Give my muse a nickname. If we like it we will keep it.
The toddler took a deep breath before slowly turning around in the papoose she was in.
"Don’t worry," Violet said. "No one will."
She winked at her baby sister who had been tucked into a hand made papoose (baby carrier) on Violet’s back, made from some old dusty curtains.
"Try not to look down, Sunny…"
The breeze blew through the girl’s hair and the boards creaked under Violet’s boots as they scaled the side of Olaf’s house. The grey planks were half rotted as it was… it only took the wrong amount of weight upon them before they would crumble and crack.
But Klaus was trapped in the tower room, and they knew they had to rescue him.
"Olaf is busy doing one of his plays anyway…" Violet said as she clung to the rope. She had launched her grappling hook, made from an old umbrella and rope, up to the window of the tower room. It had caught the windowsill and seemed secure… for now.
A mix of the cool breeze and the frightening height made Sunny shiver, but she continued to look toward the Count’s house. She had to help if they were going to save Klaus. “Okay, weyoco…” (Okay, I will tell you if anyone is coming.) she said, her blue eyes wide at how high they were getting.
The toddler pushed her blonde hair out of her eyes as the wind continued to blow. She hoped it wouldn’t get any worse. This was bad enough without the wind! At least no henchmen were nearby…
Or, at least, that’s what Sunny thought. “Vi! Vi! Hooks!” she whispered in a shrill voice. (Violet! Violet! It’s the hook-handed man!)
Violet lost her grip at the mention of the hook-handed man. She quickly clung to the rope with er hands and knees.
She felt her sister still on her back. At least the papoose straps hadn’t broken from the sudden downward jolt.
As the girls squng there just below the window, Fernald, Olaf’s hook-handed henchman grinned like a Cheshire Cat at them, as if they were bait that had been caught in a trap. Which… they probably were.
He leaned casually out of the window to twist one of his rusted hooks around Violet’s grappling rope.
Violet gulped. She only imagine him cutting the rope lose, sending the girls plummeting to their deaths…
”Well, well, well…” he started. “Wha’ ‘ave we ‘ere?”
Violet said nothing. She felt Sunny’s little nose against her neck, knowing she was peering over her shoulder.
He gave the rope a little push, making it swing. Violet tightened her grasp so hard she felt her hands might lose feeling.
”Wonder wha’ Olaf migh’ say if I send ya’s brats to hell…”
He snarled at them.
”All it wound take is…”
He raised his arm as if he were about to release the hook from the window.
”Please!” Violet shouted. “Please don’t!”
”Why not?” he asked. “Seems li’ a great show t’ me…”
”Yes but…. Olaf wants to kill us himself.”
Fernald raised a brow. “So?”
”So…” Violet continued. “So… if you kill us… he’ll be mad at you. He might even kill you to!”
She knew she had his attention now.
“If you have ever had a miserable experience, then you have probably had it said to you that you would feel better in the morning. This, of course, is utter nonsense, because a miserable experience remains a miserable experience even on the loveliest of morning.”— A Series of Unfortunate Events: The Miserable Mill, Lemony Snicket (via check-your-pockets-chimney-child)
According to my research, the beach is composed of a rocky terrain, with very little sand.
It is also filled with several different pools of living creatures. It is to my understanding that Klaus Baudelaire knew about all of them.
Violet used many of the rocks and washed up devices in her inventions.
Sunny, the youngest, enjoyed sinking her teeth into any drift wood that could be found along the rocky shore.
Well… hello, hello, hello.
If a scary man with an ankle tattoo and a penchant for dastardly deeds doesn’t get you running, I’m not sure what will.
There are several styles and variation, my darlings. I would advise you to— look into them.