[ The post opens with the sound of Ariadne's device being dropped on the ground -- a loud, metallic clatter followed by a definitive scrape. She's running maybe, that's the only explanation for the rhythmic beat to her breath which is shallow and hurried and occasionally undercut by a muttered: ] _{--come on, come on, come on.}

[ Her footfalls audible, like she's within an enclosed space that can echo back and forth the sound of it. There's the bang crash of metal followed by a half-heard curse and then more motion that peters out to a still sort of silence, overlaid by Ariadne's panting. When she finally speaks, her voice is dropped down into a winded whisper. ]

Okay. So, Ariadne and the Minotaur. I get it, really funny. [ The last thing she sounds is amused, but she's not completely panicked either. Harrowed would probably be most appropriate. Her words come quickly. ] Aren't these things supposed to go back home after lunch? It's not like I have the option of wai--

[ Whatever Ariadne means to say next is abruptly cut off by the sound of a different sort of footfall. Cloven this time, heavier and approaching. Ariadne's breath stills as it approaches, accompanied by a low sound, like a snuffle. But then even that noise seems to stop--

--only to be punched through by the bellow of an animal and the crashbang of metal and brick and muscle meeting. Again, the device finds itself dropped, more scrape and clatter. Another cry of the minotaur, another loud crash and Ariadne is saying: ] Oh my go--

[ This is not the first time Ariadne's found herself in a city and, looking back, can't quite remember how she's gotten there. Which means only one assumption: dream. The question then becomes whose dream. When she clicks the video stream on her oh-so-conveniently provided device, her expression is a very speculative shade of bemused. ]

Alright, so it's not New York, it's not Paris and it's not any other city I've studied in class _{-- and I've studied plenty.} [ That said, she turns her attention to the buildings around her again, covering most of a 180 with a twist of her head. Under her breath, barely audible: ] _{--it's not Arthur--} [ A pause as she looks the other way, completing something close to a 360. ] _{--Eames, maybe?}

[ Turning her attention fully back to the camera now, she half-squints into it wryly. ] I have to say -- the clock motif's a little heavyhanded. [ A pause as she considers this, but then quickly relents: ] But at least it's inspired. Which is more than I can say for most urban planning initiatives, so. [ Ariadne lifts her eyebrows expectantly, gesturing with a hand the way a shopkeeper might when bartering over a contested price. ] When do I get to wake up again? Because I don't remember signing up for this ride.