Rinzler / Tron (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notglitching) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-02-14 05:46 am
notglitching) wrote in thisavrou_log2016-02-14 05:46 am
Entry tags:
Define your meaning of fun
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 toNapoleon 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!]]
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
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!]]
no subject
That's never been Rinzler's favorite sort of fight.
As distracted as both combatants are, there's not much need for subterfuge. Rinzler's first disk hums through the air, severing that damaged shoulder at the joint. The second, he rebounds off the ceiling—not necessary, but the angle's better there. It drops into the target's spine and sticks, lodging deep in their gut. Rinzler eyes the ensuing gore with distaste, raising a hand for his returning disk as he makes his way toward the corpse. It had better derezz soon. Still, the ticking rumble echoing through the room is a little smoother now. Satisfied... and maybe a bit smug.
Four-two, user.
no subject
The first disc hits the wounded enemy just as Bel's hand closes around the metal bar. The clutching hand spasms; Bel pulls free, whipping around with the bar raised just as the second disc severs the soldier's spine.
It's almost anticlimactic.
Bel straightens slowly, hand flexing on the bar to ease clenched fingers. A look over in Rinzler's direction confirms the rest of the opponents eliminated, even as the disced one emits a shattered breath and sinks rapidly from shock into death. One by one, they flicker out of existence.
The digital blood is the last to go, realistic to the final spatter. Whoever programmed this thing has a vile mind. Perfect for it, really.
The lodged disc doesn't disappear with the rest of the weapons, clattering to the floor instead. So they don't always return to his hand.... Bel turns to the approaching program, face bloodless and inexpressive but for a nod of appreciative respect.
"Fun, got it." The smile is humorless, but it's encouraging that the settings hadn't been about a death-wish. "Is that what it's like in your world?"
Not on, but in. Bel's caught up a little since the last time they'd talked.
no subject
On the bright side, it's put him in a good enough mood not to mind.
The sticky liquid is still fading from his blade when Rinzler stops beside it, but for all his dislike of the blood, he wastes no time at all retrieving the fallen disk. This user might not have been the one keeping Rinzler's weapons from him after the fight, but it was close enough to the incident to set the program on edge. No one is taking his disks from him again. It's only once his blades (his backups) are safely melded in one grip that Rinzler reaches across to key the MID display.
No blood.
The mask cocks, again inspecting the user.
No stopping, either.
There's no particular challenge to the words (though certainly, Rinzler wouldn't refuse one). Just fact. Only one combatant leaves the final round of Disk Wars alive.
no subject
"Little cubes instead, the way you are out here?" All the more unsettling that Rinzler hadn't modified the simulation to resemble his own world. Desensitizing himself? He certainly hadn't hesitated last time.
There's something magnetic about Rinzler in combat, a sharp contrast with his body language in other situations. It's almost as if he's more complete, more present -- more alive. Or unleashed.
Bel eyes Rinzler contemplatively. "I've visited a planet where they breed animals for death matches, just so bored robber barons have something to watch. They do it with humans, too. That kind of thing is illegal most everywhere else. There are still wars and invasions, scenes like this--" a slight head-tilt acknowledging the vanished carnage; on reflection, they have seen worse. "We just demand more complicated reasons. Rinzler, are you free?"
no subject
Rinzler had hesitated.
As it is, the masked stare lingers, matching the user's own as it dances lightly over dangerous ground. He's not one of their animals. It slips just past open comparison, though, circling back to a question just as faulty, if in an entirely different set of ways. There's a skip of sound before the red-lit fingers move to answer.
Told you.
User standards. Don't work.