[The letter is peculiar only in the alpahabet and lack of translation. The aesthetic of it is familiar and pleasing, considering the rest of the ship is so like the days of his past when technology flourished.
This is fine. Left Hand gives him some hell about receiving love notes when he just got here, but D ignores it. He doesn’t track Violet down so much as merely stand across from her room’s door on the other side of the hall.
Just standing there quietly in all his blackness, patiently waiting for her to leave or return.]
[ It doesn’t take overlong, fortunately. Violet delivered the letter just before breakfast, and some half hour later could be found returning to her room afterwards...
She stops directly in front of her door, but turned towards D instead, nodding to him politely with her face as impassive as ever. She seems in much better condition than when he last saw her, too, cleaned up and healing nicely. ]
[He returns the nod of greeting. For a moment, he looks at her, studying, without giving her the once-over. He doesn't have to drop his eyes to see she's better off than when he found her. That's good.
In explanation, his hand appears from under his cloak, producing the letter, opened, that she had sent him.] Thank you.
I'm afraid I'm not able to read it. Your language differs from mine.
[ She doesn't appear to be embarrassed, but her eyes do widen ever-so slightly. The picture of one realising they have made a slight miscalculation.
Then she nods her head like a quick bow, and holds both hands out wordlessly for the letter. Even if D holds it proffered between them, it would be grievously rude to just take it. ]
[To be honest, D wouldn't have given it over until he was sure she wanted to take it. At the reach, he closes the distance between them and hands off the letter to her.]
[ She unfolds the letter with gloved hands carefully-- though she's quite used to her mechanical arms now, they will always be mechanical rather than organic, so delicate things like paper always need to be handled with a certain amount of care. ]
... My apologies. I had not accounted for the language barrier. It reads:
[ It appears she is happy to read it right out loud here in the hallway for anyone to overhear. Embarrassment does not appear to be an emotion that this girl feels. ]
"Dear Mr. D,
Please accept my sincere thanks for your help two days prior upon the battlefield of Azeria. Though I believe words were exchanged in-person, I am often told that I am difficult to read, and did not wish for my thanks to be misinterpreted as ingratitude. It is uncertain whether I would have perished without assistance, but it certainly would have been an unpleasant time that I am happy to have avoided.
It may be somewhat odd to write a letter in this place where machines are able to transcribe our thoughts instantaneously, but I have always found that the act of composing a proper letter helps me to communicate what I am feeling more accurately. Even short letters can communicate important feelings.
[Hm. The typewriter is interesting. The choice to bring it much like his own choice to bring the things he did.
Quietly, he listens to her dictation. She had taken the time to write him a letter of thanks. Even if it hadn't been strictly handwritten, the fact she had taken the time to thank him at all...
It means much more to him than she would ever possibly know. Anyone else could have lost count with how many times towns had failed to thank him for completing a job, for saving their loved ones. To them, he was a vampire and a tool. A Hunter. And yet he did the job, and then he rode on when they rallied to make him leave.]
I appreciate your letter.
[That's all there is really. He could turn and go.]
[ She folds the wordlessly letter once more and holds it out between them, in case he should want it back. Even when she couldn't read, she liked to keep the letters and books that were given to her, simply because they were given to her. ]
Yes.
I write letters for others. Primarily.
[ Pause. She seems to be turning something over in her head, as if wondering whether that was sufficient explanation. Eventually, she seems to decide that it isn't, and elaborates: ]
In my world, we do not have machines as they have here that can transcribe a person's thoughts, nor deliver them instantaneously. The primary method of communication over long distances is via post, and there are many still who cannot read or write well, as well as those who are blind or injured.
[He does, in fact, take the letter back when it's offered. The letter and his hand both disappear back beneath his cloak out of sight. Perhaps this is even more special, he assumes. She had written it for herself.]
Those trying to survive each day rarely have time to practice literacy. [He doesn't sound judgmental. Many humans on the Frontier are also illiterate; they're farmers, or town workers, or housewives, and they spend more time trying to live than learning to read or write. Understandably.]
If you have time, I would like a copy of your alphabet.
[ 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?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oh.......violet pls
This is fine. Left Hand gives him some hell about receiving love notes when he just got here, but D ignores it. He doesn’t track Violet down so much as merely stand across from her room’s door on the other side of the hall.
Just standing there quietly in all his blackness, patiently waiting for her to leave or return.]
no subject
She stops directly in front of her door, but turned towards D instead, nodding to him politely with her face as impassive as ever. She seems in much better condition than when he last saw her, too, cleaned up and healing nicely. ]
Mr. D.
no subject
In explanation, his hand appears from under his cloak, producing the letter, opened, that she had sent him.] Thank you.
I'm afraid I'm not able to read it. Your language differs from mine.
But I would like to know what it says.
no subject
Then she nods her head like a quick bow, and holds both hands out wordlessly for the letter. Even if D holds it proffered between them, it would be grievously rude to just take it. ]
no subject
You have a typewriter?
no subject
[ She unfolds the letter with gloved hands carefully-- though she's quite used to her mechanical arms now, they will always be mechanical rather than organic, so delicate things like paper always need to be handled with a certain amount of care. ]
... My apologies. I had not accounted for the language barrier. It reads:
[ It appears she is happy to read it right out loud here in the hallway for anyone to overhear. Embarrassment does not appear to be an emotion that this girl feels. ]
"Dear Mr. D,
Please accept my sincere thanks for your help two days prior upon the battlefield of Azeria. Though I believe words were exchanged in-person, I am often told that I am difficult to read, and did not wish for my thanks to be misinterpreted as ingratitude. It is uncertain whether I would have perished without assistance, but it certainly would have been an unpleasant time that I am happy to have avoided.
It may be somewhat odd to write a letter in this place where machines are able to transcribe our thoughts instantaneously, but I have always found that the act of composing a proper letter helps me to communicate what I am feeling more accurately. Even short letters can communicate important feelings.
There is no need for a reply.
Warm regards,
Violet Evergarden."
no subject
Quietly, he listens to her dictation. She had taken the time to write him a letter of thanks. Even if it hadn't been strictly handwritten, the fact she had taken the time to thank him at all...
It means much more to him than she would ever possibly know. Anyone else could have lost count with how many times towns had failed to thank him for completing a job, for saving their loved ones. To them, he was a vampire and a tool. A Hunter. And yet he did the job, and then he rode on when they rallied to make him leave.]
I appreciate your letter.
[That's all there is really. He could turn and go.]
Is this what you do as an "Auto Memory Doll"?
no subject
Yes.
I write letters for others. Primarily.
[ Pause. She seems to be turning something over in her head, as if wondering whether that was sufficient explanation. Eventually, she seems to decide that it isn't, and elaborates: ]
In my world, we do not have machines as they have here that can transcribe a person's thoughts, nor deliver them instantaneously. The primary method of communication over long distances is via post, and there are many still who cannot read or write well, as well as those who are blind or injured.
no subject
[He does, in fact, take the letter back when it's offered. The letter and his hand both disappear back beneath his cloak out of sight. Perhaps this is even more special, he assumes. She had written it for herself.]
Those trying to survive each day rarely have time to practice literacy. [He doesn't sound judgmental. Many humans on the Frontier are also illiterate; they're farmers, or town workers, or housewives, and they spend more time trying to live than learning to read or write. Understandably.]
If you have time, I would like a copy of your alphabet.
no subject
I can write you a copy now, if you would like.
no subject
Alright.
no subject
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
[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?
no subject
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...
no subject
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.
no subject
... I do not believe there are any others like me.
But... if there are others from “my world,” I should like to meet them.
no subject
[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?
no subject
... The Major ...
no subject
What's their name?
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
I'll tell you if I ever see him here.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)