Define your meaning of fun

[notglitching]

Who: Rinzler and OPEN
When: After the Moira leaves Emiri, before the events on the 16th
Where: Training Simulation Room, Moro #9, and In Your Ceiling
What: Shenanigans with a side of larcenous roommates
Warnings: Probable violence and a Rinzler, but nothing awful planned

A. Training Simulation Room (Open)

When Rinzler had heard of the training area, his initial response had been disinterest. Defeating phantoms served no purpose, and he wasn't some beta to need training on the very function he was made for. Still, as time stretched out without a proper fight, the need to move started to weigh higher. And if recent events had left him singularly unimpressed with the system's response protocols to a threat, it probably wasn't worth attacking more of his fellow imports. At least, not until he found a target worth deleting.

Still, as the program stood out in the hallway, orange-lit fingers moving quickly over the soft blue of the control console, the ironies were harder to escape. A system in front of him, written for combat. For Games. And here he was, outside, stuck fighting the data-shadows it produced. Rinzler should be in there. He wanted a real battle, not some user-tailored simulation. The enforcer took what satisfaction he could in overriding the safety settings, doubling the pre-loaded templates and setting threat difficulty up to maximum.

The door slid open with a soft chime, and Rinzler stepped into the center, reaching back for his joined disk. But as long seconds ticked by, nothing happened. No lights. No sounds but his own constant rumble. Then:

"Waiting for voice activation."

Noise skipped, mute rattle glitching louder as Rinzler's helmet turned to glower out the door. Those programs definitely needed wiping.


B. Pick your location, (nearly) any location (Open)

While it hadn't rated particularly highly as a threat, Rinzler almost regretted that the beta-user had been killed. Its attack had been an interesting diversion, and if it had gotten away in the end... well, even that had proven educational. The vent-space Chara had escaped through was too small for the enforcer to pursue, but further investigation found larger access paths concealed behind more casings on the walls. Worth securing. Worth mapping. And of course, there was only one way to manage that properly.

Anyone in the cargo bay, barracks, or other main living areas might start to hear some sounds. A scraping in the walls. A ticking rumble echoing through the ceiling. Rinzler moves quietly for the most part, but the navigational difficulties are many and new, and it's difficult to assess when the shape of the passages might carry sound to occupants below. If someone were to look into the ventilation at the right time, they might even see a dim red-orange glow peering back through the darkness. Not that Rinzler's watching you. Necessarily.


C. Moro #9 (Closed to Napoleon Nathaniel)

As much time as Rinzler spent traveling the halls (and air ducts) of the ship, his own room was an almost uncommon waypoint. There was no function to be served inside, and the enforcer slept as rarely as he could. For the most part, Rinzler used it as a storage unit. With barely a handful of items in his possession (and most of those pointless user clothes), he didn't take much space.

On the other hand, it didn't take much effort to notice when those items were disturbed. The first time he'd come back to find his things minutely shifted, Rinzler had offered a flat stare across the room, but no further commentary. Data gathering was a logical goal, and he didn't care enough about any of the objects to object to the intrusion. If the user laid a hand on his disk, it was losing the appendage, but it seemed intelligent enough to know where to stay clear.

At least, until he stopped by and found things missing from his stash. Not the uniforms or the discarded weapons, but the supply of resource tokens they'd been distributed as a reward. Useless on the ship, but necessary for supply exchange on user planets. Valuable.

This time, the stare lasts longer. It comes with a low, building growl.

[[ooc: will match prose or spam!]]

Comments

Barracks

[a_shadow]

A major part of being a teacher is studying, Tex has found, and after she gets done with her cleaning duties for the day she takes a small stack of texts back to her room to peruse them. She picks one up and leaves the others at the foot of her bunk, sitting cross-legged, and bends her head over the book to page through it.

She's dimly aware that she has started to hear something as she has been sitting here, and the more she pays attention, the closer the scrapings and thumpings seem to come. "Who's doing that?" she asks at one point, and not getting an answer means she stands and pokes her head out in the hall to investigate. But that's too far away, she realizes right away—whatever she's been hearing is in the room and it's near.

She stands in the middle, waiting, but since nothing is happening now she approaches the vent on a whim and peers between the slats.

[notglitching]

Rinzler might not have particular experience with teaching (or with vents), but surveillance is a specialty. He's spent a thousand cycles as the Grid's enforcer, hunting malfunctions through stable sectors and through war zones, prowling the reaches of the outlands in search of the [target] [user] [threat]. He's spent considerably less time in these user systems, but when the first one had trapped him in a user body, observation had been vital. He'd learned to eat, to clean, to keep his new frame running and alive, by copying their protocols.

He'd learned, too, that there were places users preferred strongly not to be observed.

Living quarters didn't top the list, but they ranked highly. When the voice calls out, the enforcer freezes, constant rumble skipping a beat before acquiring a static edge. Rinzler damps the sound quickly, holding still as the user stands and moves and runs her search. He's not quite fast enough to kill the lights. As Tex peers into the wide slats of the ventilation duct, she'll see four streaks of red-orange circuitry glowing back at her, like some bizarre creature with too many eyes.

[a_shadow]

The evidence of someone being in the ducts are unmistakable, and Tex doesn't like the implications that anyone can fool around in the vent work and end up in the barracks. She moves the slats of the vent so they're wide open and frowns.

"I don't know what you think you're doing in there but you'd better come out," she says. And she digs her fingers in at the edge of the vent plate to see if the whole thing will slide out.

Training Simulation

[needsnoface]

BB had been amused to catalog and follow certain members in this crew without actually interacting with them unless they interacted with him first. After all so many tend to act differently when they know someone is watching them and thus much harder to get an actual read on them. This one had caught his curiosity early on and when the larger air circulation vents had been mapped by the other he had followed the path using the hiccups in the air flow the environmental suite had displayed.

So of course when that particular individual overrides safety settings in the Simulations he decided to pop his main processes into that mess.

"You know I do believe that MID on your arm may be able to help you in this little quandary you have found yourself in. That is if you don't want to be reliant on another to start the simulation for you."

Of course that little feature wasn't exactly a popular one considering so many people could naturally speak on this ship. Though, this Rinzler seemed smart enough to figure out the text to audio function on his own once he learned to look for it.

Assuming before BB's network broadcast?

[notglitching]

The change in the voice coming through the speakers immediately and neatly diverts any considerations Rinzler had about solving his problem with disks. Or at the very least, makes him reassess which problem might require it. The black mask tips fractionally, but there are no users outside the door. Harder to rule out someone hacking into the system by remote, of course. Probably, that's all it was.

Still, there's something about that electronic flange that sounds familiar. Not the inflectionless automation of the previous warning, or the occasional edge of static that chased user voices over a bad line. This sounded like any program might... inside the system. With the exception of his double's voice (not permitted; wrong), it's not something Rinzler's heard since he left home.

Noise rattles out steadily as Rinzler reaches for his MID. The function's clear enough when he goes looking, and he shoves back the spark of irritation that he'd overlooked something so basic. The audio that outputs is flat and robotic, lacking any of the complexity of the other speaker. Still, it should do the job.

"Purpose: assistance?"

Let's assume such yes

[needsnoface]

"Assisting just to assist, and to sate a curiosity really. Not many would override safety measures to give themselves even more of a challenge."

Mostly because those BB was aware of who would be bored with such basic simulation would just go out and find real world fights to get into. Then again, this ship seemed very keen on peace and getting along with no real outlets for aggression. Which was a bit concerning considering there wasn't any form of cohesive task force to deal with outside threats onboard. Really it was like they were asking for the crew to scramble in panic during any hostile event.

"Besides at least this way you know someone is able to call for medical aide if you get in over your head. Don't mind me I'll just sit back and watch to see how you do."

Barracks

[pleasereset]

Asriel was off exploring on his own when he hears the ticking. It sets his nerves on edge almost instantly, even though he has no idea what the sounds could be. Against his better judgement, he follows the sound to the vents. At first, there's just darkness. But right as Asriel starts to turn his attention away, he sees the glow out of the corner of his eye.

"AH-!"

He stumbles back, nearly tripping over his own feet. His heart wants to leap out of his chest. What was that?

"H-hello...?"

[notglitching]

A lot of Rinzler qualifies for "glow", and in this particular instance, the circuitry being spotted isn't at eye level. Rinzler stills at the yelp, noise quieting quickly. Maybe he hasn't been detected. Maybe the user(?)'s just having its own glitch.

At the greeting, odds on 'maybe' move from slim toward none. The enforcer shifts back a little, and if the motion's careful to not betray more sound, it won't take long for Asriel to see the four streaks of light that frame Rinzler's helmet peering back at him through the vent.

[pleasereset]

Ah, that's a... human? Asriel's not sure. He sees the streaks of light, but it doesn't give him an idea of who or what's in there. At least they don't seem to be hostile?

"Um... Howdy! Are you stuck?"

[warandpeace]

☄ Training Simulation Room

Miller was in close proximity of the training simulation room. Mostly he did come up with scenarios for it. There was a reason he delved into military books on the ship, took in the histories of different worlds. Because when he had access to this, he could plant people in the middle of similar scenarios, make them work out their own solutions, find victory against their own battles.

The setting change to maximum drew his attention, and he went to the training room to see who was there. He was actually surprised to see it was Rinzler. Didn't realize that it would be something he was interested in.

Probably better for him to vent in there than on the ship.

"Having trouble?" He asked, moving pretty quickly with his crutch as he came in. Surprisingly, he didn't approach him with any nervousness, despite knowing what he did. Figured that Rinzler knew he wasn't a threat.

[notglitching]

The enforcer's glower focus shifted quickly to the figure coming in the door... though on recognizing Kazuhira_Miller, the edge to Rinzler's posture blunted some. Noise still rumbled out a little sharper with frustration, but the pause before the enforcer nodded was closer to hesitant than menacing.

The disk in his left hand passed over to his right, inner ring burning a steady red-orange even with the outer rim unlit. Hand free to access his MID, it didn't take long for the usual holographic textbox to appear.

Voice activation: suboptimal.

[warandpeace]

He grunted softly at that, before nodding for Rinzler to walk with him back into the room.

"The voice activation is to be sure that the person is ready for the program to start, and won't accidentally initiate it. You can use the MID's text to voice function for it as well.

"But if you want, I can start it for you." He walked back to stand at the door, tapping his MID. "What is it that you're wanting to practice in here in particular."

b / cargo bay!

[kickbancaboose]

When Church first hears the rumbling hum reverberating from the ceiling, he's on his way back from work and too tired to stop and investigate. It's only when he's mid-way back to his room that he realizes what that sound actually sounds like, and he turns on his heel to double back and follow the noise as it scratch-drags through the vents.

His first thought is that he had no idea there were actual live cats aboard the Moira, and his second thought is why the fuck are there cats in space. His third thought is that he hates cats, but that he should probably get the damned thing out of the vents before it hurts itself.

Or before it inevitably ends up in the walls surrounding his room and keeps him awake at night.

He follows the noise through to the cargo bay, stopping only briefly to grab a broom that'd been left abandoned in a nearby corridor. There's a vent just above the door, and Church braces himself in the corner and lifts the broom to start prodding at the grating with a few sharp pokes and a quietly hissed here, kitty, kitty.

[notglitching]

The cargo bay had been his entry point, and Rinzler's vaguely pleased to have successfully navigated his way back. While there were numerous side routes still to explore, and doubtless many more byways too small to pass through, he had a working route from the ship's living quarters to its transports, with dozens of exit points along the way. Invaluable for ambush or evasion.

The sound of footsteps below is no concern. Even the faint thunk of impact against the vent only draws the briefest glance. He'll be out of the way by the time they have it open.

But at the whisper that hisses upward through the gaps? Rinzler stalls. Stares. That even, satisfied purr of sound stutters a beat... not with anger, but with incredulity.

It can't be serious.

[kickbancaboose]

Cats are so insufferable.

When the prodding at the grating doesn't work, Church swears and pauses to reassess his plan. The damned animal seems to have momentarily stopped moving, if the sudden silence above him is any indication, but he's sure that he only has a few moments of action before it starts scrambling through the vents and moves completely out of his reach.

He's not quite tall enough to reach the vent without the broom, so he turns and kicks a sturdy, plywood storage box beneath the door and climbs on top. The vent cover pulls free with a few hard tugs, and he tosses it carelessly aside, cringing at it scrapes across the floor and crashes with a heavy, metallic thunk into the wall.

"All right." Better make this quick. Church pushes himself onto his toes and reaches a hand inside the venting channel, groping around blindly. "If you don't get your furry ass out of there I'll drag you out myself."

[Closed to Rinzler]

[whoami]

Sam didn't really have a proper room (well he did, he just wasn't staying in it) so when he was packing his stuff up, his Moira uniform got folded then added to the bag. But seeing that white band of circuit on his arm didn't feel the way he thought it would. That part of Sam was numb. Though it would be more accurate to say that he'd had an answer to the one open-ended question that had defined a lot of his life from the time he was a small child.

Approaching the cargo hold without his uniform meant that Sam was going to stand out. And not only was he going to stand out he would attract attention. Both mostly because he was actually his own light source. With just the one strap on his backpack, Sam set it out of the way and came in empty-handed.

"Hello? Look, I did some snooping and your MID is listed in here."

[notglitching]

The cargo bay was one of Rinzler's most frequent haunts—and only partly because he'd been assigned there. The area was wide and open, with plenty of useful tasks and no shortage on space to do it in.

Of course, it also had plenty of crewmembers assigned to fill the need... which made the target of Sam's call not entirely clear. Still, the user was in luck. Regardless of his target, Rinzler's sound was the answer that came back, a low rumble vibrating through the decking and echoing between the walls of crates stacked around the entrance. The source is difficult to pin down, but wherever the enforcer is, he doesn't sound friendly.

A

[unyieldinghope]

Sometimes, one needed something familiar to an extent to get past the weirdness of, well... Alright, no. Sometimes, X just needed a distraction that ate up all of his attention, and training simulations did just that, much as he was (even now) not a fan of violence. It'd become a necessary evil, and training at least kept him sharp and, well, again with the distraction aspect. Still not quite past the "space ship, nowhere near home" thing, not past the stress over being unable to return to duty and leaving things in Zero's hands because things were still up in the air with Axl, and--

Oh. X's internal chorus (because that's what it was, at this point) quieted when he stepped inside. Oh; someone was already set up? ...not that there was any activity running, though X might have just glanced over the settings. Confident, huh? Or just antsy (reminded him of someone). But then why was nothing running? Simple enough just to check, right?

Again the door chimed, slid open, and X took one step into the room; hopefully nothing had happened to the person who originally set this session.

"Is everything alright?"

[notglitching]

As things happened, the person who'd set the session was reaching for the door himself. When it opened from the other side, Rinzler stopped, inactive disk still clenched in his left hand. Hunched was the enforcer's default posture, but it didn't take familiarity to read the extra edge in the tense shoulders and coiled frame. The enforcer's noise rattled out in a low growl, each catch and tick of sound quickening with irritation.

All right? No. Still, if he had anger to spare for the intruder, Rinzler's frustration was aimed elsewhere for the moment. Namely, that console just beyond. The black helmet jerked sideways, a curt nonverbal command. Get out of his way.

i am so sorry for the late tag in

[smoothaf]

Every time Rinzler walks into the room Napoleon pretends to be busy doing something else while carefully watching his moves. This time he's sitting in one of the bean bags and holds a book open at a random page. The missing coins in question currently sit in his pockets as he hadn't had the chance to stash them away before Rinzler returned.

The growling is odd and he knows what he's being accused of, but he takes a moment before lowering his book and offering a sanguine smile.

"You sound like a cat."

no worries!

[notglitching]

The skip in the sound is neither feline nor amused. Rinzler's had enough animal comparisons to last his entire runtime, and if anyone should be used to his sound, it's this user. Then again, it's becoming clear Nathaniel knows Rinzler a lot less than he'd assumed.

He picks his way closer, stopping just in front of the seat. The enforcer's posture is unusually still, attention not twitching from the reclining user, even as one circuit-lined hand reaches for his MID.

Return.

The user knows what. The user knows why. And by Rinzler's standards, this much warning is obscenely generous.

/carries starbucks

[heart_breaking]

They hear him before they see him. Ticking, clicking, that faintest rattle that tugged on Chara's unprepared memory--realization hits them as though they'd run face first into the vent wall (again), and they drop flat like a rodent, turning off their MID's glow. Safe?

... Idiot, of course not! They can't just lay there, this is the only way to the latest intersection, and they're blocking the whole thing! Chara scrambles back into motion as quietly as they can, backing up.

The sound's quality changes as it echoes in the passage they're directly connected to, and they jerk their head up. They see tiny lights, little more than accents on that freak opponent's suit. Chara's eyes bulge. A vivid image of what that ridiculous frisbee weapon would look like pelting straight at their face seizes them. It's followed by brilliant guesses of what the ensuing results would be.

Screw quiet. They're backing up as fast as they can.

~no chocolate~

[notglitching]

Rinzler's explorations have taught him a lot. He knows new access routes across a full third of the ship. He's gotten a sense of how noise carries. Evaluating the rush of warm or cool wind through certain shafts, he thinks he's even beginning to understand at least a little of their purpose. Still, if there's one thing Rinzler is certain of after days of analysis?

It's that for the most part, ventilation shafts are very boring.

No threats. No targets. Creative maneuvering required on occasion, but always cramped and close, without the room for anything flashy. While the routes are useful on numerous fronts, they're hardly entertaining.

At least, until audio picks up the shift and scuttle of something in retreat.

Approach would be one thing. Rinzler would be interested, certainly, to detect another presence, but any number of qualifiers might have been assessed to calculate response. But someone audibly, obviously running away? [Prey.] The tag is applied without any thought at all, and Rinzler shifts forward in immediate pursuit. Who or what is secondary to catching the target, and if he's disadvantaged by his size, Rinzler has no doubts he can make up for it through sheer speed.

Training room, 2/14

[hellsbel]

"Looking for something specific?" Or maybe someone, but there was no chance the program wouldn't take that the wrong way. One look through the door explained the jimmied settings, and the program's hunched shoulders and raised hand explained the rest.

Bel stepped inside, stunner still hanging from their belt. Normally, it would have gone in a locker, but with Rinzler in the room, keeping it handy was only practical. It had taken longer than Bel had wanted to reach peak performance again after landing in medbay that time, but growing lax wasn't an option -- not here -- and the sparring simulations had helped, taking away the complacency of training with friends.

Rinzler was still an enigma, though. Explanations aside -- living programs, living systems trapped in feudal hierarchies while their Users spun onwards all unknowing -- even in denying the applicability of human values to programs' lives, Rinzler had reacted like a person, not a machine... and in ways that aren't unfamiliar.

"Or do you have it set on 'deadly war zone' for fun?"

[notglitching]

Rinzler's glare had been meant for the console, but the user that stepped into the gap was just as valid a target. This one. The stun shots might not have left any lasting damage, but they weren't anything Rinzler planned to forget—any more than he would the conversation that had come after.

For now, the black mask angled slightly, taking in the user's questions along with its gun. Was it here to try its luck again? Rinzler's raised hand closed easily around a joined orange ring, undocking his own weapon with a deceptively casual click. Its outer edge stayed unlit for the moment, hand lowering casually to the program's side, but Rinzler's motions remained fluid, balanced even from the stooped hunch. He'd come in here to fight. Hard to say if the user was planning on the same, but certainly, he wasn't letting it displace him.

To the words, Rinzler only offered a shrug. Maybe he had. Why did it care?