"troubled times, caught between confusions and pain"

[notglitching]

Who: Tronzler Rinzler and you.
What: Glitchy sometimes-blue program going around being crazy and/or helpful.
Where: All over.
When: "Friendly Reminder" days 2 onwards. 2-3 preferred unless plotted otherwise. Specify in your tag?
Warnings: Rinzler. (...mindrape, mental/physical trauma, violence, blood (not his), general CRAZY.)

Comments

[notglitching]

Rinzler was still frozen, mask fixed downwards, processing caught in loops and errors, when-contact. The program flinches, pulls away from the touch. His helmet snaps up, functions scrambling to react, defend-

'Tron'

No. He's still again, rigid, can't move, the ISO's words grinding unsteady through his processing. 'You used to protect the entire Grid.' Circuitry flickers like a desperate heartbeat. He didn't. That's not who he is. There's a bitter skip in the unending buzz of conflict-but no noise (not here), no voice (never a voice). This user's almost right. He's not... Rinzler doesn't know how to help himself.

The motion catches him off guard, and he tenses as the other pulls the blade back (too slow, too glitching distracted-weak), then stares openly as it goes flying to impale one of the larger strange gridbugs. These move in swarms, Rinzler remembers. He should-

The user's in front of him now. Stance readied, back turned. Protecting.

No.

The enclosing mask snaps up, sideways as paired weapons activate with a hum. The program jerks an arm back, flings a disk past the user to ricochet off a nearby wall. It makes contact with a giant insect as the threat flies around a corner, slicing off the top of the creature's head. The program crouches, jumps-motion stiffer, slower than usual as unstable code shifts in protest-but quick enough to put him in front of the user.

The helmet jerks back, inexplicably furious. Go. Leave. Stop caring (lie), stop trying (wrong)-he doesn't matter. That's how it's supposed to be.

[ultimarecipe]

And Sora's surprised, honestly surprised when Rinzler does that. He moves so quickly, it reminds him of someone--but the glitches, the stiff movements--it uickly makes him forget who it is. He wants nothing more than to help Rinzler but he knows the other isn't going to let him at this point. Not when they've fought so much, and not when Sora's said some things he probably should regret (and he doesn't, because he's rash, because he's Sora and doesn't really apologize for a lot of things).

He knows the stance the other's giving to him, too. His head, jerking back.

And Sora frowns. He watches as the swarm starts closing in and he knows--he knows he can't leave John by himself, but what about Rinzler?

He doesn't look like he should be fighting... but he wants to. Truth be told? Sora knows that feeling. He doesn't want to dictate what he should do, so he breathes in and finally started to step backwards.

"When me and John are done clearing this place out, I'm dragging you to the clinic, or the mansion, or somewhere! I'm not leaving you out here by yourself!"

Where he is, he casts a Firaga spell, burning most of of the swarm, making it easier on Rinzler by giving them previous damage to deal with.

[notglitching]

The user's stepping back. Leaving.

Good. That much, at least, is normal is right he knows what to do with.

Rinzler's arm flashes up to snatch his second disk from the air on rebound and the program pulls back, ready to launch the weapons again-when the user makes a promise (lie) that causes the mask to snap back, staring. Oh no. Rinzler shakes his head. He's had more than enough of users in this place trying to drag him where they thought he'd be safe or out of the way or... whatever that had been. He's not so badly damaged (mostly) and he's not letting that happen, and-is this user throwing fire at him? Again?

The program ducks, motions jerky, half-steady-and stares in bemusement as the flaming arc goes shooting past, well to the side, burying itself in the heart of the swarm to leave the enemies twitching, half-derezzed already. Rinzler pauses, helmet fixed back in a stare. The same as the blue user.

They make no sense.

He jerks back around, flings a disk forward to tear apart a crawling form before jumping forward, other disk stabbing down to bisect one of the oversized gridbugs still working to return to its feet. There are more, most damaged, but some not, buzzing down around walls and corners to scissor in with mouthparts and hooked claws. The program ducks, twists, disks a flashing blur of light as be blocks, deflects, cuts apart with as much speed and precision as he can manage, now. The user's going. That's what matters. That's something he can-

(fight for)