Ariadne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
demonicbeauty) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deernet2022-11-06 09:36 am
demonicbeauty) wrote in deernet2022-11-06 09:36 am
[VIDEO; UN: LittleGreenLiar]
[There are a number of indications that this is a misfire, even before it becomes clear what's going on. First, there's the fact of the username. Ariadne has never once set a username. Everyone who keeps promising to show her how to do it keeps disappearing or dying on her. So she's been "username not set" for years, at this point.
Then, there's the angle. It's tilted. And the feed isn't vibrating and shaking as Ariadne tries to hold it steady. Clearly, her Omni is sitting off to one side, forgotten, at the moment.
Ariadne is standing in her bedroom, sunlight filtering in through the gauzy curtains. She's in her underwear. Of course, it's pretty medieval underwear: a ribbed corset, tied in front, and knee-length bloomers. Bare feet. Green feet. She's in her natural form, her candy-floss blue hair loose and streaming down her back, practically to her knees. She wags her hand in front of her face, as if she's holding a fan. Daintily, she touches her fingertips to her collarbone.]
Me? You want to dance with me?
[There's non one else in the room. It appear, she's been caught in a game of make-believe. Adorable? Creepy? Hard to say.]
Why, sir, I would be delighted!
[She dips into a neat, perfect curtsy. And then rises, eyelashes fluttering.
At which point, she starts to dance a waltz, her arms around an invisible, imaginary partner. She moves smoothly, gliding across the room, looking very much like she's ready to fall in love in a ballroom.
One, two, three. One, two, three...]
Then, there's the angle. It's tilted. And the feed isn't vibrating and shaking as Ariadne tries to hold it steady. Clearly, her Omni is sitting off to one side, forgotten, at the moment.
Ariadne is standing in her bedroom, sunlight filtering in through the gauzy curtains. She's in her underwear. Of course, it's pretty medieval underwear: a ribbed corset, tied in front, and knee-length bloomers. Bare feet. Green feet. She's in her natural form, her candy-floss blue hair loose and streaming down her back, practically to her knees. She wags her hand in front of her face, as if she's holding a fan. Daintily, she touches her fingertips to her collarbone.]
Me? You want to dance with me?
[There's non one else in the room. It appear, she's been caught in a game of make-believe. Adorable? Creepy? Hard to say.]
Why, sir, I would be delighted!
[She dips into a neat, perfect curtsy. And then rises, eyelashes fluttering.
At which point, she starts to dance a waltz, her arms around an invisible, imaginary partner. She moves smoothly, gliding across the room, looking very much like she's ready to fall in love in a ballroom.
One, two, three. One, two, three...]
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No, I can't.
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Well, someone can. We have ambassadors for a reason. To broker peace.
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Swords can often obtain the same result.
[She's smiling, though.]
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[She pauses.]
Although, in this narrative we've created, it sounds like someone we need to placate. And someone we probably can't kill.
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[She's grinning, though.]
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There are always choices.
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[Everyone should have that much freedom.]
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