Demelza Poldark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
letitbetrue) wrote2015-07-23 04:36 pm
letitbetrue) wrote2015-07-23 04:36 pm
(no subject)
It takes Demelza less than five minutes to discover and understand the electricity in their apartment.
By the time they've made their way to the train station to retrieve the packages left for them -- Demelza spends the better part of their walk showing Ross the various items in hers, trying to understand what they might mean -- and then to the room assigned to them, the sun has set behind the large buildings she has yet to suss out the purpose of. It's dark when they enter and she fumbles for a candle only to realize there are none.
For a moment she simply stands there, her package held in one trembling hand, then she reaches out for the wall so that she might feel her way around the room. Her fingers encounter the switch by accident and when she touches it, her curiosity increases to the point where she cannot resist.
Gently, with great caution, she jiggles the switch gently, then moves it up in the way it seems to encounter the least resistance.
And the room is flooded with light.
For a moment she's stunned to silence and then she turns to her husband, her eyes wide and her lips parted. "Oh, Ross," she says, as if the light itself were a gift from God. There are no candles in the room, nothing with which to light their way but for the instruments on the ceiling and she peers up at them, blinking as the light stings her eyes, trying to understand how it is they can chase away all the shadows in the room from just a single point.
She remembers Nampara, the dark corners even a great number of candles could not reach entirely.
"Do 'ee see? The light's been harnessed," she tells him, pointing up at it. Her fear and her trepidation have been all but forgotten in the face of such an invention. "I know not how they done it, but it's brighter than all the candles at Nampara." She grins then, bright and faintly mischievous. "Brighter than all the candles at Trenwith."
The rest of the room seems none too impressive and she frowns after a moment of exploring. "Tis terrible plain, isn't it?" she asks, letting her fingers wandering over the light wood of a table. It's too smooth, too bright to be natural and she finds herself missing the old, heavy table in the kitchen at Nampara. The homesickness comes upon her in a wave and she blinks a few times, trying desperately hard to clear the tears before Ross sees them.
She should consider herself lucky, she thinks. To be here with Ross and their daughter, who has remained quiet in his arms all this time. To have been separated and brought to such a strange place as this would be far worse a punishment than just to be sick for home.
By the time they've made their way to the train station to retrieve the packages left for them -- Demelza spends the better part of their walk showing Ross the various items in hers, trying to understand what they might mean -- and then to the room assigned to them, the sun has set behind the large buildings she has yet to suss out the purpose of. It's dark when they enter and she fumbles for a candle only to realize there are none.
For a moment she simply stands there, her package held in one trembling hand, then she reaches out for the wall so that she might feel her way around the room. Her fingers encounter the switch by accident and when she touches it, her curiosity increases to the point where she cannot resist.
Gently, with great caution, she jiggles the switch gently, then moves it up in the way it seems to encounter the least resistance.
And the room is flooded with light.
For a moment she's stunned to silence and then she turns to her husband, her eyes wide and her lips parted. "Oh, Ross," she says, as if the light itself were a gift from God. There are no candles in the room, nothing with which to light their way but for the instruments on the ceiling and she peers up at them, blinking as the light stings her eyes, trying to understand how it is they can chase away all the shadows in the room from just a single point.
She remembers Nampara, the dark corners even a great number of candles could not reach entirely.
"Do 'ee see? The light's been harnessed," she tells him, pointing up at it. Her fear and her trepidation have been all but forgotten in the face of such an invention. "I know not how they done it, but it's brighter than all the candles at Nampara." She grins then, bright and faintly mischievous. "Brighter than all the candles at Trenwith."
The rest of the room seems none too impressive and she frowns after a moment of exploring. "Tis terrible plain, isn't it?" she asks, letting her fingers wandering over the light wood of a table. It's too smooth, too bright to be natural and she finds herself missing the old, heavy table in the kitchen at Nampara. The homesickness comes upon her in a wave and she blinks a few times, trying desperately hard to clear the tears before Ross sees them.
She should consider herself lucky, she thinks. To be here with Ross and their daughter, who has remained quiet in his arms all this time. To have been separated and brought to such a strange place as this would be far worse a punishment than just to be sick for home.