A circuit of consciousness

[notglitching]

Who: Rinzler and YOU
When: second week of March
Where: around the ship, planetside, and everything between
What: buddy meetups, transporter training, and general Rinzlering
Warnings: nothing awful planned; will update if needed.


Library (Open):

Between Inugami and the Moira, Rinzler's spent almost half a cycle in the user world by now. Enough to familiarize himself with plenty of the basics... and not nearly enough to comprehend every reference the users took for granted. Fortunately? There's a file archive on board. Even if the users running it seem to have a bizarre preference for analog.

The library's more common occupants might be accustomed to the sound, but anyone looking for peace and quiet today might want to be careful which shelves they frequent. There's a noise echoing through the wooden floors, a ticking whir that starts around the card catalog before eventually localizing to a reference room upstairs. It sounds like broken hardware. (Or possibly an overly friendly cat.) Anyone who tracks the disruption down will find Rinzler: lurking, glowing, and rumbling ominously as he pages through a nature guide on sharks.

Abort/retry/question?


Ceta rock formations (Open):

The collection of badly-written buildings holds little interest for the enforcer, and the chance to submerge himself in fish guts is not an incentive to go hunt. Still, there's one area of the planet everyone else seems to be discounting, and that makes it worth visiting—for the solitude, if nothing else.

Anyone watching the clouds might notice a streak of orange disappearing downward as Rinzler's lightjet slips past the temporaries toward the denser rock formations lurking below. It takes a little effort, and some strange gravity currents to work around, but it's not long before he's landed himself on one of the jagged peaks. It reminds him of the outlands, more than a little: rough, uncoded, somewhere only the most desperate creatures would go to ground.

Worth seeing what a search turns up.


Cargo Bay/Outside: ~Training Montage~ (Semi-Open)

As partial as Rinzler might be to his own flightcraft, the vehicles he's actually assigned to work with here are in heavy demand on the gas-based planet. Fortunately, he's no longer the only operator. When he'd submitted a report on the transporter concerns, Rinzler had been half-expecting to be wiped for the presumption. Instead, the administrators had assigned a full hex of new pilots and technicians to cover the gap. If this system is still vastly (and worryingly) less efficient than Clu's... Rinzler's beginning to mind some of the other differences less.

He's been tasked with providing tutorial, and over the next week, the program will be meeting with all of the new transporter crew individually. Flight is more his specialty than the minutia of repair, but he's grown familiar enough with the workings of the craft to offer technical help, and can supply digital schematics to anyone who needs them. He'll also insist on a flight test for anyone planning on regular operation. For the more talented recruits, the planet's gravity wells and floating obstacles offer a challenge in flight and weapons both, and it's one Rinzler isn't opposed to making a competition.

While most of the program's focus is on the new assignees, anyone else stopping by is welcome to get his attention—for training attempts or otherwise. Rinzler doesn't particularly approve of the Moira's policy of letting anyone operate the crafts, but he's pragmatic enough to know that it's less hazardous if the users at least know what they're doing.


Mero hallway (Closed to Kylo Ren)

After last month, Rinzler knew better than to argue his 'buddy' assignment—no need to give the trojan another chance to score points off him. All the same, it was a little odd to get the message from Frisk instead. The enforcer shelved the misplaced variable for later query, messaging his assignee over the MID and waiting for response.

It seemed to be taking a while.

By the time Rinzler resigned himself to actually tracking down Kylo_Ren, he was already irritated at the necessity. When his location ping returned Mero Deck, the annoyance worsened. While Rinzler wouldn't strictly admit to avoiding the area (or the duplicate that lived there), he had been leaving it somewhat conspicuously out of his patrol routes since his release from the hold.

So when he followed the signal and found himself outside Tron's room...

...well, that ticking rumble is definitely pitched a little closer to a growl by the time Rinzler keys the door chime. When (or if) Kylo opens it, he'll find an identical copy of his roommate. But where Tron stands tall and at least looks to have a human face, the figure outside is drawn into a coiled hunch, nothing but the rattling sound and a slight tilt of his dark mask to give away emotion. Currently? Not happy.

Comments

library

[saveyourserpent]

Getting used to life here is taking some time, but every now and then there's something that just gives Liquid so much familiarity it almost seems something resembling normal. The library's one of those things. Brings him back to being a teenager, when he'd spent plenty of time in libraries (when he wasn't in arcades, or stealing things, or escaping to somewhere else). He liked learning things for himself, not being taught, whether it was by his handlers or the staff on Mother Base. He knew he used to attract attention back then, but every time, the librarians grew to appreciate this angry teenager with his strangely silent goth friend.

He's missing the strangely silent (and later rather talkative) goth friend, but there's still some nostalgia in the air. Today, though, when he settles in to read his chosen material, a noise catches his attention. Normally he's used to doing things among chaos, but, well, consider him curious, now. He marks his place, closes the book, and heads up to investigate.

"Are you reading that, or trying to recycle it?" Okay maybe he doesn't exactly sound like a giant paper shredder, but still.

[notglitching]

While Rinzler doesn't object strongly to the paper archives, he does consider digital ones far more efficient. Since he was first shown how to operate the user communicators, he's used them almost exclusively. It's faster. Less wasteful.

He's never seen a paper shredder. And his definition of recycling is a lot less analog than most.

The ticking rumble doesn't stop at all, but Rinzler's helmet turns toward the new arrival, angling in clear skepticism as it tips back toward the file he's accessing. Does this look like data-clearing? Really, user. What even.

[saveyourserpent]

While this person's silent, save for that bizarre noise he appears to be making, Liquid's not exactly a slouch with body language. "Never heard of a joke before, I take it?" This guy isn't one of those people who take everything literally, is he? That'd be something. If he has to start explaining metaphors, he's not going to be having a fun time.

"You certainly sound like you're hard at work on something. That, or angry about it." Is that rude to acknowledge? Oh well, Liquid doesn't seem to care. He's not always the most tactful of people. He gives the guide the guy's holding a once-over. "Not a fan of sharks?"

[notglitching]

There's an audible skip of irritation to the noise. It's hardly Rinzler's fault if the user makes no sense. (Though yes, humor is generally for people who care enough to social.) Still, it's not until the next few lines that Rinzler catches on to what the user means. At least, enough to bristle at the implication.

Unfamiliar.

The word appears from his MID, a holographic line in glowing orange. Rinzler's mask stays fixed on the user in what's almost certainly a glower. He doesn't object to sharks. He's never seen them. But none of that has anything to do with his sound.

[saveyourserpent]

If Liquid's even remotely fazed by the answer appearing in text, he's not showing it. He just reads it and offers an understanding nod. "Ah." Well, that's something he can relate to, at least. Not about sharks, specifically, but he'd always been glad to open a book and find out things he'd never knew about before. As long as he could decide when and where. "Learning anything interesting?"

Still doesn't explain why he keeps making that noise, though. Maybe it's just a noise he makes all the time. Seems like the kind of thing that might make a librarian smash a book over his head, though. Or maybe Liquid's so predisposed for violence he just thinks that way. "So. That the sound of curiosity, then?"

There we go.

[notglitching]

Rinzler shrugs, stepping sideways just enough to offer a clear look. The book's open to an illustration somewhere near the middle, depicting an open shark's jaw and the layers and layers of teeth inside. Small text appends descriptions and raw facts, the numbers of rows, the regrowth rate, the inward angle that prevents its prey from escaping.

Miller had compared Rinzler to a shark. The enforcer's acquiring a greater appreciation for the term.

Which doesn't make this user's intrusion any more welcome. Or in particular: that question. The ticking rumble rises audibly, much closer to a growl.

Not relevant.

[saveyourserpent]

Liquid leans in to see what's on the page. That's a pretty damn informative book, from what he can tell from the page alone. He probably would have appreciated the hell out of it. "Ah, yes, the teeth. A fascinating concept." He's no scientist, nowhere near, but he'd spent a good amount of time around animals in his childhood, and he'd always enjoyed having his questions answered. He figures this guy doesn't even have a little experience.

He steps back when the sound turns into a growlish noise. Well. That's... hostile. Maybe Liquid should have expected it, though. Not relevant? Way to pique his curiosity even more. "Seems relevent enough to me. Difficult subject?"

[notglitching]

There's no answer on the MID display this time—in fact, the holographic textbox vanishes completely. Rinzler only glares, noise rumbling out threateningly as circuited fingers twitch just slightly at his side.

Take the hint, user. As warnings go, this one's as friendly as the enforcer gets.

[saveyourserpent]

Liquid holds his hands up defensively at the obvious threat. "Bloody hell, calm down." Look at him, already making friends.

He's not always the best at taking hints when those hints aren't something along the lines of 'let's fight right now'. But he wasn't commander of FOXHOUND for nothing, and he knows not to pick fights with people when he has no idea what they're capable of, and to make tactical retreats. And that's exactly what this is: a tactical retreat.

"Well, good luck with your sharks."

[straightouttacarbonite]

Considering how little he likes the prospect of working for someone else, Han is actually fairly satisfied with his assignment. If he has to be doing something aboard, flying is the best option. He's expecting a little bit of a learning curve-- so far the technology on the Moira is uniformly unfamiliar, and every new ship has its own quirks and tricks even when you're not a recent intergalactic transplant-- but he isn't worried about it. So maybe he'll have a few bumpy rides. It'll give him a chance to see how far you can push one of these things.

So even if he's annoyed at the prospect of being tested (by what sounds like a droid to boot, seriously?) he's eager enough to get over the fact, and he does head down for his assessment.

[notglitching]

When the user enters the space, Rinzler's occupied with the less familiar part of his own job: maintenance. Or more specifically, some pre-flight checks. As important as the new recruits are from a security standpoint, the program's privately hoping for enough technical skill that he doesn't have to allot quite so much time to those duties. Rinzler might have learned to get by, but he's no repair utility, and flight is much more in line with both his function and his preferences.

Of course, if the answers to his texts are any sign... he's not the only one for whom that's true. Case in point. Rinzler's just finishing some calibrations with the stabilizers when he hears the steps approaching from below. It's the work of a moment to close the interface and slip off his perch, an easy handful of meters from the transporter's wing to land in a low crouch.

The black helmet snaps up to face the user. Han_Solo. This one had claimed it could 'fly anything'. Rinzler's curious to see firsthand how well. He straightens partway (crouch to hunch) before angling his helmet to the side. There's a strange ticking rumble coming from the program, but the question itself is silent.

Ready?

[straightouttacarbonite]

The even, somehow stilted responses had prepared him to see a droid, and he's not sure he's wrong about that. But if that's what this is, he's beyond being an unfamiliar model. That shouldn't come as a surprise considering the setting, but still it gives him a moment of uncertainty. You can usually glean an idea of what a droid's function is from the look of it, and he has to imagine anyone designing that intended it to intimidate.

It's not enough to shake his confidence, though. Although he's more than satisfied with his ship, Han can't deny that it's always a little exciting to fly something new.

"You're Rinzler?" He nods toward the transporter, since he assumes he's right and also that he probably won't get an answer. "Let's go."

[notglitching]

The black mask dips in the affirmative to his ID... and quirks, faintly amused at the user's assumption. There were plenty of preliminaries to work through before jumping on the ship—say, making sure this user knew exactly what it would be flying.

Still, if the user wants to do rather than talk... Rinzler's the last one to argue with that sentiment. He can throw schematics at it later. The program turns, keying open the outside hatch. There's a loud hum as the ramp lowers, revealing the loading space inside, six sets of seating straps against the walls taking up a good deal of the space. Just past, there's a ladder leading up to the cockpit.

It's only designed to take one pilot, but if Han heads up, Rinzler will follow. He's dealt with worse-cramped spaces, and he wants to see this pilot's supposed skill in person. At least the first time around.

[straightouttacarbonite]

Schematics and manuals and specs are all well and good, but they're not nearly a substitute for getting your hands dirty. And they're definitely less fun. There's bound to be a learning curve while he adapts to the technology, but it's hard to imagine it being entirely unintelligible, unless it's designed for someone with completely different anatomy... And even then you can usually figure out some way to make it work.

For a man who's been kidnapped and held captive by strange beings in a different galaxy, he's definitely enjoying this too much.

The inside of the ship gets just a cursory glance before he heads for the cockpit, easing into the seat and trying to orient himself, guessing at different buttons and read outs and controls. Steering, he thinks, he should be able to sort out.

"How do we power her up?"

One hint, okay.

[notglitching]

Rinzler slips in behind the user, back against the wall just over the entry hatch. His noise stays low and even, a quiet rumble that might even blend into the sound of the engines... if they were on. There's a pause. A glance. And a skip of static that sounds suspiciously like a snort as the user admits the problem.

One circuit-lined hand slips past Han's shoulder to lay flat on a panel. One beat, two, then there's a quiet hum as the cockpit displays light up.

Hint: given. He'll even throw in a freebie. Rinzler's hand slips sideways, flicking a switch before returning back behind the chair. Behind them, there's a whine as the open loading ramp slides shut.

[straightouttacarbonite]

Hey, he could have figured it out... it just saves both their time and potentially the structural integrity of the ship if he doesn't have to poke everything to see what it does.

He can completely, calmly ignore that snort, because that was definitely at his expense-- not the first droid he's known with an attitude, and in fairness anyone who throws out as much sass as Han has to expect some of it to get bounced back-- because he'd much rather focus on the task at hand. Halfway for its own merits, halfway to get Rinzler off his back and let him get to work.

The steering and throttle is a little more apparent, so after he takes a long moment to look over the various displays and settings (and give it a bit to warm up; this isn't his ship, after all, he's got to take that into account) before jumping in with both feet, slow and gentle on the off chance that his guesses are all wrong. Luckily his instincts are pretty good, just a little wobbly.

"I'm guessing these can't handle anything but sub-light speed..."

It'd make sense for their purpose, after all. He's mainly talking to himself since Rinzler doesn't seem to be the chatty sort.

[notglitching]

Wobbly, Rinzler can deal with. He braces himself back in the corner, crouched low enough to get a clear view of the forward windows as well as the array of instruments at hand. While poorly streamlined, the ship is light and responsive enough to the controls that Han won't have any trouble getting off the ground.

The question gets a nod—invisible behind the chair. Rinzler doubts the user needs a real answer, but after a moment, he reaches for his MID anyway. Better to set up communications now than during an actual emergency. One quick hack (and a briefly flashing status icon on Han's control panel) later, and a line of text appears across one of the transporter's display screens.

Confirmed.

library

[meyneth]

Fiora has just finished a shift of work, and now that it's over, she's run into an increasingly common problem since she arrived on the Moira: boredom. Having already explored the ship from bow to stern, port to starboard, she can no longer pass the time satisfactorily by wandering. Now, it's time to really make use of some of those places.

And today, it's the library. She was never big on books, but it's one of her primary recreation options. As she meanders through the shelves, plucking anything that could possibly interest her, she suddenly finds herself sharing space with someone else. Someone in black and glowy read, wearing a helmet.

"Oh," she says aloud before getting too close. "Pardon me. It's so quiet in here, I thought it was just me."

[notglitching]

The hum and ebb of presences in the deck is a constant brush on background processes. It's something Rinzler largely ignores. He'd come here for the datafiles, not the privacy, and most at least had the sense or luck to give him space. The voice that speaks up from behind is no exception, but Rinzler's mask still turns—as much to check for sarcasm as anything. His noise might not be too disruptive, but it's certainly audible.

No sign of taunt in its nonverbals. The enforcer offers neither an answer nor any sign of offense. The ceaseless rumble ticks out evenly, and his stare lingers, mask eventually tilting a little to the side. The brush on passive scans had felt like a user, but this creature seems to be composed of everything but. What is it?

[meyneth]

Uhh, alright. It's... staring at her. She blinks and quickly folds under the discomfort of the situation, taking a visible step back. With no clue as to how to interpret the silence, her caution and pessimism cause her to assume she's disturbed them.

"Uh, I'll... leave you to it, then..."

Keeping her gaze away, she turns back to the bookshelf and pretends to be interested in its contents. Maybe she should just... go to another aisle.

[notglitching]

The stare continues for a moment, passive scan shifting to an active one. The feedback that returns is enough to draw an audible skip of startlement from Rinzler. No, really, what? The user signature is there, but mixed in with readings of code right down to the core. Not blended, but interlocked in piecemeal.

The program's curious enough to start for his MID... but when the maybe-user actively steps back, the reach stills. In the half-cycle he's spent outside his system, Rinzler's lack of voice has certainly made communication hard. Still, triggering retreat with just a headtilt has to be a new low. Had she seen the archived network warnings, or was she just that skittish on a whole?

The faint quirk to the helmet remains, but if Fiora does withdraw around the corner, Rinzler won't pursue. She's not a target or a threat, and if he needs the data, he can probably ask elsewhere.

[meyneth]

Fiora runs one finger over the spines of the books in front of her idly. Her fingertip stops on one - "A Million Random Digits with 100,000 Normal Deviates," 0th edition - and she pulls it without thinking, her mind elsewhere.

...Are they still staring? Fiora knows they're still there, at least; her radar is sending her continual pings but it's not precise enough to tell the position of that person's body. Not to mention that she can still see them just out of the corner of her eye, as much as she's trying not to stare back.

But she can only endure it for so long. Fiora has tried to be polite on this ship, with all its strange and foreign passengers, because she knows she's stuck here with them. And for the most part, people have been polite in return, despite her odd appearance. But this? Is this person just being rude, then??

Finally she picks up her head, pouting slightly, and looks directly back at the mysterious person again.

"W-Well, say something, won't you?! Yes, I'm mostly metal!"

[notglitching]

Headtilt continues. Grows, really, at that outburst. Still, in the end, Rinzler's mask ducks in a careful nod. The rattling whir continues unabated, no variation that might suggest an effort to converse, but orange-circuited fingers move quickly over his MID. It doesn't take long for a holographic textbox to pop up, angled outwards towards Fiora.

User?

[meyneth]

That constant noise is so odd, and pretty creepy if Fiora is honest with herself, having no reason to know what it means, much less what it is. What's left of her organic insides harbor a knot of anxiety as she watches the strange person consult their wrist device. What are they doing now...?

Then the message comes. Her frustrated pout fades as she ponders the single-word message. "User"? What does that mean? Is he asking her if she's "User"? Or perhaps a "user," if it's a title or something like that...?

It occurs to her suddenly that perhaps this person has some difficulty communicating. That would explain their silence and the reliance on the device to ask a question. The possibility at once makes her feel very, very foolish. She'd simply assumed they were acting strange because they were judging her appearance.

"...You're asking me that?" she stammers. "I don't... know what you mean. What's a user?"

[notglitching]

Oh, Rinzler can judge and have communication problems. He's a multitasker like that. On the other hand, this barrier to understanding is a little more familiar, and if there's a short static crackle of a sigh, he doesn't take long to reformat the word.

Human. Programmer. Not code.