Holodeck 2 - A Shift At The Wattle & Daub (tag: Vora, Open)

Posted Jan. 22, 2023, 3:42 p.m. by Lieutenant Junior Grade Vora Zorell (Scientist) (Lindsay B)

Posted by Ensign Dr. P’Mala Dawes (Doctor) in Holodeck 2 - A Shift At The Wattle & Daub (tag: Vora, Open)

Posted by Lieutenant Junior Grade Vora Zorell (Scientist) in Holodeck 2 - A Shift At The Wattle & Daub (tag: Vora, Open)

Posted by Ensign Dr. P’Mala Dawes (Doctor) in Holodeck 2 - A Shift At The Wattle & Daub (tag: Vora, Open)
Posted by… suppressed (2) by the Post Ghost! 👻
P’Mala Dawes crept into Holodeck 2 dressed in Victorian garb–again. This time, in a simple black wool dress with gray grosgrain ribbons and a matching gray apron that looked striking against her navy hair and green-tinged skin.

Through the portal, frozen, was The Wattle & Daub, an inn and pub in the port city of Southampton, England, 1889. In the pub, P’Mala was just a barmaid–Pamala. The owner and proprietor was an old Scots man named Henson. She’d played in the novel for a couple years and hadn’t gotten too much more out of him.

She took her place behind the bar, took a big gulp of air, and said, “Computer, begin program.”

Like an 20th century jukebox, the oil lanterns in the pub snuffed to light and P’Mala picked up a cloth and slung it over her shoulder. As if on cue, Henson burst through the door from his backroom office in a huff.

“Pamala! You best go home. It’s empty as balls out here this afternoon, lass.”

And as if on cue, three sailors burst through the door and P’Mala fetched them beer.

“You were saying?” she retorted.

“Not to change the subject,” Henson said, changing the subject, “But have you heard anything yet from that advertisement we put in the Echo? We can’t have a pub without any entertainment, since Westley left, and I’m not going to sell that old piano for a gramophone machine just yet.”

“Nothing yet.” P’Mala said. “Excuse me, I got to give these blokes a topper.”

She rushed to refill the sailors’ pints and wipe down the bar.

Why is it that when I’m off duty, I resort myself to manual labor? she grumbled to herself, but the bell over the door jangled again, signaling another guest, and the shift was in full swing, leaving her preciously little time for introspection.

-Ensign P’Mala Dawes

Her heeled doors clunked on the wooden floor as the new entrant took in the surroundings. She definitely looked out of place, with her midnight blue silk brocade and velvet day bodice and bustle skirt. The high boned collar lay delicately against the pale yellow skin of her long throat and the matching feather-adorned hat was a sharp contrast the cherry-red coloured hair it was nestled upon. Maroon eyes took in the surroundings and the woman adjusted a rather worn carpet bag that seemed discordant with her fine and on-trend clothes. Moving towards the bar, the tall woman sought out the first person who seemed to work in the establishment. “Hello, might you help me? I’m here about an advertisement for a performer?”

~Vora Zorell

P’Mala did not recognize the stranger–but she was glad to see a new face at the Wattle & Daub. A crewman enjoying the holonovel as well.

“Yes, welcome!” P’Mala said, pointing to a stool. “Take a seat. I go by Pamala. Would you like a pint? Or a glass of sherry? I’m just a barmaid, but Henson will want to get his eye on you right now,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. “What’s your name, miss?”

-Ensign P’Mala Dawes

“Vera Zalenas,” she said with a dip of her head. It was a play on her real name and it fit the setting and her character quite well she thought. She realized that while she was perfectly dressed for a life as a lady in London, it was perhaps a bit odd here in this port city in this particular establishment. Then again, that also fit the character’s backstory. She waved a gloved hand, “I’m fine thank you, nothing for me.”

“”Vera. Nice to meet you. Nothing is fine, of course,” P’Mala said. The other guests in the pub–mostly seamen and a few travelers–seemed to be minding themselves in the background.

And she was fine too, but more than that this crewmember wouldn’t likely know her allergy and even on the holodeck, food and beverage items were still replicated. The last thing they wanted was a trip to Sickbay. And that wasn’t even considering her personal abstinence from alcohol.

“This Mr. Henson is the proprietor, yes?” Vora said, her maroon eyes gazing intently at P’Mala.

~Vora Zorell

“Yes, Mr. Henson, He’s–” P’Mala began, when suddenly the old gray haired man came up his office behind the counter.

Hanson was about 75, a wiry sort of old man in a worn suit with a wispy white beard and little white muttonchops that wound out of his ears and around his cheeks like aged hams.

“Aye, I am the sole proprietor of the Wattle and Daub, my lady, established in this very spot in 1750! Did you know that it was in this very room that the Prince Frederick ate beef stew? It’s said that we still use the same recipe to this very day and I–“

“I believe Miss Zalenas is here about the advertisement,” P’Mala interrupted. “Sir.”

She made a subtle face at Vera while Henson dug in his pockets for God knows what reason.

-Ensign P’Mala Dawes

“Indeed,” Vera said. “I saw that you were in need of a performer and I happen to be between positions right now and could use some work. I play the piano and I can sing. I can perform a variety of styles.” All of this was true but she was hoping they wouldn’t be insistent on asking a lot of personal questions. Then again, she was a lady and there was propriety to consider.

~Vora Zorell

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