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Discovery of the Wardrobe [Gathering]
May. 3rd, 2012 10:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
livinginanhgwellsnovelThe tapping of her Venetian cane echoed down the hall behind Lady Grantham as she walked around the station, also in full Venetian dress, the clothing that she had not discarded since their return. She liked a walk, and there was very little else to do except stretch her legs daily. This experience was certainly not making her any younger and she resented it. What was the use of this modernity if it did not ease the passing of days?
Pausing by a door, one of the endless series of inaccessible regions of the station, Lady Grantham laid a hand on the wall to steady herself, which was when she noticed something quite odd. The panel next to this particular door had a light like all of the others, yet this one was not red as they were, but green. Call it curiosity, call it boredom, but Violet had found something for the moment on which to fix her interest.
Pulling out her communicator, a device she would loathe but for its necessity, Violet held it up to the panel and commanded, "Open," in a strident voice. The door, a little to her surprise, slid obediently open. She stepped through cautiously and the lights brightened to more fully illuminate a large hall that was of a size with some of the grandest ballrooms in Lady Grantham's memory. At the front of the room was a platform with consoles, not unlike the ones that were in their rooms and seemed to be all over the station for various purposes. Behind those, stretching back farther than she could see, hung rows and rows of containers whose purpose was not yet clear. The screens were blank and dead at first, but as she mounted the platform and stepped closer, they flickered to life. On the screen flashed images of clothing, but very little that she recognized.
"Oh, what is it that you do?" she said to herself, vexed, and was surprised to find herself answered.
"Hello Violet Crawley, please select an article of clothing, location, era, style, color, texture, or material to begin."
"Purple," was the first thing that came to her lips. The other questions were somewhat vexing for their implications, but thinking back to Venice she continued. "England, 1919," she added, specifying in the way that she had learned was most successful with the food replicator.
"Article or style?" it prompted.
"Oh, a day dress," she replied, flustered by the thing, but with growing excitement.
Without another word from the machine, everything started moving all at once as the racks shifted and spun, rotating around the room until finally one of them came to a stop at the edge of the platform. The front panel of the thing slowly accordioned open to reveal purple day dresses of a cut and style she admired. She made an exclamation of joy. They were far more suited to her granddaughters than a woman of her age, but it was a start and the first piece of good fortune that had come to her in all her time on the station. She hurried back to the console and began to narrow her search, delighting in the possibilities.
Pausing by a door, one of the endless series of inaccessible regions of the station, Lady Grantham laid a hand on the wall to steady herself, which was when she noticed something quite odd. The panel next to this particular door had a light like all of the others, yet this one was not red as they were, but green. Call it curiosity, call it boredom, but Violet had found something for the moment on which to fix her interest.
Pulling out her communicator, a device she would loathe but for its necessity, Violet held it up to the panel and commanded, "Open," in a strident voice. The door, a little to her surprise, slid obediently open. She stepped through cautiously and the lights brightened to more fully illuminate a large hall that was of a size with some of the grandest ballrooms in Lady Grantham's memory. At the front of the room was a platform with consoles, not unlike the ones that were in their rooms and seemed to be all over the station for various purposes. Behind those, stretching back farther than she could see, hung rows and rows of containers whose purpose was not yet clear. The screens were blank and dead at first, but as she mounted the platform and stepped closer, they flickered to life. On the screen flashed images of clothing, but very little that she recognized.
"Oh, what is it that you do?" she said to herself, vexed, and was surprised to find herself answered.
"Hello Violet Crawley, please select an article of clothing, location, era, style, color, texture, or material to begin."
"Purple," was the first thing that came to her lips. The other questions were somewhat vexing for their implications, but thinking back to Venice she continued. "England, 1919," she added, specifying in the way that she had learned was most successful with the food replicator.
"Article or style?" it prompted.
"Oh, a day dress," she replied, flustered by the thing, but with growing excitement.
Without another word from the machine, everything started moving all at once as the racks shifted and spun, rotating around the room until finally one of them came to a stop at the edge of the platform. The front panel of the thing slowly accordioned open to reveal purple day dresses of a cut and style she admired. She made an exclamation of joy. They were far more suited to her granddaughters than a woman of her age, but it was a start and the first piece of good fortune that had come to her in all her time on the station. She hurried back to the console and began to narrow her search, delighting in the possibilities.