Snippet One: Soak
First up on the adventures of Victor in Mallow Hallow -- Victor investigating his new living quarters! He came across it rather unusually -- you see, in the domain he lived in, Astralfield, everyone who came in from the outside was assigned a hotel room in the local hotel. And they found out about this assignment by falling asleep somewhere, only to wake up IN said hotel room. (The domain actually had a strict bedtime of 10 PM, in fact -- no matter where you were at the time, you fell asleep, and you always woke up in your hotel room the next morning.) Victor spent most of his first couple of days getting to know his fellow refugees (via a magic chalkboard communicator -- yes, I know), but I figured that, at some point, the confused Victorian would want to explore his more modern new home... (Yes, Victor wouldn't be familiar with modern toothpaste or shampoo or conditioner. Victorians used teeth-cleaning powders instead, and bar soaps for their hair. And yes, they'd definitely have the toilet in a different part of the house! Gotta be clean, after all...)
So – where precisely have I ended up?
Victor looks around the room – 6988, according to the gold numbers on the hallway door – that he now must call home. He’s had a busy morning – panicking about waking up in a place that he’s quite certain he didn’t go to sleep in, meeting with Kurloz and showing off his artwork, gaping at that video of the young alien lady fighting the hydra, and having that little art contest (and moment of extreme confusion – seriously, a blonde Alice? And books and a “movie” – whatever that is – about Wonderland?) with Alex – and none of it left much time for exploring just where he’s expected to live. Now, though, his chalkboard’s gone quiet (rack that up as another thing I never thought I’d say, even to myself), the sun is still safely lighting the sky, and as far as he can tell, he has no immediate obligations. Time to investigate his surroundings a little more.
He gets up from the bed and stands in front of the front door, mentally making a list of the things he’s been provided with. One bed – about king-size, he thinks, and much more comfortable than the one in Whitechapel. One nightstand with a lamp next to that. One small desk with a lamp and chair in its own little corner near the window. One squat dresser for clothes – not that that helps me any, he thinks, frowning down at his single suit. One small round table with two chairs on the opposite side of the bed, closer to the door. Near that, one counter with what appears to be a coffee maker. (Victor wonders briefly what would happen if you drank a cup right at the 10 P.M. time limit. Would it have no effect, or would the caffeine just not kick in until morning?) Also one strange white box with two subsections that appears to be a small icebox that doesn’t need actual ice to stay cool. (Magic? Science? He’s already got an inkling that he hasn’t just been transported to another world, but to another time. People keep referencing things he’s never heard of. He’ll have to do some research.) One closet – again, of no help to him until he finds out where to get new clothes. And – opening a door almost directly to the right of the front door – one bathroom that also appears to be a loo, given that it has a toilet in it.
It’s that room that intrigues him the most right at the moment, to be honest. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen before. (Well, there are a lot of things here that are like nothing he’s ever seen before, but. . . .) When he stumbled in there this morning, he’d been shocked to find the toilet, bath, and sink so close to each other. Wasn’t that unsanitary? And why was the cistern of the toilet so close to the bowl? Surely this couldn’t be right. But nature had called, and he had answered, and to his surprise, when he flushed, there was nothing more than a woosh of water. No faint smell, no worries that the notoriously-fussy plumbing would not do its job. And the sink – he’d just been able to turn a tap, and hot water had come gushing out. That stayed hot, no matter how long it ran. He grins as he remembers catching sight of his confused but delighted face in the bathroom mirror. Indoor plumbing. Real running water. And Mother had been so proud of their toilet shoved into its little closet downstairs that required its own personal night soil man to keep it running right.
He wanders into the room, taking another look around. Toilet, sink, a cabinet with a few essentials (very tiny essentials – what was the point of making a thing of tooth-cleaning paste if you were going to make it so small?), and a most curious bathtub. Victor crouches down and examines the edges. It’s of a sleek white material, cold to the touch, and appears to be fastened into the walls and floor. Then again, I suppose you don’t really need to move it when it’s got its own pipes that bring the water straight to you, he thinks, looking at the spout protruding from one end. He glances up at the mysterious other metal thing set high on the wall above the tub’s taps. I wonder what that funny round bit at the top is? It’s got holes – does it rain water down on you, like from a cloud? Heh, I bet the children at Whitechapel would have liked that for their bath –
Bath.
Something clicks in Victor’s mind then. He has a bath. He has a bath all to himself. He has a bath all to himself with a seemingly limitless supply of hot running water.
Suddenly, for a few bright shining moments, the fact that he’s trapped in a strange world with strange technology and strange (if refreshingly friendly so far) people no longer matters. Victor strips off his clothes as fast as he can, fills the tub, unwraps the soap, examines the little bottles labeled “shampoo” and “conditioner” and dubs them something he’ll use later, and climbs in. The water is clear and hot and wonderful – better than even the baths he took at home. Victor sighs deeply, slumping against the back of the tub. The rest of his questions – the whole rest of the world – can wait for a while.
He’s earned this soak.
Victor looks around the room – 6988, according to the gold numbers on the hallway door – that he now must call home. He’s had a busy morning – panicking about waking up in a place that he’s quite certain he didn’t go to sleep in, meeting with Kurloz and showing off his artwork, gaping at that video of the young alien lady fighting the hydra, and having that little art contest (and moment of extreme confusion – seriously, a blonde Alice? And books and a “movie” – whatever that is – about Wonderland?) with Alex – and none of it left much time for exploring just where he’s expected to live. Now, though, his chalkboard’s gone quiet (rack that up as another thing I never thought I’d say, even to myself), the sun is still safely lighting the sky, and as far as he can tell, he has no immediate obligations. Time to investigate his surroundings a little more.
He gets up from the bed and stands in front of the front door, mentally making a list of the things he’s been provided with. One bed – about king-size, he thinks, and much more comfortable than the one in Whitechapel. One nightstand with a lamp next to that. One small desk with a lamp and chair in its own little corner near the window. One squat dresser for clothes – not that that helps me any, he thinks, frowning down at his single suit. One small round table with two chairs on the opposite side of the bed, closer to the door. Near that, one counter with what appears to be a coffee maker. (Victor wonders briefly what would happen if you drank a cup right at the 10 P.M. time limit. Would it have no effect, or would the caffeine just not kick in until morning?) Also one strange white box with two subsections that appears to be a small icebox that doesn’t need actual ice to stay cool. (Magic? Science? He’s already got an inkling that he hasn’t just been transported to another world, but to another time. People keep referencing things he’s never heard of. He’ll have to do some research.) One closet – again, of no help to him until he finds out where to get new clothes. And – opening a door almost directly to the right of the front door – one bathroom that also appears to be a loo, given that it has a toilet in it.
It’s that room that intrigues him the most right at the moment, to be honest. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen before. (Well, there are a lot of things here that are like nothing he’s ever seen before, but. . . .) When he stumbled in there this morning, he’d been shocked to find the toilet, bath, and sink so close to each other. Wasn’t that unsanitary? And why was the cistern of the toilet so close to the bowl? Surely this couldn’t be right. But nature had called, and he had answered, and to his surprise, when he flushed, there was nothing more than a woosh of water. No faint smell, no worries that the notoriously-fussy plumbing would not do its job. And the sink – he’d just been able to turn a tap, and hot water had come gushing out. That stayed hot, no matter how long it ran. He grins as he remembers catching sight of his confused but delighted face in the bathroom mirror. Indoor plumbing. Real running water. And Mother had been so proud of their toilet shoved into its little closet downstairs that required its own personal night soil man to keep it running right.
He wanders into the room, taking another look around. Toilet, sink, a cabinet with a few essentials (very tiny essentials – what was the point of making a thing of tooth-cleaning paste if you were going to make it so small?), and a most curious bathtub. Victor crouches down and examines the edges. It’s of a sleek white material, cold to the touch, and appears to be fastened into the walls and floor. Then again, I suppose you don’t really need to move it when it’s got its own pipes that bring the water straight to you, he thinks, looking at the spout protruding from one end. He glances up at the mysterious other metal thing set high on the wall above the tub’s taps. I wonder what that funny round bit at the top is? It’s got holes – does it rain water down on you, like from a cloud? Heh, I bet the children at Whitechapel would have liked that for their bath –
Bath.
Something clicks in Victor’s mind then. He has a bath. He has a bath all to himself. He has a bath all to himself with a seemingly limitless supply of hot running water.
Suddenly, for a few bright shining moments, the fact that he’s trapped in a strange world with strange technology and strange (if refreshingly friendly so far) people no longer matters. Victor strips off his clothes as fast as he can, fills the tub, unwraps the soap, examines the little bottles labeled “shampoo” and “conditioner” and dubs them something he’ll use later, and climbs in. The water is clear and hot and wonderful – better than even the baths he took at home. Victor sighs deeply, slumping against the back of the tub. The rest of his questions – the whole rest of the world – can wait for a while.
He’s earned this soak.