[If she wasn't viewing everything through a thick lens of self-hatred just now, Tosh might have seen the enquiry as a good thing - Aleera had only started asking those sorts of questions when graduation had become a real possibility for her. At the very least it shows willing.
She just looks at her communicator for a few minutes, then puts it to one side and leavesher cabin. Just for a few minutes, to clear her head.
Aaaand she sees her Inmate immediately. Just...standing there in the empty corridor.]
There's at least one subprocess that's managed to get itself out of the crash Rinzler locked himself into by now: This is good news and signs of an incipient restart.
Practically all it means is that his circuits dim a little as his name his called and he gives a fractional twitch of his head. Halp.]
[The fact he's helmetless makes her suspicious that someone else has been interfering with him. She'll ask later.]
All right. Let's see...
[Very carefully, Tosh detaches his disc and holds it flat with one hand, using the other to call up diagnostics and recent commands. (It would be infinitely faster to just connect it to her dataport, but the concept of plugging directly into her Inmate feels inappropriate and slightly bad-touch-y.) A lengthy attempt at analysis, some blips in perception - then a flood of bad code.
Timestamped a little later, she encounters some peculiar sensory input that she finds difficult to quantify. Something else to ask about. For now, she clears the bad code clogging his processes and performs something of a soft reboot to get him back in order.]
[He takes his disc back from her, stowing it on his back where it belongs before rerezzing his helmet.]
Yes.
[Starting down the hall toward his room, he continues his explanation--gesturing around his head to the sides of his helmet, as if indicative of something off to the edges of vision.]
[They've reached his door by now and he pauses to key it open, shaking his head as he does so and raising his shoulders in a helpless shrug. Then, he crashed.]
[Then he crashed. She nods her understanding and follows him into his cabin. There's something calming about how orderly and simple it is, how like the Grid. She chases the thought away.]
Were you aware of who - [She hunts for a less molest-y turn of phrase and can't find one.] - interfered with you?
[He gestures her toward the only chairlike thing in the room, waiting to see if she'll seat herself before he does the same. If not, he'll stay on his feet, too.]
Warden. Edward--Nygma. S--suspect.
[...That's enough talking for him. He pulls out his communicator and begins to type.]
«Suspect attempt to help in ignorance of Program anatomy.»
[She sits down as indicated, and frowns at the revelation that Nygma - not a man famed for his respect of other people's boundaries - had been the one to take off Rinzler's helmet and do God knows what el--
Oh, now she knows what that input was. For fuck's sake.]
Your circuitry is sensitive and he didn't notice or care.
[If they were on the Grid, the subvocal message being communicated here would be 'I would like nothing more than to find this man and punch him'.]
[The change of topic is more than welcome. Rinzler glances up from his intense study of his communicator.]
«JA,» [backspace, backspace,] «I believe I understand what,» [a brief hesitation,] «Tron means by choosing to fight. That I should choose. Have chosen. From what I knew, what I would fight for.»
[He pauses, resting his fingers against the edge of his communicator as he sorts through these thoughts and how to express them.]
«The Barge needs help. The System must be righted so all have a,» [another hesitation, his growl picking up in tempo,] «chance to choose. To play the game at their best.»
[He looks up at her again, steadily.]
«No one should be denied a chance. Even by themselves.»
She just looks at her communicator for a few minutes, then puts it to one side and leavesher cabin. Just for a few minutes, to clear her head.
Aaaand she sees her Inmate immediately. Just...standing there in the empty corridor.]
Rinzler?
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There's at least one subprocess that's managed to get itself out of the crash Rinzler locked himself into by now: This is good news and signs of an incipient restart.
Practically all it means is that his circuits dim a little as his name his called and he gives a fractional twitch of his head. Halp.]
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Rinzler, have you...
[There has to be a more appropriate word than 'crashed'. She clears her throat.]
If your systems are malfunctioning, can I look at your disc? Try to rectify it? [Wait, how will she differentiate yes from no.] If not, don't respond.
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Which is not entirely helpful, really, but there it is.
Toshiko's response gets a single drawn-out sort of click. Yes! Yes yes yes.]
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All right. Let's see...
[Very carefully, Tosh detaches his disc and holds it flat with one hand, using the other to call up diagnostics and recent commands. (It would be infinitely faster to just connect it to her dataport, but the concept of plugging directly into her Inmate feels inappropriate and slightly bad-touch-y.) A lengthy attempt at analysis, some blips in perception - then a flood of bad code.
Timestamped a little later, she encounters some peculiar sensory input that she finds difficult to quantify. Something else to ask about. For now, she clears the bad code clogging his processes and performs something of a soft reboot to get him back in order.]
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Soft reboot is gradual enough he can fold down into a crouch, catching himself on one hand as his circuits flicker and wink out entirely.
Several seconds pass, then the Program shakes himself like a wet animal.]
Thank-- you.
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Let's go to your cabin to talk. Can you tell me what happened?
[She can make an educated guess but it's probably best to hear it from the Rinzler's mouth. Also: who touched you :c]
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Yes.
[Starting down the hall toward his room, he continues his explanation--gesturing around his head to the sides of his helmet, as if indicative of something off to the edges of vision.]
Was--watching. Anomaly. Attempted--maintain visual contact. Then--
[They've reached his door by now and he pauses to key it open, shaking his head as he does so and raising his shoulders in a helpless shrug. Then, he crashed.]
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Were you aware of who - [She hunts for a less molest-y turn of phrase and can't find one.] - interfered with you?
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Warden. Edward--Nygma. S--suspect.
[...That's enough talking for him. He pulls out his communicator and begins to type.]
«Suspect attempt to help in ignorance of Program anatomy.»
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Oh, now she knows what that input was. For fuck's sake.]
Your circuitry is sensitive and he didn't notice or care.
[If they were on the Grid, the subvocal message being communicated here would be 'I would like nothing more than to find this man and punch him'.]
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Rinzler is just too embarrassed about all of it to form a coherent response to Nygma on his own behalf.
He defaults back to spoken language.]
Yes.
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So. About what you asked before this...incident. What prompted you to bring it up?
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«JA,» [backspace, backspace,] «I believe I understand what,» [a brief hesitation,] «Tron means by choosing to fight. That I should choose. Have chosen. From what I knew, what I would fight for.»
[He pauses, resting his fingers against the edge of his communicator as he sorts through these thoughts and how to express them.]
«I am ready to choose now.»
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What would you fight for, Rinzler?
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[He looks up at her again, steadily.]
«No one should be denied a chance. Even by themselves.»
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