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It was nearly 9pm when Violet entered the kitchen with empty dessert plates. Dinner had been served and quickly devoured. What awaited her now was a mountain of dishes, empty wine bottles and no leftovers. She had sent Klaus and Sunny to bed early, telling them she would clean up tonight and let them have a break from their nightly chores. Violet always felt terrible watching her siblings forced to clean up after Count Olaf and his theatrical troupe. Klaus and Sunny hesitated at first, Sunny yelling 'reeebobb!' which meant 'It wouldn't be fair to leave you with all this mess'. With some gentle persuasion they eventually yielded to Violet's persistence, undeniably tired from a day's worth of chores, and headed upstairs. They were easily undetected by Olaf who was in the middle of a captivating (or so the Count himself thought) story of when he performed for the Duke and Duchess of Jelaway. The Baudelaires knew there was no such place as Jelaway but none of Olaf's henchmen were particularly good at geography. And so, they listened all too eagerly to his fabricated story.
"--of Jelaway! Where the most prestigious of people reside!" Cried Olaf as the kitchen door swung open and close and Violet sighed to herself. She reached in her pocket for her ribbon, tying her hair to keep it out of her face and headed over to the mountain of dishes in the sink. She was sure he had told that story at least twice before.
Violet wiped down the counter and cleared enough space so she could stack the dirty dishes on her left and then the clean ones on her right. All in a disarray, she began separating and sorting them, trying to locate the sponge that was inevitably at the bottom of the mess. She reached her hand in, wiggling it around, utensils and plates shuffling and spilling on top of one another, clashing and clanking. Then suddenly she felt something sharp prick her and quickly she yanked her hand away. Well, she had found the chef's knife at least.
Violet looked down at her hand, the cut ran across her palm where her heart line was. She whimpered and watched as blood began to gush out to the surface. It stung a lot too.
"We need more wine!" Olaf yelled as he barged into the kitchen, interrupting Violet's trance. She spun around and hid her wound behind her back, as if caught having done something wrong. She swallowed and stood by the sink as the Count's eyes quickly scanned the contents of the room and then her. She looked curiously suspicious and he was naturally a very cynical man.
"What do you have behind your back, orphan? Are you hiding the wine from me?" He barked and swiftly was on her, his figure towering over hers easily. Not touching, but damn well nearly touching. His blue eyes pierced into hers, his expression a mixture of annoyance and anger. One of his typical expressions when forced to deal with dishonest (or so the Count himself thought) orphans.
"No, I just cut my hand, that's all." Violet replied, her voice soft and timid, unlike his. She had however enough courage to stare back at him, both of them searching each other's eyes for something.
Finally Olaf broke contact first, rolling his eyes and reaching around to grab Violet's wrist. She resisted at first, but only slightly. He continued to stand close in front of her and looked down to examine her hand. Based on his usual temperament, she had expected him to be cold and rough with her. She observed his fingernails were dirty and his knuckles were asymmetrical. And yet, as he touched her, Violet noticed his fingers were warm. She could almost say they were pleasantly warm. She looked up and saw Olaf staring at her gash wordlessly and wondered why he looked so calm at the sight of blood. Oh wait, she did know why.
They stood there, neither of them speaking, only gazing. Olaf traced her heart line where the cut was, his head cocked to one side as if admiring. It made her swallow hard, a sudden rumble rising in her abdomen. She had felt that reaction before in his presence. It must have been a reaction to fear, she concluded. He was after all a very frightening and malicious man. Her heart began beating quicker as well and her cheeks were flushed pink. This too was a reaction to fear, Violet tried to convince herself. After all, she had lost count of all the times he had threatened to harm her or one of her siblings. Once he even struck Klaus across the face and Violet knew after that incident it was best not to defy him. She made sure to keep a safe distance and speak to him as little as was possible. Sometimes she purposely went out of her way to avoid him, for whenever she caught him leering at her, it felt like the equivalent of a lion stalking its prey. And boy did the lion look famished. Each night when the house was finally still and everyone went to bed, Violet would lay there silently, dreaming of being devoured. Every morning she woke up with her mouth dry and her panties wet. Fear, she told herself. But she was never truly convinced.
And now, she was standing here with him in the kitchen, perplexed at her body's quick surrender and bleeding quite a lot.
"Ah!" Olaf cried out, breaking the silence. "Lucky for you orphan, I once played the role of a doctor and quite dashingly I may add. Many ladies in the audience fell in love with me that evening. Stockholm syndrome and whatnot!--"
"That's not what stockholm syn--"
"--and they would be utterly envious of you being a patient of mine! Hmm, I wonder if I still have that stethoscope upstairs..."
It was now Violet's turn to roll her eyes. Of course he would find any excuse he could to turn a minor disturbance into a theatrical production.
"I hardly think a stethoscope is necess--" Violet began to explain, falling deaf yet again to Olaf's ears. He started to jerk in all sorts of movements, lost in a trance, dancing to what Violet assumed was music in his head.
"I shall go perform a scene to my eagerly awaiting troupe. Forget the wine, them watching their dear Count perform is better than any vino on this earth. Oh how fortunate they are to be in the presence of such a dashing actor who can perform on a whim!" He paused to look her over, standing there as if she were still waiting for his medical advice.
"Ahh. Stick some glue on it to stop the bleeding, will ya? I must go upstairs and find my lab coat!"
And with a whimsical twirl, Olaf winked at her and ran out the kitchen, his eager troupe awaiting their leader.