Chapter 3, Colors of the Snow, and Wind, and Rain, and Hail and—
Disclaimer: We own nothing pertaining to this story except the unique character interpretations and our tongue-in-cheek sense of humor. Wow. That was perhaps the most dry disclaimer we've ever had.
A/N: And...back to normal life! Europe was spectacular, though it's very hot in summertime, and I absolutely could not wait to get back to writing this story, which is why I now present you all with this special surprise: We're putting up Chapters 3 and 4 at once!
PM1 and I sincerely hope you enjoy this return to Snicket Land, and hope to return to a more normal sort of updating schedule now that life has been restored.
Sunny did not like the room that she had been given at Kit's chateau. It was likely the smallest place in the house, and it was very dark, as the only window was painted over in a hideous shade of orange.
The bendy-woman from the carnival would tap on the door every once in a while, bearing a tray of gruel and a tankard of ale. Sunny swigged down the liquor, thinking fondly on the old days, when she had enjoyed William's Ale at her leisure.
That sort of ale had given Sunny a good buzz, and had tasted all cool and fuzzy. This ale tasted like stale poo.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
Someone was at the door, "Shylockian!"said Sunny, which meant, "Come in!"
The door opened and in strolled Olaf, looking incredibly full-of-himself, "Hello, Sunny."
Sunny sighed, "Out." she said slowly, "Now."
"No." Olaf put on a ridiculous pouting-face, looking defiantly at the wall, "I wish to talk to you."
Sunny looked pointedly at Olaf, cuing him to speak.
"Kit's guests are arriving in precisely one hour's time. They are the Lord and Lady Blackwoodshire from Dirty Bastard. Kit wants to know if you will be dining with us."
From the way Olaf sounded, he wanted nothing more than for Sunny to stay in her room and starve. Apparently, Kit had forced Olaf to make this speech. Maybe she really wasn't as bad as her lover was.
Sunny held her head high and said, in her most aristocratic voice, "Serve!" which meant, "Yes."
Olaf sniffed in his usual, put-off manner, and left.
Sunny had to prepare for dinner.
"How do you slow this thing down?" Lemony sang at a slow, funeral march-esque tone as he swayed back and forth in the back of the royal Snicketian helicopter.
Madame Anwhistle leaned her head against the glass. The Dandruff Mountains were spread out below her, like a map, and the steady whirring of the chopper was rather placating to Madame Anwhistle's nerves.
"How do you make this thing slow down?" Lemony continued singing, prompting Madame Anwhistle to snap, "Lemony shut up!"
If it had been anyone else addressing the Snicket in such a way, they would have been killed on the spot. Madame Anwhistle, though, had been Lemony's adviser since he had taken the throne, and before that, she had been adviser to his father: Jacob.
Lemony pouted, "I was enjoying my solo! 'Solo' is a word which here means: a length of verse composed and then sung by one individual."
Madame Anwhistle sighed. Lemony loved defining words, often while he was speaking to other people. He was very weird like that.
The two Snicker-appointed pilots began conversing with each other in light tones, saying that they were about to approach Mount Fickle-Nickle.
Good, Madame Anwhistle thought, I'd like to stretch my legs.
"Are you sure you packed all of my suits?" Lord Blackwoodshire flared very sternly at Lucy, perhaps hoping she'd make a fool of herself and stumble over her words again.
"Not to worry, Father." she replied simply, "I packed your whole ensemble."
Lord Blackwoodshire nodded, pleased with this. His wife though, was fidgeting to no end. She sat there in the limousine, buttoning her voluminous fur coat. Then unbuttoning it. Then buttoning it again, and so on and so forth.
She looked more nervous then a dancing bear that has fallen over. Lucy wondered, not for the first time, why her surrogate mother was so frightened of Kit Snicket, a woman whom she didn't seem to have much respect for.
And if that was the case, why were they going to this party?
Lady Blackwoodshire was now blowing a single wisp of hair from her face, watching it come down again, blowing it up again, and on and on.
They were now coasting up the winding Sometimes Ridden Road, which wound around Mount Fickle-Nickle. Looking out the window, Lucy marveled at how high this particular peak was. So tall, that it spiraled into the clouds.
"Who would ever want to live in a place like this?" she asked, almost to herself.
Lady Blackwoodshire heard her, though, and snapped, "People with shady ideals, that's who! Treacherous bigwigs with no respect for their betters—people who go against what the way is!
Mother Blackwoodshire would often talk about 'going against the way'. She had yet to explain what the way was, and so Lucy was natural curious.
Either way, at least the view was pretty from up here.
"You can't think you're going to keep me a prisoner!" Violet fumed. Quigley was already walking down the grassy plain, apparently not even paying attention to her.
"Wait right there!" she commanded, tripping over her feet on the way to the lost Quagmire.
"As I said," Quigley rounded on her, looking far more fierce than Violet would have liked, "If you wish to stay here, then you will not mention my family!"
"I didn't mention your family!" Violet hissed, "And besides, I am perfectly capable of surviving out in the mountains!"
"Really?"
"Of course! I've survived all sorts of danger! I've fought madmen! I've escaped fires, lions, floods, with my family. And yours."
Why had she said that? Was Violet purposefully trying to piss Quigley off? Whatever she was trying to do, Quigley was pissed off.
He raised his arm, so worn by years of rough-living, and brought it down on Violet's face. Pain. Burning and terrible pain. Violet fell to the floor, her hand reaching up to her cheek, feeling the red, raw mark forming there.
Quigley stood above her, seething like a beast of prey set loose.
Trapped. Trapped in this valley—or try and escape. Escape into the cold.
But now it seemed that Quigley was calming down. He slowly lowered his hand, and sighed. Slowly, he moved toward Violet.
Silent, whimpering in a way akin to a hurt animal, Violet scrambled back on hands and knees. What had happened to her old spunk? Why wasn't she able to simply stand up and defend herself? The answer, Violet figured, was very simple: she was scared. Scared in a way that nothing else had ever made her. Not even Olaf had frightened her this way.
But instead of striking again, Quigley sighed.
COLORS OF THE WIND {from Pocahontas}
Quigley: You think I'm an ignorant savage.
And you've been so many places, I guess it must be so.
But still I cannot see, if the savage one is me—
How can there be so much that you don't know—
You don't know—
{RISING CRESCENDO!}
You think you own whatever land you land on—
The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim—
But I know every rock and tree and creature has a life—
Has a spirit—
Has a name!
{he grabs Violet by the hand and leads her over a rise to a point that overlooks the Valley of the Four Deuces}
You think the only people who are people—
Are the people who look and think like you.
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger, you'll learn things you never knew you never knew—
{he lifts Violet from the ground with bodily force and runs her down the slope, oblivious to her screams of terror}
Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon?
Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grins?
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain!
Can you paint with all the colors of the snow!
Violet: {speaking} But the snow is white!
Quigley: {ignoring her} Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest!
{he begins leading Violet on a mad dash through several tall pines atop the valley}
Come taste the sun-sweet berries of the earth!
{he snatches a bunch of berries from a bush and shoves them into Violet's face}
Come roll in all the riches all around you!
{he pushes Violet down a slope, causing them to roll in a tumble down into the stream}
And for once never wonder what they're worth!
The rainstorm and the river are my brothers!
{he begins splashing water on the two of them}
The heron and the otter are my friends!
And we are all connected to each other! In a circle—
In a hoop that never ends—
How high does the sycamore grow?
{he sets to climbing an incredibly tall pine, Violet clinging to his back, half-scared out of her wits}
If you cut it down, then you'll never know!
And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon!
For whether we are white or copper-skinned—
We need to sing with all the voices of the mountain!
We need to paint with all the colors of the snow!
You can own the Earth and still all you'll own is earth—
Until you can paint with all the snow!
{he spreads his arms out, accidentally knocking Violet out of the tree}
THE CURTAIN FALLS
"WHERE IS SHE?"
"WHAT'S ALL THIS NONSENSE?"
"WHERE IS SHE?"
"SHUT UP!" Isadora snapped, looking at the two boys. They had been alternating between calling for Violet and making stupid jokes ever since they had escaped the gnats.
"Sorry sister." Duncan looked at the ground sheepishly.
"We really ought to find Violet, though." Chubs looked over the ridge at the pitch darkness.
"His name is Lancelot, he wears tight pants a lot—"
"FOR GOD'S SAKE, SHUT UP!" Isadora hissed at Duncan.
The three moved on, Chubs humming the theme from Indiana Jones as they went.
"I don't want to be late."
"We won't be late."
"Due north here, darling."
"I know, I know!"
Dewey's specially designed hang-gliding cloak propelled him over the mountains, Esme in his arms. Esme hated traveling like this. It made her dizzy.
"Lovely northeasterly tonight." Dewey commented on the rather strong wind that blew at this altitude.
"It ruins my coiffure." Esme complained, running one hand through her tangled golden locks, "Kit Snicket will think me a tramp. I haven't been to a beauty parlor in ages!"
"You look fine, darling." Dewey assured her, planting a kiss on her cheek, "Kit Snicket has—er—nothing on you."
Esme smiled. She knew Dewey was trying to cover up his own past with Kit Snicket. She had been his first love, though Esme was a close second. Why had she invited them to this party? Dewey was bringing the Chamber Pot of course, what else was he to do with it?
But Kit was in league with Olaf now. This was all part of some convoluted scheme, Esme could tell. But she would be ready. She would not let Olaf take advantage of her again.
A/N: And now, Chapter 4 is already up for your reading pleasure. We'll have a real sign-off then. Do enjoy.