18 ☀ Day; Video
[ When the feed opens, it might be strange to see Ichigo looking so...despondent. Even stranger? He's broadcasting from Lior's old Place of Solace. But just like any Place of Solace that remains after the owner is gone, there's something....off about it. Some vitality gone from the place. ]
...I think...I think Lioriley is gone.
[ He looks down, ( Read more... )
...I think...I think Lioriley is gone.
[ He looks down, ( Read more... )
You're a person. You always have been. Whether you're an alien life form, a giant robot, a corrupted soul, witch, or sentient tapioca freaking pudding, I don't care.
You're you. A person. And that's all that matters.
[ Seeing the internal struggle, Ichigo sighed, shoulders slumping a bit with exasperation. He's stubborn though. Stubborn enough that hastily he backed off. Several steps actually. And after putting a little bit of distance between himself, and Rinzler, reached for the red bolo securing his sword to his back.
With a practiced twist of his wrist, he brought the wrapped ( as close to sheathed as Zangetsu ever got ) around, and gently laid the huge blade down on the smooth floor of the arena.
There. Now he's unarmed. Willingly. And when he starts to move again, his hands are held out at his sides, empty. Hi, Rinzler, be doing something that feels incredibly rude even to him, and crowding your space. ]
Then if you like hurting people so much? Hurt me. Do it. I'm unarmed, and I won't fight back.
Hurt me, and then tell me how good it felt.
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Does it?
There's a twist in his processing, something unclenching as Ichigo steps back. Release. Uncertainty. Then he twitches in alarm-response, reaction (relief) as the other's hand goes back towards the weapon. Rinzler's own motion is quick, response immediate as his stance loosens to a crouch, hand flashing towards his disks-
...what is he doing?
The program stops, stares at the abandoned weapon, at Ichigo, moving, closing. Unarmed. Noise stutters out in irregular skips, reach faltering. The other's a threat, a combatant (enemy?), but he's-he's not fighting. Rinzler freezes, confusion tangling with error, protocol misaligning, shifting-his head jerks sideways. This is... (wrong) not a fight, not-this isn't what he wanted. He doesn't-
He steps back.]
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[ Ha! Ichigo has the sense to keep it off his expression ( in favor of a scowl ) but he couldn't help feeling a sense of smug vindication. Letting Rinzler do as he liked, Ichigo raised an eyebrow, and kept his hands open at his sides. ]
Maybe you shouldn't just accept that because something has always been one way, that it can't eventually change.
You have a choice. A choice to attack me, right here, right now, or to not. You proved you're strong enough to make choices on your own. You're strong enough to do a lot of things.
Are you strong enough to choose to stop hurting people?
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...Rinzler's not supposed to change.
Threat. Target? He doesn't know what Ichigo is, what the user's trying to be. This isn't normal, isn't right, doesn't match-and if there's an uneasy shift of response, action through his protocol, it's hardly clear enough to compel. There's no reason to attack like this.
(He doesn't want to.)
That's not the choice. The program stares up from his crouch, sound ticking out ragged and resentful. The hand lowers from his disks-and flashes out. Quick, aggressive-but open, a shove to push the user back. Away.]
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[ I see what you did there, and the shove, though aggressive only results in Ichigo catching hold of one of Rinzler's wrists. He doesn't need his sword to have his speed, and stamina. ]
You don't want to hear this, but it's the fucking truth! You could kill me right here, and right now, and we both know it. But you know what? I saw the way you acted before.
I choose to trust you.
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He doesn't want to-not here, like this-no. But that doesn't-doesn't mean enough, not now, not ever. Rinzler's not what the user seems to think. And he will destroy others. Here. No matter who tries to stop him.
The helmet lowers, fists curling with rigid force. 'choose to trust...'
He shouldn't.]
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He's made his decision about you, and hopes that with time, and work, he can help you somehow. Because believe it or not, he gets a lot of that internal conflict. Of being trapped behind a mask.
Still, he's not backing down, either. He just sighs, and tilts his head a little to keep looking for something more besides that opaque helmet. ]
...You don't have to be all alone, you know.
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There's nothing to find.
Rinzler straightens partway, in the end, though not past his typical drawn in hunch. He shifts slightly, a halfway shrug, though the helmet dips slightly away. He doesn't have to be. But he was made to run independently (Redirect-) carry out Clu's orders on his own.
Rinzler doesn't have orders, here.]
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I mean it. You don't have to be alone. Or to hurt people. You have a choice...no matter what anybody says.
[ "You think all your battles up to this point have been chance? Fate? Why do you think that with all your latent abilities, even as a child, you never sensed the presence of a hollow until that day.
I have held your life in the palm of my hand since you were born."
Unbidden, the memory of Aizen's words came back to him, and Ichigo's expression tightened. Just for a second, though. Because this time he didn't push it away. This time, he made himself remember, and then made himself push the fear away. ]
Choices suck, though. I won't lie to you about that. Being in charge of your own life is hard...but is it harder than being alone, and without a direction? You say you know what you are. That you like hurting people. But your actions say otherwise.
You can choose, Rinzler. You can be whatever you want to be.
[ Carefully, slowly so Rinzler wouldn't misinterpret the movement, Ichigo reached for the program's wrist again. Fingers were already tensed up, so holding that wrist out so that he could bump his closed fist lightly against Rinzler's wasn't that hard. The hard part would be what the program might do in reaction to it. ]
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'...choice.'
There's the faintest twitch of the black mask. Not a sideways jerk of denial, not turning up or down. But reaction all the same. He wasn't written to-he wasn't written for any of this. It's wrong.
He's wrong.
He doesn't have a direction. He doesn't-without Clu, he hardly has a function. He doesn't know how to choose, and if the concept spikes with error and prickling unease, it doesn't make a difference. Rinzler doesn't know what he wants to be. And wanting doesn't do anything.
The reach snaps his focus down, and Rinzler's head turns between the Ichigo's expression and the hand. He doesn't pull away from the contact, though tension turns to rigidity, discomfort obvious. The motion, soft collision takes him... by surprise. His rumbling shifts faintly, mask tilting at the other as his wrist twists slightly in the user's grip.]
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[ But Ichigo graces that obvious confusion with a wry smirk. ]
But this is just what friends do. You know to say hello, and stuff. I know you know what a friend is.
[ looking down again, Ichigo carefully, hesitantly ( in case Rinzler decided to jerk back again ) let go of the programs wrist. ]
Here, see? Make a fist.
[ There's absolutely nothing threatening at all about it. Just a little motion. Tapping one fist against the other. ]
Some people do different things, though. It just depends.
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He doesn't step away, though his arm does pull away with an edge of relief as the user lets go. The mask tips uncertainly at the request. There's a pause, then he complies.
Strange.
He hesitates a moment, then reaches sideways with his other hand, keying up the inactive console.]
Why?
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Because I can see little glimpses of the other you inside that mask.
Because you need it.
Because I choose to believe in you." ]
...Because I choose to.
[ Choose to accept you don't know how to control yourself, and accept the responsibility of working on it. Choose to accept that you believe you're nothing but a killing machine, and vow to change it. Choose to help you learn what's good, and what's wrong. Against all odds. Against the monumental task. Across worlds, and understanding, and lifetimes of pain.
Choose to be your friend. ]
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But Ichigo isn't stopping. Isn't fighting, isn't moving to strike or defend, resolve or run. The user's not leaving.
'choice'
There's a pause, uncertainty, a thousand cycles of shouldn't and don't and can't twisting through his code. Rinzler knows this won't work. Knows Ichigo will regret it. Mistake, error. But not his choice to make.
The black helmet dips. Not a bow, not lowering in avoidance or struggle or regret. Rinzler nods. There's more response somewhere, old protocol and reply dredging up-not forbidden, just unused. He hesitates for a moment. He doesn't know if it matches.
He thinks it does.]
Thank you.
[Even though the user will learn better.]
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It's cool. I figure someone needs to help you not be so serious all the time.
[ Lame attempt at humor is lame. Ichigo is also sort of wanting to retrieve Zangetsu, just because his sword was a part of is soul. But not yet. First he had to make sure Rinzler understood him. ]
...So yeah. Now that's settled, I have a question for you;
How'd you feel about some new 'Games' on your arena, here?
[ Because this place would be freaking ideal for Fight Club. ]
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The helmet tilts slightly at the first words (they've already been through the 'what is humor' for the day). It's not particularly relevant significant, though. He shrugs.
At the question, though, his sound quickens, attention visibly sharpening. Rinzler's mask angles in question. Going by the last time, Ichigo's concept of play is... not always what he's used to.
But Rinzler is always interested in Games.]
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