Post by Madamluna on Feb 11, 2004 18:25:34 GMT -5
This one was already posted on ff.net, but I consider it one of my better works. Someone actually reviewed this complaining about me portraying Lemony as out-of-character because he was crying. If that's the case, then just go ahead and call the OOC Police on Daniel Handler right now, because aside from narrating all Lemony does is cry. </minirant>
---
Sacrosanct: Over the Wind
In Olaf one was able to find a dubious source of wonderment; how strange it is, and how fascinating, that this one person is able to lay waste to all he steps upon. Desecration was his nature; to destroy his purpose. He left nothing untouched, and bent others to his steel-strong will that, eventually, all succumbed to. How sad that the noble and pure ones who attempt to stop this insult to the human race end up tied hopelessly to him- -either through death, or through recruitment, or any number of horrible things that could happen, and have happened in the past.
Lemony tried to rouse himself from bitter thoughts and harsh memories, but his mind refused to comply. Of the last volunteers left, wending his way through the world to dutifully copy down every minute detail of the Baudelaire lives, so that justice may be--this train of thought was abruptly stopped by the hissing voice of cynicism in his mind, assuring him that all was a bad business. How much possible damage to this beast could one man do? And how much could this damage be magnified if his plans backfired? Lemony himself was intending not to be turned around and confused by this man, but it had happened to plenty of others.
"Sacrosanct," he said to himself, the crisp syllables resounding against the walls made by the Mortmain Mountains, through which four drafts chilled the air and blew away the steam. Sacrosanct meant a holy of holies, something immune from criticism by its sanctity. He didn't know exactly why he had spoken the word--maybe in reference to V.F.D.? It was never immune to criticism, but it had a holy goal: to keep the world quiet.
Standing in the middle of the soundless valley, in the midst of what used to be the V.F.D. headquarters and hearing stark nothingness, Lemony was quite suddenly aware of the irony. V.F.D. had made the world quiet. Or rather, Olaf had. For if there's nothing in the world, what's there to cause discord? Long after the crackle of flames subsides, nothing is left besides ashes and memories, at once painful and pleasing, reminders of a time when life was so much simpler. Life, and love, and duty.
What was duty to him now? The organization was gone, many of its members being currently deceased, with very few having passed away via natural causes. Lemony was sworn to keep his duty and make sure the world remained quiet. However, he had not foreseen the difficulty of such a task. Picking up the remains of a shattered life was very difficult when you're suffocating under the weight of corpses.
He looked up into the misty sky, covered in heavy grey clouds. "What can I do?" he whispered. "There's nowhere safe. There's nowhere..."
"Nowhere safe. Yes."
Lemony whipped around. "You!"
Count Olaf stepped forward, his heavy boots crunching into the snow. "Yes, it's me. You didn't honestly think I didn't know you were here, did you?" He laughed mirthlessly, holding up a black-gloved hand.
Lemony started talking, utterly exasperated. "Why? Why are you doing all of this? Why do you have to destroy everything? You don't know what kind of a life I've been living, trying to find you...all over the world."
"And now you've found me." Olaf grinned. "Isn't that a nice surprise? I consider myself rather compassionate to come all the way down here to talk to you, Lemony. I haven't seen you in a long, long time."
"Not long enough!" Lemony spat bitterly, stepping back. "Ashes. All you leave in your wake is ashes."
Olaf stepped forward towards him again. "Of course. Fire's so clean, isn't it? You've read Bradbury; you know." He gestured grandly with his arm, waving to the immense valley, now empty and cold. "The world is quiet here, Lemony. How clean, how stark, and how utterly blank is the world..."
"You're killing it! You're killing everyone and everything. Stop."
"I'm afraid that's quite impossible, my friend." Still grinning, almost madly, he grabbed Lemony's chin and peered into his eyes. "We're both caught up in this, you know. Well, I am, anyway: I will refuse to stop my path until I obtain what I desire most. You, however, will incur no ire from me if you wish to cast yourself out of this unholy wreck of a lifestyle you're living. A vagrant, yes?" His voice became a ghastly parody of a purr. "Bask in your memories, Snicket. It'll be the better for both of us. Why, look. You're crying."
It was true. Lemony had seized Olaf's arm with both hands, though not moving it away. From beneath the brim of his fedora hat came burning tears down upon his face, nearly glowing in the ambient sunlight of the valley. "I...I can't. I can't. Leave," he choked out. "Please, Olaf! Please, just...stop...please..." his words degenerated into incomprehensible weeping.
Olaf was taken aback by this and pulled away his hand. He chewed on his lip thoughtfully; how much time, he thought, had Snicket spent crying? Clearly this was a man to whom a life of despair had attached itself, relentlessly eating away at his mind and soul, irrepressible for as long as he'd known the man. "Don't..." He winced. Was he showing compassion? He hoped he wasn't. "Don't. Just...go. Leave! There's nothing you can do..."
Snicket heaved a deep sigh, wiping away the frosty tears with a cold sleeve. "God...why did this have to happen? All of it. Everything. The schism. You."
"Times change, Snicket," Olaf rasped, giving his former comrade a sidelong glance. "And so do people. Though it appears that you still hold the same idealistic views."
"The views that all of us once shared! Even you. Why did you have to destroy them? Why did you have to tear apart V.F.D.?" Lemony pressed, his words flowing in a rush of emotion. "You could have stayed, and helped the world. Why do you have to burn it down instead?" He hoped that his words would reach Olaf, but he doubted that they would have any real effect. The man was far beyond reason.
"Because it's what I have to do!" Olaf snapped, turning on his heel. "You don't understand the way the world works, you naive...boy. If I stopped this, all of this, do you know what would happen? I would die." He began to walk away slowly from Lemony, back into the mountains. "You won't..." he looked back over his shoulder. "That's why I haven't killed you yet. Go back. Stop following me. Stop trying to figure out secrets you can't comprehend, and live some semblance of a normal life."
"I can't." Lemony looked up at him, and Olaf stopped. "I'll die, too."
Olaf paused, his hands down at his sides and gazing at Lemony inquisitively. "You've lived your entire life in...in infamy, you know. You don't have to do that any more. I've known you for a very, very long time, Lemony. You don't...you don't," he pronounced, though he didn't like the way the words made him feel, "deserve this." His heart began to ache with the faint memories of something very like compassion.
"I don't. That's true." Lemony clenched his hands into fists. "But I can't stop now. If I stopped, all that I've worked for will be in vain, all of the people that have died will be for naught...and that would be an unforgivable sin." His voice grew steady and sure. "If I don't have anything to strive for, then what will be my purpose and reason to live?"
Olaf nodded. "I understand." There was silence for a few moments as he tried to think of something else to say. He smiled a little, thinly, as the wind began to grow a little stronger. The coattails of his suit flapped in the gale, curling and twisting like smoke. "Look." He gestured for the other man to come closer.
Lemony stepped across the snow, the milky whiteness glittering and glimmering in the sunlight like so many delicate crystals. The wind began to pick up, emitting a low moaning sound as it rushed through the Valley of Four Drafts. It swept the ashes from the ground and blew them into the sky, and the two watched them spiral into the air, over the frozen iridescent waterfall of the Stricken Stream, to be carried to the outside world. The world that would have remained quiet and safe, had the plans of V.F.D. been able to come to fruition. Had the man, standing confidently next to Lemony Snicket, been stopped in time.
"I'm afraid the fact still stands that there's nothing you can do." Olaf's voice, softer now, brought Lemony back to his senses from his momentary reverie.
The other man did not speak for a few moments. "Yes," he finally said, simply. "That may be true. But I have to keep trying."
"It will accomplish nothing."
"I know." He sighed. "But I have to keep going. You're the only thing that keeps me alive," he said, and clasped Olaf's hand in his. It was quite cold.
Olaf hesitated, then placed his other hand on top of Lemony's. "All right." He thought of what to say. "Now, leave. Esme will get worried if I don't come back soon."
Lemony nodded. "When will we see each other next?"
White steam flowed from Olaf's lips. "At...the last safe place." His hand was still on Lemony's: he could feel both growing warm. "The world is quiet here."
"The world is quiet here," Snicket echoed, and bowed his head. He slipped his hand out from between Olaf's and stepped slowly across the blank plain, out of the Valley of Four Drafts in the desolate Mortmain Mountains. Olaf stayed behind and watched the figure grow smaller, smaller, as he disappeared into the snow.
He opened his mouth to call something, but decided against it, and worked his way back up to the summit of Mount Fraught as the wind died down and all was still.
---
Sacrosanct: Over the Wind
In Olaf one was able to find a dubious source of wonderment; how strange it is, and how fascinating, that this one person is able to lay waste to all he steps upon. Desecration was his nature; to destroy his purpose. He left nothing untouched, and bent others to his steel-strong will that, eventually, all succumbed to. How sad that the noble and pure ones who attempt to stop this insult to the human race end up tied hopelessly to him- -either through death, or through recruitment, or any number of horrible things that could happen, and have happened in the past.
Lemony tried to rouse himself from bitter thoughts and harsh memories, but his mind refused to comply. Of the last volunteers left, wending his way through the world to dutifully copy down every minute detail of the Baudelaire lives, so that justice may be--this train of thought was abruptly stopped by the hissing voice of cynicism in his mind, assuring him that all was a bad business. How much possible damage to this beast could one man do? And how much could this damage be magnified if his plans backfired? Lemony himself was intending not to be turned around and confused by this man, but it had happened to plenty of others.
"Sacrosanct," he said to himself, the crisp syllables resounding against the walls made by the Mortmain Mountains, through which four drafts chilled the air and blew away the steam. Sacrosanct meant a holy of holies, something immune from criticism by its sanctity. He didn't know exactly why he had spoken the word--maybe in reference to V.F.D.? It was never immune to criticism, but it had a holy goal: to keep the world quiet.
Standing in the middle of the soundless valley, in the midst of what used to be the V.F.D. headquarters and hearing stark nothingness, Lemony was quite suddenly aware of the irony. V.F.D. had made the world quiet. Or rather, Olaf had. For if there's nothing in the world, what's there to cause discord? Long after the crackle of flames subsides, nothing is left besides ashes and memories, at once painful and pleasing, reminders of a time when life was so much simpler. Life, and love, and duty.
What was duty to him now? The organization was gone, many of its members being currently deceased, with very few having passed away via natural causes. Lemony was sworn to keep his duty and make sure the world remained quiet. However, he had not foreseen the difficulty of such a task. Picking up the remains of a shattered life was very difficult when you're suffocating under the weight of corpses.
He looked up into the misty sky, covered in heavy grey clouds. "What can I do?" he whispered. "There's nowhere safe. There's nowhere..."
"Nowhere safe. Yes."
Lemony whipped around. "You!"
Count Olaf stepped forward, his heavy boots crunching into the snow. "Yes, it's me. You didn't honestly think I didn't know you were here, did you?" He laughed mirthlessly, holding up a black-gloved hand.
Lemony started talking, utterly exasperated. "Why? Why are you doing all of this? Why do you have to destroy everything? You don't know what kind of a life I've been living, trying to find you...all over the world."
"And now you've found me." Olaf grinned. "Isn't that a nice surprise? I consider myself rather compassionate to come all the way down here to talk to you, Lemony. I haven't seen you in a long, long time."
"Not long enough!" Lemony spat bitterly, stepping back. "Ashes. All you leave in your wake is ashes."
Olaf stepped forward towards him again. "Of course. Fire's so clean, isn't it? You've read Bradbury; you know." He gestured grandly with his arm, waving to the immense valley, now empty and cold. "The world is quiet here, Lemony. How clean, how stark, and how utterly blank is the world..."
"You're killing it! You're killing everyone and everything. Stop."
"I'm afraid that's quite impossible, my friend." Still grinning, almost madly, he grabbed Lemony's chin and peered into his eyes. "We're both caught up in this, you know. Well, I am, anyway: I will refuse to stop my path until I obtain what I desire most. You, however, will incur no ire from me if you wish to cast yourself out of this unholy wreck of a lifestyle you're living. A vagrant, yes?" His voice became a ghastly parody of a purr. "Bask in your memories, Snicket. It'll be the better for both of us. Why, look. You're crying."
It was true. Lemony had seized Olaf's arm with both hands, though not moving it away. From beneath the brim of his fedora hat came burning tears down upon his face, nearly glowing in the ambient sunlight of the valley. "I...I can't. I can't. Leave," he choked out. "Please, Olaf! Please, just...stop...please..." his words degenerated into incomprehensible weeping.
Olaf was taken aback by this and pulled away his hand. He chewed on his lip thoughtfully; how much time, he thought, had Snicket spent crying? Clearly this was a man to whom a life of despair had attached itself, relentlessly eating away at his mind and soul, irrepressible for as long as he'd known the man. "Don't..." He winced. Was he showing compassion? He hoped he wasn't. "Don't. Just...go. Leave! There's nothing you can do..."
Snicket heaved a deep sigh, wiping away the frosty tears with a cold sleeve. "God...why did this have to happen? All of it. Everything. The schism. You."
"Times change, Snicket," Olaf rasped, giving his former comrade a sidelong glance. "And so do people. Though it appears that you still hold the same idealistic views."
"The views that all of us once shared! Even you. Why did you have to destroy them? Why did you have to tear apart V.F.D.?" Lemony pressed, his words flowing in a rush of emotion. "You could have stayed, and helped the world. Why do you have to burn it down instead?" He hoped that his words would reach Olaf, but he doubted that they would have any real effect. The man was far beyond reason.
"Because it's what I have to do!" Olaf snapped, turning on his heel. "You don't understand the way the world works, you naive...boy. If I stopped this, all of this, do you know what would happen? I would die." He began to walk away slowly from Lemony, back into the mountains. "You won't..." he looked back over his shoulder. "That's why I haven't killed you yet. Go back. Stop following me. Stop trying to figure out secrets you can't comprehend, and live some semblance of a normal life."
"I can't." Lemony looked up at him, and Olaf stopped. "I'll die, too."
Olaf paused, his hands down at his sides and gazing at Lemony inquisitively. "You've lived your entire life in...in infamy, you know. You don't have to do that any more. I've known you for a very, very long time, Lemony. You don't...you don't," he pronounced, though he didn't like the way the words made him feel, "deserve this." His heart began to ache with the faint memories of something very like compassion.
"I don't. That's true." Lemony clenched his hands into fists. "But I can't stop now. If I stopped, all that I've worked for will be in vain, all of the people that have died will be for naught...and that would be an unforgivable sin." His voice grew steady and sure. "If I don't have anything to strive for, then what will be my purpose and reason to live?"
Olaf nodded. "I understand." There was silence for a few moments as he tried to think of something else to say. He smiled a little, thinly, as the wind began to grow a little stronger. The coattails of his suit flapped in the gale, curling and twisting like smoke. "Look." He gestured for the other man to come closer.
Lemony stepped across the snow, the milky whiteness glittering and glimmering in the sunlight like so many delicate crystals. The wind began to pick up, emitting a low moaning sound as it rushed through the Valley of Four Drafts. It swept the ashes from the ground and blew them into the sky, and the two watched them spiral into the air, over the frozen iridescent waterfall of the Stricken Stream, to be carried to the outside world. The world that would have remained quiet and safe, had the plans of V.F.D. been able to come to fruition. Had the man, standing confidently next to Lemony Snicket, been stopped in time.
"I'm afraid the fact still stands that there's nothing you can do." Olaf's voice, softer now, brought Lemony back to his senses from his momentary reverie.
The other man did not speak for a few moments. "Yes," he finally said, simply. "That may be true. But I have to keep trying."
"It will accomplish nothing."
"I know." He sighed. "But I have to keep going. You're the only thing that keeps me alive," he said, and clasped Olaf's hand in his. It was quite cold.
Olaf hesitated, then placed his other hand on top of Lemony's. "All right." He thought of what to say. "Now, leave. Esme will get worried if I don't come back soon."
Lemony nodded. "When will we see each other next?"
White steam flowed from Olaf's lips. "At...the last safe place." His hand was still on Lemony's: he could feel both growing warm. "The world is quiet here."
"The world is quiet here," Snicket echoed, and bowed his head. He slipped his hand out from between Olaf's and stepped slowly across the blank plain, out of the Valley of Four Drafts in the desolate Mortmain Mountains. Olaf stayed behind and watched the figure grow smaller, smaller, as he disappeared into the snow.
He opened his mouth to call something, but decided against it, and worked his way back up to the summit of Mount Fraught as the wind died down and all was still.