leaderless [ INTRO // OPEN ]

[magebind]

who ; magebind and anyone who wanders by
what ; Ketojan's intro to the station.
where ; Zone 01
when ; Now :|b
warning(s) ; Can't think of any!
notes ; Action or prose is fine by me!

Comments

[double_discs]

The security program had to fight against his instincts to remain completely stationary and not reach automatically for his disc when the other went into a defensive stance. The power he saw gathering on the tips of the User's hands happily reinforced the command to halt, do nothing even as he wanted to deny the User the chance to use its unnatural abilities on him. His hands twitched all too eagerly at his sides for a fight.

Then it was over. The other relaxed and the enforcer felt the tension ease slowly out of him even as he continued to access the potential threat, eyes scanning over the odd armor and seeking out weak points with a programmed efficiency. He didn't think it would be too tough--even with the User's extra powers--but he knew in this world looks could be very deceiving. He wouldn't make the mistake of underestimating his opponents while CLU still needed him.

The low growl caught Rinzler's attention instantly. It was familiar in so many ways now. Not only did he control the pitch and tone and decibel of his own rumbling white noise to produce similar sounds, but he knew a creature or two now that made similar noises. And he found them instantly easier to interpret than most language for some reason.

Rinzler changed his rumble to something higher, reassuring and showing interest at the same time. He tilted his head curiously as he realized this was odd behavior for most Users. Why wasn't the person speaking?

"Identify," he demanded sharply, the tone an obvious throwback from his time on the Grid as the ultimate measure of security. If the User was only going to react then Rinzler was simply going to have to give him something to react to.

[magebind]

The other rumbled--the sound both familiar and yet not. His kind relied heavily on such noises, bound and stitched as they were, and Ketojan was acutely sensitive to the change in the other's tone. It was almost calming, and proved to be a jarring contrast to the sudden demand that followed.

Once more Ketojan was wracked with uncertainty. Were his actions not admission enough of his role? Amongst his people (though he could not claim they were his any longer, not after so flagrantly disobeying the Qun) everything about him, from his bindings to his demeanor, would have marked him as Saarebas. He had even performed magic before the man, yet that had somehow not made things clear. Ketojan was confused by the others ignorance.

Perhaps it was a sign of just how far he had strayed from the proper order that his own nature was no longer recognizable. To complicate matters further, this one was clearly bas--a foreigner, uneducated in the Qun--and it would not be the first time that saarebas had confused those outside the Qunari. He would need to make his purpose more obvious.

Carefully he assumed the position he would have normally occupied had his mask been intact and forcing his stance--head and shoulders lowered, chin jutting forward past the point of comfort, eyes averted, shoulders hunched. It was an awkward, prone position, but one he found a small measure of reassurance from being in. Ketojan growled again, softer this time. The sound, combined with his new posture, was intended to reflect the subservience of Saarebas.

[double_discs]

Rinzler froze.

The sight of that posture, the hapless positioning of the body to indicate the blind obedience that would follow such an admission--he recognized it readily. It was literally programmed into him to take around one person, the person who had written him, shaped him, made him into something new. It was his deference to that person. It was his sign of obedience.

The enforcer had never looked into a mirror before. Not like this.

Facing Tron head-on was infinitely different than what he saw before him here. It was an exact replica, that much was definite, but everything about the way Tron held himself was completely different from the way Rinzler knew he did. He had never comprehended how different it was.

It was like night and day. And if Tron were the bright, proud sun then Rinzler was the dark, shadowed moon. Only his castoff light could illuminate his powerless brethren.

Over processed: Shut down. Reboot.

Rinzler's rumbling white noise reverted back to a steady, flat tone. His posture reasserted itself with a slow roll of his shoulders. He stared impassively straight forward.

Redirect: leader of the Black Guard.

He tilted his head back up at the towering behemoth and took in the posture again, this time without feeling. The Black Guard were usually military fashion at ramrod attention but his processor adjusted for the new obedient, awaiting-orders posture and learned to ignore it as simply 'normal'. Despite the rough disuse, his voice was authoritative when he spoke again.

And this time he was running on a different set of directives. This time, he wasn't just security on the job, he was on a mission and he was in charge.

"I said identify. Your name, not your function." He growled in emphasize, taking a step closer and angling his head around to take a closer look at the thing's face. "Can't you talk? Can't you comply?"

[magebind]

So easily the certainty of another became his own, a sudden promise of comfort and order. Ketojan nearly sighed in relief, swallowing the sound as he slipped back so easily into the role he had found himself thrown from. A show of confidence, of authority, was as effective as any physical leash in assuring Ketojan that he no longer had to force himself into a position of control. Another would guide the situation as they deemed appropriate.

His function was as good as a name--had been his name, when he had served the Qun--but this one was bas, and likely did not know. Even if he did, who was Ketojan to question his demands? Already he was was thinking less, acting more on instinct than reason. Until another was presented with some greater claim to authority, or he left, this man would fill the void and be basvaarad.

If he said jump, Ketojan would jump. If he said speak, Ketojan would speak. It was simple. Comforting. For all his stand-in karataam had to say about the supposed failings of the Qun, they could not replicate the ease of automatically knowing ones place and what was expected of it.

One lead, another served. Qunari or not, Ketojan would always know where he fell in that regard.

Speech was awkward, even now when he knew he would not be automatically punished for it, and he was slow enough finding his voice that for a moment it seemed he would remain silent. When he finally spoke it was low, halting and uncertain, muffled by the remaining stitches tugging at his lips and rough from a lifetime of near-silence.

"Saarebas."

The lack of practice makes it nearly impossible for him to add the right inflection to the word, to properly reflect the weight it carries. It's an admission of guilt, to being weak, a vessel of chaos and unpredictability, to being a danger to the proper order. His voice would carry shame if he knew how--instead it is only an unsteady, toneless rasp.

[double_discs]

It was enough for Rinzler. He cared little for inflection and even less for the emotion behind it. The rough, tonelessness should have have garnered a ping of empathy or at the least a subprocess of curiosity as to why a User would be this way, but instead all it did was satiate the enforcer's need for proper identification. Thus satisfied, the security program leaned back away from the mage and began to inspect his form with a closer examination.

There wasn't really any armor to begin with once the huge collar was ignored, allowing the observer to focus on other features. The chains were pointless, useless and Rinzler rumbled in disapproval at the complete lack of protection over the vital areas of the chest. The rest was meaningless.

Had he been more perceptive he would have realized it was all a simple symbol, a projection of what the man was rather than who the man was.

His tone and pitch of the white noise returned to normal and remained there as he spoke again. "Saarebas. Confirmed. Good." He contemplated for a moment before barreling forward once more. He could do one of two things with the creature (it was too simplistic to think of as a User anymore, less intelligent and free-thinking than even Toothless). He could leave it here to continue wandering around the city aimlessly, or he could order it around and see where it finally broke. And if it didn't--then he would have a new plan for it.

"State current objective." If it even had one.

[magebind]

Objective? Only a few minutes ago he would have readily identified his goal: find his basvaarad. Find a leader. Now it seemed like a distant, foolish idea, a moment of idiocy not worth mentioning. It had been a self-determined objective, folly on his part--although in a strange way he had fulfilled it regardless. This man was not Hawke, was not even familiar to him in the least, but he filled the role as well as any.

Arvaarad had been right--of course he had been right--in that a saarebas could not be trusted outside their karataam. Without guidance, without supervision, there were too many chances for corruption to seep in. Ketojan--Saarabas--had erred in thinking he could choose a course of action for himself. It had caused only anxiety and uncertainty, emotions he had rarely felt while in service to the Qun. Now that he had found one more suitable to the task, leaving him free to assume his proper role, he felt peaceful, almost calm.

This was not perfect, of course. The man was not Qunari, and neither was Ketojan, but to the mage it was close enough. After the chaos of earlier, it felt right.

Ketojan's silence was his reply. He had no true objective, no current purpose except to follow and obey. His body language reflected that well enough, as it always had in the past, and there would be nothing gained by further breaking the rules of silence. Had this man been Qunari Ketojan's tongue, perhaps even his life, would likely already be forfeit for his transgressions, but this thought did not particularly bother him now. Any punishment incurred would be because he earned it through his own weakness, and he would welcome it.

[double_discs]

Rinzler snorted in derision at the lack of response. He'd almost grown upset until it occurred to him that it wasn't trying to defy but simply without any directive at all in its current state. It completely lacked a direction and purpose, did not even have the freedom of mind to even state this.

It was less than a bit. Even lesser than a gridbug.

"Perfect. New directive," he told the saarebas with cold efficiency, treating him like the lowest subroutine beneath every program on the Grid. "You are going to follow me. It is going to take a while, and there will be no stopping."

And that was that. He left no room for argument. He didn't expect any. Not even bothering to glance over his shoulder after he'd preformed a military precision about-face, he walked off with the sure confidence that he would be followed by his new soldier.

[magebind]

Another warm rush of familiarity. Orders, simple and clear, with no loose ends for him to even begin to think of fretting over. He had no qualms at being treated in such a way--expected it, even--and Ketojan seemed almost pleased to fall into step behind the man, content to follow even without the slightest idea where they were going or even what the strangers name was. It was not important that Ketojan know the destination, and as for names--he'd already half-begun to think of him as Basvaarad, urged on by the almost desperate need for leadership carved into him by the Qun.

He kept pace silently as he could, the only noise coming from his footfalls and the grinding of heavy links of chain against one another, without complaint. His eyes remained downcast, trained on the heels of his latest stand-in basvaarad, and he walked slightly closer than he would normally consider a respectful distance--above all else, Ketojan did not wish to become lost once more.