The air in the club buzzed with reprocessed energy and the music diffusing from the MP4s in the corner. Programs shuffled around, solitary or in small groups. There were mostly Basics tonight, but the program at the bar was pretty sure the two in the middle booth were ISOs.
The bartender collected the bits he’d laid down and replaced them with his second energy of the night. He was working on a slow night, not looking to get overcharged when he had an early shift next cycle. He just wanted to nurse this last drink and then head back to his circuit to process it before work.
The bartender had tapped a new shipment, from the taste. Pulled from the Eastern Outlands, if the program had his guess. He’d been found there during the Purge and he’d survived the Restoration following the return of the Users long enough to recognize the taste.
He took another pull from the long glass and caught a look off of an admin program coming in from the door. Her brown skin was flushed from the high wind outside and some of her hair had escaped the bun she’d pulled it into. Her eyes had an odd cosmetic patch - fully white, which no break that he could see. He’d never seen anything like it before, and held the look until a word processor stumbled between them on his way to discharge.
Eeeeeeee! Please tell me there’s gonna be moar, pretty plz!
Wooooooo it only took almost half a year, but here, has a next part:
Attendant warnings and disclaimers may be found on the fic page.
Summary:
In one story, a program named Rinzler remembered he was once named Tron long enough to ram his lightjet into Clu’s.
In one story, he fell, and Clu went on to harry the users and the ISO upon the I/O port’s very threshold.
In one story, he drifted into the deeps of the Sea of Simulation, limp and flickering, as Kevin Flynn drew Clu into himself and Sam and Quorra escaped into the user’s world.
This is not that story.
Have a cityscape! ♥
♥
*drags self back from Philly* Aaaaaaand … you have given me the final grist for my gridscape drablet mill. <333333333 Beautiful as ever!
Gridscape Drablet 1
Gridscape Drablet 2
Gridscape Drablet 3
Gridscape Drablet 4
Gridscape Drablet 5: The End
The light stabbed across the horizon, brighter than anything else above or below, piercing the relay gate through and through. What once had, long ago, been a shining beacon promising freedom, now heralded the arrival of their enslavement or destruction.
Tron had to swallow against the jagged disappointment of being proven right.
“We have to go … ” Flynn husked, staring too, voice dry with anxiety and dread. “We have to find the others, regroup and - “
“No. No more regrouping.”
Flynn turned to him. “But - “
The user had the grace not to pretend confusion. Beyond the single, token protest, Flynn bit his lip, glanced once more at the lightbeam that would inevitably bring Clu and his troops, and then slumped in defeat. “At least let me heal you.”
“No time,” Tron grunted, pushing to his feet. No time, because what was between Flynn and Clu, whatever stub that remained mutual to both their cores, was working in every way but how it should. There was no understanding, no recognition … only a steady leak of information that drew one to the other, as if the system itself could no longer abide their enmity and sought to force a confrontation, once and for all. “And no use. You should go.”
“What? No! Let me heal you first, you’re still our secret - our greatest weapon … “
“To what end? You know everything.” And thus, by extension, Clu knew as well; or would know, soon enough.
They had looked, they had all looked, isos and rebels alike - looking for betrayal, for a traitor … looked everywhere, except at Flynn. Flynn, who was their greatest ally; Flynn, who was their greatest weakness.
“Then I’ll take myself out of the equation.”
Tron froze. Before he could even formulate an exclamation, much less a query, Flynn had already reached back, undocking his own disc. In the cold white light that sprang from it, Tron met the user’s gaze. “You’re … no.”
It was beautiful, a user’s core. Flynn smiled gently through its delicate spirals. “Go, Tron.”
Tron clenched jaw and hands. Bowed his head, and finally turned. Tried to pretend that the waver of light reflected from the walls was a result of his own unsteady limp, but could not find it in himself to ignore the quiet narration dying slowly behind him.
“Clu. Clu happened. It was a coup … I never saw him again … “
And a super-super-quick one for DW before I go sleep - she wanted a smirky Rinzler but then my mind wandered off to him watching the Games on the occasions he wasn’t taking part, away from the crowds and just being himself by himself. Character design based on Betrayal more than anything…
<33333333333333333
Man, how do you push all my buttons.
“Do you miss it?”
The words were warm and weighted next to his ear, as heavy as if a hand had been settled upon his shoulder. In the distance, there was a sharp blue burst of cascading light as another contestant lost a duel. He did not need the playback upon the overhead banners to pick out the program’s fatal error.
“Do you wish you were there instead?”
He could feel the line of dead pixels pulling near the corner of his mouth as his lips thinned; felt more irritation for the incessant interruptions than his lack of active role in this centi’s tournament.
“No worries, ‘champion’ … we’ll have a worthy opponent for you again soon.”
He had neither words nor inclination to answer as a chuckle faded with departing footsteps, and he soon overwrote the encounter altogether. A new opponent had emerged.
Good balance … equally proficient with left and right … a little too dependent on leg-work. Don’t raise your arm when you shin-block, they’ll cut right between your knee and elbow …
Yes, he missed it, but no, he did not wish he was there instead.
At least here, he could pretend that the other program had a chance.
Finished the fic where Quorra ends up being Tron’s apprentice instead of Flynn’s (and Flynn ends up Rinzler) — I hope it’s still enjoyable! I left the ending deliberately open, so who wins is up to you.
I was going to draw something totally ambitious to go with it but then I remembered that I hadn’t touched actual pencils in ages, seeing how little time & space I have IRL for traditional media (which I endlessly regret), so I went for a drawing of Q instead. I hope to use this as the basis for a more involved fanart (flawed though it is - but there’s no other way to improve and relearn) but I need to carry on with askprompts too, so we’ll see what goes first. ♥
Aaaaaaaaa fantastic in fic and art, as always Q.Q Now I wanna know what happens … *whine*
And here’s an example of what to do with the stencil pack I posted last time; I saved a few steps along the way to show you how ArtRage works. Hope you like!
Uhm, HAI EVERYONE I’M STILL KINDA SORTA ALIVE :D
Yeah, uh, work is still kicking my butt all over the place, but the end is within sight! Hopefully April will be my last really manic insane work month, but in the meantime, I’ve had these amazing omg images saved on my desktop for all of February waiting until I had 20 mins to drabble and here I am, finally.
In the theme of the gridscape drabblets, I present Part 4 of 5 (yup I’ve determined that there will be just one more final installment!)
Gridscape Drablet 1
Gridscape Drablet 2
Gridscape Drablet 3
Gridscape Drablet 4
For a single, precious nano, he was free.
As the stolen lightjet entered the apogee of its climb, he did not feel the weight of his damaged limbs. As his sensors temporarily reported undefineds, confounded by the lack of vectors at the arc’s crest, the ever-present murmur of tactical feeds fell into standby and there was silence. The jet strained against its hardcoded limits, engine guttering, and the moment was suspended when it died altogether and he could only wait … wait … wait to see if it would re-ignite, if they would survive, if they would fly again …
Everything started again with a shriek of delirious laughter.
The iso pushed them into a punishing dive as the engine roared. Tron gritted his teeth as the forces clawed at old fractures, fought to sort through the sudden flood of new data, managed to grind out, “Down!” when he sensed the jet’s vector leveling and the iso obediently drove them deeper into the clouds.
The lights appeared first; scattered bursts of brilliance as they punched through the atmospheric haze. By the time the lines became a recognizable map, though, there was another excited whoop from the iso as she strained against the controls … the lightjet groaned as it fought to pull its nose up, barely clearing the lowest structures, light ribbon shimmering bright with shed heat behind it.
There was a hollow crump behind them and a glimmer of reflected light off building surfaces when someone behind them was not so lucky. “Think we’re gonna make it,” the iso gasped, humming with excess energy, the jet dancing beneath her touch.
“The question is why this is necessary in the first place,” he retorted, fingers curling into the armrests, feeling joints creak and warning messages flash like lightning crawling across the bellies of the clouds.
“Dunno. They’re getting better at finding us - “
The second time already, that a potential meeting was interrupted. A second missed chance at pooling resources, at joining forces, at potential healing -
” - but Flynn got a message to me. He wants to try again. He said he’ll be at - “
- and suddenly, he wondered if more than just his shell had been damaged, wondered how he could have been so blind. Wondered why it was, that users seemed to always hold the balance of salvation and destruction in their hands. “Flynn,” he groaned, closing his eyes.
A small ficlet for an adorable gif.
Something
The first time it happened, Sam was pretty sure his life was over.
Omg, so cute with just enough of an edge to make it hurt-I-mean-<3 that much more Q.Q *squishes everything*
I’m gonna join the pile of people channeling their frustrations into fanworks. ♥
I am buried in work like you wouldn’t believe and WHAT DO YOU SEND ME AT 5:30AM YOU FIEND D:
This is all your fault:
On AO3: The Tempered Sword
My (not so) secret Santa fic for userkaydee!
I’m very sorry it’s a day (and a half) late. :( Work and real life has been insane lately. But hopefully the fact that it’s been delivered by Christmas eve will help. \o/ Hope you enjoy, and happy holidays!
Summary:
“Unc’an?”
The blubbery sound was the only preface to the trespasser launching itself at Tron. This time, though, he did not attempt an attack, aborted or not - in fact, he was lucky his disc had not simply slipped from his fingers. As fresh sobs began to rise from the leg it had attached itself to, Tron stared down in mute horror and croaked, “SamFlynn?”
Right, so, I totally have like 5 other things that should have been higher priority on my writing list than this thing.
God damn you, Uprising.
(MAJOR SPOILERS FOR TRON: UPRISING S1 E13 - THE STRANGER. BE YE WARNED.)
Only What You Take With You
Oh, dude, this is fantastic. The ending, just - K.O.! @.@ *falls over*
OMG OMG OMG LOOK WHAT I HAS:
HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE :D
Attendant warnings and disclaimers may be found on the fic page.
Summary:
In one story, a program named Rinzler remembered he was once named Tron long enough to ram his lightjet into Clu’s.
In one story, he fell, and Clu went on to harry the users and the ISO upon the I/O port’s very threshold.
In one story, he drifted into the deeps of the Sea of Simulation, limp and flickering, as Kevin Flynn drew Clu into himself and Sam and Quorra escaped into the user’s world.
This is not that story.
Subject says it all. Let’s write some tiny Tronfics! I’ll start: “Don’t worry, man. You’ll be perfect soon.” Clu’s voice echoed in the small, closed space. He hummed to himself, too, whenever he forgot he was supposed to be better than that, but that sound was drowned out by the grating…
To play off of Grey’s post and Winzler’s response titled “The Long Game” …
The Longer Game
“Don’t worry, man. You’ll be perfect soon.” Clu’s voice echoed in the small, closed space, and Tron - newly designated Rinzler - struggled to dampen his constant, grating burr. Glitched contextual procedures threw out random associations - “gotta break some eggs to make an omelette,” “things gotta get worse before they get better,” “sometimes you just gotta break it again to get it to set right, man,” - while limping subprocesses concluded that Clu may not be any better at keeping his promises than Flynn was.
But if the price of remaining a playable piece in this game between Clu and the Creator meant a little perfecting? Acceptable.
Notes: This pretty much affirms that no one escapes Winzler’s influence, no matter how long they’ve idled or been away from fandom.
Dashed off after 15 seconds of thought to the prompt: can flynn tell stories of the grid to wee sam, props for use of the figurines
“I met a girl today.”
At Sam’s expression, a laugh burst straight from Kevin’s belly and he had to abandon the teasing he had originally intended. “What!” the boy demanded, his look of disgust morphing into a scowl of suspicion.
“You’ll get it when you’re older,” Kevin smirked, but when the suspicion began morphing into outright petulance, he shifted the boy a little closer to his hip and mock grumbled, “Fine, fine, I know, I’m not doing my job. Man, we should put YOU at the head of the board … all right, so, I met a girl.”
This time, Sam caught on, the brilliant little scamp. “On the Grid?” he squinted.
“On the Grid,” Kevin echoed solemnly with a hand over his heart.
“So?”
This time, it was Kevin’s turn to peer sideways at his son. “Man, good thing you’re NOT in charge of the board, you might actually get me to do some honest work. Whaddya mean, ‘so’?”
“There’re already lotsa girls on the Grid,” Sam reminded impatiently, and his frown indicated that it was a statistic he had been happy to ignore up till now.
“Yeah, well, this one’s SPECIAL - “
“She doesn’t sing, does she?”
Kevin stuttered to a halt. “What - I don’t know. I didn’t ask - yet. Maybe - why?”
“‘Cause singing’s annoying,” Sam asserted with that same wrinkle of his nose from before. “Do all the animals come and dance and sing to her?”
“I - what - where’re you getting all these questions, kiddo?”
“Does she wear a pink dress? Does she have a crown? Is this one of those dumb princess stories - “
Kevin sputtered and then raised the hand he had looped around his son’s shoulder to cover the boy’s mouth instead. “All right, all right, look buddy,” he tried for stern and failed miserably as his voice broke on a laugh. “Who’s telling the story here? And yeah, she’s kind of a princess, but no, there’re no pink dresses, and she’s incredible, one-of-a-kind, UNIQUE - “
Small hands pried at his fingers and Sam shouted past his muffling fingers, “Does she need t’get saved? Are there dragons? Does Tron get to - wait, wait, Daddy … !”
Kevin trailed off, bemused, as Sam thrashed and squirmed his way out from the nest of blankets and father to scramble across the bed, nearly tripping over the too-long toes of his onesie as he dove for the action figures still scattered over the bedstand.
Absently wiping his son’s spit off his palm, Kevin settled back as Sam returned with the plastic figurines, already making enthusiastic whooshing sounds as Tron rushed onto the scene, narrating events at a rate that could have given even the legendary Grid warrior a run for his cycles.
It looked like Kevin would get a chance to play slacker this evening after all.
How I wanted Legacy to end, because I am a horrible person and intent on crushing my own heart.
Yes I’m still alive and no I haven’t abandoned The Sea!
That said, I’ve been traveling a lot and had a lot of distractions lately, but then I saw the concept sketch for this gem and the muse bit something fierce and I just hadta dash this off in the 5 mins or so I had free:
WINZLER OMG“Hey,” Sam said, tired but damned if he was going to let that show. “Made it. Payload’s on its way.” He kept his hands on Tron’s shoulders, keeping him from slumping, but wasn’t able to keep his own smile up when the program’s eyes showed no recognition. “You better be up. Don’t care which one, ‘s long as it’s the devil I know.”
Nothing.
”Son of a bitch.” Sam placed one hand over Tron’s still Encom-red chestplate lights, and felt around his dock with the other. “You didn’t get me this far to check out on me, you read? Whatever’s out there, it can’t be that good to wipe you out. Best program on the Grid, remember? Fucking prove it.”
He broke off, eyes stinging and throat dry, and let the program sag forwards as he looked for a way to detach the Encom data. The disc looked like it would break if Sam forced it, but it was too wide and sharp to hold with any comfort. But he tripped a wire somewhere because there was barely a shudder, a slip against his suit, and his wrists were trapped in Rinzler’s grip. “Watch,” the program hissed.
— Finished my longfic at last: Sam loses some of his life, gains new horizons in return, and so does the rest of the Grid.
See how, what, and why over at AO3 where it’s possible to format text to one’s heart’s delight; I had immense fun coming up with ways of styling chatlogs, identity disc records, codespeak, and what not else. The only thing missing now is the chapter headers (yep, you can style each chapter individually) which will be nine fic-relevant Gridscapes, but I’ll post them here as a photoset when I’ve added them to the text. \o/ I just love AO3 sfm.
