WELCOME TO DREAMWIDTH, HERO...

[Oh hey, it's a video of Lust and she's actually on camera as opposed to shooting some young adult novel!! Her face is composed, her shoulders are bare, and there's a big old chunk of black hair over one eye. Wherever she is isn't quite visible; her face and body take up most of the camera, and what is there is hardly distinctive.]

I'm sure I'm not the only one sick of chess metaphors after the last few days, so you'll forgive me if I don't state the obvious. [CHECKMATE, DURR HURR HURR. Despite this, there's somehow a bit less of the smug smug douche about her tone than might be expected.] But if someone wants to say it...

[There's a flash of white and red in her left hand as she brings it closer to the camera; once it focuses in, it becomes clear that she's holding a glove. It's close enough for a sharp-eyed viewer to count the fingers, were they so inclined: one, two, three, four, five, six. The once-pristine fabric is spattered with blood; the fresh red on her fingers leaves little doubt as to where it came from.]

There's no need to bother finding her anymore, though I'm sure at least one of you will think of some reason to disagree. [She looks down at her hand again, her gaze clinical, and wiggles her fingertips just slightly.] Still, a thank you might be nice.

[All that's actually visible on the video feed is a bookshelf, apparently at a bookstore. The camera is trained on an approximation of this book, with a slightly less wonderful cover! Basically picture the Twilight cover with a fingernail moon on it instead of an apple. The unseen person behind the comm is clearly one of the teenagers posting, right? And it's totally accidental, because who would voluntarily read NOPE IT'S LUST AND SHE'S DICTATING OFF THE DUST JACKET.]

Crescent Wayne has always blended into the background. Quiet, unassuming, and plain, her life is completely ordinary until she meets Spencer de Beaumont, a mysterious imPort who recently enrolled at the prestigious Reivax Institute. The connection between the teens is undeniable, and soon Crescent is drawn into his exciting secret world. But as the two grow closer, dark forces conspire to keep them apart. Why is Spencer avoiding Crescent? What does his darkly sensual twin brother, Marius, want with her? And what is the connection between the brothers and the mysterious but alluring vigilante, the Moonlighter?

[Her tone, previously immensely flat, takes on some more animation now that she's done.]

It's an interesting read, I'm sure--and now they're making a movie. Funny, isn't it? But not at all unexpected. The further out you go from the City, the less you've played havoc on their lives, the more fascinating we all are to the permanent residents. And considering the way its fiction tends to disappear, it only makes sense for them to cut their losses. But the closer you go in, well...

Imports go home.

It's not related, but surely at least one of you has seen something a little less trite written on the walls. There's always "when in doubt, Imports out", but I'd hesitate to call it original.


((ALSO, IF YOU ACTUALLY WANT TO READ A WRITEUP ON THIS TURD OF A SERIES, IT IS HERE.))

[It's a video post! For the first time in months! And the viewer can see that she's sitting back in a chair, and that her neckline is decidedly modest. They will also notice, however, that it's also rather dimly-lit wherever she's broadcasting from, and most of Lust's face is obscured by a handsome black book. The cross on the front might be a tipoff as to, you know, its contents. She flips a page, then speaks, and although her mouth isn't really visible her eyes suggest that she might be smiling! Like a jerk.]

I've been reading, though that hardly needs to be stated--some of you might still appreciate the forewarning. [SHRUGGIN'.] This material in particular isn't quite my type, but after you've been given a gift, it only seems polite to put it to use. Parts of it are surprisingly poetic, really; I'm enjoying Judges so far.

[At this point she shifts her line of sight from the communicator to the Bible she's holding, presumably to look at the passage she proceeds to read aloud, with just a little bit of dramatic intonation.]

Her hand to the pin she sendeth forth, and her right hand to the labourers' hammer, And she hammered Sisera -- she smote his head, yea, she smote, and it passed through his temple. Between her feet he bowed -- he fell, he lay down; between her feet he bowed, he fell; where he bowed, there he fell -- destroyed.

[A pause! She reaches up to cut the feed, her hand almost entirely covering the camera.]

And that's far from the most graphic. Religion is fascinating, isn't it?

[CLICK]

[She's smiling as she talks; it's practically audible.]

Anyone who's lived here long enough knows what it's like to have someone go missing on them and return as something new. Perhaps they're from a different world, just close enough to remind you of someone else, or maybe they're just the same, but they don't remember you. And there's nothing to be done about it; it's one of Lachesis' greatest cruelties.

But isn't it just as cruel to impose the connections of one lifetime onto a blank slate? One can't help but wonder. They're not the person you used to know, if they ever were. They aren't prepared to receive all those expectations, or all that disappointment. And it's worse if they were well-liked, of course... even more people, only trying to see their friends again, projecting what they want onto someone who's never seen them before. It's only human nature on both sides--depressing, really. [H E H]

At any rate, I can't begin to imagine what reasons the Porter has for doing it, assuming she controls it at all. Maybe they found out something, something important enough for her to send them away and bring them back fresh, but it seems unlikely. For something that wants to make heroes, she certainly has a way of breaking spirits.

[Oh boy oh boy oh boy it's Lust addressing the Network for more than like three sentences! Y'all missed this. There's no distinguishable background noise, other than what seems to be her tapping her (presumably normal) nails against a flat surface at a few regular intervals, and when her voice comes it's as calm as ever.]

It's almost been three years, now. Not for all of us, of course--not even most of us. Certainly not me. Nevertheless, that's when this started, and so few people still here even remember those days. How many is it, again--five or six at this point? Even that's being generous. But it's just human nature not to think about it. Our numbers have stayed constant over the last few years, thanks to the new arrivals, so it doesn't feel as though things are changing, even as we replace each other. And who would ever think to read back through these archives for three years? It's hardly the most entertaining thing to do on a Friday night.

History is easily forgotten, but those who've remembered it being sent a universe away helps speed the process. It's a smart choice on her part, really. When everything your subjects experience is new, it gets so much easier to keep them docile. And even if we were all here, if nobody had ever left, how much of a difference would it make?

[She pauses, and makes a little "hmm" sort of sound.]

The thing to do is to ask you when you arrived here, right? I've no interest in conducting a survey, but the information could be useful nonetheless.

[Her voice is smooth as ever! It almost sounds like she was sitting pretty throughout this entire weekend and not soulsucked at all, BUT SPOILER ALERT SHE TOTALLY WAS.]

Well, this monster kept half of you from telling us things about your fathers that no one asked for. All in all, I think it's an improvement over last year.

[There's the sound of city traffic, the shitty rain, etc., breaking the utter silence of whoever the fuck is holding the communicator. Then, suddenly!!, all of that ambient noise is eclipsed by a female voice that may seem JUST A TAD BIT FAMILIAR to certain parties. It's modulated, pleasant, and downright content. She is like the proverbial cat that ate the Catwoman.]

How generous of you, Lachesis. Should I be grateful? Or maybe the question is "did you miss me?" [lol] I didn't think so.

[AND SHE MAKES A SUDDEN SHIFT TO NOT RIDICULOUSLY ADDRESSING A MACHINE SHE'S NOT EVEN NEARBY ANYMORE:] That goes for all of you, too. Hello again, City--it hasn't been so long. But is someone going to fill me in, or am I going to have to do all the work by myself? How inconsiderate. At least I'm used to it by now.