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fandomweekly2020-11-16 06:01 pm
peaked) wrote in fandomweekly2020-11-16 06:01 pm
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[#73] FIRE (A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS)
Theme Prompt: #73—Burning Bridges.
Title: Fire.
Fandom: A Series of Unfortunate Events (book and Netflix).
Rating/Warnings: PG-13. Set post-series, contains vague spoilers.
Bonus: Yes.
Word Count: 893.
Summary: The Baudelaires seek closure in the ashes of where their misfortune began.
Three unlucky children stood outside the crooked house that had once belonged to the unfortunate and villainous Count Olaf. The wooden panels hung from the house’s skin as if being peeled off by an invisible hand or treacherous deeds. Standing as a dark omen, the Baudelaires gazed up at it uncomfortably as its eye peered down from the one sole window at the very top of the tall and domineering house.
A series of unfortunate events had led them to this very porch where all of it had started. Or perhaps it was only the first chapter in the series, as the Baudelaire’s misfortune had begun one morning on the sands of Briny Beach.
"I’m feeling uncomfortable," Klaus said, to which Violet nodded. His older sister wrapped her arms around herself as she peered up at the house she had once called home. It wasn’t much of a home, but more of an imprisonment. Even now, as she stood, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
"Too," said Sunny. She held Klaus’ hand tightly—almost too tightly for a little girl and for an up and coming chef who could now walk and chew her way through many things—and tried to hide behind Violet’s legs to keep herself out of sight from the evil house.
Baby Beatrice was snug against Klaus’ chest, unaware of the melancholic reminiscing weaving around her.
"What do we do?" Klaus said, unable to tear his gaze away from the house. It was dreary and empty, hollow like a rotting helmet found at the bottom of the sea. The house was peeling away, much like the dry skin of Count Olaf’s ankle.
Violet sighed and her hands remained by her sides. Her hair tie was wrapped snug around her wrist, and she made no move to reach for it to tie up her hair. The oldest Baudelaire found herself clueless.
"Burn," suggested Sunny.
Both Baudelaires looked down at their younger sister, who peered up at them with wide and bright eyes. Sunny might have been a baby, but she had lived countless lives as a reptile expert, a chef, a deep-sea diver, and a concierge. The two older Baudelaires looked at one another, considering the ramifications of her suggestion.
Sunny squeezed her brother’s hand and looked up at the house. "Burn," she repeated.
"Burn?" Klaus blinked.
Violet’s brows furrowed as she peered up at the monstrous house before her. Looking up at the dark and dreadful house made her feel as horrible as the mere mention of the Medusoid Mycelium did. It looked nothing like the brightly painted and well-manicured homes of the street. Justice Strauss’ house was colourful in comparison, even though they knew it was empty. Justice Strauss wasn’t home for them to say a proper goodbye to.
Violet looked back at the house. "I think she wants us to burn it down."
Klaus hummed thoughtfully, and then peered down at his youngest sister. "Doesn’t that make us just as bad as the villains in the stories?"
Violet looked down at Sunny, too. "And the villains in our lives?"
"Closure," Sunny said with a decisive nod.
Violet moved her hands, pulling her hair tie from her wrist. Tucking her hair up, she put it in a high ponytail and looked at the house before her with a studious and inventive eye.
As the eldest Baudelaire made her way to the decaying house, Klaus, Sunny and Beatrice remained on the dying lawn. So much had happened to get here: a flying hot air balloon, a tram, a submarine, and a boat named after their late mother.
For the last time, the Baudelaires lit a spark. Violet fanned the flames as Sunny, Klaus and little Beatrice looked on. The filaments of the late Count Olaf’s home caught alight, the hungry fire devouring the wooden panels and the cheap porch decor.
The Baudelaires watched until the house was eaten and burnt to ash, and even then, as they looked upon what remained of Count Olaf and his treachery, they didn’t feel any better. Sirens were sharp in the distance. There was only a matter of time until the real fire department or what remained of V.F.D. was to arrive.
"Last safe place," said Sunny. She tugged on the hands of her siblings and peered up at Beatrice wrapped in Klaus’ arm with a smile. "Here."
Hotel Denouement might have burned with all of V.F.D.’s secrets, but the secret organisation that had been fractured in half by a schism the Baudelaires were only coming to understand had gotten one thing wrong in their research. The last safe place wasn’t a physical location like a hotel that operated on the Dewey Decimal System or a judge’s home, or even a village. It was people.
The Baudelaires turned their backs on the ashes of Count Olaf’s home and never looked back.
The world was quiet in the crackling of the air as the fire licked at the wooden panels, decaying porch, and unwatered plants. The fire ate what was left of Count Olaf and his treachery and grief for the life he had craved and was never given.
The Baudelaires felt they finally understood what Kit had meant on the island. Fighting fire with fire wasn’t something villains only did. The good guys burned things, too.
Title: Fire.
Fandom: A Series of Unfortunate Events (book and Netflix).
Rating/Warnings: PG-13. Set post-series, contains vague spoilers.
Bonus: Yes.
Word Count: 893.
Summary: The Baudelaires seek closure in the ashes of where their misfortune began.
Three unlucky children stood outside the crooked house that had once belonged to the unfortunate and villainous Count Olaf. The wooden panels hung from the house’s skin as if being peeled off by an invisible hand or treacherous deeds. Standing as a dark omen, the Baudelaires gazed up at it uncomfortably as its eye peered down from the one sole window at the very top of the tall and domineering house.
A series of unfortunate events had led them to this very porch where all of it had started. Or perhaps it was only the first chapter in the series, as the Baudelaire’s misfortune had begun one morning on the sands of Briny Beach.
"I’m feeling uncomfortable," Klaus said, to which Violet nodded. His older sister wrapped her arms around herself as she peered up at the house she had once called home. It wasn’t much of a home, but more of an imprisonment. Even now, as she stood, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
"Too," said Sunny. She held Klaus’ hand tightly—almost too tightly for a little girl and for an up and coming chef who could now walk and chew her way through many things—and tried to hide behind Violet’s legs to keep herself out of sight from the evil house.
Baby Beatrice was snug against Klaus’ chest, unaware of the melancholic reminiscing weaving around her.
"What do we do?" Klaus said, unable to tear his gaze away from the house. It was dreary and empty, hollow like a rotting helmet found at the bottom of the sea. The house was peeling away, much like the dry skin of Count Olaf’s ankle.
Violet sighed and her hands remained by her sides. Her hair tie was wrapped snug around her wrist, and she made no move to reach for it to tie up her hair. The oldest Baudelaire found herself clueless.
"Burn," suggested Sunny.
Both Baudelaires looked down at their younger sister, who peered up at them with wide and bright eyes. Sunny might have been a baby, but she had lived countless lives as a reptile expert, a chef, a deep-sea diver, and a concierge. The two older Baudelaires looked at one another, considering the ramifications of her suggestion.
Sunny squeezed her brother’s hand and looked up at the house. "Burn," she repeated.
"Burn?" Klaus blinked.
Violet’s brows furrowed as she peered up at the monstrous house before her. Looking up at the dark and dreadful house made her feel as horrible as the mere mention of the Medusoid Mycelium did. It looked nothing like the brightly painted and well-manicured homes of the street. Justice Strauss’ house was colourful in comparison, even though they knew it was empty. Justice Strauss wasn’t home for them to say a proper goodbye to.
Violet looked back at the house. "I think she wants us to burn it down."
Klaus hummed thoughtfully, and then peered down at his youngest sister. "Doesn’t that make us just as bad as the villains in the stories?"
Violet looked down at Sunny, too. "And the villains in our lives?"
"Closure," Sunny said with a decisive nod.
Violet moved her hands, pulling her hair tie from her wrist. Tucking her hair up, she put it in a high ponytail and looked at the house before her with a studious and inventive eye.
As the eldest Baudelaire made her way to the decaying house, Klaus, Sunny and Beatrice remained on the dying lawn. So much had happened to get here: a flying hot air balloon, a tram, a submarine, and a boat named after their late mother.
For the last time, the Baudelaires lit a spark. Violet fanned the flames as Sunny, Klaus and little Beatrice looked on. The filaments of the late Count Olaf’s home caught alight, the hungry fire devouring the wooden panels and the cheap porch decor.
The Baudelaires watched until the house was eaten and burnt to ash, and even then, as they looked upon what remained of Count Olaf and his treachery, they didn’t feel any better. Sirens were sharp in the distance. There was only a matter of time until the real fire department or what remained of V.F.D. was to arrive.
"Last safe place," said Sunny. She tugged on the hands of her siblings and peered up at Beatrice wrapped in Klaus’ arm with a smile. "Here."
Hotel Denouement might have burned with all of V.F.D.’s secrets, but the secret organisation that had been fractured in half by a schism the Baudelaires were only coming to understand had gotten one thing wrong in their research. The last safe place wasn’t a physical location like a hotel that operated on the Dewey Decimal System or a judge’s home, or even a village. It was people.
The Baudelaires turned their backs on the ashes of Count Olaf’s home and never looked back.
The world was quiet in the crackling of the air as the fire licked at the wooden panels, decaying porch, and unwatered plants. The fire ate what was left of Count Olaf and his treachery and grief for the life he had craved and was never given.
The Baudelaires felt they finally understood what Kit had meant on the island. Fighting fire with fire wasn’t something villains only did. The good guys burned things, too.