Infinite Recursions (The Sweetest Perfection)
In lieu of pretending I will ever explain where I went, have the first story I've written entire since last September.
First of all, it's Tron: Legacy. Second: if you don't ship Flynn/Clu or some permutation, step light. Tiny spoiler between the lines, and some references to the dead wife from the comics, who isn't around at all in the movie. Nice job, Disney.
Third: I own nothing. I bow before the Mouse King and beg his forgiveness; now, Herr Drosselmeyer, give me back my dolls, o.
At last, your summary: After the end, Clu writes abstruse purple softcore AU about a system where things turned out differently, and he and Flynn RULE THE WORLD.
Infinite Recursions
To Accompaniment: Venetian Snares - Öngyilkos Vasárnap
The whole outcome left a bad taste in his mouth. Or would have, if Clu could taste things like Users could. They appeared to be able to taste feelings, if one followed the metaphor to its natural, logical, orderly conclusion.
Bad taste. It was manifestly uncool. There was only thing to do. He would have to set the record straight and spinning right 'round, baby, right 'round.
He'd studied the network for many cycles and finally reached a decision.
Fanfic was totally the way to go.
And darkness was upon the face of the deep.
The Creator arrived in the rain in a shroud, wrapped in darkness that lapped at his ankles like water, curled to him close and soft as wings. Lesser programs ducked out of his way, hurrying about their tasks, at the look on his face.
Even Clu hesitated. He'd never seen anything like that expression before, bleak and broken and wrong. Like something vital, some critical file or process, was missing or corrupted. He was shaking with the proof, leaning to one side as though pushed that way.
"She's gone," Flynn said, and that was it, that was all.
"We'll find her," Clu heard himself say, felt himself promise, instantly--he didn't know what had happened, but he knew he could fix it. He knew he must. "I will."
"You can't." Flynn leaned away, and Clu could see his face was wet--they shouldn't be standing in the rain.
He tried to ask softly, bewildered. "Explain?"
"Later. I'll--" Flynn turned his back, stared off at nothing, "I'll explain later."
Clu hurried after him. "Perhaps if I knew where to look--"
But Tron glared at him and stepped between them. Tron did that a lot. It was a quirk in his original programming, or something. Creepy security subroutine. And he was grabby. Someone ought to do something about that.
They all went inside, but outside, the rain continued to fall.
-
You shall not surely die.
They were halfway through a discussion of the supply issue with the main transfer points under Tron City when Clu made the mistake of saying her name.
Flynn rounded on him, snarled and tore free of his grip. "You don't understand!"
"I could! I could if you would tell me what's happening to you--what it means!" He couldn't vocalize correctly, throat drawn tight. "If you would tell me what to do!"
"I don't have all the answers!" The table cracked under Flynn's palm, glass spidering outward with the impact. The walls hummed under sudden strain. The floor itself was trembling. "I can't always be here!"
Clu didn't recoil. He advanced, slow and even, suddenly aware.
He couldn't do anything about Jordan. He couldn't do anything about Sam. But Kevin? There was a solution for that.
"I know," Clu murmured, leaning, pressing close. "I know."
He knew exactly what he had to do.
He started by fixing Tron.
-
It was always raining, on the Grid, because they had decided it must be. It was always raining, in repeating fractal patterns that coordinated exactly with the changing of the hours in the outside world. It was the first thing they achieved together. The start of a bold new synchrony that would begin here, in the inside world, and extend to the one beyond.
"You were right," Flynn said, grinning like his old self again, but sharper. Keener around the edges, somehow. "You were right all along."
It was the first day, and for the first time in a long time, it was good.
On the second day, they prioritized, and on the third, they wrote the names of every program running. Organized a database. Sorted out the stragglers. The fourth day was for tearing down, and the fifth day was for building up. The sixth day went entirely into design and deployment.
The seventh day was a day of rest, one long stretch of sleep, each in their fashion--Clu stood to one side, and was shocked, fascinated, to find that Users slept on their spines or their sides or their stomachs in a sprawl, in the dark softnesses of beds.
Beds were awesome. Eventually they'd cover the Grid with them, but this one was adequate for its present purposes, all black sheets and close warmth. For a long time, he watched Kevin sleep. And for a little while longer, he listened, learning the slow, steady thunder of Kevin's heart beneath his ear.
The Games reopened on the eighth. On the ninth, their first opponents fell.
By midnight on the ninth day, all was right as rain.
-
Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew that they were naked.
out of memory at line
END
First of all, it's Tron: Legacy. Second: if you don't ship Flynn/Clu or some permutation, step light. Tiny spoiler between the lines, and some references to the dead wife from the comics, who isn't around at all in the movie. Nice job, Disney.
Third: I own nothing. I bow before the Mouse King and beg his forgiveness; now, Herr Drosselmeyer, give me back my dolls, o.
At last, your summary: After the end, Clu writes abstruse purple softcore AU about a system where things turned out differently, and he and Flynn RULE THE WORLD.
Infinite Recursions
To Accompaniment: Venetian Snares - Öngyilkos Vasárnap
The whole outcome left a bad taste in his mouth. Or would have, if Clu could taste things like Users could. They appeared to be able to taste feelings, if one followed the metaphor to its natural, logical, orderly conclusion.
Bad taste. It was manifestly uncool. There was only thing to do. He would have to set the record straight and spinning right 'round, baby, right 'round.
He'd studied the network for many cycles and finally reached a decision.
Fanfic was totally the way to go.
And darkness was upon the face of the deep.
The Creator arrived in the rain in a shroud, wrapped in darkness that lapped at his ankles like water, curled to him close and soft as wings. Lesser programs ducked out of his way, hurrying about their tasks, at the look on his face.
Even Clu hesitated. He'd never seen anything like that expression before, bleak and broken and wrong. Like something vital, some critical file or process, was missing or corrupted. He was shaking with the proof, leaning to one side as though pushed that way.
"She's gone," Flynn said, and that was it, that was all.
"We'll find her," Clu heard himself say, felt himself promise, instantly--he didn't know what had happened, but he knew he could fix it. He knew he must. "I will."
"You can't." Flynn leaned away, and Clu could see his face was wet--they shouldn't be standing in the rain.
He tried to ask softly, bewildered. "Explain?"
"Later. I'll--" Flynn turned his back, stared off at nothing, "I'll explain later."
Clu hurried after him. "Perhaps if I knew where to look--"
But Tron glared at him and stepped between them. Tron did that a lot. It was a quirk in his original programming, or something. Creepy security subroutine. And he was grabby. Someone ought to do something about that.
They all went inside, but outside, the rain continued to fall.
-
You shall not surely die.
They were halfway through a discussion of the supply issue with the main transfer points under Tron City when Clu made the mistake of saying her name.
Flynn rounded on him, snarled and tore free of his grip. "You don't understand!"
"I could! I could if you would tell me what's happening to you--what it means!" He couldn't vocalize correctly, throat drawn tight. "If you would tell me what to do!"
"I don't have all the answers!" The table cracked under Flynn's palm, glass spidering outward with the impact. The walls hummed under sudden strain. The floor itself was trembling. "I can't always be here!"
Clu didn't recoil. He advanced, slow and even, suddenly aware.
He couldn't do anything about Jordan. He couldn't do anything about Sam. But Kevin? There was a solution for that.
"I know," Clu murmured, leaning, pressing close. "I know."
He knew exactly what he had to do.
He started by fixing Tron.
-
It was always raining, on the Grid, because they had decided it must be. It was always raining, in repeating fractal patterns that coordinated exactly with the changing of the hours in the outside world. It was the first thing they achieved together. The start of a bold new synchrony that would begin here, in the inside world, and extend to the one beyond.
"You were right," Flynn said, grinning like his old self again, but sharper. Keener around the edges, somehow. "You were right all along."
It was the first day, and for the first time in a long time, it was good.
On the second day, they prioritized, and on the third, they wrote the names of every program running. Organized a database. Sorted out the stragglers. The fourth day was for tearing down, and the fifth day was for building up. The sixth day went entirely into design and deployment.
The seventh day was a day of rest, one long stretch of sleep, each in their fashion--Clu stood to one side, and was shocked, fascinated, to find that Users slept on their spines or their sides or their stomachs in a sprawl, in the dark softnesses of beds.
Beds were awesome. Eventually they'd cover the Grid with them, but this one was adequate for its present purposes, all black sheets and close warmth. For a long time, he watched Kevin sleep. And for a little while longer, he listened, learning the slow, steady thunder of Kevin's heart beneath his ear.
The Games reopened on the eighth. On the ninth, their first opponents fell.
By midnight on the ninth day, all was right as rain.
-
Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew that they were naked.
out of memory at line
END