thisavrou_log | just know this too shall pass [open]

Entry tags:

just know this too shall pass [open]

Who: Alan Bradley and you! (and a couple of closed prompts)
When: July 8th
Where: Around the ship
What: Alan comes back from the dead.
Warnings: Mentions of gun violence

morning | around the ship | OTA
[As it turns out, coming back from the dead isn’t too different from waking up on any other morning -- just intensified by a factor of twenty or so. He got out of the medbay about an hour ago and his head still feels like it’s in a fog. It’s difficult to follow any thought to completion and questions filter through his mind without any answers or even beginnings of answers attached: What happened to the ship? How many people survived? Wasn’t there a room here before? It’s a frustrating state to be in for someone as analytical as Alan.

You can find him wandering the ship, trying to take in the various changes wrought by the malfunctioning Ingress. Though it’s been this way for the past few days, it’s clearly all new to him. There seems to be something else distracting him as well: every once and awhile, he’ll raise a hand to gingerly touch just above his right eye. His expression always grows troubled at whatever he finds there.]

some ungodly hour of the night | science department | OTA
[It had been strange at first, returning to the place he had died. Death itself had done little to diminish the vividness of the memories. He can remember the exact sound of the door smashing in, the faces of the Caducans, the blinding, there-then-not pain of the bullet in his head. But after a few hours there, the memories at least lose their novelty.

If you happen to be out and about at night, you’ll find the light in the science department still on. Alan’s at one of the computers, eyes fixed intently on the screen. Sometimes he appears to be rapidly typing something, while other he simply stares as if lost in thought. At any rate, it’s odd he’d be there so long after every other crewman has long since turned in for the night.]

{OOC: Feel free to tag whenever! Closed prompts to be added below.}

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It’s barely noon when Alan enters the flight deck, eyes searching for the familiar red-orange glow of his program. He still feels somewhat scattered after his time in cryo, but learning of Sam’s fate had ensured he can’t allow himself to idle until the rest of those he cares about have been accounted for. It’s hardly a matter of want; he knows that the gnawing, anxious feeling in his chest won’t ease until he’s seen them alive and hopefully well. And even that won’t settle it completely -- he gets the feeling he won’t feel actually at ease until Sam is out of cryo. But checking in on his programs would at least help.

He’s still trying to wrap his head around how long he himself has been… gone. Five days. He’s still piecing together who survived the battle and who didn’t. And in Rinzler’s case, it isn’t just the battle he’s worried about.

He can’t find the program after half a circuit of the flight deck and that’s enough for the anxiety he feels to begin to inch towards dread. He changes course and walks towards the transporters themselves, thinking perhaps the program might be obscured by one of the bulky flightcraft.]

Rinzler?

Edited 2016-07-10 12:23 (UTC)

[Rinzler's been by the cryo unit. He's been, and left, and looped himself halfway to crashing. Alan-one's there. Alan-one's alive. The user will emerge (has to), but that doesn't change what happened. That doesn't change the fact that Alan-one had died while Rinzler was avoiding him.

It's another failure. It's another mistake. It was needed, it was vital, it was to protect the user, and there's a broken, desperate relief that Clu at least had nothing to do with this. It doesn't matter, though, because Alan-one died. Because Rinzler wasn't there to stop it.

The voice that comes from outside the transporters is enough to make the program freeze. It's enough, but it can't be, and he's moving without lag, a liquid fast sprint outside the transport ship. He has to see, has to be sure, and he stops as he turns the corner, visuals confirming and aligning to the bright sense resparking in his core. User. Creator. Rinzler stalls, noise rattling out unevenly as his circuits shiver with a brief flicker of blue-white.]

[The sudden sight of the program comes as a relief. Even before the battle, it had been weeks since Alan had seen Rinzler in person and the circumstances of their last conversation had only deepened Alan’s apprehension at his absence. Even the flicker of blue assuages some of the more troubling worries plaguing him -- if Clu had managed to reprogram Rinzler, Alan doubts he’d let the potential for such a display go unrectified.]

It’s alright. I’m… [Here. Awake. Unharmed. All things that should be impossible, and yet--] ...alive. Again. [The statement is somehow both obvious and implausible, and Alan’s tone is enough to show that he’s still having trouble believing it himself.]

[Alive matters. Unspeakably so. His user is alive, and his user is here, and far too much of Rinzler's code is ready to crash at that alone. He wants to close his eyes and bask in the core-deep tug of his creator's presence. He wants to crumble, but he doesn't. He can't. Because alive matters, but again does too.

Alan-one died because he hadn't been there.

Noise stutters, erratic and harsh, but still oddly quiet. Lights fluctuate, the spark of blue-white lingering. He wants to apologize. He wants to, and maybe he could, but how would that correct anything? No, he doesn't get to beg forgiveness for that failure. Especially like this. Circuits even to a dull red-orange, and Rinzler's helmet bows.

He's glad Alan-one is back.]

[Alan watches Rinzler’s circuits stabilize to their default red-orange as whatever conflict the program had been experiencing seems to ease. For his own part, Alan’s feels his own anxiety also begin to settle. Rinzler seems to have sustained some injuries during the battle but none of them look too serious, and more than that, he seems himself. After so much has gone wrong, it’s a relief to know that at least that much is still true.

He walks towards the program, glancing again at the shallow cracks that spider across his frame. None of them compare to the damage that Alan had seen on Rinzler after his fight with Peter and there are already faded lines that mark where the fissures have begun to heal. Good. That means there’s likely no need for repair at a disk level.

He stops a short distance away, close enough that they can speak somewhat privately.] How have you been holding up? [Voice quiets some.] No trouble keeping yourself safe?

[Eyes slide up behind the mask as Alan-one steps closer, but Rinzler locks down firmly on the urge to flinch back. He shrugs inward a little instead, shoulders sloped and hands half-open at his sides. The pose is default, standard. The pose is wrong, obedience and submission owed to Clu and Clu alone. His admin hasn't vanished. If Clu sees him with Alan-one, Rinzler knows better than to think he'll stop at words.

Rinzler had known that before, too. He'd rejected Alan-one's call, refused to answer his questions. He'd thought he could protect his user better by disobeying his commands, and the consequences of that presumption had been unimaginably worse. He can't make the same mistake again.

Still, his empty disk port feels far too glaring of a flaw, and processing sparks with sharp relief when Alan-one stops in front instead of circling. The helmet dips a little (fine; he's fine), shakes from side to side in confirmation. No trouble. Alan-one derezzed. Rinzler doesn't know why he's the one receiving status queries.]

[Even with the weeks that have passed since his and Rinzler’s last face-to-face conversation, the difference in the program’s affect is difficult to miss. The way he seems to shrink in on himself is much more reminiscent of a time before all this, when Alan had first been on the ship and every move he made seemed to be a misstep. At least this time, the cause isn’t nearly so cryptic; Rinzler hadn’t wanted to see Alan in person and now that Alan is actually looking, the reason why quickly becomes obvious.

The space above the program’s lowered shoulders is empty, lacking the sharp curve of a disk. The realization brings with it a sense of sudden, visceral dread -- the last time Alan had seen Rinzler without his disk, Alice had been holding it out to him while Rinzler hung paralyzed at her side -- but logic quickly catches up with him. Rinzler doesn’t have his disk. Rinzler doesn’t appear to have been recoded. The natural conclusion is that wherever the disk is, it isn’t with Clu.

Not you. That had been Rinzler’s response when Alan had offered his help. That doesn’t mean Rinzler couldn’t have found someone else. Alan sighs, feeling that earlier sense of foreboding begin to ebb -- if he’s still concerned, there’s at least less of an edge to it now that he can see the board more clearly.]

What I said last time, about being willing to help if you need it -- that still stands. [And it always will.] But… I think now I understand why you didn’t want to tell me anything. [He nods towards the absence, eyes flicking briefly to where the program’s disk should be and isn’t.] It’s probably safer if fewer people know.

[No move to step behind. But the direction of his user's gaze is impossible to miss, and Rinzler freezes as he realizes the mistake in his bowed hunch. Of course Alan-one would see; of course he'd know (and Rinzler never should have hidden it at all). He doesn't move, won't run away again, but the program's noise rattles out harshly, building louder.

But for all that Alan-one clearly recognizes the absence... there's no sign of censure. Not even a demand to explain. Understanding is the last response Rinzler had expected, and certainly nothing he's earned. The tense lock falters, mask rising uncertainly. Safer. He'd thought it would be, but Rinzler doesn't know at all which of of his own decisions could have been right after that.

Sound quiets, and his helmet ducks in a small nod.]

[The build of Rinzler’s noise doesn’t escape Alan’s notice, nor does its lessening, and he finds himself wondering what kind of reaction the program had been expecting. Anger, perhaps? Frustration is a better word to describe what Alan had felt being cut out of the loop those few weeks earlier, but that had been frustration at not knowing if Rinzler had a way to protect himself. Now that he knows that he does, it’s relief he feels, not resentment. More than relief, really.]

Whatever steps you’ve taken, I’m… glad they’ve kept you safe. [A small smile at the obviousness of the statement.] Honestly, when we first talked about it, I was worried that you didn’t have a plan at all. [Or that Rinzler’s coding was restrictive enough that he couldn’t have one. But if Alan is somewhat guilty for his assumption, it’s hard to miss the pride in his voice at being proven wrong.] It seems I was underestimating you.

[Glad. Worried. The descriptors aren't really a surprise, but it's the way they're said that has the program's stare twitching upward in bewilderment. Speech has always been forbidden, but Rinzler knows how to listen. He knows what to listen for. And this... there's no reason at all that his user should be proud of what he's done.

Eyes stay on Alan-one out of habit, but Rinzler reaches for his MID without pausing for permission to confirm.]

Should have told you.

[The stare stays fixed (waiting), but the program's circuits dim visibly. He should have a lot of things.]

[Alan’s eyes scan over the line of text, expression changing to one of muted surprise at the sentiment expressed there. Rinzler had seemed very obstinate about keeping his plans a secret when Alan had first broached the subject -- in fact, it seems the program has been avoiding him in order to prevent further discussion. Is he expressing remorse now because he thinks it’s what Alan wants to hear? Or has something actually gone wrong?]

Why do you say that? [As concerned as Alan is about the possible implications of the admission, his tone is patient, the question left open-ended; experience has taught him that demanding to know if something is wrong is the fastest way to get either a misleading answer from Rinzler or no response at all.]

[The program's stare doesn't break, but there's a strain to the pause that follows. Fingers curl. The helmet twitches a little haltingly to one side.

Does he really need to say it?]

Died.

[The response is so unexpected -- so disconnected from what Alan had thought they were speaking about -- that for a moment, all he can do is stare at that single word projected into the space between them. Then he shakes his head.]

Rinzler… What the Caducans did had nothing to do with you. It wasn’t your fault. [Of that, Alan is completely certain. Rinzler had been out defending the Moira and its crew -- that’s more than Alan could have asked of him. Alan’s death had been a result of the Caducans’ malice and his own carelessness; and certainly knowing about Rinzler’s plans wouldn’t have changed either of those things.]

[Noise rises, a static whir backdropping Alan's vehemence. It could be conflict. With Alan in the equation, some of the increase certainly is. But there's something else, something voicelessly stubborn to the clipped beats and the sharp incline of the program's mask.]

Avoiding you.

[Because he didn't want to talk. Because he didn't want to listen to Alan-one's request. Dim lights flicker, and if there's no change of color this time, the rhythm is still far too sharp and fractured.]

Wrote us for security.

[Us. Tron. Not Rinzler, not really; he's far too corrupted to claim the title. But that's the function he was supposed to fill for Alan-one. That or serve, but by either metric, he failed, and the user died for it.]

[If the words flashed out from Rinzler’s MID make his reasoning a little more clear, they still don’t make it right. Normally, Alan might take the flickering lights that accompany the program’s words as a warning to ease off, to let the issue lie, but this is one contention that he can’t let go: Rinzler wasn’t responsible for his death and Alan won’t allow the belief that he was to go unchallenged.]

System security, [he corrects, Rinzler’s words echoing Tron’s in his head. ’You wrote us to be fighters.’] That means protecting the Moira as a whole, not just me. And that’s what you were doing. Whether you were avoiding me or not, I wouldn’t have asked any differently of you.

[There's a fractional twitch of fingers at the program's side. System security. But he isn't; he's the Grid's enforcer. He has to serve Clu. Protect Alan-one. Lights shiver just a little sharper.

He doesn't know what he's supposed to do.

He doesn't, but he knows this is still wrong, whatever the user would or wouldn't ask. The black mask bows, circuits resettling to an even burn. There's no attempt at argument, no effort to match his user's stare. But every line of Rinzler's frame reads frustration rather than assent.

Alan-one still died, and he still wasn't there to stop it.]

[Alan watches Rinzler for another beat, gaze troubled as he takes in the tension still held in every line of the program’s frame. It seems grief can be just as complicated – and irrational -- for programs as it can be for everyone else. But for all Alan has had plenty of experience dealing with grief, both that of himself and others, he’s never had to deal with anyone mourning him before. After a moment, he gives a slight shake of his head, voice quiet when he speaks.]

Sometimes when things go wrong, it’s easier to blame ourselves for making the wrong decision instead of accepting that it was out of our control. You couldn’t have known I was in danger – no matter what you’d done differently before. I don’t blame you for that. Nobody should. [He can’t change how Rinzler feels. But the program should at least know that Alan himself doesn’t hold him responsible in the slightest for what happened during the battle. He hopes that’s enough to make some difference.]

Anyway, I’m alive now. And I don’t plan on having an… absence like that again.

[The enforcer's mask stays low, noise stuttering out raggedly. His user's right. His user can't be. It has to have been Rinzler's fault, because he's made to win, and this loss was far too much for any metric of his code to process. He has to have failed, because that means he could have done better. If he'd made the right choices. If he'd trusted, or obeyed, or worked the way he was designed.

Rinzler has to know that if he does things right, if he [protects] [serves] [fights] the way he's written to... he can keep it from happening again.

The user's promise isn't that, but it's dismissal at least, from a line of processing already sick and strained with looping. Rinzler's gaze comes up reluctantly, hesitating before he recalls the text prompt on his MID.]

Status?

[Rerezz doesn't come without a price, here. Rinzler knows.]

[If the change in subject isn’t acceptance, it at least suggests Rinzler knows he isn’t changing Alan’s mind on the matter. Maybe that’s the best Alan can hope for right now.]

I’m fine. [As far as he knows, anyway.] Just tired. Seems that I got off lightly. [The small smile that accompanies the words is distracted and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It isn’t as if everybody had been so lucky. For one, it doesn’t feel right that he should be back while Sam’s still in cryo. Alan had died and they had brought him back with seemingly no problems; what kind of shape would Sam have to be in for him to still be in stasis?

But that isn’t a matter for Rinzler to concern himself with. Alan does his best to push the issue to the back of his mind for now, at least as much as he can.]

Do you know if there were any other casualties during the fight? Anyone who still hasn’t… come back?

[The black helmet fixes on Alan with a stillness that might suggest uncertainty. Or outright doubt. Scans are useless as far as assessing users, and there's no obvious damage to functions or frame. But somehow Rinzler doubts the admins' methods were kind enough to spare his user of all side effects.

...Or that Alan-one would report accurately if they did. Still, it's not as if he can do anything about it, so Rinzler's helmet ducks in a nod instead, accepting the redirect.]

Multiple deletions aligned with Moira: multiple users, majority of monsters aboard ship.

[He can provide a specific listing, but he'll wait to see if his user narrows the field of interest first. It's not a short list.]

Rerezz count: partial. Stasis units in use.

[Alan silently takes in the words that scroll up from the program’s MID. Users. Monsters. But no mention of any casualties among the other programs. He shouldn’t feel relief, not when others have lost their lives, but he does, sharp and rueful. He had been speaking with Tron when the Caducans had broken in. The program is more than capable of taking care of himself, Alan knows, but after hearing something like that, even the most capable might falter.

He refocuses on the next line of text that flashes up, frowning when he reads that not everyone who was killed has come back – “rerezzed,” as Rinzler says. He doesn’t know what separates himself from those people, if there is any reason at all or if it’s simply a matter of dumb luck.]

Who still hasn’t come back? [he asks, a list of possible names already forming in his mind. Death isn’t always permanent here, but that doesn’t mean it never is, and he's come to value many of their crewmates here. If there’s a chance any of them might not be returning, he wants to know.]

[Rinzler's mask ducks, fingers flitting over the holographic keys as line after line scrolls out. The tally isn't short, and there are a few unknowns marked in: crewmembers whose disappearance has yet to be publicly attributed to any one factor. Or whose bodies have yet to turn up.

Still, some are a much more certain bet. Sans. Elizabeth. And, of course, another name on the listing for in cryo that Alan won't have any trouble picking out.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

just know this too shall pass [open]

closed to rinzler;

Sorry for taking forever!

it's fine, it happens!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

I spent forever combing the hiatus/drop page for a full list and then said fuck it :|b