"So, you write letters for a living? Who hires you?" Felix asked with intense curiosity.
Violet took a seat at the opposite end of the table from Felix. She had lifted her large case onto the table and took out her typewriter. With perfect effeciency, she set the reel, pulled the spinner and loaded a sheet of paper.
The whole process took seconds, and she performed it so well that Felix reckoned she could do it blindfolded. Just like he could with a rifle.
"Anyone who can afford our rates is welcome to hire an Auto-Memories Doll. Typically the company will try to match a doll to a client's particular needs" Violet replied, with an almost emotionless tone.
"Hmm" Felix said rubbing his chin, "I guess that makes sense. I wonder how they knew to send someone like you though?"
"Someone like me?" Violet asked, looking up from her typewriter. Felix couldn't tell if she was offended or curious.
"Someone who understands Soldiers. You'd be surprised how many people in the real world think they know people like us. But what do they really know? You've seen the way I've been treated. I go into a tavern to have a quiet drink, and some punk who has too young to serve decides to test himself with me. I straighten him out, exactly as I was trained to do, and the next thing you know, the Magistrate sends me to this place" Felix angrily said.
"I do not patronize taverns" Violet replied, returning her focus to her typewriter, "Do you know who you would like this letter to go to?"
Felix was confused. What kind of a soldier doesn't drink? . He sat up and looked at Violet intently, "Who do you think I should write to?"
"I do not know how to answer this question. Every client writes to someone different. I have written for the Royal Princess, who did not know how to speak to her betrothed. I have written for playwright who was suffering writer's block. I wrote for a mother dying of illness who wished to leave a legacy for her daughter. I have assisted in preserving the archives of an observatory" Violet said, listing her accomplishments as though she was reading numbers in an address book.
"Have you ever written for a man with no friends or family?" Felix asked in turn.
"Once" she said quitely, "The playwright. His daughter died from a fever. He was a very lonely and broken man. By helping him complete his play, I was able to help him find inner peace. He has now run a string of a sold out houses in the past year and has become very wealthy"
Felix smirked, "I didn't even graduate primary school. I don't suppose you feel like writing a play with me, do you Violet?"
"I'm...not much of a creative writer. But perhaps I can help you write a story?" Violet asked, sighing at the client's lack of directness.
Felix nodded, "Sure, a story. How about we start with my life?"
