By Emerald Snicket
Note to reader: this is a continuation (or filler, if you like) of my elder brother’s work, The Slippery Slope. I do not recommend that you read my brother’s piece, for it is rather unhappy and will make you unhappy too. I do not recommend that you read my piece, for it is rather private and will make Violet Baudelaire and Quigley Quagmire unhappy too. However, should you proceed, I must give ask of you to not share this with anybody, particularly on a public forum in order to respect V and Q’s wishes.
The two orphans gazed at each other, the eldest of the duo smiling shyly and the younger boy simply staring, motionless and stunned. After a few minutes of dumbfounded eye contact–or was it days, months, or years?–Quigley broke the lulling silence.
“I have heard much of you, Violet Baudelaire, but that was from others. I would like to hear the story from your perspective.”
“You would?” came the reply of Violet.
It was Quigley’s turn to smile shyly. “Yes, I would be most interested.”
“Where should I start?”
“From wherever you feel is appropriate.”
So they spent what felt like an eternity discussing Violet’s journey–or rather, Quigley listening to Violet discuss her journey–and the tale was finished in what really was another few minutes.
“You’ve had quite the adventure,” Quigley commented once he was sure that Violet had finished. They were sitting closely, cuddling for comfort from the cold and so that Violet could be comforted when she reached a particularly painful part of her past.
“Why don’t you tell me yours?” Violet enquired.
“I’ve already told you my adventure.”
“I want to hear it again.”
Shrugging, Quigley retold what he had been through, elaborating on the details for Violet’s sake. By the end of it, their bodies were pressed against each other, huddling close like penguins. Their eyes met again, chocolate meeting slate*.
Somehow, as if it were a reflex, the two friends–or might I now say lovers–leaned in, their eyes fluttering shut, and their lips met. The kiss was slow, gentle, and told a story of love rather than lust as their lips moved harmoniously with each other. The algid atmosphere of Mortmain Mountains appeared to vanish, replaced with a cosy warmth as Violet and Quigley clutched each other. Several days of this lovely warmth appeared to pass, the inventor and the cartographer huddling closer and closer.
After yet another eternity, the two pulled away, smiles gracing their features. They stood up shakily, both supporting the other as their journey continued, adding one happy chapter in an entire series of unfortunate events.
*I have tried extensively to research Quigley’s eye colour, however, my findings are nought, so I have made a prediction. It probably is not pink, for Violet is not fond of pink.