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Chapter Text

It had all been going so well. Too well. They’d caught Olaf, gagged him with a bandana which did not suit his complexion and shoved him into the county jail, certain for once that things would work out. But then Esmé swooped in wearing that stupid costume, and ruined everything. 

Now instead of turning Olaf into the police and sending him to jail for a very long time, Jacques was going to be burned at the stake in the morning, and there was no doubt that unless they did something that she would soon be burnt to a crisp as well. Standing in the non-deluxe cell of the jail Olivia was painfully aware of what she had to offer to that hideous woman in that ridiculous disguise across from her. It’s betraying VFD, she shuddered, but…I can’t let them kill him. Kill us. So betrayal it was. The necessary words lingered on her tongue, kept back only by the remnants of Olivia's pride and the strength of her fear. 

“Orphans,” Esmé said, looking lazily up at her, “Nothing but trouble am I right?”   

“No. You’re not.” Olivia responded, the boldness in her tone surprising her. Oh where were the Quagmires? She needed to make sure that finding them was their first priority once she got her and Jacques out of here. 

“Tell me what did those droopy desperate orphans ever do for you,” Esmé asked. Olivia scoffed, her brow furrowing. “Before you got mixed up with them I’ll bet you had some kind of a life, a future.” she said, voice dripping with fake pity. “ Now look at you.” Esmé ran her eyes over Olivia in a disapproving way that made her blood boil. The same infuriating stare fixed on her face, Esmé got up and strutted over to the bars. “Is that a corset?” she laughed.

“Yes.” Olivia snapped, pulling Esmé towards her until only a few inches of air and the bars of a prison cell separated their faces. “Look at me a member of a noble and heroic organisation finally putting my innate physical dexterity and extensive training in library science to the glorious purpose for which they were made.” She released Esmé, hiding a smile. Maybe she could be a good volunteer for this confusing yet seemingly noble organisation after all. If she and Jacques survived the next 24 hours that was. 

“Do all you bookish volunteers start spouting that nonsense when you’re afraid,” Esmé asked, the empty look in her eyes signifying that she hadn’t understood a word Olivia had just said. She almost wished she'd snuck a bit about the sugar bowl in there, just to see if Esmé would understand that. 

“I’m not afraid,” She quickly lied, hiding her shaking hands behind her back. 

“You should be,” Esmé threatened. “Oh you think your boyfriend is going to rescue you,” she added, adopting an infantilising tone. 

“I think I’m going to rescue him.” She said, finally letting her hidden smile break loose. Jacques wasn’t her boyfriend, but that would just clog up the conversation, and besides it was much more satisfying to make her think he was. 

“Please,” Esmé snorted, her laughter loud enough that it seemed anyone who walked past the jail would hear it, “Your boyfriend is going to burn at the stake in the morning, I’m so sorry if I didn’t make that clear.” Again with the fake pity, Olivia fumed. Esmé’s dangerous tone made her legs go weak with fear, but fear she could handle. The pity however..it made her want to reach through the bars and strangle that stupidly perfect neck. 

“Not if you unlock this cell and let us go.” Olivia said slowly, the tremor in her voice still leaking through. How had Jacques been able to come across so confident when he was talking to Olaf before? All she had to say was one sentence, yet all she wanted to do was run into her mothers arms, just like when she was four and had a nightmare. 

You’re not four anymore Olivia, she reminded herself. You can do this. 

“And why would I do that,” Esmé said, her tone matching Olivia's own. 

“Because I’m a librarian.” she said with entirely too much force. 

“Oohh,” Esmé said, gasping mockingly. Infuriating woman. 

“Don’t you see?” She replied, leaning closer to the bars, gagging as Esmé’s repugnant perfume filled her nostrils. “Librarians know where to find…things.” 

“What kind of things?” Esmé said, her smile finally dropping from her face. 

“Missing things.” She confirmed, steadfastly ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach. It’s necessary Olivia, you know this. After this we’ll go to the hospital ourselves and snatch it before she does. And we won’t ever have to see Esmé Squalor again. She knew this. So why did she still have to feel this cocktail of feelings, all mixed up and blended until she couldn’t even tell where they were from and why she was feeling them.

“Stolen things?” Esmé asked, her interest finally piqued. 

“That’s right Esmé,” Olivia said. How did Esmé get anything done when she was so easy to manipulate? Bring up the sugar bowl and that woman was at your feet. Business Olivia. This is a deal, not a time for you to fulfil any fantasies of torturing Esmé and her equally stupid boyfriend. “If you let Jacques and me go I will give you the location of the sugar bowl.” Esmé let out a sigh of delight. 

“Well?” Esmé demanded after a few seconds, “Tell me. Tell me where it’s stashed.”

“Only after you let Jacques and me go. How naive do you think I am? This is my first time making a deal to get out of jail but it’s not..you know, my first time making a deal to get out of jail. You can’t expect me to assume you will follow through with your side of this.”  

“It’ll be such a shame to see Jacques’s handsome face melting when he burns at the stake,” Esmé threatened, leaning even closer in. A shiver ran through Olivia’s body. No wonder half of VFD was terrified of this woman.

“If you do that you’ll never get your hands on the sugar bowl.” Remain confident, Olivia. Don’t let her know how fast your heart is pumping. Don’t let her see.

“I could always torture you,” Esmé smiled, tapping her police baton. “That’s the problem with your side of the schism, you fail to recognise the obvious solution. Don’t try me.”

“You wouldn’t.” She wouldn’t…right? What if she would. 

“And why not.” she muttered. 

“Look Esmé,” Olivia said, desperately trying to command a conversation that felt more and more like a slippery slope. “You give me the keys, I give you the location of the sugar bowl, and no blood has to get on your outfit.”

“I do like this outfit, and bloodstains are decidedly out.” Esmé mused, sending a sigh of relief through Olivia. Esmé smiled as she unlocked the door, the gesture looking more like a baring of teeth than anything comforting. Once she had pulled the door open barely enough for her hand to slip through, Esmé grasped one of the bars that made up the door.

“It’s unlocked,” Esmé said, the simple words seeming like a threat. “Now give me the location and I swear on the sugar bowl I’ll let you go.”

“Heimlich Hospital.” Olivia blurted out all in one breath. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Esmé purred. You definitely heard me, Olivia fumed.

“Heimlich Hospital.” She said again, talking to Esmé like she did the kids at Prufrock. “It’s out here in the hinterlands. I have directions in case you need them.”

“I know where that hospital is, librarian. You pesky volunteers abandoned your base there years ago I thought.”

“Then you arsonists just fell right into our ploy. Now let us go.” Looking Olivia straight in the eyes Esmé slipped the keys from her perfectly manicured hands to Olivia’s rough ink stained ones.

“I’ll distract Olaf,” Esmé said, clapping her hands. “If you two are still here when I or he comes down next I will kill you with my bare hands.”

“Good to know.” Olivia roughly pushed the cell door open. Esmé pranced out of the room, and the second Olivia couldn’t see that hideous bright blue costume she rushed over to Jacques, jamming the key into the lock and frantically trying to open the door. He wordlessly stepped out, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the door. He’s mad about the sugar bowl isn’t he, Olivia worried. How much of a mistake have I made? 

“I’m sorry it was the only thing I could think of!” she said, desperation slipping out, once they had made it out of the jailhouse. 

“You did the right thing.” Jacques replied, his steady voice calming the nerves running through her. “But now you’ve got to get to that sugar bowl before they do. She nodded agreement. Maybe Esmé just cared about the container it was in, but Olaf and his associates would care about the content. The sugar that could destroy the noble side of the schism completely. “You need to find our top field agent, she knows exactly where it’s hidden and she knows what to do with it. She knows all.” He carefully unfolded a flyer, pressing it into Olivia’s still shaking hands. 

She stared at the purple ink, the large gold writing declaring ‘Madame Lulu knows all,’ and the crystal ball…with the VFD logo clearly wrapping around it. 

“She’s more legitimate than she looks,” Jacques assured, “You can take my taxi.” His taxi? Part of her felt honoured he trusted her with it but..this confirmed what she had assumed. He wouldn’t be coming with her.  

“What about you?” she asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Someone has to protect the children. Take care of the sugar bowl and we’ll rendezvous as soon as we can.” She nodded. 

“Promise me you’ll rescue the children.” If anyone can do it it’s Jacques, she reassured herself. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever Jacques did wouldn’t be enough…and that this was the last time she would ever see him. 

“I promise.” 

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

“Of course.” If I wait until I’m ready I’ll be waiting the rest of my life, she reminded herself, grabbing the taxi door before quickly turning around.

“Promise me we’ll see each other again.” Please. He’s the first person who actually showed me the world, I can’t lose him. Not like this. Not now. He didn’t answer, staring at her with solemn eyes, before leaning in and kissing her. Hesitantly she kissed back, leaning into the warmth and trying to ignore who the man was giving it. And really trying to ignore the person she half wished it was with instead. Much too late and much too soon he leaned back, hands resting on her shoulders. 

“This story isn’t over yet.” The words were meant to be reassuring, she knew that much but all they did was stir the pot of confusion in her mind. Smiling partly to quell her anxieties and partly to quell his, she got into the cab, pulling the door shut behind her as Jacques pulled something out of his pocket. A spyglass. She gasped, her smile now fully genuine. He handed it to her, the cool metal a stark difference from the warm night air. She let herself a moment of staring, marvelling at the codes, the workmanship, and the fact that she finally had one. She was a volunteer, properly now. The sugar bowl Olivia, get to the sugar bowl. She shook the distractions away, slipping the spyglass into her pocket and slammed the gas, the noise of the engine loud enough to block out the worries of the world. 

She turned the radio on as soon as no one in that vile village could hear her, hoping to pay no attention to where she was. The taxi was warm and soft and nice…but it smelled of Jacques and she really didn’t have time to sort that out. Because he was nice and noble and so so kind and the kiss was nice but…she didn’t even know.

What was the plan? She asked herself as another distraction. Or rather, would she follow through with his? Jacques had said to seek out Madame Lulu but…even though Olivia was hardly a competent volunteer, time mattered more than anything, and she didn’t even know how to find her way around the hinterlands! No, no she must go to Heimlich first, then bring the sugar bowl to Madame Lulu. We can’t waste time.

And if she runs into Esmé Squalor again? So be it. 

Chapter Text

Angrily painting her nails a most in shade of purple, Esmé didn’t look up from her work except to glare at Olaf, at the Hinterlands, at the fire truck he insisted on following.

They knew where it was! That librarian told her right out! And yet that oaf insisted in following those Baudelaires anywhere and everywhere! It was bad enough that she had to travel the hinterlands with no clothes except those she packed in her five suitcases, searching for a fortune that she hardly cared about, but now to do the same thing except knowing where the sugar bowl was and Olaf not even pretending to care about her wants? It was enough to make her want to sink her nails into his jugular.  

And yet he was the one with henchmen, and more importantly the one with the keys to the car. So here she was. All of a sudden the car shook and stopped, sending lilac nail polish flying all over her hands. What was he on about now? Nails digging into her palms, Esmé swung her head over towards Olaf. 

“And what darling, was that.” She hissed. 

“The Baudelaire brats have stopped!” He said with glee, “I’ll just pop in, we’ll have them in our grasp before the hour is up!”

“They’ve escaped you before dear,” Esmé harshly reminded. “Every second we wait is one where it gets less likely for me to get the sugar bowl.” 

“And when we get those Baudelaires we will have so much money that we won’t need the sugar bowl. You can just buy another one.”

“First off,” Esmé replied, the wrath in her voice more poisonous than a black mamba, “I have all the money in the world. Second off, buy another sugar bowl? Beatrice stole this one from me, I am not settling for another sugar bowl. And thanks to that school librarian I shouldn’t have to.” Olaf scoffed, staring at her directly as he opened the car door. 

“I’ll be back.” He growled. “It wouldn’t kill you to believe in me, you know.” Esmé flashed him a smile she hoped said she wasn’t sure about that last part. 

-

The wait in the car was unfathomably boring. She was in the middle of explaining to Olaf's underlings about her first trip up to Mount Fraught, back when she was a schoolgirl at Prufrock Prep, when finally Olaf came out the door of that tacky gift shop, an incredibly out touristy cap on his head, messily munching on a bag of orange puff things. 

“There's only one place that road leads to,” She heard him say as he watched a van disappear into the distance. He leaped into the car, slamming the door behind him and rubbing his hands together in the way he always did when concocting a scheme. “Heimlich hospital.” Esmé gasped in delight. Maybe the universe favoured her after all. 

“That's where the sugar bowl is,” she blurted out. If he ignored her even now… “that school librarian told me!”

“Exactly my pet.” He replied. “Those Baudelaire brats are obviously after the sugar bowl too.” The Baudelaires. Why did he always have to make it about the Baudelaires. 

“What does that mean?” the henchperson who didn’t look like a man or a woman said. God, she knew Olaf didn’t employ them for intelligence but did they have to be so stupid?

“It means we can grab them and the sugar bowl in one fell swoop!” he exclaimed, settling back into his scheming position. Esmé didn’t need to be the smartest person ever to see the flaws in his plan, namely that the police had started to be fairly competent, and they were running out of disguises in that kit Olaf had from back when they were a part of the ‘noble’ VFD.

“But how my darling, you’re on the lam.” serves him right for his Baudelaire obsession, she thought. And his occasional bursts of massive stupidity. 

“Au contrary, I’m dead.” he unfolded a newspaper that had been sitting on his lap, handing it to her with an expression so infuriating it was second only to that librarian’s when she agreed to let her go. Scanning the page it didn’t take her long to find what he was talking about. It said so clearly, right on the headline. ‘Baudelaires wanted for the murder of Count Olaf.’ Nobody in all the world could miss it. 

“How delicious,” she smiled, feeling her murderous side finally beginning to emerge.

“You’re dead.” one of the white faced women said.

“And the Baudelaires are wanted for your murder.” the other one chimed in. Did they always have to speak like that?

“Thanks to those idiots at the Daily Punctilio I’m a free man.”

“I thought we were officially dating.” She knew what he meant of course, but she wanted to hear his response. Hear that maybe he has a thread of love for her.

“Yeah I don’t really like labels,” he replied, causing Esmé’s face to drop. “Follow that van!” he pointed, seeming to have forgotten that he was the one at the wheel. The bald henchman pointed at him, and finally Olaf realised he was the one that had to do the following.         

Esmé let herself relax as they sped along the bumpy road. Finally. Finally after years and years of waiting and scheming she would have her sugar bowl again. 

-

Infiltrating the hospital was easy enough, especially because Olaf was officially a dead man and the hospital administration was all too easy to scare, but once they got in Esmé found herself completely, utterly, ridiculously bored. 

Babs (was that her name? Esmé didn’t remember) had been fun to terrify but her screams got old and distracting, Olaf was fun to argue with but only in short bursts, and the brown muck from the vending machines was good, but she felt like she would explode if she drank too much of it.

But finally, while watching a security camera out of the corner of her eye she saw something interesting. A flash of brown hair, and a quick walk she would recognize anywhere.

The librarian was here. 

She was on her feet in an instant, spitting out the brown stuff. 

“What is it!” Olaf shouted, “Did you see the Baudelaires?” 

“Not a Baudelaire…” Esmé replied. This was it. She couldn’t keep waiting here for something to go in their favour, the librarian was here for her sugar bowl too, and that was unacceptable. Esmé turned back to the camera she saw the librarian on, but as her gaze travelled from it to the ones by it, she didn’t see any more flashes of brown. An educated guess of where shes going then. 

“What do you mean by,” Olaf vaguely gestured at her behaviour “that then.”

“The sugar bowl darling, this as you put it, is about the sugar bowl.” she gritted out. “I would like to find the sugar bowl and get out of here, the smell of hospitals depresses me.” 

“We are not leaving until we find the Baudelaires,” He snapped, standing up as well. She slowly turned her head to meet his eyes, frustration bubbling through her. 

“I am the one who did all the heavy lifting in crow town, I am the one who caught Babs, I am the one who looks great in a hat.” She snapped back. “So I am going to retrieve the sugar bowl while you stand around staring at hallways.” She wouldn’t lose it this time. She wouldn’t. 

“If you think you can do any better, then be my guest.” he gestured dramatically as she stalked to the door. Snatching the keys from the table she turned back to look at him.

“Fine. I’ll just slip into something more frightening and I’ll have that sugar bowl in a jiffy.” 

“That’s easier said than done,” he said, obviously mad at her. Good.

“You haven't seen my outfit.” She smiled, envisioning the white and black fur, the red heels sharp enough they could be knives, the dog heads she could fasten to her shoulders…oh the possibilities were endless. “Move it losers.” she pushed past his henchmen, breathing easier as soon as she was away from them.    

- 

It only took her a few seconds to change, the outfit practically flying onto her body. She grinned as she stalked down the dirty hallway to the library of records, enjoying the sound of her heels clicking and scratching on the floor. The rest of the hospital was completely quiet, the patients were too frightened of the ‘Baudelaire murderers’ to make a peep, and she was luckily far enough away from Olaf and his henchmen, minus the one guarding the library. 

After struggling with the keys, she pushed the door open silently. She smiled at the dusty smell that seemed to foretell victory, and despite herself she looked around, taking in a library that was finally full of secrets, not volunteers. As she entered however she heard a voice. A terrifying familiar voice. The voice of a man she had killed. The voice of Jacques Snicket, the librarian's sweetheart. If he was still alive….

Carefully creeping through the file cabinets she slowly moved closer, suddenly cursing the scrape of her in heels. Turning a corner (how big was this place?) she could see light as well, and… were those three shadows? One of which was suspiciously baby shaped? Curses. Of course she would have competition. Oh when would she catch a break from these meddling volunteers and their children? Enough Esmé, standing around won’t do anything. Time to repeat what they did with Babs, and give these children the fright of their lives.

“I’m just wild about movies,” she snarled, stepping in front of what she’d determined was merely a film of Jacques Snicket, “Now who wants popcorn?!” 

The children stared at her, terror colouring their faces. Esmé giggled, this was the fun part.

“Go!” Violet shouted, turning off the machine and grabbing the baby, who babbled something Esmé couldn’t understand. Smiling her most sinister smile Esmé began to follow the children, when her heel got stuck in one of the cracks between stones. Falling forwards she yelled, ripping her shoe off.

“Dang these stiletto heels!” She screamed. They were in, but was that worth the risk of losing those brats? That was the problem with knife sharp heels. Wait…knife sharp heels. Knives. Smile back on her face she slipped her shoe back on, marvelling at the scratch it left on the floor. These children would be perfect blackmail against the librarian after all, now just to catch one. 

Mirroring the orphans movement towards the door, she bumped against a file cabinet sending it wobbling dangerously. An idea flashed into her mind.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” she heard Violet say, the girl obviously deliciously terrified.

“Not without that film,” Klaus countered. 

“Then we’ve got to go back and get it.” Perfect, Esmé thought, giving the cabinet by her a not so gentle push.

“I’m filing you under S for, smashed flat!” She called as they scattered.

“You and Sunny head for the door,” she heard Violet say, as well as the scuffle of a baby being handed to another person. “I’m gonna go get the film and catch up.” Separation. Perfect. Could they be any more stupid? Smiling as she crashed a cabinet in front of the door, Esmé turned towards Klaus and Sunny. That baby would be perfect for blackmail. 

“Peek a boo, I see you,” she laughed, before her shoe got stuck in yet another crack. Would it kill them to take care of these floors? 

“These shoes!” She yelled, quickly taking off in pursuit of the boy. A few seconds later though, she realised something. If the children had found the film so easily, who’s to say they hadn’t also found the sugar bowl? And in that case well…blackmailing wouldn’t be necessary. 

“The doors blocked!” She called, using the projection she learned from her acting degree. “There’s no way out! But you don’t have to hide from me children, maybe we can help each other?” She switched her tone to sweetness, knowing it would terrify the children even more, and after all the more scared they were the better. “You see, I’m looking for something. Small, round, full of secrets.” She pushed down a cabinet for emphasis. “Jacques Snicket thought he could hide it from me, but now he’s dead.” The subtext was clear in her words, you’ll die too if you don’t help me. “AND I WANT IT!” Esmé screamed, the room seeming to shake with the loudness of it. Annoyance and anger and longing boiled up. She was tired of waiting. Hot tears burning in her eyes, threatening to ruin her makeup, she ran through the library, stopping only to unstick her shoes from the floor, and she pushed down every file cabinet she could see, feeling better with every crash and patter of scared orphan feet. Imagine that librarian's face when she realises that I got to it before her, she’ll be livid. It’ll be perfect. Fixing Olivia Caliban's furious face in her mind, she watched as Klaus and Sunny stuffed themselves in a mail chute of all things, as the girl ran over. Stifling the urge to pull the two out of the chute, she only needed one after all, she slammed her hands into one last cabinet, watching gleefully as it smashed right into the chute. I’d like to see the orphans try to move that. Giggling a laugh that would haunt the Baudelaires dreams, she turned to the remaining orphan. 

She caught the glint of a shiny object changing hands, an object that was small, round, and undoubtedly full of secrets. 

“I KNEW YOU HAD IT!” They found it! They fucking found it! This was unacceptable. They wouldn’t be allowed to keep it. They couldn’t be allowed to keep it.

“You're all alone Violet, how does it feel?” She called, slipping her shoe from her feet. This chase was even more delicious than the last, her shoes flying through the air, sticking into the few standing cabinets, skidding across the floor, screaming lies at Violet, hearing the orphans' terrified responses, Violet running and creeping to the remaining exit. An exit she knew for a fact one of Olaf’s henchmen was meant to be guarding.  

Violet struggled with the door, the metal clinking and clanking as she pulled and pushed at the handles and locked. After an excruciating amount of time that useless girl finally got it open, swinging the door open and not seeing a path to safety, instead staring into the shiny eyes of Olaf. 

“Hello, hello, hello,” Olaf greeted, his grin matching her own. Violet screamed and tried to run back into the library, but luckily Olaf wasn’t as incompetent as his henchmen and he managed to grab her, pushing a screaming and kicking Violet into a gurney, and with help from Esmé trying her down and gagging the screaming brat. Success. 

-

After successfully stashing Violet away in a room under an alias, mood had significantly improved in the hospital headquarters. Olaf had called off the hunts for the two other Baudelaires, confident they would find where Violet was and come waltzing right into their grasp. 

“What do we do with the girl,” Olaf complained, “You should have a plan by now.” Unsure if he was talking to her or his henchmen Esmé stretched, 

“We kill her while making it look like an accident of course.” She answered. 

“Yes a child could figure that out,” he dismissed, “and that won’t bring the other two to us.”

“But darling,” she replied, “we can do both. This is a hospital after all, there’s plenty of gore fans.”

“What are you getting at my dear,” he said impatiently. 

“We can frame it as a surgery. A brand new surgery to get as many people in the hospital here as possible. And we make it so that there is no chance of survival.” Most people wouldn’t think there was anything off with it, but the Baudelaires would and so would the librarian. All the people against her in one room, with a person they care about conveniently at her mercy. 

It was utterly perfect. 

“Yes!” Olad erupted, “we could…we could…we could cut off her head!” 

“Exactly my dear. All we need is a fancy schmancy word for it.” Thinking back to her old VFD days full of words and etymology, Esmé racked her brain for the words she needed. Cranio was head, she knew that, so now they needed some other fancy word as well in order to shove them together. Finally it came to her. Ectomy, or to remove something. Cranioectomy, or finally beheading an orphan! “Cranioectomy.” She said, quite pleased with herself.

“Huh?” Olaf grunted.

“It’s what we call the ‘surgery’ darling, that way nobody will doubt us. We couldn’t just say watch us cut off this girl's head.” It really was like talking to a toddler sometimes. “We’ll do it first thing in the morning, as soon as the hospital opens I want you to make the announcement.”

“What makes you think you can boss me around?” he challenged.

“Because I’m the one with good ideas,” Esmé stated. “I’m going to bed, don’t wake me unless the hospital is on fire dear, I need my beauty sleep.”

“Fine!” he said, inexplicably annoyed. “I’ll torture the girl myself.”

“The bone saws are in the cupboard,” Esmé called, disappearing into the break room she had made the henchmen turn into a bedroom for her. Quickly changing into her silk, in pyjamas she crashed onto the bed most ungracefully, falling asleep much quicker than she had expected.

-

The day of the cranioectomy dawned quite early for Esmé, who was woken up by Olaf just as the sun started to rise. She groaned, rolling over a few times before she remembered. The sugar bowl. 

“Yes yes dear,” she muttered, unaware of what Olaf had even said, “I’ll go down to the operating theatre and get everything ready you can do…whatever you do up here. Now get out, I need to change my outfit.”

“I think you might want to hear this Esmé,” Olaf said crossly.

“Hear what? What did you find?”

“The other two orphans,” he grinned, “they were bumbling around looking for their sister just as we plotted! Disguised as doctors no less!”

“You look like you have a plan, dear,” Esmé smiled.

“Doctors perform surgeries. It would be a shame if this particular doctor had to perform this particular surgery wouldn’t it..” Esmé broke into a bout of her practised evil laughter. Klaus having to perform the surgery? It was brutal, it was traumatic, it was…perfect. 

“I take back anything I’ve said about you being stupid.”

“You said things about me being stupid? When?”

“Never.” She really thought he had noticed her saying that once or twice. Apparently not. “Now leave, I need to get into costume.”

Once he had left the room Esmé threw back on her medical disguise and grabbed the knife she had stashed in her room last night. As she walked back into the headquarters all but that bald henchman took a step back, clearly in awe of her beauty and terror. 

“Esmé..” the bald one said.. “You look beautiful.”

“Terrifying.” The hook handed one added, causing a slight blush to rise up her cheeks.

“Yes, yes, I know I look goo-” 

“Paging Doctor Faustus,” Olaf’s scratchy voice on the intercom interrupted her, “You are desperately needed in the operating theatre.” A jolt shot through Esmé, if she wasn’t in the theatre soon she would miss the people coming in, and it would be ten times harder to find the librarian in a crowd. Grabbing a cup of the brown stuff from one of Olaf’s henchmen she took off, rushing through the twisting hallways of the hospital as Olaf continued his announcement.   

She burst through the operating theatre doors, expecting to see all sorts of people in the crowd, but instead when she scanned the seats fortunately there were only a few Volunteers Fighting Disease, and that annoying banker with a cough that followed them everywhere. 

People slowly began to trickle in, boring people, gore fans, doctors, nurses, everyone but who she was looking for.

Was she wrong? Would the librarian not come? Was she not as observant as Esmé had assumed? Did she simply not care?

Olaf finally came in with Klaus anxiously following him, horror and disgust colouring the orphans expression. The trickle of people coming in slid to a stop. 

“Doctors, nurses,” Olaf began his speech. The clocks ticking down librarian, Esmé thought, the thought doing nothing to stop her own anxiety. If her plan failed again…well she didn’t know what she’d do.

Where was the librarian?

Klaus was instantly trying to stall, and for the first time in her life she felt relieved by it.

Where was the librarian?

Suddenly the doors swung open, and a beautiful brown haired figure came in, apologising as she slipped to a spot where she could see what was happening. Esmé felt her tension relax, a brilliant smile spread across her face, the smile of a plan working.

Esmé could see Olivia recognize first her than Olaf, see her notice who Dr Faustus really was, and she could clearly see that delightful gasp as Olivia noticed who it was on the operating table.

But instead of rushing down, appealing to Esmé, begging her to keep Violet alive, a curse slipped through Olivia Caliban’s mouth, and face white she hurried back out of the theatre.

Stifling a curse of her own Esmé grabbed the biggest, sharpest knife and followed her.   

Chapter Text

Oh god, Olivia thought as she hurried out of the operating theatre, oh god, oh god, oh god. It was what she had expected, it was what she feared. Violet was going to die and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. She didn’t have any skills that a volunteer should, oh why didn’t she get Madame Lulu? Why did she think she could do this by herself? 

And now like a coward she was running out of the room to grab a sugar bowl instead of trying to help the Baudelaires. She considered turning back a million times as she walked through the hospital corridors, to burst back into the room and scream stop. But what could she do? Beg? Plead? She had nothing left to blackmail with after all, and no fighting skills other than what Jacques had taught her in the few hours they had Olaf captured.

Hurt as it might, she still couldn’t help the Baudelaires. But she could get the sugar bowl. So she kept walking. 

Quieting her step as she passed by rooms full of possibly sleeping patients and the hospital headquarters, Olivia was able to hear something else, an even quieter, distinctly separate, set of footsteps.

Oh god I’m being followed! Panic shot through her, she bolted through the nearest door, rushing down the hallways, hoping her turns couldn’t be tracked and her footsteps couldn’t be heard. She sobbed, tears burning her eyes, her entire body screaming to run and hide to get into a hole and never leave. 

“We can still do this,” Olivia whispered to herself, “Yes we’re new but that means that we’ll be underestimated, we can play into that. It’ll be okay.” Her voice wavered on every syllable, it wasn’t okay. She was being followed by a person who was almost certainly Esmé Squalor, she had nothing to work with, and with every step it was as if she could feel her likelihood of surviving the day decreasing. So why did she keep walking?

Luckily her time spent exploring the hospital yesterday had paid off, and so did the fact that she had managed to nick a map from Babs’ old desk. Where do I go? She wondered, unfolding the map, barely managing to look at it and not bump into walls. Where can I go? To the sugar bowl obviously, but how? Surely Esmé’s expecting me to take a direct route? So do I go the most winding one possible, however that would take valuable time. I wish Jacques was here. He’d know what to do. I wish anyone else was here. Eyes dancing around the map, she finally landed on a route, she’d slip up the back stairs, which had a lock on the inside she could flip. Then while Esmé was finding another way up she could grab the sugar bowl and get out, driving far and fast away from this hostile hospital. It wasn’t a good plan, any other volunteer could probably come up with something a thousand times better, but it was the best she could think of, and that would have to do. 

Taking another deep breath riddled with sobs Olivia quickly orientated herself, trying to ignore the horrible terrifying footsteps, still barely audible behind her. Just pretend they aren’t there. If they don’t exist they can’t hurt me. 

Oh god they exist and they can so easily hurt me. 

Finally the back stairs came into view, an unassuming door, covered with the same worn grey paint as the walls. It was dingy and dirty and the most relieving thing Olivia had ever seen. 

Grabbing the rusty handle Olivia swung the door open, slamming it shut as soon as she passed through it, throwing the thankfully still working lock.

It worked. It actually worked. Heaving for breath Olivia collapsed onto the lowest stair. She’d bought enough time to sit down right? After all, the next staircase was at least a five minute walk away, and it took you up further away from the storage room storing the sugar bowl. I’ll just take five seconds, she decided. It wouldn’t be prudent to try and get it when I’m like this anyways. 

Only two seconds into her rest however the door shuddered and cracked, a rusty knife tip appearing through the grey painted wood. Why hadn’t she thought about that. Why in the world didn’t she think about that? 

Bolting to her feet Olivia ran up the stairs, taking them two, three, four at a time. Right as she reached the top she heard a sickening crash, and the footsteps of a woman who was no longer sneaking coming closer and closer behind her.  

Where is it, where is it? Olivia thought, running through the hallway of storage rooms, had room six always been this far from the stairs? 

This time there wasn’t even a second of relief as she ran into the room, she wasn’t safe. She wasn’t safe at all. Focus Olivia! We just need to get out of here. Grab the sugar bowl and get out of here. 

Haphazardly shoving a pile of random things in front of the door as she entered, Olivia ran to the back shelf, shoving items off the shelf until she finally found it. 

She closed her shaking hands around the blue and white porcelain just as the door was sent flying open, the pile of items pushed aside like they were feathers. 

“Well,” Esmé smiled, looming in the doorway, wearing a costume that did not look as good as she thought, “you should’ve given up before you even started librarian, that sugar bowl is mine and you aren’t leaving.” she threatened, her voice equal parts cheerful and menacing.

‘Do you mean not leaving with it?” The query slipped out before Olivia realised just how bad an idea questioning Esmé Squalor was.

“No.” Esmé said simply, advancing with her knife gleaming in the florescent hospital lights. “I mean not leaving.”

Olivia instinctively backed up, her body ramming into the wall. Trapped. 

“If you just hand me the sugar bowl I’ll make sure your death is quick and painless,” Esmé cooed, “If you fight me however…I can’t promise the same.” Fighting the panic pulsing through her body and the tears still burning in her eyes Olivia raised her gaze, meeting Esmé’s cold eyes. Olivia shuddered, just managing to stop a loose tear breaking free. Terrifyingly gently, Esmé brought her knife to Olivia’s neck, the cold edge resting precariously on her skin. “So? What will it be? A quick death or something very, very, painful?”

“I-” Olivia stuttered, desperately trying to rationalise the situation. She couldn’t just hand the sugar bowl to Esmé, no volunteer would ever do that. She could throw it out the window, smash it, make sure nobody ever had it, but there were whispers that the mycelium still existed after the Anwhistle fire, and then they would need it but it was better smashed then in the hands of Esmé right? And the Baudelaires were still in this hospital in the hands of Olaf, and she didn’t even know where the Quagmires were and she should’ve been protecting the children right now but- Olivia shut her eyes tight, the tears still leaking out.

“Oh darling, you’re crying, are you really that terrified?” With her free hand Esmé gently, too gently, wiped the stray tear from Olivia’s face. Against her will her pulse quickened and her cheek tingled where Esmé had touched it. No. No fear, fear is what will kill me. “I’m nice, I’ll give you some time to think. Just bear in mind there’s no situation where I don’t get my sugar bowl back, so really it depends on whether you care more about your pitiful morals than a quick death.” 

There's another way. There has to be another way. I have to survive, I have to help the children. Olivia’s eyes scanned Esmé, trying to put her librarian skill of reading anything into reading people. Does she have to be standing like that? Olivia thought, panicking. It’s impossible to focus when her face is so close. Wait…

Not even thinking Olivia thrust her face forwards, quickly and frantically shoving a kiss on Esmé’s lips. 

She’d expected it to be gross, disgusting, a necessary evil. A nauseating way to distract Esmé just enough to be a little less at her mercy.

What she hadn’t expected was a hot spark running down her body, the spark that had been so painfully missing in the kiss with Jacques. She wasn’t expecting a second of bliss to fill her, a sudden change from all the panic and fear. She wasn’t expecting the disgust to only happen once she pulled away. And she wasn’t expecting to almost want to do it again. Almost. Oh god. I kissed Esmé Squalor. And I didn’t hate it? 

Esmé stood there, shock and..something else in her eyes, just long enough for Olivia to duck under and out, smashing her arm into the window behind her on accident, wincing as it shattered and glass flew all over her exposed skin.

Watching the blood drip from Olivia’s arm, Esmé darkly chuckled, the noise full of amusement. “That was a clever trick, I’ll give you that, but you’re foolish if you think it’s going to change anything.” Olivia glanced at the hole in the window. It was so close to the unfinished half of the hospital, she could probably climb over there and disappear, but Esmé’s reflexes were so fast, she might not have the time. She desperately needed another distraction but..what else could she do? Was there anything else she could do? “Why all you’ve done is choose the painful option,” Esmé smiled, stepping closer to Olivia. “Not what I would've done but you volunteers always had a knack for making the wrong choic-” she stopped, quickly sniffing the air. “Is that smoke..?” As Esmé turned back to the door to investigate, her tone conveying more annoyance and disappointment than concern, Olivia bolted. 

She ran as fast as she dared across the wooden plank connecting the two halves of the hospital, wincing with every creak it made as she crossed. The choking smell of sawdust filled her nose as she ran across the dangerously thin beams, lost in a wall-less maze as she tried to find a way down. Despite it all she found herself…smiling? The sugar bowl was safe in her hands, Esmé Squalor definitely not safe in a burning building, and she was safe as well. As she finally found a ladder and climbed down though, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her safety was only for now. 

Chapter Text

Esmé felt hot and sweaty-and it wasn’t because of the fire. The only problem was she didn’t know why. Anger would make sense, but anger boiled and bubbled in a way this certainly didn’t. 

Besides, the sole thing she could focus on made her think she knew the answer. A thought that certainly caused the boiling and bubbling because not only was Olivia the one thing before her and her sugar bowl, but she didn’t, didn’t, DIDN’T mean anything by that kiss, the kiss was a distraction, a stupidly clever distraction, and thus Esmé shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have, SHOULDN’T HAVE mildly enjoyed it. Mildly. 

This wasn’t fair. She hadn’t felt like..this about a volunteer since… She shook that thought out of her mind.

Because it was those few seconds of mercy, that slight wonder what that librarian would do next, and Olivia’s goddamn distraction that had stopped her from her sugar bowl. 

She would take that librarian down, even if it meant burning with her. 

Distracted as she was, Esmé almost fell running out of the hospital, throwing extra things in the trunk, not even checking she had closed it properly.

 “This is horrific!” she cried, slamming the car door behind her. “That librarian escaped with my sugar bowl again, because you couldn’t wait to set the fire until I was done!” Against her command her voice wavered. No, she thought, blinking them away. She was Esmé Gigi Genevive Squalor, and Esmé Gigi Genevive Squalor didn’t cry. Especially not over something like a volunteer. 

“It’s worse than that..” Olaf said darkly. 

“I know, and the Baudelaire brats escaped our clutches again,” she said, that extremely out waver still appearing in her voice. 

“It’s very, very, worse than that.” Esmé looked at him concerned. This didn’t seem like his usual melodramatic ways, those stopped at the Baudelaires. This…this was different. “There may be a survivor of the Baudelaire fire.” 

Esmé’s breath caught in her throat. A survivor. Beatrice? The traitor, the thief still alive? Still flying off cliffs with her dragonfly wings and meeting up with….people backstage during her opera performances. Still able to keep Esmé’s sugar bowl. What if Olivia and Beatrice were working together? To hurt her, to taunt her, abusing the way Esmé… If she followed the sugar bowl she could find Beatrice, and make sure she died this time because apparently that infuriating woman could even survive a fire. Oh well, she’d just have to try harder this time, forgo the ironic end for something a little more…inescapable. 

“Get in the car this instant!” Olaf shouted. “I’m leaving on the count of three!” Leaving to go where, Esmé wanted to ask but antagonising the man who insisted on driving probably wasn’t the best idea. It was a tempting one though.

“Just one second boss,” Hooky lent through her open window, anxiously tapping the car with one of his hooks. “We’re waiting for you-know-who.” Was a henchperson missing? Esmé thought. The back of the car looks a little less crowded than usual so the odds were high.

“One.” Olaf bellowed. Esmé sighed, slumping back in her seat. She loved the man, she really did, but did he have to be so loud? The car was seeming to shake from it. 

“TWO” he shouted louder, causing a scatter of henchmen shoving themselves into the back seat, and Hooky sliding in next to her, reeking of sweat and disinfectant. 

“Three.” Olaf smiled. Finally, Esmé internally complained. He should’ve given them an actual three seconds, see who cared enough to get in the car. God knows his herd of henchmen could do with some thinning. 

“What happens next boss?” Hooky asked, finally showing some intelligence. 

“How should I know?” Olaf snarled, reaching to dislodge a piece of paper from the windshield. “I’m not…” He suddenly paused, his two brain cells finally coming up with an idea. “..Psychic” He finally unfolded the paper, a torn flyer for a carnival in the hinterlands. A very specific carnival. Madame Lulu’s carnival. A torn grin formed on Esmé’s face. She could still see, clear as day, Beatrice during her stint as Madame Lulu, back before the schism. How the flowy dresses and dark makeup made her look even more like a goddess, how she’d run her long nails through Esmé’s hair and Esmé would do the same for her. How warm her hugs were whenever they had to say goodbye. Focus Esmé! What’s to say Beatrice wouldn’t go back to the carnival? It was still a VFD base after all, and she knew how to play the role. 

Maybe Olaf was going there for some ‘mystical’ knowledge relating to the Baudelaires, but she could turn this into something much more profitable. 

Her temporary peace was shattered once Olaf slammed his foot on the gas, causing the entire car to rattle. 

“Alone!” He yelled at the roadkill on the windshield. “Desperate! Defeated! These are words I thought I’d never use except when talking about other people!” Yanking the steering wheel the car swerved from side to side to side, and despite her best efforts a shriek left Esmé’s mouth. 

“Darling!” She yelled, voice rough from her shrieks. “Don’t you think you ought to slow down a bit!” She’d never find Beatrice and the librarian if he drove them into a ditch off this infernal, never ending, EXTREMELY out road! In response he yanked the wheel harder and another chorus of shrieks left Esmé's mouth. 

“First the Baudelaire orphans escaped my clutches,” he continued yelling at the roadkill, “then I find out one of their parents may still be alive! Do you know what it feels like to have your life spin out of control as if driven by the cruel whims of some unpredictable madman?”

Yes. Esmé thought bitterly. A madman who ignored the needs of everyone around him following his quest of single minded revenge instead of taking detours to help her quest of single minded revenge. But she didn’t say that. When Olaf was at the wheel making him angry was a dangerous game. 

“I can’t imagine that at all!” Hooky said brightly, and Esmé immediately gripped her seat. They were in for it now. Olaf pushed the car faster and only by biting her lips-smearing her lipstick she might add-she managed not to scream. 

Olaf kept blathering and babbling about his terrible unfortunate no good excuse for a life when finally..

“You think you’ve got problems?” She snapped, feeling the fury burn. “I am never going to find the sugar bowl racking around in the hinterlands! I’m as miserable as that pack of starving lions we just passed on the side of the road!” Plus I’m incredibly scared I’m falling for another damn noble ‘volunteer’ and since last time ended in theft, heartbreak and fire I don’t have high hopes for this one! Olaf fumbled and grabbed the poster. 

“Lets hope this madame Lulu can turn things around.” he mumbled, handing it to her. Esmé watched in disbelief. Did he not remember? How couldn’t he remember? The poster once again sitting in her hands after all these years more memories began to flood her mind, helping Beatrice make the dragonfly costume, talking and laughing on the floor after everyone else had left..she folded the paper and set it aside, continuing to watch out the window as the conversation turned to wine, mulling on everything and anything until she thought her mascara would smear from all her hidden tears.    

All too soon lights flickered in the distance, the familiar Caligari Carnival sign now dim and falling apart, only half of the leds on each letter properly lit up. The roller coaster track was rusted and had at least two gaping holes that Esmé could spot before they even left the car. Half the tents she was used to seeing dotted around the landscape were gone, replaced with faded and ripped ones as well as an old trailer back in a corner. 

I knew that we caused VFD to lose credibility and money, Esmé mused as she left the car, but surely not enough to cause the carnival to fall this far. Or, a wicked grin alight her face, we have been far more effective than we realised. 

“This carnival isn’t very in,” she complained, masking the jitters within her. Beatrice? Olivia? You two better sleep with one eye open tonight… “Just a rusty roller coaster and a bunch of tents.”

“Are you sure we’re safe here boss?” Hooky asked breathlessly. Did this man have no listening comprehension? “If the police come looking for us there's nowhere to hide.” The police think he’s dead. 

“Why do we have to hide?” Olaf said. Thank god at least one other person here was mildly competent. “No one comes looking for a dead man and the daily punctilio just put my obituary on the front page!” He brandished the newspaper in all of their faces. 

“Surprisingly low turnout..” The henchperson of indeterminate gender read, as Olaf crumpled the newspaper and threw it along the side of the road where it began to blow along with the tumbleweeds. 

“Besides,” Olaf continued, “We just have to stay long enough for Madame Lulu to answer all of our questions.” A grin began to grow on his face. “Where the Baudelaire brats are hiding,” He said with relish, “Whether one of their parents are still alive,”

“You could ask about the sugar bowl!” The bald man offered. 

“I don't see why we should believe some lady who lives in a tent.” This is a VFD base you idiots! Beatrice will try and mislead us at every turn and I’ll have to pick up the pieces! I should drag us right out of here…but then Beatrice, the librarian and my sugar bowl will get away. She sighed, the noise turning into a low growl. Why couldn’t anything be easy?   

“Not just any tent..” Olaf turned towards the main tent where the VFD logo shone gold under the desert sun. “A sign we are on the right path. Lets go.” He prowled off, his henchmen following him like loyal dogs. After a second she followed, tossing her hair back. 

The tent was dark and cramped, beads dangling from the ceiling in a garish attempt to appear mystical. Surely when they first made it the tents were more in than this.  

Almost immediately Madame Lulu emerged, pushing past another bead curtain. 

“Welcome to Caligari Carnival,” she said mystically with a heavy accent. An accent that rang all sorts of wrong in Esmé’s head. This wasn’t Beatrice. Even under disguise she never drew her As out that much. Accents had never come easily to Beatrice, Esmé remembered long days coaching her through this one, showing her how to stop sounding so bookish and posh, teaching her all the tricks Esmé had learned from Olaf a year prior. 

“You’ve been expecting us.” Olaf said doubtfully from beside her, jerking Esmé out of her head. 

“I have vision that I receive visit from handsome stranger.” Lulu smiled, catching Olaf’s eye.

“And his girlfriend?” Esmé interjected. 

“No she not in vision.” Lulu snarled. Esmé’s face hardened and she bit at her lower lip, mostly to stop her from hurting anything else. This woman. She racked her brain for what the librarian looked like, repeatedly having to draw her attention away from…what happened at the hospital. Olivia was new to this, even if she was uniquely talented at accents. She wouldn’t be able to mask her tells well enough. 

Did she stand like that? What about the way her face rested when her expression became neutral? Esmé listened with half an ear as Lulu showed off her ‘fortune telling’ skills, first simply and then more mystically. She was instead analysing the agent's body language, her accent, any detail and clue that could tell her who this person really was. She considered marching up and simply tearing the wig off of Lulu’s head but..she did have information and she would willingly give it to them. Torture was fun, but blood was out right now. 

Esmé continued eyeing Lulu as she gave a grand speech showcasing her ‘fortune telling’ abilities, although nobody else seemed to notice that she was looking into the past, not the future. It was mildly worrying, VFD had more information than she thought, but the society of musty librarians who couldn’t tell their ins from their outs wasn’t concerning. Not even they could interrupt the plan hatching in the back of her head. 

This used to be a carnival. So let’s put on a show. 

A few hours later Olaf lay across one of Lulu’s ridiculous amounts of couches, drinking the trunk wine and talking about his dreams and secrets he hadn’t told anyone before. (She had heard all of them multiple times). A trio of orphans had stumbled in an hour prior, looking for some job. They weren’t the orphans Olaf wanted, nor any of the ones involved with her sugar bowl, so she paid them no mind. At least their clothes were in, it made Esmé so happy that even the poor found the time to be civilised. And besides, they weren’t completely useless. Depending how this turned out, the more freaks she could sway the better. 

She, much to his dismay, cut off Olaf’s access to wine after another thirty minutes of what seemed like nonstop drinking on his part. The wine was just close enough to in that it wasn’t the most mortifying thing ever to talk to people drinking it, but still, she would never stoop to drinking an out beverage. 

Olaf grumbled like he was five and she just took away his candy, but she hardly paid attention, gaze still fixed on Lulu. Something had…come out of her when she saw those orphans, a tiny spark that showed some sliver of care. She’d broken character once. And that meant she’d do it again. But unfortunately Lulu seemed to be on her guard now though, not even fidgeting with a ring like she had been doing earlier. She hadn’t drank any of the wine, so it wasn’t drunkenness. 

Finally she dragged Olaf, who as she had feared was too drunk to even walk, to bed in the tent she had Hooky set up, that way it would actually have room for her wardrobe. Sleep. She needed sleep. In the morning she’d figure this out. She’d see if that infuriating librarian was still following her everywhere she went..and she’d finally find her sugar bowl.

All she had to do was sleep. 

But, like it always did when she fixated on something, sleep was elusive. She had to elbow Olaf seven times to keep him from snoring like a pig run over by a car. That glimmer, that split second glimmer in Lulu’s eyes..the secret was there, she knew it. 

Then, like a sack of bricks dropped out a fourth story window by a meddlesome ex’s husband’s brother, it hit her. She had seen that look before. She saw it every time the librarian mentioned the Baudelaires or the Quagmires. Lulu was Olivia. She was right, of course she was.

Now..what to do about it… 

Needless to say, Esmé Gigi Geniveve Squalor, the city’s sixth most important financial advisor, did not get much sleep that night, and it wasn’t because of the lumpy mattress or her boyfriend's snoring. Because..this feeling, this fascination with that librarian, surely it wasn’t like Beatrice. She was smart enough not to make herself go through something like that again. So since it wasn’t a Beatrice situation, and it couldn’t be a Beatrice situation, then why was she fixating? 

She’s been flirting with Olaf. Esmé realised. Before, at the village, the librarian didn’t say anything but she must have subconsciously picked up on her eyeing him. Yes. That made so much more sense. That's why I want to destroy her. And she was right, obviously. Esmé Gigi Geniveve Squalor was never wrong. 

She’d confront the librarian about it today, she decided. Hint that she knew her secret, hopefully scare her enough, unsettle her enough, that she could then exploit her more. Despite popular belief it was much easier to manipulate someone who was already frightened. Those primal instincts would lead Olivia right into her perfectly manicured hands. 

Now for the outfit…that was the most important part after all. It would need to be grand, gorgeous, in, as well as fitting the landscape of this dusty out carnival. This might get precarious. Luckily, she had an idea.

Her wardrobe, for once in its life, was lacking. She hadn’t had time to receive more of her clothes from 667 dark avenue, so all she had was the four suitcases she had already packed. 

Carefully she peaked out of the tent. It was still dark. Good, hopefully nobody would find her doing this. If they did, she might decide to have them killed. Which would be messy and annoying, and it would probably get blood on her outfit before she planned for it. 

Her scissors made quick work of a nearby mostly abandoned tent. And then if she pinned it there…added a few stitches..folded that part into a neat hat…there. 

She spun around, admiring her handiwork, and of course, herself. She was gorgeous. She was hot. She was in. 

And even if the outfit wasn’t enough to kill the librarian…well she had another plan on how to do that. A plan that was, dare she say, perfect. 

Chapter Text

Pick up, pick up, pick up! Olivia pleaded as the telephone rang. Kit and her had gone over all the information she might need to know as soon as Olivia noticed Olaf’s van driving towards her, including how to drive them off the scent of the sugar bowl while still giving correct information. A VFD agent should never lie, Kit had told her. Information and truth were their tools, lies and deceit were the tools of the firestarters. They had both expected they would ask about the sugar bowl, or perhaps the location of the Baudelaires or Quagmires. Not some rumor that was either so unfounded, or otherwise disproved, that Kit hadn’t even mentioned it to Olivia in passing. A survivor of the fire? Olivia’s heart leapt whenever she thought of it. The idea that the Baudelaire orphans may still have a parent to go back to was too wonderful for words. But that all paled at the fact that she needed an answer for Olaf, and she needed it quickly. 

“It’s me.” She whispered as Kit finally picked up. She coughed, the accent still lingering in her voice. “It’s me.” She said normally. I’m not an imitator, Kit. Don’t worry. “We have a complication.” Olivia gritted her teeth, trying to force the terror out of her voice. It’s fine. It’s fine. She could do this. Kit would have the information and it would all be okay.

“Did they ask about the sugar bowl?” Kit was breathing heavily, her normally steady voice rough. 

“No.” Olivia answered. How did she word this?

“The Mycelium?”

“No. Oh no it’s worse than that.” What was she saying? Nothing was worse than the mycelium. “What do you know about the survivor of the fire?” Olivia backed up, passing through the Caligari cabinet, into the musty room of old costumes and soundproofing.

“Which fire?” Kit asked slowly. 

“Baudelaire. According to Olaf, Jacques knew something about it.” Olivia heard her voice waver at his name. They killed him. Olaf killed him. He was just trying to protect the children. Like she should’ve been.  

“I know my brother was looking after a survivor of the Quagmire fire. It’s possible he found information on a survivor of the Baudelaire fire in the process. But beyond that, I can’t help you. I’m sorry Olivia. If it’s any help, just know that my brother was rarely wrong.”

“I can’t stay on the call much longer. They may be eavesdropping.” Olivia whispered, then put the earpiece back into the receiver. This was bad. Could she do it? Could she really convince Olaf of information she hardly knew herself? She had no facts, no evidence. But then again, arsonists didn’t care for either of those things.

“Get it together.” She whispered to herself. “Kit is risking her life in the mountains and you can hardly lie to a man?” She could do this. She had to. 

Maybe if she alluded to Beatrice? She was a Baudelaire, and a clever one too. Olivia twisted one of her rings, tilted her head back, and tried to think. What did she know about the Baudelaires mom? She was a resourceful agent, Lemony had a crush on her, she had a penchant for dragonflies..Dragonflies. Olaf had tried to kill Beatrice once, at that Masked Ball. Maybe she could unsettle him, appeal to his guilt-if he had any. But maybe that could buy her time. That’s all she needed. Time. Then she could tell the Baudelaires who she was and escape with them into the mountains together. This could work. This had to work. What would she do if it didn’t work? And was the ball even on tape?

No. No worrying. She had films to find, something with Beatrice and her costume. At an opera perhaps? She loved performing at those. But no, that might reek too much of the schism.   

She dug through the box of tapes, skimming the title, then tossing the unpromising ones aside. As a librarian judging a book, or tape, by its cover felt like a betrayal, but what else was she to do? She couldn’t watch them all, Olaf would kill them all before she got a quarter of the way! 

Finally she held one tape in her hand, the chosen one amongst the wreckage she had caused. The Masked Ball. It had been on tape after all. Why had I assumed otherwise? Olivia berated herself. VFD prizes records. 

Carefully treading around the stacks of other films, she stuck hers into the projector hidden under the crystal ball. Immediately images began to swirl around in it, warped by the glass to appear more mystical, more like it was projected from some spirit world, not a simple piece of technology. 

Beatrice stood there, dragonfly wings rippling around her like waves of green. Olivia was suddenly reminded of just how beautiful the Baudelaires mother was, it was no wonder she ended up being such a heartbreaker. 

Finally satisfied, Olivia turned off all the lights in the tent, snuggling into the bed that still smelled like Kit, praying to gods she didn’t believe in that tonight she might manage to sleep. 

Dawn came much too fast for her liking, before she knew it Olaf’s heavy footsteps were approaching her tent, even as she scrambled to make sure her wig was in place and her makeup was spotless. 

“Hello my Olaf,” she cooed as soon as his thick hands pushed back her bead curtain. Closing her eyes for a second she tried to get into character as much as possible, anything so that the bile that kept rising in her throat whenever she flirted with that despicable man subsided. 

“Yes, yes,” he said, sleep still marring his voice. “Get on with it.”

Olivia swished around the room as he sat down, doing the mystical mumbo jumbo that would hopefully seem real enough to him. Finally, she sat down across from him, one hand resting on the hidden button that would activate the projector. Waving her hand in front of the concealed motion sensor she cut the lights, plunging the tent into almost complete darkness.

“Like baby goat we begin in darkness..”

Olaf’s face was dark as he left her tent, and Olivia could barely suppress a chill. He should be distracted on the show, she hoped, but seeing the murder in his eyes, she was no longer so sure. 

Things just got worse and worse as the day, and the show, went on. Three people sat in the dusty stands, and as Olivia watched only one of them ever applauded. Olaf’s voice got darker as the acts went on, and she could see the pleasure he got from tormenting each person, especially Beverly and Elliot, or should she say Violet and Klaus. Had he guessed? 

After it concluded and the three spectators had left, Olaf barked orders, most of them creative ways to say go to the dressing room. 

“It’s bad enough that I have to kill time in a carnival waiting for spirits to solve my problems,” Olaf shouted. His anger seemed to be directed on everyone in the room, but Olivia couldn't stop shrinking back like she was a little girl. “I make the best of it, I do one of my BEST PERFORMANCES and there's hardly ANYONE to SEE IT!”

“There were three people,” one of his henchmen, the one where she couldn't tell the gender, said helpfully. Olaf’s face turned a darker shade. 

“I tell you Caligari Carnival is on hard times,” Olivia quickly said, trying to diffuse the ticking bomb that was Olaf. “Is not good business to have carnival in the middle of hinterlands. The rollercoaster is on…whats the word..fritz? And frankly, roving pack of starving lions really cuts down on tourist trade.” She trailed off as she saw Esmé glaring at her, murder in the fashionable woman's eyes. 

“I DIDN’T GIVE UP A GLAMOROUS CAREER IN THE CITY TO BE PERFORMING TO NEARLY EMPTY HOUSES!” The tent shook with Olaf’s yell. 

“I thought you wanted to chase those orphans?” Hooky asked. When would his henchmen learn that they're making everything worse? And indeed, Olaf’s next shout was even louder,

“THEY AREN’T ORPHANS IF ONE OF THEIR PARENTS IS STILL ALIVE.”

 “Spirit world will be answering all your questions very soon, my Olaf must have patience.” Olaf and Esmé’s eyes both bored into her. 

“I’m tired of patience.” Somehow Olaf’s quiet tone was scarier than his yell. Olivia could only imagine how the Baudelaire’s were feeling right now. She’d have to keep his attention off them as much as she could. Do what Jacques did. “If you want a mule to move you can reward it with a carrot or beat it with a stick. I want answers to my questions and I want an audience worthy of my greatness! I need to find a way to fill the stand with adoring crowds…and remind certain people,” Olivia shivered, “That I am a force to be feared and obeyed. But what could POSSIBLY do that?” Olivia finally released the breath she had been holding as Olaf stopped speaking. 

“Maybe..” he continued “I can beat two mules with one stick. I need to run a very important errand, and while I’m gone I need you all to dig a pit.”

“My Olaf is leaving?” What is he doing?

“Yes, to get you a gift,”

“..What kind of gift?” 

“Not any of my bracelets.” Esmé snarled, eyes narrowing as she looked at Olivia. Olivia glared back. Is that really what she is worried about? Her bracelets? 

“It’s a surprise.” Olaf wriggled his eyebrows in what was likely meant to be a seductive way. The only feeling that awoke in Olivia was nausea, a sensation made worse by Olaf kissing her hand, a wet suction feeling akin to a diseased goat’s bite. “I’ll need to borrow this,” he said harshly, snatching the weirdly long noodle-whip out of Esmé’s hands. He walked out with a purpose, stride only broken to turn and snarl back at the performers. “What are you freaks looking at?” 

Olivia tried to hurry back to her tent, find some solitude to sort out her racing thoughts and worries, but before she was even halfway to her tentative safety, a bump to her arm nearly sent her off balance. 

Esmé, all fake smiles and blonde hair, grabbed her. “Come with me! You can tell me what you think of my dress!” Olivia gritted her teeth, letting Esmé pull her to whatever trap the woman had devised. 

“I know your dirty little secret,” Esme smiled, in the way a fox may smile at a rabbit. 

“I-I don’t understand, please, what Mrs. Squalor is saying?” Olivia cautiously replied, the confusion in her tone real. 

“It’s Ms. Squalor,” Esmé snapped. “And you can drop the accent, it doesn’t fool me.” She folded her arms, ticking her tongue. “I know who you are.”

“Of course you do.” What? “I am Madame Lulu, fortune teller at Caligari Carnival.” Olivia waved her hands in what she hoped was a mystifying manner.   

“And I-” Esmé advanced forwards, “am Esmé Gigi Genevieve Squalor, the city's sixth most important financial advisor, so don’t treat me like some school librarian who just stepped off the trolley!” Olivia backed up, suddenly scared. She let out a hiss of pain as she hit a strangely sharp metal trash can, a thin line of blood running down her back. Esmé leaned over Olivia, laughing. Olivia’s heart quicked. “That pathetic makeup. That ludicrous wig. I know what you’re doing.” Esmé’s breath, smelling like wine and perfume, tickled Olivia’s face. Not this again. 

“And what, please, is that?” Olivia said weakly. Esmé’s makeup, which seemed ridiculous from afar, was actually quite nice up close. She hated it. 

“You’re trying to STEAL MY BOYFRIEND!” Olivia almost dropped her persona in shock. Of all the ridiculous things that have ever come out of Esmé’s mouth, and of that there were plenty, this took the cake. 

“What?” Olivia barely got the accent back in place. “No. No.” Against her will she retched a little, bile souring her mouth. “Please. I do not know what you are talking about. Please.”

“Please,” Esmé sighed. 

“That’s what I said.” Esmé fixed her with a glare. One that was not quite murderous, but certainly getting there. 

“It’s bad enough that I’ve been dragged all over the hinterlands, where there are no in restaurants, no in boutiques, I had to make my own dress out of a few scraps of tent,” Esmé paused to let that sink in. Another wave of shock washed over Olivia. Sewing seemed like a useful skill, she hadn’t expected Esmé to know it. “I will not be thrown over for a carny.” Esmé leaned in closer, close enough that their lips were almost touching. Is she going to kiss me again? “Stay away from my boyfriend,” Esmé spat, each word sending a new puff of air into Olivia’s mouth. “Or I don’t know what I’ll do.” Then she stalked away, leaving Olivia to try and process what just happened.

Chapter Text

The box slipped in Olivia’s hands like they were covered with grease, not sweat. She stood at the end of the line of ‘freaks’, as close to the orphans as she could manage without looking suspicious. Olaf had been talking for what felt like years, time Olivia knew she should be using to plan, but Olaf’s voice filled her ears, worming their way into her thoughts, preventing her from thinking. Planning.

Reluctantly she tuned back into Olaf’s monologue as he walked towards her, adjusting the box again to keep it from slipping.

“Look closely at all these freaks!” He exclaimed, sidling by Hugo. “Observe Hugo’s hideous hump!” The people in the crowd cheered. No, worse than cheered. They laughed. Olivia screwed her eyes shut, trying to ignore him the best she could. “Cackle at Colette's cockamamie contortions, giggle at the ABSURDITY of Kevin's ambidextrous arms, SNICKER at Beverly and Elliot, the two headed FREAK,” Was it Olivia’s paranoia, or had Olaf’s tone turned darker. More scheming. Did he know? What if he knew? “Laugh so hard you can hardly breathe at Chabo the wolf baby!” 

“I hope it’s that man with sores.” A member of the audience cackled. 

“Or that woman with the money!” The first speaker's friend nudged them. Olivia cast her eyes to where they were looking, and she almost broke character in her surprise. Mr. Remora and Mrs. Bass, her fellow staff members from Prufrock Prep, sat uncomfortably in the stands.  

“I’m not a freak, I am a member of the audience,” he said. “I just have a dermatological condition.” It felt oddly satisfying to see them have to drink from the same poison they poured.

“And this isn’t money,” Mrs. Bass refuted. “Uh, these are..algebra quizzes.”

“I don’t care who it is,” Olivia sighed. That idiotic banker was back. “I just hope there are clowns. I like the sad ones.” 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Olaf shouted, regaining control of the crowd. “It is time for the choosing ceremony to commence! The names of each and every freak have been written down on small pieces of paper, folded up, and placed in the box that this lovely young lady is holding.” All eyes turned to Olivia. She lifted the ornate box up, waving mystically. One of the beads fell off her outfit. She adjusted her grip on the box again. 

“I don’t think she’s particularly lovely.” Esmé hissed. Well you aren’t exactly lovely either, Olivia mentally growled back, maybe in appearance, but not in anything else. 

“Play along, we’ll think of something,” she whispered to the Baudelaires. Olaf was distracted enough by Esmé that she could risk it. Hardening her resolve she approached the podium, stepping gracefully onto the platform to Olaf’s left. 

The box almost fell from her hands. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I will reach inside the box, pull out one piece of paper, unfold it, and read the name of the freak out loud. THEN, that freak will walk down this wooden plankway and jump into the pit, and we’ll all watch as the lions eat him!” He almost squealed in delight. 

Olivia kept her eyes forwards and the bile in her throat suppressed.   

“Before we begin, does anyone have any questions?”

“Why do you get to pick the name?” Someone called. 

“Because it was my idea!” Olaf spat. Olivia hardly noticed the exchange. No matter the variables she changed in her mind, someone innocent didn’t make it out of this tent alive. 

Olivia kept her eyes forwards and the bile in her throat suppressed.

“I have a question,” a young boy called. “Is this legal?”

“What..” Olaf sputtered. “Don’t spoil the fun boy. If you are going to ask questions you might as well wait in my car. LADIES AND DA DA DA,” he called before any more questions about legality could be raised. “I am now reaching my hand into the box.” As he said it Olaf reached awkwardly around her arms, deftly plucking a slip of paper despite his position. “I am pulling out a piece of paper, which I will unfold very slowly to increase the suspense.”

“A grown man, unfolding paper.” The incompetent banker, Poe, smiled. “Amazing.”

“I learned how to amaze crowds by working extensively in regional theatre,” Silence, blessed silence fell for a handful of seconds. “Ladies and gentlemen!” Olaf soon called, “I am now unfolding the FIRST FOLD in the piece of paper!” The crowd gasped. 

“I feel morally queasy.” She distantly heard the henchman of indeterminate gender say. “It could also be from eating this hotdog I found on the ground.” 

“I HAVE JUST UNFOLDED THE SECOND FOLD IN THE PIECE OF PAPER,” Olaf bellowed, “There are only five…four..folds left.” He finished slowly, clearly taking cues from someone. Esmé, if Olivia had to guess. 

“Is this going to be scary?” A small voice cut through the crowd. 

Olivia kept her eyes forwards and the bile in her throat suppressed.

“Don’t worry Trixie,” a masculine voice, likely the girl's father, said. “This was advertised as family entertainment. I’m sure whoever gets eaten by lions deserves it!”

“I DID ONE LAST FOLD! That was the last fold! What does it-” he cut himself off with a fake gasp. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced for what must have been the twentieth time in the show, “Today’s lucky freak proves two heads are better than one!” No. “Beverly and Elliot!” His voice darkened. “Step on up.”  

Cheers echoed around the tent. Violet and Klaus walked slowly up to the end of the creaking wooden plank.

“Thank you Count Olaf, we’re thrilled to have been chosen,” Violet tried to stall.

“You’re welcome. Now jump into that pit so we can all watch you get devoured by lions!” Olivia shivered. Olaf was gleeful. The two Baudelaires obliged, inching out over the pit as the board screamed and threatened to crack. Then they waited, seemingly for something, although Olivia had no clue on what that something could be. 

“What’s the problem?” Olaf snapped.

“Well my other head and I were thinking,” Violet said carefully.

“Thinking with both heads,” Klaus interjected.

“Instead of watching a freak jump into the lion pit, wouldn’t be more exciting to-”

“See a freak get pushed into said lion pit.” Everything fell into place as Klaus finished the sentence. They were going to lure Olaf onto the plank, and push him in. It was violent, it was sickening, it was wonderful. Because maybe, if everything went right, which it so rarely did, these children could live without looking over their shoulders. They could learn and laugh and do everything else children were meant to do. 

“This would be much more violent please,” she said quickly. Please Olaf. Please take the bait. 

“YES!” Mrs. Bass squealed. “I’d love to see that two headed freak THROWN to the LIONS!”

“I agree, I’d like to see someone thrown into the pit.” Esmé nodded enthusiastically. Someone? 

“And who, pray tell, do you imagine performing such a dangerous job?” Olaf queried. 

“We were thinking you.” Klaus said. “After all, you are the star of the show.” Olivia smiled. Klaus was doing this masterfully. 

“That's true!” Mrs. Bass shouted, louder this time. “I’d like to see that ringmaster throw that freak in the pit!” 

“With pleasure,” Olaf snarled, stepping forwards. Olivia held her breath as his foot hit the wooden plank. Snarls and a high pitched squeal filled the air as one of the lions lunged up, teeth flashing inches from Olaf’s foot, but ultimately pulling off a chunk of wood instead of flesh. Olaf ran backwards, his hair blown out of shape. “I’m deeply honored to have been asked,” he coughed, regaining his composure, “but I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly go any further than here.”

“Why not?” Violet challenged. 

“I’m..” Olaf fished for words, “allergic to cats.”

“..Really,” Klaus said doubtfully. Olaf looked the boy dead in the eyes, letting out a fake sneeze that must have been the runt of the litter. Or of an entirely different species than a sneeze.   

“Wow!” The hook handed man piped up, pausing his piano playing. “I didn’t know you had allergies, boss-.”

“I have an idea!” Esmé fake gasped, clapping her hands as she interrupted the end of the hook handed man’s sentence. “Madame Lulu, why don’t you walk down the plank and throw the freak to its death?” 

Olivia froze. She couldn’t. She couldn’t. 

“Yes..” Olaf grinned. “After all, Madame Lulu is the reason we’re all here today! What do you think, VIOLENCE FANS!” The crowd cheered. Olivia almost threw up, barely keeping the bile in her throat suppressed. 

“Lets see Madame Lulu throw Beverly and Elliot in the pit.” Esmé grinned, but the threat in her words was not lost on Olivia. 

“Hit her with something!” Mrs. Bass screamed. “That’ll get her moving!” 

“That will not be necessary, please.” Olivia felt her voice catch on each syllable, her voice so weak she doubted all the audience members could hear. Legs feeling unsteady she slowly made her way to the pit, trying to focus, trying to think of anything…

“What do we do?” Violet whispered as Olivia reached them.

“I don’t know.” The wood creaked. I don’t know. She was a volunteer. She was supposed to know!

“Stop whispering!” Olaf called as the lions growled, trying to snap at the feet of Olivia and the Baudelaires. 

“We’re increasing suspense!” Klaus called back.

“The suspense has been increased enough! This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for. If Madame Lulu is not brave enough to do it, then whoever volunteers will get a special reward.”

“I’m brave enough!” Hugo called instantly. “So are Kevin and Colette!”

“Freaks that are brave?” the hook handed man snorted, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“We are brave! Count Olaf, let us prove it to you, and then you can employ us.”

“Employ you?” Olaf said slowly.

“Oh what a wonderful idea!” Esmé squealed. Something went on between Esmé and those performers. A..deal of some sort?

“I’ll do it!” Hugo said, rushing towards the plank. 

“No, I’ll do it!” Colette jumped on top of him, arms swinging wildly. 

“No, I'll do it! WITH BOTH HANDS!” Kevin started pummeling Hugos back. Olivia looked from them to the Baudelaires, and then back to the performers. Soon the hook handed man ran to join the fray, hooks glinting. She closed her eyes. A plan. She needed a plan. 

“I’ll do it for Esmé!” the bald man cried, ruining her concentration. 

“I should get that reward!” Mr. Remora called from the stands. “I’ve been living off a teacher's salary.”

The pit isn't  that wide, and the outside is sloped due to the hasty dig…

“I don’t even CARE who gets eaten, I just want to feel ALIVE!” 

Seeing as the lions are distracted on this side..

“I never knew this show involved audience participation.” 

“I CAN’T WAIT ANYMORE!”

And so if I..

“I’m about to push someone myself!” 

Everything snapped into focus. Please let this work. Adjusting her stance, Olivia turned to the orphans. 

“Trust me.” She whispered. Then pushed. 

The Baudelaires seemed to fly over the pit, landing with what must have been a painful thump on the other side. She felt stunned. It had worked? She had done it. 

“NO!” Olaf cried. 

“Go.!” She shouted as the children stumbled to their feet, Sunny running over. 

“But..” Violet said, looking at her. 

“I’m right behind you.” Olivia promised. “I’ve been behind you all along.” After a few moments of struggle, the Baudelaires made it to their feet. Then paused. “GO!” Olivia shouted again, more urgently. After one more moment of indecision the children turned, walking away as fast as they could manage. Breathing a sigh of relief she turned, pulling her spyglass out. 

“You’re no fortune teller,” Olaf snared, “you’re that school librarian.”

“I’m more than that.” The spyglass was slick in her hands, and she could feel a bead of sweat threatening to ruin her elaborate makeup. So this was it. This was her moment. “I’m a volunteer.” 

“Well thank you for volunteering,” Olaf smiled wickedly, pulling out a knife. Her face paled, and she realised too late that she was still standing on the precarious plank. “Now it’s time for your special reward.” 

She fell. The lions huffed as she scrambled, feet trying to find a foothold on the wall of the pit as her hands grasped at the lip of the pit. She felt hot breath on her legs.

Her hands slipped, her fingers digging tracts in the loose dirt as she slid further into the pit. Teeth grazed her, the lions in a frenzy. It wouldn’t be long now.

 Then- a hand. Pale with perfect blood red fingernails. 

She grabbed it.