Stories inspired by a letter from Dietfried Baugainvillea. It certainly helps to read 'Baudelaire's'
'The Lost Scribe of Justitia' and 'Skeletons of the Heavens' as references.
No characters from Violet Evergarden belong to me, as none of the ima...
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"Not that I'm complaining, but Dietfried writes exactly how he talks." Nora replied, finishing the letter and folding it up again. "I read every word of that in his voice."
"Oh, I know," Petrich agreed, painstakingly picking the lock of the newly arrived trunk. "He must have been extremely bored. His letters are few and usually much shorter and to the point."
He grunted the last few words between clenched teeth while adding more torque to a makeshift lock picking tool. It was to no avail. Petrich looked at the lock dumbly. "I just wished he would have sent the keys to this damned thing."
Nora came over to where he knelt. "What do you suppose is in it, anyway?"
Petrich shrugged his shoulders. "I've had everything of real importance accounted for long ago. This couldn't be anything but odds and ends. Just miscellaneous junk." He looked at her as she sat on her heels beside him. "You want a go at it, don't you? Or as Dietfried would put it. . ." Petrich cleared his throat and replaced his natural northern accent with Dietfried Baugainvillea's more haughty, aristocratic southern accent which could only be achieved with his nose slightly tilted up and a smug expression on his mouth. "I fear, my dearest Ellenora, I haven't the patience in my personage to aptly untangle this particular tumble lock. Most peculiar, indeed. If you would be so kind as to. . ."
She set straight to work, as Petrich sat on the floor, leaned back on his hands and watched.
He changed his voice to mimic Nora's and announced. "No daughter of Cattleya and Claudia Hodgins will be bested by something simple as a lock! I was picking locks since my earliest of memories! I had to pick a lock to escape my mother's womb!"
Nora started laughing and had to stop working. "Shut it, you!" she giggled, playfully threatening Petrich with one of the tools. "Or I shall pick your lock, master or not!" He merely grinned at her and her empty threat, as she returned to her task. "But since you did bring it up, do you realize how many customers would come into the post office and forget their box key?"
"Every single one of them?" Petrich teased.
"At one time or another, yes. Every single one of them."
"Wasn't there a master key to get into them?"
"Well, yes, but Father kept that one in his office at all times. I grew tired of going upstairs to fetch it, so I learned to pick the simple mailbox locks."
