[Rinzler's gaze is still aimed at his captive, voice dark and sharp and slick with loathing. The weaker program's noise is building, lights brightening with a flicker of blue, and again, the stutter rises: clear and harsh—]
User—
[The hand fisted in his mask slams forward, cutting off the plea with a hard impact: face to ground. The collision adds a new crack to audio, but it's hard to tell whether the sound comes from Rinzler or his mask. Certainly, the enforcer couldn't say. Hard edges press against the cuts already in his face—one mess of broken voxels ground against the next.]
Shut up.
[The shadow leans in, grip shifting to press down on the back of Rinzler's neck, weight swallowing his struggles.]
We've all heard that line before. [Eyes flash up to Alan, expression lighting to a grin. Conspiratorial. Inclusive, and his voice pitches to match.] It's tiring, isn't it? No matter how many times he tries, it just won't take.
[An elbow smashes back, colliding with the shadow's ribs to no effect. Graceful as liquid, it folds forward, mouth descending to the side of Rinzler's head.]
You made your choice. You don't get to keep playacting Tron when it's convenient. And remember? He likes you better this way.
[Bowing. Pathetic. Weak, subservient, and small. Rinzler leans back, attention returning to the pair above—only to startle out a laugh, staring at Alan.]
no subject
[Rinzler's gaze is still aimed at his captive, voice dark and sharp and slick with loathing. The weaker program's noise is building, lights brightening with a flicker of blue, and again, the stutter rises: clear and harsh—]
User—
[The hand fisted in his mask slams forward, cutting off the plea with a hard impact: face to ground. The collision adds a new crack to audio, but it's hard to tell whether the sound comes from Rinzler or his mask. Certainly, the enforcer couldn't say. Hard edges press against the cuts already in his face—one mess of broken voxels ground against the next.]
Shut up.
[The shadow leans in, grip shifting to press down on the back of Rinzler's neck, weight swallowing his struggles.]
We've all heard that line before. [Eyes flash up to Alan, expression lighting to a grin. Conspiratorial. Inclusive, and his voice pitches to match.] It's tiring, isn't it? No matter how many times he tries, it just won't take.
[An elbow smashes back, colliding with the shadow's ribs to no effect. Graceful as liquid, it folds forward, mouth descending to the side of Rinzler's head.]
You made your choice. You don't get to keep playacting Tron when it's convenient. And remember? He likes you better this way.
[Bowing. Pathetic. Weak, subservient, and small. Rinzler leans back, attention returning to the pair above—only to startle out a laugh, staring at Alan.]
The look on your face! I like that.
Still, you know this is what he's for.