Closed

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

Who: J and Rinzler
When: 24th of May
Where: Cryochambers
What: J wakes up from the cryo and sees a familiar face.
Warnings: Gosh, I don’t even know. Talk about past character death and violence. Will update if/when needed.



Waking up from the cryochambers for the second time was not nearly as disorienting or confusing experience as the first time. Sure, she was feeling groggy and uneasy when she slowly opened her eyes, squinting them first a little as the bright, piercing blue light enters to her vision. But this time it doesn't take that long for her eyes to get used to seeing once again and neither is there a trace of the jarring sensations or headache. So, with certain and coordinated movements she gets up from the chambers and reaches for her uniform that’s neatly folded next to her. She starts to dressing up, first pulling on the uniform pants and then moving to the jacket in a manner that seemed, and felt, very routine like. After she’s done with putting the uniform on, she pauses for a moment and then, almost hesitantly, gives her dry lips a quick lick and tries out her voice.

Still nothing.

She's not exactly sure what she had thought and expected, but.. She had kind of hoped that the reason they put her back to the cryo was to fix her voice. But apparently not. Oh, well. Nothing she can do about that now so no reason to mope about it either. All she could do now was just to let it be, swallow the anger and all the sadness, letting the lulling numbness take over again. This way it was much easier to function around her current state.

Combing her curls with her fingers J walks through the hall. She didn't see anyone around the medical bay and while it was very unusual and worrying on its own way, she still couldn't help but find it also calming and relieving. The last thing she now wanted was to deal with people and their fussing. She didn't want to answer to any questions regarding her voice or state in general. Right now she only missed the comforting and safe solitude of her own room.

However, just as she walks out of the exit she hears a sudden rustling noises coming from her side. At first she tries to ignore it but then the faint rustling noises are followed by the sounds of footsteps, ones that she couldn't quite tell which way they were headed to, and she spins around her heels, fingers still curled around her golden locks. But as her eyes settles upon the dark and ominous yet sosososo familiar figure J freezes.

Even though their last meeting had been extremely brief and never exchanged a single word to each other J knew who the man in front of her was. In fact, she felt like she knew him in such a disturbing and intimate way as he had been present in her everyday life since the resurgence. Inside her dreams and thoughts.

Her hand slowly falls to her side as she watches Rinzler, forcing the fear away from her face and turns her expression stony and cold, carefully following each of his movement and waiting for him to do something.

Comments

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

When she sees Rinzler moving J automatically takes a quick step backwards, her whole body stiffening even more and shoulders raising up to her ears. But it almost immediately becomes clear to her that there is no need for such precaution and she forces her body to relax a bit. She refuses to feel any embarrassment for her mistake or for displaying her fear in such transparent manner.

She swallows air and lowers her head a little, making sure to keep any kind of sign of submission away from the gesture, and eyes the path he created for her before looking back up to him. So, he's giving her a chance to leave? There's a huge part of her that is downright yelling at her to take his offer and leave, go back to her room and pretend that this encounter never happened. But at the same time J knows that she simply can't keep avoiding him forever, they live on the same goddamn ship after all -- and that running away will not solve anything.

Raising a brow at him questioningly, she continues to stand still, stubbornly sticking to her decision that he will be the one that'll leave, not her.

[notglitching]

The flinch is unmistakable. It doesn't come as a surprise. Rinzler waits—for her to finish, for her to move or flee or lash out in desperation. None of it comes.

What does is enough to give him pause.

Communication isn't Rinzler's function. Not something he's used to. Not something he needs. That was the reason Clu had given for the functions he locked out of reach—Rinzler was better this way; Rinzler was perfect. Certainly Rinzler wasn't so flawed as to be left capable of arguing. He was made to act, to kill and wait and serve. No output besides execution of his tasks. Surrender of his code. And once in a rare while, a tilt of the mask. A nod. A voiceless, subtle shift of configuration.

Rinzler knows exactly how much can be spoken in the direction of a gaze or quirk of expression. Rinzler knows what the user's saying, because the language she's using is all he's ever been allowed. What he doesn't know is why she's using it. Some kind of taunt? That would fit, but it's not the reason for the tension threading through his own hunched stance. The shift is tiny, imperceptible to someone not watching closely. But it's not the coiled readiness that might precede attack. It's something stiffer. Frozen. Surprised.

Suddenly, silence isn't enough. Rinzler reaches for his wrist—for the MID, the loophole they'd locked on when he arrived here. He has no doubt at all his admin would disapprove, but Rinzler is no longer anything like so perfect as to care. And words have a clarity he needs now. The line scrolls out in holographic projection, red-orange letters floating in the air to the program's side.

Purpose?

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

All the wariness and alertness disappears from her body language and is replaced by the confusion as Rinzler reaches for the MID and chooses to write instead of talking. There's something uncomfortably familiar with the way how he moves, it's so casual and mundane -- almost as if it was the only logical and the most natural thing to do.

J herself has been, still is, relying on the wristband that's permanently stuck on her hand. She knows that she should feel glad and grateful for it as the machine now worked as her bridge to outside world and her main tool for communication. But despite all of that she's only started to resent it and the way how she's dependant on it. It's not natural or right and she should be able to get through her everyday life without having to use it.

But seeing the holographic letters floating in front of her makes J realize that she has never heard Rinzler's voice. The only sound that she remembers hearing coming from him is the current strange rumbling noise. It makes her wonder why.

Even though her earlier defences are lowered her expression is still hard and brows knit together while she reads his message. Her hands stays on her sides completely unmoved as she just tilts her head slightly on right as a reply.

[notglitching]

It doesn't answer the question he'd asked. But the mute angle of the head; the stutter in the tense aggression lining the user's frame... they go a long way toward answering the question he hadn't wanted to acknowledge.

It's a refusal to address him, but she won't turn or leave the hall. It's a taunt, a trick, mocking silence to answer his own, except she'd been surprised to see him switch to text. J has never heard Rinzler's voice, but the same isn't true in reverse. Rinzler tracks the network. Rinzler observes everything he can; Rinzler listens because speaking is forbidden, because whatever loopholes this place grants, he's spent a thousand cycles in that role.

He's heard this user's voice across the network. But not now, not here, not since her deletion. Orange-circuited fingers move again, and the line that outputs could be simply a self-reference. It would have been, in any other conversation.

Can't speak.

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

Oh.

J parts her lips, mouthing a silent 'o' sound as she watches the new glowing words to replace his previous message. At first she thinks he's referring to her with it, that he's managed to figure out her lack of voice. But then she takes a note of the missing question mark, which implies that it's a statement and that he's talking about himself.

Oh indeed.

With no voice and face hidden behind a black mask it's like the man standing before her doesn't possess any kind of tools to express himself, taking away his all traces of his identity. The thought about it made J ache, remembering the year of silence that she had spent in her childhood when she hadn't been able to utter a word or take any contact with the rest of the world around her, leaving her all alone with her thoughts and eventually causing her to withdraw into herself.

If the things were any different between them she probably would feel sorry and more understanding towards him. But right now there's just too much hurt that it's suffocating all sympathetic feelings, leaving room only for the blinding hate. Just because he's trapped somewhere doesn't mean that he can drag her down with him and force her into this helpless position again.

J once again brings the defensiveness back to her body language, muscles stiffening and lips drawn back into a distressing thin line. She waits for a brief moment before she moves again, this time uncurling her fists and reaching for her own MID to send him a message.

because of you.

[notglitching]

The stiffness, the frown—the motions are impossible to miss, and all the more so for the deliberation behind each shift of frame and features. Still, Rinzler's own nonverbals lag behind, only the slightest twitch of the faceless shell tracking her reach for the MID. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't know how to output the faint tickling of dread at the back of his processing.

Much less the way it sharpens at that confirmation.

Because of him. The enforcer's stare twitches slightly, from the user's words to her throat. Across the too-wide space between. If the damage had been done during her repair, the statement isn't wholly wrong. But it is. Wrong, faulty, glitched enough to be absurd. He'd reacted to a threat. He'd struck back—harmed her, yes. He'd killed this user. But he hadn't done this.

Rinzler's noise rises, a harsh ticking rattle, and it's frustrating—suddenly, immeasurably so—to realize nothing else will fill the silence. The helmet jerks sideways, but there's an edged withdrawal to the gesture, sloped shoulders and curved spine of his default configuration tightening visibly with the response. Refusal? Maybe. Denial seems a closer match.

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

The harsh, icy eyes are fixed upon Rinzler, watching and observing carefully each of his movement as he reads her message. The slightest changes in his footing, twitches and shifts in his postures and the subtle head tilts. She watches all of them as if he were a specimen, trapped and pinned down on the table that she studies with a magnifying glass. She takes a note of the lack of the any kind of signs of breathing, there's no familiar rhythmic rise or falling motion in his chest -- but she let's that one slide off for now, because what strikes her eyes is the way how his body language hardens in such defying manner, as if he were to reject her accusations.

J almost regrets sending the revealing message to him. What did she even expect gain from doing that as she didn't want to hear any apologies from him. But maybe some kind of acknowledgement? Understanding and realisation that he can't just shrug off her like what he did meant nothing -- that she meant more than that. Actions have consequences and he needs to accept that his responsible this.

But she's not going to let regret to have any room in her mind and so his rejection only fuels the flames of anger inside her. Taking a deep breath J bites down on her lower lip and finally moves. She takes quick and determined steps towards Rinzler and walks right up to him until she's only few inches away him, standing nearly intimately close. Then, with lips pressed together into a hard and thin line, she opens her MID once again.

take your helmet off

[notglitching]

Rinzler's used to being examined. By his targets, by the fascinated bystanders so quick to flinch away from his own gaze. By users, since he's left his system. Curious stares and puzzled ones, sneering, dismissive glances along with the more accustomed fear. This doesn't quite match any of those templates. There's a focus, an intensity behind her look that reads familiar in a different way. Searching. Commanding. Prying for weakness. For a fault.

She's not his admin, and there's no code forcing Rinzler to submit. He doesn't move, though. Not through the inspection. Not at her approach. Fingers curl, noise rising in faint warning as she steps inside his space, but if he doesn't retreat, it's not quite the threat it could have been. She's small. Weak. Especially up close. It's recklessly stupid, it's paralyzingly assured. Processing flickers, just for a moment, to the last blonde, slight figure that moved so close so casually, and Rinzler's sound catches, soft and furious as he shoves back the association. (No.)

It's not until the line of text appears that he can bring himself to move, though, a half-step back joined with a mute shake of the head. The helmet doesn't come off. He types it into his own device, holographic projection flickering up to his side.

Can't.

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

When Rinzler takes a step back J takes one forward, not letting the gap between them grow any larger. Yes, it's reckless and stupid of her especially when her instincts are telling her to back away from him. Yes, she's scared and small and weak and even without his weapons she's completely defenceless against him. But still, she absolutely refuses let go of any control she has here.

Her frown only deepens as she looks down, eyes focusing on the projected word floating between them. The refusal doesn't come unexpected -- in fact, it would've been far more surprising if he had agreed to her demand without a fight. But what really intrigues her is his choice of a word. Can't. It's much more passive than the word 'wont', implicating a submission of sorts.

Feeling unsatisfied with his single word answer J doesn't waste any time to write him a reply, wanting to push him him even further.

why?

[notglitching]

The low growl builds a little further at that repeated step, but this time Rinzler doesn't give ground. He does watch her, though, invisible stare matching the user's for a long moment. Why is she asking? Prying for a weakness, most likely, but the fixed shell that supplants his face isn't where most people would choose to look. He isn't sure if she's on target, but after a moment, red-orange letters appear in projection.

No permissions.

Helmet functions locked to system administrator.

There's no twitch or hesitation as he completes the line. Just stillness. But there's something sharp and stiff about it, old resentment and anticipation coiling and braced. If she taunts him for the limitation (and why wouldn't she?) (her ally hadn't hesitated), he's walking away.

Even if that does feel much too much like running, now.

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

There's yet another heavy pause when J doesn't move and keeps her stare locked on the bright letters floating in the air right in front of her. The corners of her lips slightly tugs downwards as she reads his message over and over again, the frown turning from dissatisfied into more puzzled one. Her eyes now reflecting now confusion in midst of all uneasiness and indignation.

A system administrator. That sure is.. an interesting way to say things and it takes a moment from her to understand what he's saying. Slowly, she raises her gaze back up to him and cocks her head to the side, focusing more now on the edges of his helmet as she tries to find any signs of actual lock or a keyhole.

No permission. That sentence alone makes her feel sick, the heavy and grim implication behind those words curdling in her stomach.

Why's that?

[notglitching]

J's inspection will turn up nothing. No locks or keyholes. No seams or gaps at all. The hard, glassy contours of the helmet joins to the more flexible collar of his armor with no break, appearing to be molded over the enforcer's head more than placed atop it.

And, of course, no matter how closely she looks, she won't see through it. Light plays in reflection as the program's frame twitches inwards in a shrug. Hunched is Rinzler's default pose, but the brittle edge lingers this time.

Not needed.

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

J isn't liking this a bit.

There's a new feeling, a much complicated and softer one, rising it's head among all the indignation and upset and muddling the storm that's raging inside her mind, trying to calm it down. And she doesn't like it. She doesn't like the lack of any kind of air holes in his helmet. She doesn't like the submission that his messages are implicating. She doesn't like that the only sound to break the silence between them is the rumbling noise. It's all too heavy and sickeningly complex that she can barely stand any of it.

This isn't how things were supposed to go. She was supposed to replace all the fear and panic he caused with hate but all these contradictions were making it difficult to focus on it. He had done her wrong, hurt her worse than anyone before. There shouldn't be any room for anything as weak or pathetic as feeling sorry for him.

Exhaling deeply, she takes half-step closer to him and gives him more controlled and dismissed look.

take it off

[notglitching]

There's no distance left at all, but Rinzler doesn't retreat, the downwards angle of his mask meeting the user's stare directly. Nothing shows. Nothing but dark glass and streaks of light, a black, distorted mirror of everything but Rinzler.

Nothing shows. But that rumbling, harsh growl of sound can practically be felt, rattling through the narrow space between. Rinzler's almost grateful for the spark of anger that rises to meet her words. No. This user doesn't have a right to order him, and he said already. Even if he wanted to, it wouldn't (didn't) matter.

Reflections fracture with a sharp shake of the enforcer's head. He can't take his mask off.

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

Holding her breath she waits patiently a moment, letting him to take his time to react, to write her another message, to comply with her demand, to walk away, to do something. She listens the rumbling noise to rise and start to resemble something that's more animalistic than before. The ominous sound that signals danger, telling her to back off and leave. But she doesn't move a muscle and keeps her firm and challenging stare locked on his helmet, trying to look past the reflection of her green eyes. The moment passes and all she can see is the black void.

J doesn't know anything about Rinzler. Not who (or what) he is, what has happened to him or why he's like this. That's why she wanted, no, needed to see him properly. So that she'd know that the cause of all her hurt was more than a black figure in the dark. That was more than just a nightmare. And so far she hasn't been able to find answers to any of her questions.

But she has found something else.

When he fails to give her a reaction, aside from the increasing noises, J leans her head back and lifts her chin up in a manner that could almost be described as smug, breathing the air out through her nose.

"Coward," she silently mouths the word to him.

[notglitching]

Oh, that expression, Rinzler knows. Smug. Sneering. Just user enough to loathe. Fingers curl at his sides, the harsh stutter of conflict smoothing to a quicker, angry rumble.

Coward? He'd said twice already he couldn't comply with the request. Was he supposed to be weak for being code, incapable of disobeying, where the user was so much more? Or just for failing to derezz her this time?

It's stupid. She is. It's just another taunt after all, just like before (and it's almost shameful, how much relief spreads through his processing at the thought). Rinzler's head jerks sideways a third time, and now there's no hesitation in the quick twist of fingers that sends text flaring to his side.

Lie.

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

His accusations only makes J huff faintly, blowing out air between her lips -- more out from arrogance than annoyance. Feeling comfortable as the atmosphere around them shifts towards more antagonizing and hostile from the awkward and uncertain. This was much better. This was something she could work with.

The judgement she casted onto him might have been unnecessary harsh and hastily done. But right now all she sees is someone, a person, who's given up to someone else's will -- or whatever this administrator is -- submitting and resigning while avoiding to take responsibility over the things he's done himself. Like a coward.

But really, this is just a pot calling kettle and she knows it. She's had quite lot of experience with all of those things. Running away, dehumanizing herself and swallowing all the toxic people have forced down her throat. But at least she's never given up and always owned the reasons for all the hatred. She's never bended along someone else's will.

prove me wrong

[notglitching]

Rinzler's used to arrogance. He's spent a thousand cycles forced to obedience at its whim, having his mind and personality pared down. He's spent less than one cycle here, not leashed to any of these users' wills, but subject to all of their superiority. It was a surprise to learn not all of them are cruel.

But for every user that offers alliance and respect, Rinzler's met just as many who are only too glad to reinforce their differences. Users who taunt and sneer and smirk, who insult him as an animal or try to fix him like a faulty tool. Rinzler might be a weapon, but he isn't theirs, and he won't die or bow or be recoded for their pride. That's what he'd been fighting when this user stumbled on the scene. That's why he'd struck back when she attacked.

He hadn't meant to take her voice away.

But here and now, as she oozes smug satisfaction in how much braver she is for being written with a choice? Rinzler regrets killing the user less than ever.

Don't have to.

He doesn't look away. Doesn't reach for a weapon. Certainly he doesn't [can't] (he hates it) take the helmet off. This is pointless, and it always was, and he should never have hesitated in the first place. But if neither of them has a voice, they still have words, and Rinzler isn't going without using his.

Don't answer to you either.

The line hangs in the air a moment, backed only by the quiet snarl of his noise. Then the display shuts off, and Rinzler steps aside, brushing past the user to keep going.