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Life at the Carnival wasn’t always unfortunate. The Baudelaires had made many acquaintances that were bordering on that precarious tightrope known as friendship. A friend wasn’t something they had known since the Quagmires, and though they were fearful of endangering their new friends, the allure of companionship in trying times was irresistible. As irresistible as an urge that Violet needed to take care of one summer night when she separated herself from her conjoined brother to use the bathroom. She adjusted her cotton shift as she stepped out from under the shared fabric and into the late evening. A calliope played as the rides whirred, patrons squealed, and the Edison bulbs danced in the summer breeze. She took in a small breath of freedom, it smelled like buttered popcorn. Alone here she could pretend she wasn’t an orphan. She wasn’t running for her life. She wasn’t in disguise. She was just some regular eighteen year old attending the fair. She almost forgot she’d be inheriting her family trust at twenty five.
When she looked into the mirror after using the facilities, the smeared makeup on her face reminded her that she was not so ordinary after all. She sighed and resigned herself to her fate of sharing Klaus’ limbs for another week. At least they were safe. Opening the door to the washroom she found Olaf making his way out of the men’s room. She cursed under her breath as she brought a hand up to block her face.
“Well, well, well,” he strolled towards her until she could smell the wine on his breath. “Cotton candy isn’t the only sweet thing at the carnival.”
“Ex-“ she disguised her voice with a southern accent, “Excuse me?”
“A southern belle, hm? Are you so dazzled by my beauty that you can’t look upon me?” He stumbled. Olaf was drunk. No, plastered. Maybe there was a chance she’d get out of this.
“Just the spotlight caught my eye, that’s all.”
“Mm, I know the feeling,” he drawled.
“Well,” she hummed, “time for me to get going.”
“Wait!” he caught her by her wrist, twisting her body in his direction.
She looked up at him with eyes she’d hoped weren’t full of fear.
Olaf spent a minute blearily examining her before he commented in distaste, “Yikes. You know you don’t need all that, right?”
“What?” Her eyes searched his in trepidation.
“Here,” he brought his sleeve up to her face and began to smudge roughly.
“No, stop,” Violet lost her accent, “wait!”
“There,” he brought his arm back contentedly. “That’s more like it. You’re lucky you’re a natural.”
“Wha- what-” What are you going to do to me?!
“Oh yes, my name? Count Olaf. You heard right, count.” He took another swig from the bottle, “Yours?”
Was he really that drunk? Violet marveled at his state of inebriation. How was he still standing?
“You know what?” He prompted, “It doesn’t matter, come on.” His arm wound its way into her own.
“Hold on!” Violet faltered to keep up with his long strides.
He stopped short, causing her to lurch forward and lean on him for support. “Boyfriend?” He questioned.
“No!” she twisted against him, remembering Esme, “What about you?”
He laughed, “Not in years.”
She looked up at him in confusion as he continued to pull her along.
“Where are you taking me?” His wiry arms were surprisingly strong. She couldn’t break free.
“Isn’t it obvious?” He rolled his eyes as he threw the empty bottle over his shoulder, “The Tilt-A-Whirl.”
“What?” Violet breathed.
“Is that your favorite word?” He mocked. “Then the Scrambler, then some games, and then I’m getting a bite to eat. Assuming you have cash.”
Was Olaf…? Was this… A date? “You’re kidding me,” fell from her lips.
“No cash? That’s all right,” he waggled his eyebrow, “I’ve got quick fingers.”
“Ugh!” She responded as he shoved her on to the ride.
After the first few twirls she felt the nausea in her stomach. She wasn’t sure if it was from the ride or fear of sudden and instantaneous death when she was discovered.
“Come on,” Olaf encouraged as they sat on the Scrambler, “put your hands up.”
She looked up at him warily. Or you’ll shoot?
“Like this!” He put up his arms, tugging hers along with him. The ride picked up momentum. Violet let out and involuntary squeak when the two were thrown against each other in their seat. “Atta girl!” He smiled as she looked at him like he’d grown another head.
“Time for knives!” He cried as the tumbled off the ride, pushing people out of his way.
“Knives?” Violet’s heart slammed her ribs.
“Don’t you southerners know anything?” He looked at her lazily, “You throw them at balloons.”
“Oh.” She gave a watery smile, “Right.”
With fear, and a reluctant twinge of admiration, Violet noted that he had popped all corresponding balloons. “Your turn,” he instructed.
“Oh,” she stalled, “I don’t, I can’t-“
“You can,” he thrust her forward until her her body was flush against the board. “Like this,” his hand was on hers, molding it into the perfect shape around the knife, propelling it forward until the tip barely missed its target. “It’s in the wrist,” his breath was on her ear and she shivered in the summer air. She missed. She closed her eyes before releasing the final knife, rewarded with a surprising POP. The carnival man shoved a keychain forward, which Olaf stashed in his pocket before she could dissent.
“Photo booth!” Olaf trudged onward, his fingers now laced with Violet’s. Strange how the intrusion of his digits into her own could make her feel so violated.
Pressing her first into the booth, she blinked as the flash bulb went off.
“Dull,” Olaf commented. He was watching her.
“Dull?” Her brows furrowed as the flash returned.
“Smile,” he directed.
“I hardly have a reason to-” her opposition was interrupted by the feel of his lips softly pressing against hers. Her- her first-
She blinked as Olaf pulled back to examine her face.
She took a breath as the bulb flashed one final time.
He stood, grabbing the printout, distracting her from her haze. “Thanks for the pretty picture,” he gave a wave as he exited the tent, “Violet.”