by CLL-MT9 » Thu Oct 25, 2018 3:04 pm
Clementine didn’t totally lack savoir faire. If anything, he was a heavier user than most of common parts of social speech. “Excuse me,” for example, got a lot of work as he moved through the world. “Please” and “thank you” might be used a dozen times in a single purchase (merchants who failed to find this charming tried to limit the amount of back-and-forth dialogue to the absolute minimum). And he had to be really, really upset with someone before he called them by anything but their chosen name, possibly even with a “Master” attached.
He did, however, undeniably take up too much space (too wide, too much mass, too loud), and no-one would ever describe him as graceful, socially or otherwise. If he wanted to make a friend, he acted like an over-large, over-enthusiastic domestic canid, all eager physical proximity and vocal declarations of affection (usually no oil to stand in for slobber, unless he had missed some routine maintenance). If he wanted to persuade someone, he could usually only get his way if they couldn’t find a way to escape his stubborn, stumbly repetition of his simple arguments before they gave in through sheer exhaustion. When he had something to hide, he could only generate the most basic of lies, and the extra strain on his processors of trying to hold in his head both what was true, and an alternate reality to present to others, caused telltale tics in his vocoder.
Despite this, with a skilled partner, he was an able hype-man. His size and inexorable willingness to use it to move others could give Kaneesa the space to perform confidently and jostle-free, a leg up on others in a crowded bar. His genuine inability to talk in a quiet voice and lack of imagination meant that a skilled partner could prime him to loudly emphasize key phrases in convivial agreement or applaud at key moments -- a one-droid friendly crowd. And if anyone looked to be getting surly or disruptive, who could say whether the head-size photoreceptor shoved in their face and the accompanying flat shout “This is great. Do you not think this is great” was awkwardness or subtle threat? People forced smiles or cleared out, regardless.
He extended his protection to Cefey for at least the duration of the song, and afterwards paused a moment, quiet in the happy crowd, before speaking. “That was ver-rey nice, Miz, that was ver-rey nice. You remind of some-one.” His whole body pivots, as if he’s looking around the room. He doesn’t seem to find who he’s looking for, but he does see a familiar face. Not willing to shift from Kaneesa’s side without orders, and unconscious of any rudeness in doing so while talking to Fey, he starts having a conversation across the room without moving a step -- perhaps a little too loudly and a little too close for her comfort.
"Hey! Hel-lo Kai. It is good to see you. How are you.”
Clementine didn’t [i]totally[/i] lack [i]savoir faire.[/i] If anything, he was a heavier user than most of common parts of social speech. “Excuse me,” for example, got a lot of work as he moved through the world. “Please” and “thank you” might be used a dozen times in a single purchase (merchants who failed to find this charming tried to limit the amount of back-and-forth dialogue to the absolute minimum). And he had to be really, really upset with someone before he called them by anything but their chosen name, possibly even with a “Master” attached.
He did, however, undeniably [i]take up too much space[/i] (too wide, too much mass, too loud), and no-one would ever describe him as [i]graceful,[/i] socially or otherwise. If he wanted to make a friend, he acted like an over-large, over-enthusiastic domestic canid, all eager physical proximity and vocal declarations of affection (usually no oil to stand in for slobber, unless he had missed some routine maintenance). If he wanted to persuade someone, he could usually only get his way if they couldn’t find a way to escape his stubborn, stumbly repetition of his simple arguments before they gave in through sheer exhaustion. When he had something to hide, he could only generate the most basic of lies, and the extra strain on his processors of trying to hold in his head both what was true, and an alternate reality to present to others, caused telltale tics in his vocoder.
Despite this, with a skilled partner, he was an able hype-man. His size and inexorable willingness to use it to move others could give Kaneesa the space to perform confidently and jostle-free, a leg up on others in a crowded bar. His genuine inability to talk in a quiet voice and lack of imagination meant that a skilled partner could prime him to loudly emphasize key phrases in convivial agreement or applaud at key moments -- a one-droid friendly crowd. And if anyone looked to be getting surly or disruptive, who could say whether the head-size photoreceptor shoved in their face and the accompanying flat shout “This is great. Do you not think this is great” was awkwardness or subtle threat? People forced smiles or cleared out, regardless.
He extended his protection to Cefey for at least the duration of the song, and afterwards paused a moment, quiet in the happy crowd, before speaking. “That was ver-rey nice, Miz, that was ver-rey nice. You remind of some-one.” His whole body pivots, as if he’s looking around the room. He doesn’t seem to find who he’s looking for, but he does see a familiar face. Not willing to shift from Kaneesa’s side without orders, and unconscious of any rudeness in doing so while talking to Fey, he starts having a conversation across the room without moving a step -- perhaps a little too loudly and a little too close for her comfort.
[size=150]"Hey! Hel-lo Kai. It is good to see you. How are you.” [/size]
