Story: The World Shakes With Silence
Pairing: Olaf/Violet, hints of Olaf/Kit and Olaf/Esme
Summary: Nostalgia breeds sadness, sadness brings fear, fear hoists hate, hate mirrors love, and love causes nostalgia. A circle of catastrophic dimensions.
Disclaimer: While I might've enjoyed my romps with the characters of ASOUE for the last five years, I never have (and doubtfully ever will) own the rights of the Baudelaires and all they've encountered. All that belongs solely to Lemony Snicket/Daniel Handler (except perhaps the Count, who belongs to himself in addition).
Warning(s): Rated M for nudity, sexuality, and coarse language. Oh, and there's spoilers, too. C:
While Olaf continued to stare at all four orphans in dumbfounded silence, Violet popped open the jar in her hands and peered inside. Frowning slightly, she bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before addressing everyone.
“There's only enough here to treat three people, and whoever opens the diving helmet will be exposed.”
It was Olaf's turn to frown now, weighing the pros and cons.
“Well, I'm staying right here,” he decided aloud, to the apparent surprise of the elder Baudelaires.
“Why?” asked the bookworm.
“What, you think I'm going to leave all three of you alone, unattended, where you might find a way to escape? Anyway, if I'm here, than one of you has to wait outside, and I know there's no way you'd leave behind one of your own. Unless you want them to die, that is.”
Violet was openly glaring at him now.
“We don't have time for this Olaf. How will we decide who has to stay?”
Olaf grinned. “Don't be silly, Violet. It's Klaus's turn to be the hostage, I believe. After all, you and Sunny have been taken... what...? Twice now, each?” He earned another glare from Violet, and now Klaus as well.
“Besides, I'm certain Fiona wouldn't mind a bit of company when Big Brother gets here.”
“W-what?” Fiona asked, clearly confused.
“You'll see,” Olaf said, smirking. “Now go.”
Klaus glowered at him one more time before turning and trudging out of the room, Fiona following him.
Grinning at Violet triumphantly, he faltered for a moment when he saw her teeth gritted in concentration as she began to open the helmet. The latch opened easily, but for some reason the lid itself appeared to be stuck. Wrenching on it, she finally had to stop for a minute and pull the hair out of her eyes and, for a moment, Olaf was startled to see her crying.
Sighing, he picked up the helmet himself, and Violet opened her mouth to protest until he wiggled it a little counter-clockwise, and it popped open.
Violet murmured a little “Thank you,” (though it sounded rather more like “Fuck you,” with her tone,) before reaching in an pulling out a gasping, sickly Sunny. Olaf wrinkled his nose in disgust as Violet quickly explained to the infant what was going on, before scooping out a spoonful of wasabi (where she got the spoon, he had no idea) and cramming it down the little orphan's throat. (Okay, maybe he was exaggerating a bit.)
There was a long moment while they waited, and Sunny's gasps turned to slow, easy breaths, before the infant finally seemed to notice his presence.
Blinking nervously, Sunny murmured something to Violet, who sighed before saying quietly, “I've made a deal with him, Sunny, but I don't want to talk about it right now.”
With that, she scooped out a spoonful of wasabi, swallowed it, shuddered, and handed him the tin.
Peering inside, he frowned slightly before wordlessly taking the spoon from her and scraping out the rest.
“Well, what now?” Violet asked the moment he swallowed.
Olaf blinked. “Excuse me?”
“How do you intend to explain to Esme that you plan on marrying me? Without her trying to kill you?”
Olaf grinned toothily now. “Easy. I don't.”
Olaf pulled a walkie-talkie out of his pocket and it crackled to life. “Hey, Hooky?”
The voice of the Hook-Handed Man fizzed through the static. “Yes Boss?”
“Come down here, I need your assistance.”
Tuning out again, Olaf stood and motioned Violet to follow him. She did, albeit grudgingly, and they left the kitchen to find Klaus and Fiona in deep conversation.
“Alright orphans, listen up,” Olaf crowed, as all eyes fell on him. “I want you three,” here he pointed to Klaus, Sunny, and Fiona, “to fix that window.”
All four children looked at one another in confusion. “Why?” Violet asked, but she already had her suspicions.
Olaf smirked at her. “You'll see. Now, is there another way to get into this vessel, other than the window?”
Fiona stood and walked wordlessly over to the far wall of the main room. Pushing aside a table that was leaning against the wall, she revealed a hidden hatch. “This opens directly to the outside of the Queequeg. Aye! Why?”
The count glowered. “Never you mind. Now get to work on that window.”
The orphans sighed and obeyed the words of a madman.
Standing outside the Queequeg ten minutes later, the orphans surveyed their handiwork, and Olaf stared doubtfully at the gum-sealed glass.
“Are you sure it's going to hold against the water pressure?” he asked.
The door on the far side of the docking room swung open and the count rolled his eyes.
“Took you long enough, Hooky.”
“Sorry boss, you know how Carmelita and Es--...” Brown eyes widened and found someone more familiar than anyone else, before Olaf was certain he wasn't going to get anymore decent conversation for a few minutes, at least.
There was a moment of quiet calm between the Baudelaire orphans and the count while Fiona and Fernald had their (somewhat) happy little reunion. Olaf leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his lean chest, as the Baudelaires stared in dumbfounded... well, Klaus and the baby stared in silence, and Violet looked a little uncomfortable (but not exactly surprised). Her near-nonchalance was what kept Olaf quiet, considering her for a long moment before breaking the quell.
“Fernald, I need you to make sure they don't escape,” Olaf sighed in mild boredom, waving a hand over the two younger Baudelaires and snaking an arm around Violet's shoulders, who cringed under his touch like he was going to kick her.
Fernald straightened up and nodded curtly, still hook-in-hand with Fiona, who was now blinking up at him in confusion and fear.
“You're just going to listen to him? Aye?”
Gritting his teeth, her brother took a deep breath. “I have no choice,” he said quietly. “He's the boss.”
Olaf snorted a little at the melodramatics before turning around. “Come on, Orphan,” he said, pulling Violet with him as he faced the Queequeg, throwing an arm out in front of him in a wide arc as he declared theatrically, “We have a whole world to tear down.”
Violet gritted her teeth and placed her hands on his waist, trying to push him away, but he merely tightened his grip. For a moment, everyone else just watched they struggled, before she gave up and he started to steer her towards the ship.
“Boss? Where are you going?”
Olaf turned back to face his cohort, smirking. “Violet and I have had a little engagement for a while now, but last time she decided to call a rain check. So, while we're gone, you're in charge.”
Having successfully pulled open the hatch, pushed the eldest Baudelaire inside, and taken in the shocked and disgusted looks on everyone's face (only Fernald seemed to be trying his damnedest to hide the latter), Olaf followed her in before calling over his shoulder, “Oh, by the way; if Esme and Carmelita give you any trouble, throw them overboard. Give them my regards.”
With that, the door slammed shut, and the count and the orphan were alone.
The rest of the day was spent in almost complete silence. Olaf had rushed up the ladder, fired up the engines and, without a backward glance, they shot out from the octopus submarine and into the sea.
Keeping one eye on the gummed-up window (Violet had held it in place while the gum adjusted to the pressure, but he didn't entirely trust her to not try and sabotage him in some way) and the other on Violet herself, who was seated at the long table with her head rested on her arms, he charted a guesstimated course before deciding that the submarine could fend without a captain for a while, and climbed down the ladder to see her.
Seating himself opposite her, he tilted his head forwards, trying to see if she was asleep. Reaching out a hand, he gently brushed her hair out of the way. Violet's head snapped up, and she surveyed him with surprise and suspicion.
“What're you doing?” she asked, her voice edged with warning.
“Watching you sleep,” he replied, fully intending to sound creepy and apparently succeeding.
“Why?” she asked, sounding unsure as to whether or not she really wanted to know.
“Well, I want to make sure you don't snore. It's a complete turnoff to know that your future wife has a nasal problem.”
A resounding slap across the face made him reel, and he watched, temporarily stunned, as she turned on her heel and stormed out, her hair flying out behind her before she slammed the door leading to the barracks behind her.
Olaf didn't know what to say to that, so he sat in silence and massaged his cheek.
Three hours came and went, while he tried to busy himself with other things, before he felt a nagging feeling at the back of his mind told him to check on his fiancee.
Leaving the control room behind, he strode down the adjoining hallway, opening the door at the far end and peeking inside.
Violet was curled on the farthest bed, her back to the door.
Sliding into the room (and flinching when the metal door screeched shut behind him) he padded as quietly as he could to her bedside.
Violet rolled over suddenly, and he blinked down at her, wondering mildly whether she was going to slap him again.
“Are you going to kill Klaus and Sunny?”
Olaf started. “What?”
Violet sat up, an expression of complete seriousness on her face. “Are you going to kill my brother and sister?”
“Are you going to kill me, when you get the money?”
“Not unless you want me to.”
Violet stared at him, hard, before asking her third question. “How do you intend to marry me?”
Olaf was quiet.
“You're not going to make my consummate the marriage, are you?”
“Get out,” Violet said, more tired than bitter now.
But Olaf didn't leave.
Two chapters, because I want to give other peeps a chance to post.