XXXVIII--video;

[breakmychest]

[The camera turns on to reveal a frail-looking old woman in Victorian garb. She seems rather confused by the contraption, but she does understand how it works thanks to the general Barge run-down she's received. When she notices that it's recording, she smiles and sits back. She's on a beaten up looking couch and trying to look as if she's not uncomfortable with how old it looks, or how very modern the room is. She partially succeeds.]

Hello, I am Mrs. Anne Pratt. I hear my son William is a Warden here. [She frowns for a moment.] Though I can hardly believe this is his room. He seems to have... adjusted. [Her face smooths over, and she smiles again.] I'm very proud of him, even if I--

[She stops and coughs into a handkerchief for several seconds.] Excuse me. [She sips from a glass of water, then continues.]

It's not the direction I'd have expected, but I am certain he's doing good work.

[She smiles again, then turns off the camera.]

Comments

[what_ho_jeeves]

And what is your husband's trade, Mrs. Pratt? And your son's? [Depending on what it is, Aunt Agatha here (aka Lady Worplesdon) will judge you. Actually, she'll judge you anyway, because "Pratt" is a surname that sounds deplorably middle class to her ears.]

[bigbad]

I'm afraid my husband passed away some years ago, ma'am. My son-- [She frowns.] A prison warden, apparently, but back home he was a scholar, and quite a good poet.

[According to his mother, at least.]