#snicketsquadron

𝐊𝐈𝐓 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @snicketsquadron

Violet wanted to believe Kit, like any other kid would love to believe an adult when they tell them such things. But Violet didn't feel like a kid anymore, and adults had failed at keeping her safe. Over and over again. Still, she offered the woman a polite smile, mostly because it felt like the right way to react.

Kit smiled. He knew as well as she did that him trusting her and him believing that she wouldn’t get caught were to different statements. Of course he trusted her. Of course he was still worried. It was always endearing, to see that little crinkle of worry in his face, and as much as she wanted him not to worry himself sick, she knew it was only because he cared. Ernest certainly wouldn’t be losing any sleep thinking about Kit’s return.

She was a s ready as she could be- disguise prepared, two poison darts tucked into her bun, a multitool at her hip and a book of matches hidden in her boot heel.

“I’ll be back soon, love” she said, pressing her lips against his.

As always, that was half a lie.

“Go, then. I’ll be here; any messages I manage to intercept I’ll send to you either through M, J, N, or R. Or even O, if I can get her to comply. And as usual, I’ll be watching the skies,” for most volunteers, but particularly for them, the sky and sea were beacons, containing knowledge that most people would think to miss. 

Besides that, there was a degree of comfort in knowing that whatever changes in geography were made, the sky and ocean never altered much. Wherever Kit went, she would be seeing the same thing he was. Somewhere. 

Jacques smiled politely, unfazed by the refusal. All Snickets had a reputation for extreme dedication, but where Kit was passion, he was patience. He wouldn’t be easily riled up into conflict, whereas Kit would have started an argument first thing.

“Ferdinand? He’s got other responsibilities at the moment.” And had already raised enough red flags to make certain leading members of VFD a little nervous. “And besides, he’s so young- barely out of his teens. The Prospero needs a steady hand.” He sipped at sharply bitter tea. “But it’s not really about seasickness, is it?”’

“yeah, something like that...” Ernest said, not actually paying attention to the conversation at hand. The boy seemed nice enough--he would be perfect for the job--

....If Jacques would ever let the notion up. Jacques may be a friend acquaintance, but he was also a pain to stop once he has an idea in his head. He was a persistent wind-up toy, slowly but surely marching across the table until it reaches the edge, where it slowly but surely falls to the ground.

And there he lays on the floor, still marching. A squirming bug on its back.

“Well, I wouldn’t say horrible.” Count Olaf responds, amused by the memory. “Was it rude? Yes. Did we get a free meal that day? Also yes. It’s a give and take, I suppose. But mostly a take.” He says thoughtfully, quirking his brow at the mention of an encore.

“That’s why I never let you.” Kit replied, brushing away another tear. Her voice was still rough with crying. Her face and eyes red, her cheeks damp. It was the middle of the night- she had lost track of the exact hour- and Kit had thought she had secluded herself well enough. But of course Dewey knew every inch of the library, and of Kit’s own mind.

“Dewey, a pleasure to see you again.” Jacques shook his fellow volunteer’s hand. It only took a moment for a concerned look to cross his face. “Has something happened?” If there was news, good or bad, Dewey often got it first.