୨୧╼ Ribbonup. Mutually Exclusive & Selective Strictly Book Canon Post - Series Violet Baudelaire

house of leaves starters. ୨୧ accepting

❛  like i already said, drives me nuts.  ❜ - shawn ( @luminescenc1e )

୨୧╼ Shawn was unlike anyone that Violet had ever met. Throughout her perilous journeys there had been an abundance of colorful characters. Yet none of them seemed to be so carefree and full of genuine joy. Even when he talked disparagingly about something, there was a jovial nature to it. In many ways she could not help but be a bit jealous. Despite these feelings being around his positive energy always seemed to bring a smile to her lips.

    Chocolate colored irises looked up at Shawn as he expressed his displeasure. “Do you truly find the dish so displeasing?” For a good portion of Violet’s youth, if what she ate wasn’t poisonous, she was content. “You could always order something else.” Carefully Violet dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Also, I’ve been meaning to ask – “ She lifted the glass which contained a plentiful amount of whiskey to her lips. After a decent sized gulp to steady her nerves. As she still struggled with interacting with others when not in life or death situation. “What exactly is a psychic detective?”

👏👏👏 give violet a girlfriend👏👏👏

thinking about how violet's first kiss was on a dangerous cliff's edge and he was dead within the week. rip.

୨୧╼ Violet may have lived on The Strip – but she far for hypnotized by it’s glamour and excitement. It was simply a means to an end – as it was the place that had the most potential for work. She had a child to take care of in an unforgiving wasteland. Making sure Beatrice had as happy and healthy life she could was of most importance. 

       One could easily tell by scent alone that the man before Violet was intoxicated. Not uncommon for those who found themselves in New Vegas. A city that offered temptation of a pre-war silver platter. Yet she did not have the luxury of indulging in such things. People depended on her, and she could not allow herself of falling into the rabbit hole of debauchery. 

       “Don’t fret.” Pink lips curved upwards into a polite smile. “Yes, welcome to Very Fine Details! Your one stop shop for all your repair needs.” The moment he slid the paper across the counter, she knew exactly what he was there for. Yet she could not deny the heat rise in her cheeks when he called her, darlin’. Barely a moment past and she signed her signature to obtain the parts she ordered. “Are you alright? You seem a bit unsteady. Would you like something to drink? The temperature is scorching – even more so than usual.” Honestly, she was worried about the state of him. In good conscience, she could not allow him to continue on his way without water. 

@ribbonup gets a goofy ass mailman

[ 𝟛 ] —- - It wasn't every day that Wolf drank on the job. Mixing business & pleasure wasn't something that he found interest in; always keeping the two separate. It was difficult not make an exception in Vegas, though. After all, the drop off point wasn't very far—it's not like much could happen in-between walking from the bar to his destination. It was rare for trouble to brew, with House's robots always keeping a watchful eye.

After a few rounds at the Tops, he was a bit unsteady as he strolled into Violet's dwelling, trying his best not to drop her package. After managing to set it on the counter, he rummaged through his rucksack, looking for the delivery slip.

〝Hey, sorry, 'bout that—〞Wolf hoped it wasn't too obvious how much he'd been drinking, opening his mouth. 〝Violet Baudelaire, right?〞

Once the piece of paper was procured, he slid it across the counter, along with a pen. Leaning on the wood was probably the only thing keeping him from stumbling around & making a fool of himself.

〝Just need your signature, & I'll be outta your hair, Darlin'.〞

୨୧╼ Against the dreariness of the abandoned industrial background, Violet stood out. The way she held herself was filled with pose and grace akin to one of Degas’ ballerinas. She was dressed immaculately in a style defined as modern retro. Yet if one had a keen eye, they could catch that the ribbon that held up her hair had survived a fire. Petite frame and height made her appear physically non-threatening. Something that often worked in her favor.

        Doe-eyes looked up at the stranger’s herculean form. If Violet had been anyone else – perhaps she would find him threatening. After facing so many monsters, she found fear hard to muster. One could not tell someone’s intent by appearance alone. Villains came in many forms and often in a variety of disguises. A person who seems suspicious could offer aid at a time of need. It was still best to be cautious. Slender fingers clasped tighter around the dart. Which by appearance alone seemed indistinguishable from one might find in a game parlor. 

        “I have found one cannot rely on the word of the municipality. As corruption and power go hand in hand. However, I cannot deny this building is documented as vacant.” Violet’s voice was steady -unafraid. It was clear from her articulation and cadence that she was educated in high society. Even if those days were long gone. “Could I not inquiry the same of you? I apologize if I am wrong – but you do not exactly look as if you belong here either.”

        If Violet had been a properly trained volunteer, perhaps she would handle this better. As a mother herself – she understood her parent’s choice to keep her out of the organization. Yet at times like these, she wished for just a day of disguise training. Or had and iota or her mother’s acting talent. She genuinely felt her guises and fibs worked, not due to her ability – but by the incompetence of those around her. The man in front of her had the eyes of someone who was keen and determined. So, she wished not to press her minimal luck that he could see past a mask.

        “I have business here. As you see, this building has suffered fire damage. I am investigating it.” The best lie – was always a half truth. It was the very same organization that she sought who was to blame. According to her research, the former owners would not sell. Fires were always how they settled scores. “The local arson rate has accelerated over the past few months at an expediential rate. I find it very worrying.” Not once did she confirm whether she had explicit permission to be there. One should never show their hand before the appropriate time.

        The commonplace book in Violet’s lap was open. Filled with sketches of the opposite building’s exterior and what looked like the designs for various gizmos. All basic drafts of things she could use infiltrate. “Beverly,” A faux name she had used since her first true disguise. Where she was forced to perform in a cruel ‘freak show’ – that was unethical and outdated. There were times her nightmares were plagued by the sounds of lions devouring Madame Lulu and the blaze of the fire that burnt the carnival to the ground.

        Now was not the time to get lost in the horrors of the past, when the present was equally terrifying. There were children who suffered in the hands of the same criminal enterprise that stole her life. Personal feelings could not cause her to waver here. Her gaze went from him to out side the window, where smoke plumed from stacks and machinery buzzed. A small sigh escaped her full lips. 

This war you're waging will never end.

And what did Frank Castle even know, anymore? A good, home-cooked meal? No he'd forgotten that. He hadn't eaten something made by hand in too many years to count. (He'd never have Maria's spaghetti sauce again.) A warm, clean bed with fresh sheets? No he'd forsaken that for motels and dingy holes in the wall where the fabric scratched his skin and had been feasted on by moths at some point but at least it was something warm, right? The love of a good woman? No, no he'd lost that, too. In an instant, right there with his little girl and Junior and there hadn't been a god damned thing he could do to stop it. He'd been through the phases; blamed himself, blamed others, rationalized, bargained internally, but anger ... anger stuck. Anger made sense. It felt right.

Anyone tied to the deaths of the Castle family had been dead and buried more than a year prior. No loose ends, no mess. If anyone so much had breathed their names with any ounce of ire Frank had come for them like the executioner he was, and put them down like the sick dogs they were. Because it was right. Because it settled something in him that had broken back in Kandahar. Because he thought he could find some semblance of peace.

And he did, it was true. Some part of him found proper footing knowing that the people who'd hurt him, stolen from him, were gone. But it didn't bring them back. Peace? No. That was only found putting people down. He accepted that now. It was who he was.

The Punisher.

So he punished.

On the scale of moral judgment, things that he considered pure and unfettered wrong was anything to do with children. They could be assholes sure, Frank had been the king asshole of them all when he was young, but they were innocent. They didn't deserve to be preyed upon (what if it had been Lisa?) or sold out to the proverbial mines (what if it was Frank Jr.?). He calmed his nerves before every go-around ... not because he was afraid but because he knew it would appease him too much if he didn't filter it. If he didn't shut that part of his brain off before he kicked down the door and did what he did best.

One batch, two batch.

All of the pennies and dimes in the world wouldn't stop him from following the trail.

And he'd left one hell of a bloody one behind him so far. There was a string connecting these work houses, he knew. He'd picked up the scent after the second, when the conditions were too similar and the kids had leashes held by the same hands. He'd bleed his way up the food chain, shake down enough of these operations to catch the attention of someone worth torturing information out of. He'd go from there. But for now? He'd watch.

Case too-large to be luggage in hand, nondescript duster jacket, military reg boots and a bit of hardware that might make the average Joe squirm and he was on his way into the nest across the street. He'd scoped it the day before - it's vantage points were primo, and he could post comfortably (not that it mattered) for a few hours and watch through a scope before he acted. It was abandoned, which was perfect, and at the very least he could work undisturbed.

Or ... it was supposed to be abandoned. The picture of one of Lisa's little books he did not expect to see - spyglass and all.

Whose there?

Fingers tightened around the handle of the rifle case. Nondescript, blended just enough but suddenly he seemed out of place et al.

"You supposed to be here, lady? City marked this building as abandoned."

anyone up? i'm lonely?

having an absolutely horrible day. i am literally a ball of exposed nerves and anxiety. probably going to be slow, bc i can't stop crying.

୨୧╼ Memento Memori, remember you will die. The motto was etched at the entrance of Prufrock Prep. It was fitting as every day spent within the school’s walls felt like a slow demise. Daily concerts held by Vice Principal violin concerts that assaulted their senses. Count Olaf dressed up as Couch Genghis forced them to do meaningless laps all night. The fact that their Orphan status practically made them pariahs was the least of their problems.

        Charlie had not been like the majority of the students. The atrocious treatment of those deemed undesirable was considered the standard. At best they were ignored and at worst they were tormented. With a life infested with unspeakable horrors, all positive experiences were cherished. “Yes, it is wonderful to see you. From appearances time has treated you well.”

        Eyes cast downward as Violet bit her lip. It was a rarity that she saw someone from her past and found pleasure in it. Her gut instinct was generally to flee as quickly as possible. If approached, she would deny who she was and make her exit. Not that meeting new people was any either. She lived an isolated life, scared to get close to anyone outside her immediate family. “How have you been?” With a small smile, she tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear.

Years could move rather quickly. Charlie had memories of many things in recent years that left impressions. The stranger and stranger still. Prufrock Prep among them. It seemed to be an endless maze of the most odd rules he had ever endured. But endured it he had. Not everyone was so lucky- there were a few that got the brunt of it. But one pair in particular had seemed to be dirt beneath the bottom of the barrel. At least as far as it went with Vice Principal Nero.

What a fuck.

But the days that went by, Charlie could remember them. Her in particular. There was something distinctly memorable about Violet. Even if they interacted in limited amounts- by no means without attempts. But that 'school' had been a cage, separating them from the things they wanted or enjoyed.

So when a familiar face appeared as he turned, the dark haired man could only look surprised. His face, usually one of neutrality, had morphed into shock.

"Oh. V-Violet? Holy...-Is that you?"

୨୧╼ Violet stood about the beaches shores with a reflective gaze. A reminder of a much simpler time when the Baudelaire s would visit Briny Beach. Precious memories which she held closely to her heart. Chocolate eyes gazed downward, only to notice an immaculate rock at her feet. It had been sometime since she indulged in her once beloved pastime. 

        Delicate fingers took hold of the singed ribbon around Violet’s wrist. Perhaps after all this time she should have replaced it. But it reminded her that she was a survivor. With a practice motion she tied her hair out of her face. That taken care of she reached down for the run. Her thumb ran over its smooth surface. With a quick flick of the wrist, she skipped the rock across the water expertly. Somethings were never forgotten she supposed. Lips curved upwards in the rare smile.

@marvattacks ୨୧ starter call. 

୨୧╼ plotting call. who wants to plot out dynamics and relationships with my morose babe? willing to adapt her to basically any media - and create unique verses.