It's a dirty rotten shame
And that is not an idle boast
When all your courage and your strength
Will leave you as you need it most
When there are lamps to dampen
And cauliflowers to flip
It's nothing but a dirty rotten shame
Elvis Costello, Dirty Rotten Shame
The expression in her pale eyes is enough to send shivers down his spine, but they halt midway and turn into something of lesser importance. A crooked smile breaks like cold dawn across his face, and a familiar sort of emotion settles in his chest. He's won before, but never has victory been so sweet.
Her mouth hangs open, as though she's trying desperately to scream but can't make any words come out. She cannot threaten him, that ship sailed ages ago, back when she had a few people who were supposed to be on her side. People who were supposed to be helping, but turned out to be too cowardly to even consider standing up for three helpless children.
It's quite terrifying to be chased by a rather old man, who at least has assistance.
She watches in horror as the man grabs her brother and sister, who are both shocked to the point of silence. She watches as her brother wordlessly pleads with her to do something, anything, to save them. She wants to save them.
The smile does not vanish as he stares at her, looking very small compared to all her troubles. He sees her biting her bottom lip, he sees her trying to square her shoulders with courage. He sees the gears turning in her head, the pain she must be going through at his expense. The smile does not vanish.
She tries not to show how horrified she is as she looks up into the glassy eyes of Count Olaf, which have turned somewhat yellow since she has last seen him. They're gleaming as they always do when the end is drawing closer. It never used to unnerve her so -- perhaps because she had always kept hope until this point.
"Hello, Olaf," she says, little voice quivering ever so slightly.
"Hello, Violet," The sadistically twisted reply rings in her ears, full of mockery and avarice. She always thought the world to be a relatively healthy place until she met this man.
She knows what she wants to say, and what she wants to do. She wants Klaus and Sunny to be safe, to live happy lives, to always take care of each other and never have to run from someone ever again. She wants them to have that sort of life more than anything in the world. She could not live knowing that she had a chance to be taken in their place, and decided against it. But life with the Count... She had four -- nearly three -- more years until she came of age. Could she live that long with such an awful man? Could she stand him watching her, talking to her, ordering her about?
He enjoys her fight to keep her composure, as though a calm appearance will save her siblings' lives. He used to try to be brave, but decided it would be better if he gave up. It was much too hard for his liking.
She's surprised he isn't gloating. That's how he's spent his free time for as long as she's known him, and it's strange for him to remain silent for such a long period of time. She wishes he would start the conversation they're destined to have -- speaking of bravery and self-sacrifice. She knows both, he knows neither, but it's always much easier for a fool to start on a subject so important.
He doesn't say a word.
"I would like my brother and sister back, if you wouldn't mind," she says, the general politeness in her nature trying to settle this in a civilized manner before she has to use her pure desperation.
He laughs. Streams of giggles, sheer and torturous amusement stinging the cool night air. "Damn, you're just like your mother," he says, shaking his head. She knows this, of course. Many people have told her so -- but the way he says it, it becomes more of an insult than a compliment.
"Unfortunately, your mother had to learn that being nice is not it's own reward."
She swallows, the lump that has been building in her throat nearly succeeding in its struggle to close off all air. She doesn't know what to say. He's made it quite clear with that statement that she isn't going to come out alive.
She's going to be slaughtered.
"W-What do you want, Olaf?"
"Did I say I wanted something?" he asks, tightening his grip on the two orphans trapped within his arms.
They pause, both staring at each other.
"Release them, please," she tries again, a hint of her fear escaping and lacing her words very carefully.
"No."
She knows why he's not running away, leaving her to cry about the loss of her brother and sister. She knows why he's not headed off to begin some dastardly plot. She knows, and she wishes that she didn't.
She wishes he wasn't waiting for her.
"If you let them go," she begins, the desperation coming out in full form and rattling every inch of her thought. "If -- If you let them go..."
He cocks his head to the side, the girl standing in front of him nearly breaking into sobs as she tries to say exactly what he wants to hear. He had a reason for his plan in the beginning -- it was the simplest. It was the simplest because she would have to give in if he threatened either one of the other Baudeliare Brats. But she had escaped the last time -- the last several times. Perhaps that was a part of the reason he admired her. But now... now she was giving up.
As happy as he is to finally have the girl's fortune secured, he can't help but notice that she is looking rather tired. The dark circles under her eyes are finally beginning to show.
"Take me." she finally manages to choke out, paling considerably as the command falls into the open.
"Alright."