[ Violet opens the door to her living quarters and proceeds inwards, leaving the door behind her open for D to follow if he pleases. Some social norms are still not second nature to her yet, so it doesn't occur to her to invite him in politely, and she merely continues onwards to her desk where her typewriter is set up, and inserts a fresh sheet of paper. ]
[Despite the lack of invitation, D follows her inside, bending just enough to get all of himself through the door. He shuts it behind him, and when he turns back, he reaches up to remove the hat from his head.
With it gone, more of his face can be seen clearly: he’s exceedingly beautiful and surprisingly young-looking. Thankfully, there’s a shield of long, dark hair which helps hide his face yet does nothing at all for making him more intimidating. He stands quietly nearby, hat in hand, eyes sweeping the room before falling on Violet and the typewriter.]
[ Perhaps because she's just arrived, or perhaps because it's just how she is, but Violet's quarters are sparse. However, the few objects inside seem to speak volumes even moreso because of it. Beside the desk on which her typewriter sits is an old-style, beat-up, brown leather suitcase-- big enough to fit her typewriter inside, which explains how it got here.
Beside the suitcase is a frilly, baby-blue parasol, complete with lace and ribbons. It doesn't seem like the sort of thing a practical and taciturn girl like Violet would own.
Lying face-up on the desk next to the typewriter are two picture books-- brightly illustrated even just looking at the covers. They are quite obviously intended for children.
In the meantime, Violet takes her gloves off with her mouth with the sort of practiced ease that takes barely a second and implies long habit, before setting her metal fingers over the typewriter keys and clacking away at them with precision.
It takes less than a minute, and when she's done, she stands and removes the piece of paper, holding it out with a flourish. It looks somewhat like this, only in three lines instead of four. ]
Capital letters are on the top row. Lower case letters on the middle. Numbers 0-9 on the bottom.
[ It appears to be a 26-character alphabet also, and while some of the letters are extremely different, others are very similar. Like a strange version of the English alphabet that went astray somewhere. ]
[While she works, he doesn't interrupt. But that isn't to say he's not paying attention. Even if his face doesn't move much with emotion, his eyes shift from her face, to her hands, to the typewriter keys. He's not modest about his watchfulness. He doesn't try to hide it, and it's not arrogant or nosy. Curious.
Carefully, he takes the paper with the hand not holding the hat, bringing it up so he can look over the letters. Thankfully, there doesn't seem to be a huge divide between his language and hers, in the end.
It will be easier for him to make something to decipher the text this way.] Thank you.
You may continue writing letters if you want.
[Balancing the hat with a few fingers, he uses both hands to gently fold the piece of paper, then all of it vanishes like her previous letter below his cloak.]
What was the name of the world where you were from?
[ For her to continue writing letters, she means. Still, her expression seems to indicate a small measure of surprise and maybe happiness at the words. As always, it's hard to tell with her, but she probably isn't displeased, at any rate.
In response to the question: ]
Earth. [ Pause. ] ... However, I have yet to meet anyone else here from a similar version of Earth to my own. My own education in world history is what most would call lacking, so I cannot guess as to where the split originated.
[Even with all the crap he'll get from Left Hand, some use will be put to his specialization. He'll just make a small device that will let him be able to decipher her letters. It would be a shame for the typewriter to collect dust.]
No one else here is from the Frontier. But the Frontier is on Earth. [Not that he's aware, after reading through the files.] There are other copies of the same dimension.
[ That earns the tiniest of smiles. It really does make her look much more human... ]
Very well.
[ Even if it seems like a fruitless endeavour, she will probably take him up on it. Even Violet can be illogical sometimes. ]
I hadn’t heard of the term before coming here. But now that I am here, I believe it makes a certain amount of sense. Realities with the same origin, but different events...
[The smile does look better on her, he thinks. But he doesn't point it out; he's been the victim of the same declaration himself many times. He's a Hunter, not meant to make friends or lovers, and so not smiling helps.
Dhampirs don't have much to smile about anyway.] Yes. [He thinks about Alucard. They are almost like brothers, having a father who is Dracula but not quite the same Dracula. Strange indeed.
And a little unnerving for D.] Some here know each other, I believe. They are from the same time and place.
[He's met plenty of dhampirs, and he's met plenty of people touched by the Ancestor. He's never met another like him, however. Except perhaps his twin.
His eyes flicker over her face briefly.] Is there someone in particular you would like to be here?
[The description is admittedly more helpful, and he's glad for it, but it's also somewhat peculiar for the average girl. Not that he assumed, from the beginning, Violet is an average girl. Certainly not.]
They might not ever come here. [Bad news is awful to give, but he's a logical man. These are things some people need to consider.] Will you be okay with that?
[ Violet is similarly logical, so she doesn't take offense or even show surprise. Evidently, this is not news. She just nods, expression neutral, though her eyes seem somehow... sad? ]
I did not think the chance was very high to begin with. I was prepared for that outcome when I agreed to this work.
But... even if he is not approached by Hathaway, I will see him again upon completion of my mission here. So I find I can bear it easily.
[ For once, Violet's usually-direct gaze looks away and out the window, to somewhere far off. ]
In hospital, I wrote him daily military reports as part of my rehabilitation. To become accustomed to the arms. Back then... I didn't understand that what I really wanted to send him was a letter, rather than a report.
I think... it is much harder. To write a letter, that is. But I hope he would be pleased at my progress.
I am used to writing these things for others. But for myself, it is... harder. This was only my third successful attempt. I hope you did not find it too clumsy.
Your progress is impressive. [He can admit success when it's there, no matter what kind of skill. Based on his observations of her, he figures writing letters with feeling must be as difficult as speaking them.
So her letters are special in that way.] Keep writing. I'll keep reading.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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With it gone, more of his face can be seen clearly: he’s exceedingly beautiful and surprisingly young-looking. Thankfully, there’s a shield of long, dark hair which helps hide his face yet does nothing at all for making him more intimidating. He stands quietly nearby, hat in hand, eyes sweeping the room before falling on Violet and the typewriter.]
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Beside the suitcase is a frilly, baby-blue parasol, complete with lace and ribbons. It doesn't seem like the sort of thing a practical and taciturn girl like Violet would own.
Lying face-up on the desk next to the typewriter are two picture books-- brightly illustrated even just looking at the covers. They are quite obviously intended for children.
In the meantime, Violet takes her gloves off with her mouth with the sort of practiced ease that takes barely a second and implies long habit, before setting her metal fingers over the typewriter keys and clacking away at them with precision.
It takes less than a minute, and when she's done, she stands and removes the piece of paper, holding it out with a flourish. It looks somewhat like this, only in three lines instead of four. ]
Capital letters are on the top row. Lower case letters on the middle. Numbers 0-9 on the bottom.
[ It appears to be a 26-character alphabet also, and while some of the letters are extremely different, others are very similar. Like a strange version of the English alphabet that went astray somewhere. ]
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Carefully, he takes the paper with the hand not holding the hat, bringing it up so he can look over the letters. Thankfully, there doesn't seem to be a huge divide between his language and hers, in the end.
It will be easier for him to make something to decipher the text this way.] Thank you.
You may continue writing letters if you want.
[Balancing the hat with a few fingers, he uses both hands to gently fold the piece of paper, then all of it vanishes like her previous letter below his cloak.]
What was the name of the world where you were from?
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[ For her to continue writing letters, she means. Still, her expression seems to indicate a small measure of surprise and maybe happiness at the words. As always, it's hard to tell with her, but she probably isn't displeased, at any rate.
In response to the question: ]
Earth. [ Pause. ] ... However, I have yet to meet anyone else here from a similar version of Earth to my own. My own education in world history is what most would call lacking, so I cannot guess as to where the split originated.
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[Even with all the crap he'll get from Left Hand, some use will be put to his specialization. He'll just make a small device that will let him be able to decipher her letters. It would be a shame for the typewriter to collect dust.]
No one else here is from the Frontier. But the Frontier is on Earth. [Not that he's aware, after reading through the files.] There are other copies of the same dimension.
Do you know of parallel universes?
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Very well.
[ Even if it seems like a fruitless endeavour, she will probably take him up on it. Even Violet can be illogical sometimes. ]
I hadn’t heard of the term before coming here. But now that I am here, I believe it makes a certain amount of sense. Realities with the same origin, but different events...
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Dhampirs don't have much to smile about anyway.] Yes. [He thinks about Alucard. They are almost like brothers, having a father who is Dracula but not quite the same Dracula. Strange indeed.
And a little unnerving for D.] Some here know each other, I believe. They are from the same time and place.
You may find someone like you after all.
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... I do not believe there are any others like me.
But... if there are others from “my world,” I should like to meet them.
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[He's met plenty of dhampirs, and he's met plenty of people touched by the Ancestor. He's never met another like him, however. Except perhaps his twin.
His eyes flicker over her face briefly.] Is there someone in particular you would like to be here?
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... The Major ...
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What's their name?
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[ For the first time, there’s a depth of feeling there in her words and on her face. She just looks like a troubled, uncertain young girl. ]
He is... a very, very important person to me.
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I'll tell you if I ever see him here.
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He is just shy of six feet, thirty years of age, short dark hair and deep green eyes.
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They might not ever come here. [Bad news is awful to give, but he's a logical man. These are things some people need to consider.] Will you be okay with that?
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I did not think the chance was very high to begin with. I was prepared for that outcome when I agreed to this work.
But... even if he is not approached by Hathaway, I will see him again upon completion of my mission here. So I find I can bear it easily.
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He's use to so many humans being quite emotional.
Gently, he nods his head in understanding and acceptance. His eyes glance at the typewriter.] You should write him letters while you're here.
So when you go back, you won't forget what you want to say.
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[ For once, Violet's usually-direct gaze looks away and out the window, to somewhere far off. ]
In hospital, I wrote him daily military reports as part of my rehabilitation. To become accustomed to the arms. Back then... I didn't understand that what I really wanted to send him was a letter, rather than a report.
I think... it is much harder. To write a letter, that is. But I hope he would be pleased at my progress.
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The letter you wrote me was a good start.
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I am used to writing these things for others. But for myself, it is... harder. This was only my third successful attempt. I hope you did not find it too clumsy.
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It has been almost a full year since I started.
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So her letters are special in that way.] Keep writing. I'll keep reading.
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... I ... appreciate that, very much.
I will do that.
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