Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Feb 23, 2008 22:43:32 GMT -5
Title: The Restless Reconcile
Cast: Esmé Squalor; Jerome Squalor; Fernald Widdershins; Emma Squalor; Faust Widdershins.
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own any of the A Series of Unfortunate Events characters or places mentioned herein. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler. The characters of Emma Squalor and Faust Widdershins belong to me.
Rating: G
Genre: General/Romance
Story-Type: One-Shot
Status: Complete
Summery: Esmé Squalor and Fernald Widdershins are forced to reunite on the basis of their children’s friendship.
Author's Note: This came out a little differently than what I had originally planned, but I hope you all like it anyway.
“Emma,” Jerome said as he finished slicing his pork chop into six equally sized pieces. “You don’t have any plans this weekend, do you?”
Emma looked up from where she was about to put a spoonful of applesauce into her mouth. “Actually,” she replied, “Sunny and Beatrice invited me for a sleepover. I asked you about it the other day and you said I could go, remember?”
“Did I?”
Esmé shot her husband a stern look. Poor Jerome had to struggle for several uncomfortable moments in order to remember exactly where he had been and what he had been doing when Emma had asked his permission for something that was clearly very important to her. The day before he had been busy arranging his ties for the third time in five minutes when Emma had skipped into the master bedroom and said something about the Baudelaires. Jerome couldn’t remember what it was she’d said exactly, and he knew his ignorance on the matter had already revealed itself on his face.
As if Esmé’s stern look wasn’t enough, Emma was now giving him one of her own. All he wanted to do at that moment was to crawl underneath the table and hide there until dinner was over.
After taking a small, nervous bite of his pork chop, Jerome smiled at Emma and asked, “For what time have you been invited over to the Baudelaires’?”
“Around five o’ clock,” Emma said. “Carmelita promised she would drive me over.”
“I see. So you’ll be around for most of the afternoon.”
“Yes. Jerome, what’s with the sudden interest in my social life?”
“That’s a very good question, darling,” Esmé replied, keeping her eyes focused on Jerome as she said it. “Why don’t you enlighten us, Jerome?”
Feeling as if he was suddenly being put on trial for some unspeakable crime, Jerome took a moment to rub awkwardly at his face as if something was irritating it. “I was at the Not So Supermarket this afternoon,” he explained, “and I ran into Fernald Widdershins. He’s a very nice man, with a daughter only a few years younger than Emma. Her name is Faust. We got to talking, and Fernald mentioned that Faust doesn’t have many friends her age. So I asked him to bring her over to the penthouse tomorrow for a play date.”
Esmé appeared as though she was doing all she could to contain her laughter. “With who?” she asked. “You?”
“No,” replied Jerome, and chuckled. “With Emma.”
Emma, however, could not have appeared less than pleased by the very suggestion of spending an entire afternoon with the daughter of her mother’s former accomplice. “What?” she practically whined, and she sounded incredibly like Esmé as she said it. “A play date? Jerome, I’m thirteen— I don’t play! Not only that, but Faust is ten. Do you have any idea how out it is for someone my age to have some little kid trailing around after them?”
“Emma, I’m surprised at you,” Jerome scolded gently. “Certainly you must remember all the times you nearly drove Carmelita crazy with the way you used to tag along after her.”
Although she was too proud to admit it, Emma did in fact remember a few times when Carmelita had become so annoyed with her that she had actually gone to Esmé and Jerome complaining about the “cakesniffing baby brat”. Emma knew that her protesting against spending the day with the daughter of the hook-handed man and the contortionist must have sounded cruel— as well as unfair, considering that Faust was actually a very nice girl. But what really bothered Emma was that Jerome hadn’t even asked her if she was busy. He had merely assumed she wasn’t. Just because she was young, he thought he could make decisions for her without asking her permission first, and that would never do. Emma could easily guess that things for Carmelita at her age had been a lot worse, considering she had fallen (hard) for her vice principal and had later ended up marrying him.
“But… couldn’t you have asked me first?” Emma pointed out. “To see if I had any plans?”
“She’s right, you know,” Esmé added. “And she did mention to you the other day that she had them.”
“I know that, dear,” Jerome said, a little crossly. He wasn’t annoyed with his wife, but rather at the situation— and himself.
“So why did you go ahead and make a promise for her when you already knew she would be busy?”
“Because he was too preoccupied with coordinating his ties to even hear my question,” replied Emma, not realizing how insensitive she was beginning to sound. She knew all about Jerome’s issues from what her mother had told her, and up until now Emma had always done her best to be understanding. But the fact that his problem was now interfering with her social life was very frustrating, and so she couldn’t help but be a little annoyed herself.
“You’re right, Emma,” Jerome said. “I’m sorry. I should have checked with you first. I’ll just give Mr. Widdershins a call this evening and explain the situation. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“What about Faust?”
“Well, I’m sure she’ll be disappointed. From what her father told me, she absolutely adores you. Then again, we all must learn to deal with our share of disappointments.”
Emma sighed. She knew Jerome wasn’t trying to make her feel guilty, but his answer was enough to make her rethink her decision altogether. “Jerome,” she said. “Don’t do that. I— I’ll spend the day with Faust tomorrow.” She paused. “Provided I’m still allowed to spend the night at the Baudelaires’.”
“Of course you are, darling,” Esmé said before Jerome could.
He just smiled, thankful that everything had worked out so easily, and without a single argument to ruin it all.
It had been more than thirteen years since Fernald Widdershins had set foot inside the apartment complex at 667 Dark Avenue, and he was surprised at how little had changed. As he led his ten-year-old daughter through the lobby, he was pleased to see that the elevators had been reinstalled. He didn’t know what he would have done had the shafts been empty.
“Hurry up, Dad,” Faust said as she dragged her father by one of his hooks and over to the elevators. “I don’t want to keep Emma waiting.”
Fernald chuckled, remembering how much he and Emma’s mother had despised each other during their days working with Count Olaf. Fernald wasn’t sure how much information Esmé had revealed to Emma about the past, or if Esmé had even bothered to tell her at all. Fernald and Colette had been struggling with that question for years, as they were unsure of how they would explain the events of what had occurred to their children.
“Can I press the buttons?” Faust asked eagerly as she and Fernald stepped into the elevator.
“Sure,” he replied. “Go ahead. The penthouse apartment is on the forty-eighth floor.” He paused. “Or is it the eighty-fourth?” He was rather embarrassed that he couldn’t remember how many floors up the penthouse was, even after all this time. “I’ll tell you what, though. Why don’t we try floor forty-eight first, and if the penthouse isn’t there, then we’ll try floor eighty-four instead?”
“Okay, Dad. Emma said that the penthouse is right in front of the elevator and that she’ll be waiting outside for us.”
“Well, that will certainly make it easier for us, won’t it, Faust? Alright, go ahead and press the buttons.”
Faust did as she was instructed, and soon enough the elevator began to rise upwards.
“What?” Esmé said as she removed the teapot from its place on the burner and set it down onto a silver tray that had been placed on the countertop. “What did you just say?”
“I said ‘Fernald will be stopping by to drop Faust off’,” Jerome replied as he took the tray and turned to go into the sitting room.
“But you mean at the front entrance, don’t you? He won’t be stopping by the penthouse.”
“Don’t be silly. She’s just a child, and therefore needs someone to ride the elevator up to the penthouse with her.”
“But—”
“Sweetheart,” Jerome said, and set the tray down onto the coffee table before sitting down on the couch. “I haven’t seen you this nervous since Emma’s date with Walter Dali. Now, come here.” He patted his lap. “Sit with me a moment and tell me what’s on your mind.”
Smiling a little, Esmé circled the table and sat down in her husband’s lap. He wrapped one arm around her waist while his other hand cupped her chin in his thumb and forefinger, and he leaned forward to kiss her on the mouth.
“I’m nervous,” she began, “about seeing Fernald again after all these years.”
“Well, don’t be,” Jerome replied. “Just remember what it is that the two of you have in common.”
“Oh? And what might that be?”
“Your reformation. Fiona was the one to bring out the nobility in Fernald, and Emma did the same for you.”
“Yes,” Esmé agreed. “That’s true, but… what if he starts talking about all of the horrible things that I— that we did, during all the time we spent with Olaf?”
Giving his wife a kiss on the forehead, Jerome stroked her cheek lovingly. “I sincerely doubt he will, darling,” he said. “After all, he has children now, too. He can’t afford to be careless. And even if he does bring up the past, I’ll be sitting here the entire time. If he so much as mentions the word ‘fire’, then I promise to give him a good punch in the nose for you, alright?”
“Give who a punch in the nose?” Emma asked as she waltzed into the room and stood before her parents, a huge smile present on her face.
“No one, Emma,” Jerome said quickly. “Where are you off to?”
“I was just on my way out to meet Faust and Mr. Widdershins,” Emma replied.
“They’re probably on their way up in the elevator right now,” Esmé said. “By the time you got down to the lobby, you would’ve missed them.”
“I know. I promised Faust on the telephone last night that I’d be meeting them in front of the elevators.”
Jerome smiled. “You mean to say that you called her?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Emma. “I thought it would be the courteous thing to do. Isn’t that what you’re always saying, Jerome? That courtesy is next to kindness?”
Esmé turned to her husband and smiled. He really was the best role model a girl like Emma could have, his obsessive behavior and fear of arguing aside.
“Well, I’m going out to meet them,” Emma announced. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Have fun canoodling, or whatever it was the two of you were doing before I walked in.”
“Emma!” Esmé scolded, though it was clear from the tone of her voice that she was very much amused.
“Later!”
With that, Emma left the sitting room and made her way down the hallway to the front door.
The elevator doors opened, and Fernald and Faust Widdershins stepped out onto the eighty-fourth floor of the apartment complex at 667 Dark Avenue. They had arrived only slightly behind schedule, as the first floor they had stopped at had not been the one in which the penthouse apartment was located.
Faust had only to scan the premises for a few meager seconds before catching sight of Emma, at which point the younger girl let go of her father’s hook and ran to greet her friend.
“Emma!” Faust squealed in excitement, and threw her arms around her.
Emma had only spoken to Faust on one occasion (which had been outside the office of Vice Principal Nero after both girls had been caught participating in separate offenses) and on several others when they had done no more than exchange passing glances in the hallway at Prufrock Preparatory School. Holding up her arms, Emma looked down in surprise at Faust, who was literally cuddling up to her as if she was a long-time friend rather than an occasional acquaintance.
“Uh… hi,” Emma said. “How— how are you?”
“Smashing,” Faust replied. “Now that I’m here, I mean.”
Emma could have rolled her eyes, but didn’t on account of the man with hooks for hands who was standing in front of the elevators, watching them closely. His eyes seemed to be focused on Emma in particular. Thinking it was due to either her one unusual eyebrow, her remarkably shiny eyes, or both, she began to smooth down her bangs over one eye. She had always been unbearably self-conscious of her eyebrow, and the fact that this man was staring at her only caused her to become twice as uncomfortable.
Of course, Fernald Widdershins knew very well how he was making the daughter of his former accomplices feel. But her appearance made it literally impossible for him to turn away. Her dark hair was as black as her mother’s, and her eyes— although a deep sea-blue —had evidently been inherited from her father considering how brightly they shone, as had the one long eyebrow. Like both her parents, Emma was tall and thin with a pale complexion. She even donned a pair of stiletto heels similar to the ones Esmé had worn when both she and Fernald had been assisting Olaf at Heimlich Hospital.
“Would you… uh… like to come in?” Emma asked as she gently began to untangle Faust from around her, doing her best to hide her annoyance behind a kind smile. “Your father’s welcome to come, too.” Even as Emma said this, she was secretly hoping that Faust’s father would decline the invitation.
“Why, that’s very kind of you,” Fernald said. “I think I can spare a few minutes.”
Emma said nothing, and instead bit her lip.
Cast: Esmé Squalor; Jerome Squalor; Fernald Widdershins; Emma Squalor; Faust Widdershins.
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own any of the A Series of Unfortunate Events characters or places mentioned herein. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler. The characters of Emma Squalor and Faust Widdershins belong to me.
Rating: G
Genre: General/Romance
Story-Type: One-Shot
Status: Complete
Summery: Esmé Squalor and Fernald Widdershins are forced to reunite on the basis of their children’s friendship.
Author's Note: This came out a little differently than what I had originally planned, but I hope you all like it anyway.
************************************************************************************************************************
Part One
“Emma,” Jerome said as he finished slicing his pork chop into six equally sized pieces. “You don’t have any plans this weekend, do you?”
Emma looked up from where she was about to put a spoonful of applesauce into her mouth. “Actually,” she replied, “Sunny and Beatrice invited me for a sleepover. I asked you about it the other day and you said I could go, remember?”
“Did I?”
Esmé shot her husband a stern look. Poor Jerome had to struggle for several uncomfortable moments in order to remember exactly where he had been and what he had been doing when Emma had asked his permission for something that was clearly very important to her. The day before he had been busy arranging his ties for the third time in five minutes when Emma had skipped into the master bedroom and said something about the Baudelaires. Jerome couldn’t remember what it was she’d said exactly, and he knew his ignorance on the matter had already revealed itself on his face.
As if Esmé’s stern look wasn’t enough, Emma was now giving him one of her own. All he wanted to do at that moment was to crawl underneath the table and hide there until dinner was over.
After taking a small, nervous bite of his pork chop, Jerome smiled at Emma and asked, “For what time have you been invited over to the Baudelaires’?”
“Around five o’ clock,” Emma said. “Carmelita promised she would drive me over.”
“I see. So you’ll be around for most of the afternoon.”
“Yes. Jerome, what’s with the sudden interest in my social life?”
“That’s a very good question, darling,” Esmé replied, keeping her eyes focused on Jerome as she said it. “Why don’t you enlighten us, Jerome?”
Feeling as if he was suddenly being put on trial for some unspeakable crime, Jerome took a moment to rub awkwardly at his face as if something was irritating it. “I was at the Not So Supermarket this afternoon,” he explained, “and I ran into Fernald Widdershins. He’s a very nice man, with a daughter only a few years younger than Emma. Her name is Faust. We got to talking, and Fernald mentioned that Faust doesn’t have many friends her age. So I asked him to bring her over to the penthouse tomorrow for a play date.”
Esmé appeared as though she was doing all she could to contain her laughter. “With who?” she asked. “You?”
“No,” replied Jerome, and chuckled. “With Emma.”
Emma, however, could not have appeared less than pleased by the very suggestion of spending an entire afternoon with the daughter of her mother’s former accomplice. “What?” she practically whined, and she sounded incredibly like Esmé as she said it. “A play date? Jerome, I’m thirteen— I don’t play! Not only that, but Faust is ten. Do you have any idea how out it is for someone my age to have some little kid trailing around after them?”
“Emma, I’m surprised at you,” Jerome scolded gently. “Certainly you must remember all the times you nearly drove Carmelita crazy with the way you used to tag along after her.”
Although she was too proud to admit it, Emma did in fact remember a few times when Carmelita had become so annoyed with her that she had actually gone to Esmé and Jerome complaining about the “cakesniffing baby brat”. Emma knew that her protesting against spending the day with the daughter of the hook-handed man and the contortionist must have sounded cruel— as well as unfair, considering that Faust was actually a very nice girl. But what really bothered Emma was that Jerome hadn’t even asked her if she was busy. He had merely assumed she wasn’t. Just because she was young, he thought he could make decisions for her without asking her permission first, and that would never do. Emma could easily guess that things for Carmelita at her age had been a lot worse, considering she had fallen (hard) for her vice principal and had later ended up marrying him.
“But… couldn’t you have asked me first?” Emma pointed out. “To see if I had any plans?”
“She’s right, you know,” Esmé added. “And she did mention to you the other day that she had them.”
“I know that, dear,” Jerome said, a little crossly. He wasn’t annoyed with his wife, but rather at the situation— and himself.
“So why did you go ahead and make a promise for her when you already knew she would be busy?”
“Because he was too preoccupied with coordinating his ties to even hear my question,” replied Emma, not realizing how insensitive she was beginning to sound. She knew all about Jerome’s issues from what her mother had told her, and up until now Emma had always done her best to be understanding. But the fact that his problem was now interfering with her social life was very frustrating, and so she couldn’t help but be a little annoyed herself.
“You’re right, Emma,” Jerome said. “I’m sorry. I should have checked with you first. I’ll just give Mr. Widdershins a call this evening and explain the situation. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“What about Faust?”
“Well, I’m sure she’ll be disappointed. From what her father told me, she absolutely adores you. Then again, we all must learn to deal with our share of disappointments.”
Emma sighed. She knew Jerome wasn’t trying to make her feel guilty, but his answer was enough to make her rethink her decision altogether. “Jerome,” she said. “Don’t do that. I— I’ll spend the day with Faust tomorrow.” She paused. “Provided I’m still allowed to spend the night at the Baudelaires’.”
“Of course you are, darling,” Esmé said before Jerome could.
He just smiled, thankful that everything had worked out so easily, and without a single argument to ruin it all.
***
It had been more than thirteen years since Fernald Widdershins had set foot inside the apartment complex at 667 Dark Avenue, and he was surprised at how little had changed. As he led his ten-year-old daughter through the lobby, he was pleased to see that the elevators had been reinstalled. He didn’t know what he would have done had the shafts been empty.
“Hurry up, Dad,” Faust said as she dragged her father by one of his hooks and over to the elevators. “I don’t want to keep Emma waiting.”
Fernald chuckled, remembering how much he and Emma’s mother had despised each other during their days working with Count Olaf. Fernald wasn’t sure how much information Esmé had revealed to Emma about the past, or if Esmé had even bothered to tell her at all. Fernald and Colette had been struggling with that question for years, as they were unsure of how they would explain the events of what had occurred to their children.
“Can I press the buttons?” Faust asked eagerly as she and Fernald stepped into the elevator.
“Sure,” he replied. “Go ahead. The penthouse apartment is on the forty-eighth floor.” He paused. “Or is it the eighty-fourth?” He was rather embarrassed that he couldn’t remember how many floors up the penthouse was, even after all this time. “I’ll tell you what, though. Why don’t we try floor forty-eight first, and if the penthouse isn’t there, then we’ll try floor eighty-four instead?”
“Okay, Dad. Emma said that the penthouse is right in front of the elevator and that she’ll be waiting outside for us.”
“Well, that will certainly make it easier for us, won’t it, Faust? Alright, go ahead and press the buttons.”
Faust did as she was instructed, and soon enough the elevator began to rise upwards.
***
“What?” Esmé said as she removed the teapot from its place on the burner and set it down onto a silver tray that had been placed on the countertop. “What did you just say?”
“I said ‘Fernald will be stopping by to drop Faust off’,” Jerome replied as he took the tray and turned to go into the sitting room.
“But you mean at the front entrance, don’t you? He won’t be stopping by the penthouse.”
“Don’t be silly. She’s just a child, and therefore needs someone to ride the elevator up to the penthouse with her.”
“But—”
“Sweetheart,” Jerome said, and set the tray down onto the coffee table before sitting down on the couch. “I haven’t seen you this nervous since Emma’s date with Walter Dali. Now, come here.” He patted his lap. “Sit with me a moment and tell me what’s on your mind.”
Smiling a little, Esmé circled the table and sat down in her husband’s lap. He wrapped one arm around her waist while his other hand cupped her chin in his thumb and forefinger, and he leaned forward to kiss her on the mouth.
“I’m nervous,” she began, “about seeing Fernald again after all these years.”
“Well, don’t be,” Jerome replied. “Just remember what it is that the two of you have in common.”
“Oh? And what might that be?”
“Your reformation. Fiona was the one to bring out the nobility in Fernald, and Emma did the same for you.”
“Yes,” Esmé agreed. “That’s true, but… what if he starts talking about all of the horrible things that I— that we did, during all the time we spent with Olaf?”
Giving his wife a kiss on the forehead, Jerome stroked her cheek lovingly. “I sincerely doubt he will, darling,” he said. “After all, he has children now, too. He can’t afford to be careless. And even if he does bring up the past, I’ll be sitting here the entire time. If he so much as mentions the word ‘fire’, then I promise to give him a good punch in the nose for you, alright?”
“Give who a punch in the nose?” Emma asked as she waltzed into the room and stood before her parents, a huge smile present on her face.
“No one, Emma,” Jerome said quickly. “Where are you off to?”
“I was just on my way out to meet Faust and Mr. Widdershins,” Emma replied.
“They’re probably on their way up in the elevator right now,” Esmé said. “By the time you got down to the lobby, you would’ve missed them.”
“I know. I promised Faust on the telephone last night that I’d be meeting them in front of the elevators.”
Jerome smiled. “You mean to say that you called her?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Emma. “I thought it would be the courteous thing to do. Isn’t that what you’re always saying, Jerome? That courtesy is next to kindness?”
Esmé turned to her husband and smiled. He really was the best role model a girl like Emma could have, his obsessive behavior and fear of arguing aside.
“Well, I’m going out to meet them,” Emma announced. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Have fun canoodling, or whatever it was the two of you were doing before I walked in.”
“Emma!” Esmé scolded, though it was clear from the tone of her voice that she was very much amused.
“Later!”
With that, Emma left the sitting room and made her way down the hallway to the front door.
***
The elevator doors opened, and Fernald and Faust Widdershins stepped out onto the eighty-fourth floor of the apartment complex at 667 Dark Avenue. They had arrived only slightly behind schedule, as the first floor they had stopped at had not been the one in which the penthouse apartment was located.
Faust had only to scan the premises for a few meager seconds before catching sight of Emma, at which point the younger girl let go of her father’s hook and ran to greet her friend.
“Emma!” Faust squealed in excitement, and threw her arms around her.
Emma had only spoken to Faust on one occasion (which had been outside the office of Vice Principal Nero after both girls had been caught participating in separate offenses) and on several others when they had done no more than exchange passing glances in the hallway at Prufrock Preparatory School. Holding up her arms, Emma looked down in surprise at Faust, who was literally cuddling up to her as if she was a long-time friend rather than an occasional acquaintance.
“Uh… hi,” Emma said. “How— how are you?”
“Smashing,” Faust replied. “Now that I’m here, I mean.”
Emma could have rolled her eyes, but didn’t on account of the man with hooks for hands who was standing in front of the elevators, watching them closely. His eyes seemed to be focused on Emma in particular. Thinking it was due to either her one unusual eyebrow, her remarkably shiny eyes, or both, she began to smooth down her bangs over one eye. She had always been unbearably self-conscious of her eyebrow, and the fact that this man was staring at her only caused her to become twice as uncomfortable.
Of course, Fernald Widdershins knew very well how he was making the daughter of his former accomplices feel. But her appearance made it literally impossible for him to turn away. Her dark hair was as black as her mother’s, and her eyes— although a deep sea-blue —had evidently been inherited from her father considering how brightly they shone, as had the one long eyebrow. Like both her parents, Emma was tall and thin with a pale complexion. She even donned a pair of stiletto heels similar to the ones Esmé had worn when both she and Fernald had been assisting Olaf at Heimlich Hospital.
“Would you… uh… like to come in?” Emma asked as she gently began to untangle Faust from around her, doing her best to hide her annoyance behind a kind smile. “Your father’s welcome to come, too.” Even as Emma said this, she was secretly hoping that Faust’s father would decline the invitation.
“Why, that’s very kind of you,” Fernald said. “I think I can spare a few minutes.”
Emma said nothing, and instead bit her lip.