out of his mind.
Celery. Esme. Violet. He growled in frustration, lit another cigarette, and settled back in his chair. He decided that tonight, he would relinquish control of his sanity to memory.
