Fic: Flotsam
Fandom(s): Tron: Legacy
Characters: Quorra/Tronzler
Warnings: Some implied stuff, but nothing explicit
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Summary:
This be a fill for this prompt learned through Winzler (though I think someone else was the originator of the prompt itself ... the enabling was all Winzler's fault, though). I started out aiming at the spirit of the prompt, but sort of wandered a bit along the way.
When the sea finally released him, there was nothing to greet him but the bare strand upon which he lay. The only light came from the flickers of energy discharge amongst the clouds far overhead, and even the great communications towers loomed quiescent and dark. The landscape was a textured map of shadows upon shadows, with only the sea producing an occasional, glittering shatter of pixelated breakers, and he lay there for long microcycles with the water tugging at his legs, wondering if there was reason for him to move.
But then he began to remember, and when it occurred to him that he could turn around and walk back into the sea, the sea reminded him with a surge which swept over his hips that it had rejected him once already. Thus, with only one direction left to go, he pushed himself to his feet, and stepped out of the water's pull.
Twenty-eight cycles later, they found him.
The sea was a constant distraction; an ever-present murmur in a place where, before, he had only ever heard the system. There was a rhythm now, a steady metronome that kept pace with the ebb and flow of the waves lapping at the shore, and occasionally, he wondered if this was what a user called a "heartbeat"; the constant, subliminal sensation of something shivering deep inside.
It was not enough to keep him from noticing the distant glow of programs wandering down the bluffs - the spare lights of their suits and batons allowing them to pick their path safely to the shore - but it was enough that he forgot to erase the footprints he left behind. The system whispered - alert - when the first cry went up, and he pressed even deeper into the fissure he had found as the programs scattered, canvassing the ground. His fingers dug into the bluff face when alertness became - aggression - as they began to converge upon the breach, and then it became - confusion - as he was inexorably pulled into the wan light. But everything was quickly swept away by - recognition outrage danger - as identification was made, and he turned his head away, waiting for the blow -
- and the sea surged with a hollow boom when light pierced the heavens to prick the horizon.
Eight microcycles later, she arrived.
The others parted before her with the murmur of uncertain feet, but the sound was different than when they had approached him. It was not fear which held them back, but a budding reverence; respect and awe. They did not question her when she dismissed them, nor did any dare to linger.
If he had not already been on his knees, he might have fallen by the time she stopped before him.
She had changed, when programs were supposed to be changeless, and it went beyond the superficial modeling, the small updates that were easy to overlook. Instead, he could feel the unseen currents of sea and system banked around her now, and for a moment, caught up in their eddies, he swayed dizzily toward her like flotsam at a whirlpool's edge.
Are you a user, now? he wanted to ask, but his shattered voice stuck in his throat, crowded already with equally shattered memories -
- behind Ophelia, just one dark head amongst dozens of others, but eyes fixed so bright and curious upon -
- more quick-thinking and nimble-footed, slamming herself into the others so that they all fell in a heap, barely ducking the flash of -
- pale face etched with fury and determination, only a nanosecond's warning from the system before he brought his arms up - not fast enough - to block her -
"Rinzler," she named him, and he flinched, head bowing. "Tron," she said next, and his head bowed even farther, wrapping his arms around himself as he felt something churn painfully deep inside, as if all his code might unravel and fly apart. "You fell in the Sea."
And the sea had given him back. The sterile sea, out of which no ISO would emerge again, had nudged him aside in its slumber like a misplaced bit.
"Nothing to say?"
What could he say that she did not already know?
"I saw you. I saw you slaughtering my kind - "
- a glittering cascade of disembodied voxels, showering across the platform like an energy stream, collapsing with a dull crunch beneath his feet as he pulled his disc back and -
" - on the streets, in the Games - "
- a pulse he could feel at his very core, that nebulous place where the system spoke to him, a poisonous adulation that throbbed with their cheers even as the only voice he heard was -
" - you were like their dog, let out for when there's killing to be done - "
Sounds filled the space between her words; pitiful, choked noises that hitched and stuttered like a damaged mp3. It felt like something jagged was trying to claw through his throat, and there was suddenly the incongruous, glassine crackle of voxels straining on the edge of derezzing ...
"Rinz - Tron! Tron! Stop!"
There was pain at his wrists, a too tight grasp trying to pry his hands from their grips. He let go, startled, panic welling up as he wondered what damage he was causing before he realized that all those sounds were coming from him and that hairline fractures now lined his arms where he had clutched.
"Tron, look at me - look at me ... please - "
He shut his eyes tight, trying to find the sea again. He knew it had to be there - it was always there - but all of his processes were tangled in an endless loop of -
- it was the same template again; the wide, pleading eyes, the mouth open in dismay, and the hands crumbling into nothingness between them -
And then there was softness against his lips.
- softness pressed against him, softness upon his mouth, and he didn't know where to put his hands or what he was supposed to be doing, so he just held as still as possible until she pulled back and smiled at him. "That is a kiss - "
He gasped when she pulled away, a barely remembered yearning finally pushing his gaze up as he rasped, "Yori?"
But her hair was obsidian and short where the other's was gold and long. She flinched where the other would have smiled, and the grip upon his shoulders tightened in warning, not desire.
"No, wait," she said rapidly when he flinched away, but this time, the tug upon him was gentle. "Tron, I'm sorry, it's all right ... "
No, nothing was right, and now he wondered if the Sea had been more vindictive than merciful in returning him. "Why ... "
He could feel her tensing, but her voice was calm as she said, "You weren't processing anymore. I didn't know if - it seemed the easiest way to get your attention."
"Why?" he repeated, suddenly weary, and now it was no trouble at all to feel that soft sussuration that thrummed through his circuits, the gentle rhythm which had been part of his first lucid moments and which now beckoned him back into its lulling depths ...
Her lips pressed against his again, and this time, with forewarning, he knew not to press back; that this was not his comfort to take. But she did not pause and then pull away as he expected, but pushed back instead, and now there was something more ... a steady pressure, coaxing, and his lips parted automatically beneath the insistence before warmth slipped inside.
" - it is something that Users do - "
He stared unabashedly when she sat back upon her heels, considering him with a grave look. He curled his tongue within his mouth, trying to compare that odd sensation to what he had just experienced, and for a long moment, was so distracted that he forgot fear and shame and even the sea, though it whispered but mere meters away.
"You're different, now," she abruptly murmured, bringing him back to himself, and he shook. Different? He had been so far from defaults for so long that reports from revision control had become meaningless.
There was a touch ... two. One on his chest, and the other reaching around -
"Shh, Tron, don't be afraid!" she murmured when he startled, her slim weight pressing back against him until he realized he was trembling with tension, chest heaving beneath her palm. He tried to turn away, but her kohl-lined eyes, the same piercing blue as her circuits, held his and he could do nothing but stare back with the system whispering - caution caution - and shiver as her touch ghosted over the empty sync port on his back. "It's all right, I'm not going to hurt you ... just let me take a look, all right?"
Her gaze fell, releasing his, and he let his eyes fall closed in fleeting relief. The probe was gentle, as promised, and barely skimmed past the surface interfaces ... "What - " he croaked when he felt the change begin at his throat, whispering across the surface of his body.
"Don't worry," was all she said, rocking back to take him in more fully, and he realized that his grid-suit was slowly being eaten away.
"Hey, man, if you've got it, flaunt it! But let's not leave everything just hangin' out there, if y'know what I - "
No, he hadn't known what it meant, but he had learned enough to feel unease as he was bared, squared-centimeter by squared-centimeter, revealing traces he could barely recall underneath. Her eyes were following the retreating sheath of black, obviously searching, and he had to fight the urge to hide from her gaze before she made a sudden sound.
He froze, struggling to parse its distressed nature - caution caution - when she reached out slowly. By now, she had learned to telegraph her intentions, and by now, he had learned to hold still for them, and this time, there was no wince when her touch rested over a silvery contact. "Tron," she whispered. "What is this?"
He blinked, glanced between the point of her chin to the press of her hand, and did not understand until he noticed the dull lines which lay beneath her palm. Gray and lifeless, the intermittent swaths of dead contacts looked even more dingy next to their bright-lit brethren. "Was this because of ...? Did Clu do this to you?"
They had not hampered the execution of his duties, and thus, no resources had been expended to repair them. It was not as if there had been any expectation that he would be interfacing with others while under the sysadmin's reign.
He shrugged one shoulder minutely and turned his head aside ... but in the corners of his eyes, her expression abruptly changed, and the system flashed - warning intent - and his arms crossed out of sheer reflex in a block that she bypassed completely, hand flashing through the space where a now-missing disc would have stopped her. He felt a pressure against his chest, a tingling at his back -
Light flared beneath her palm, and he shuddered, choking.
Her eyes were wide in that brief flash, shock illumined upon her face.
He stared down at the clean, unfettered glow that now gleamed from between her fingers. "Are you a user?" he rasped in awe and fear.
"You can hear the sea?" she gasped, with a wide gaze that whispered of -
" - name's Ophelia. She picked it herself! She picked her own name, man!"
"But you're not an ... you don't have a mark ... "
- wonder -
- she surged close, and only battle-grade reflexes flung an arm behind him in time to brace them both as she pressed full-length against him -
It was worse than the blow that had come from the hand of a friend. More sweet than energy pure from its source, shared between hard-won comrades.
- amazement hope -
He had never known heat like this; something that seemed to transcend simple, numerical measurements of temperature. He knew the refreshing chill of a natural energy spring, the frigid pain of battle damage, the pleasant, fluttering warmth of a touch upon bared contacts ... but this was the scorch of a processor on the verge of burning out, the dangerous spark of a short about to leap its insulating barrier. A sound escaped him that he did not consciously make, and it was only when she stroked his shoulders with a soothing 'shhh' that he even realized he was shaking; clutching her with a desperation that must have been painful, though she did not complain.
"Tron, it's okay, just a little longer ... "
The sea crowded in. This must be what it was like to drown - a heady, dizzying sensation while an unbearable pressure filled his body. He spasmed, choked, a heretofore ignored self-preservation routine clawing desperately for the surface -
Her lips were pressed against his again. A kiss - she was kissing him, and he could feel her arms tight around him and her body pressed against his - he could feel it, all of it, all the traces and contacts and sensors coming on-line with glass-edged clarity until he sobbed -
"Tron ... "
He trembled. A hand was tangled in dark tresses, and each finger ached as she coaxed him to unlock them, one by one.
"Tron?"
He glowed. All his circuits were once again flushed with life, and as if he had been half-blinded as well until now, he found all the thoughts that he had grasped at for a thousand cycles.
"I didn't - none of it, I didn't want any of it ... I tried to stop - always, I never gave up, but it was so hard ... "
It was like the clouds above finally breaking, showering their contents down upon the Grid, too heavy to maintain their burden anymore. He felt the dampness upon his cheeks, eyes hot and stinging beneath their lids, and he clung to the last ISO as she cradled him against her.
"I know, Tron. Shhh ... I know you didn't - I believe you ... I believe you ... I believe you ... "
Illustration by Winzler
Characters: Quorra/Tronzler
Warnings: Some implied stuff, but nothing explicit
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Summary:
This be a fill for this prompt learned through Winzler (though I think someone else was the originator of the prompt itself ... the enabling was all Winzler's fault, though). I started out aiming at the spirit of the prompt, but sort of wandered a bit along the way.
When the sea finally released him, there was nothing to greet him but the bare strand upon which he lay. The only light came from the flickers of energy discharge amongst the clouds far overhead, and even the great communications towers loomed quiescent and dark. The landscape was a textured map of shadows upon shadows, with only the sea producing an occasional, glittering shatter of pixelated breakers, and he lay there for long microcycles with the water tugging at his legs, wondering if there was reason for him to move.
But then he began to remember, and when it occurred to him that he could turn around and walk back into the sea, the sea reminded him with a surge which swept over his hips that it had rejected him once already. Thus, with only one direction left to go, he pushed himself to his feet, and stepped out of the water's pull.
Twenty-eight cycles later, they found him.
The sea was a constant distraction; an ever-present murmur in a place where, before, he had only ever heard the system. There was a rhythm now, a steady metronome that kept pace with the ebb and flow of the waves lapping at the shore, and occasionally, he wondered if this was what a user called a "heartbeat"; the constant, subliminal sensation of something shivering deep inside.
It was not enough to keep him from noticing the distant glow of programs wandering down the bluffs - the spare lights of their suits and batons allowing them to pick their path safely to the shore - but it was enough that he forgot to erase the footprints he left behind. The system whispered - alert - when the first cry went up, and he pressed even deeper into the fissure he had found as the programs scattered, canvassing the ground. His fingers dug into the bluff face when alertness became - aggression - as they began to converge upon the breach, and then it became - confusion - as he was inexorably pulled into the wan light. But everything was quickly swept away by - recognition outrage danger - as identification was made, and he turned his head away, waiting for the blow -
- and the sea surged with a hollow boom when light pierced the heavens to prick the horizon.
Eight microcycles later, she arrived.
The others parted before her with the murmur of uncertain feet, but the sound was different than when they had approached him. It was not fear which held them back, but a budding reverence; respect and awe. They did not question her when she dismissed them, nor did any dare to linger.
If he had not already been on his knees, he might have fallen by the time she stopped before him.
She had changed, when programs were supposed to be changeless, and it went beyond the superficial modeling, the small updates that were easy to overlook. Instead, he could feel the unseen currents of sea and system banked around her now, and for a moment, caught up in their eddies, he swayed dizzily toward her like flotsam at a whirlpool's edge.
Are you a user, now? he wanted to ask, but his shattered voice stuck in his throat, crowded already with equally shattered memories -
- behind Ophelia, just one dark head amongst dozens of others, but eyes fixed so bright and curious upon -
- more quick-thinking and nimble-footed, slamming herself into the others so that they all fell in a heap, barely ducking the flash of -
- pale face etched with fury and determination, only a nanosecond's warning from the system before he brought his arms up - not fast enough - to block her -
"Rinzler," she named him, and he flinched, head bowing. "Tron," she said next, and his head bowed even farther, wrapping his arms around himself as he felt something churn painfully deep inside, as if all his code might unravel and fly apart. "You fell in the Sea."
And the sea had given him back. The sterile sea, out of which no ISO would emerge again, had nudged him aside in its slumber like a misplaced bit.
"Nothing to say?"
What could he say that she did not already know?
"I saw you. I saw you slaughtering my kind - "
- a glittering cascade of disembodied voxels, showering across the platform like an energy stream, collapsing with a dull crunch beneath his feet as he pulled his disc back and -
" - on the streets, in the Games - "
- a pulse he could feel at his very core, that nebulous place where the system spoke to him, a poisonous adulation that throbbed with their cheers even as the only voice he heard was -
" - you were like their dog, let out for when there's killing to be done - "
Sounds filled the space between her words; pitiful, choked noises that hitched and stuttered like a damaged mp3. It felt like something jagged was trying to claw through his throat, and there was suddenly the incongruous, glassine crackle of voxels straining on the edge of derezzing ...
"Rinz - Tron! Tron! Stop!"
There was pain at his wrists, a too tight grasp trying to pry his hands from their grips. He let go, startled, panic welling up as he wondered what damage he was causing before he realized that all those sounds were coming from him and that hairline fractures now lined his arms where he had clutched.
"Tron, look at me - look at me ... please - "
He shut his eyes tight, trying to find the sea again. He knew it had to be there - it was always there - but all of his processes were tangled in an endless loop of -
- it was the same template again; the wide, pleading eyes, the mouth open in dismay, and the hands crumbling into nothingness between them -
And then there was softness against his lips.
- softness pressed against him, softness upon his mouth, and he didn't know where to put his hands or what he was supposed to be doing, so he just held as still as possible until she pulled back and smiled at him. "That is a kiss - "
He gasped when she pulled away, a barely remembered yearning finally pushing his gaze up as he rasped, "Yori?"
But her hair was obsidian and short where the other's was gold and long. She flinched where the other would have smiled, and the grip upon his shoulders tightened in warning, not desire.
"No, wait," she said rapidly when he flinched away, but this time, the tug upon him was gentle. "Tron, I'm sorry, it's all right ... "
No, nothing was right, and now he wondered if the Sea had been more vindictive than merciful in returning him. "Why ... "
He could feel her tensing, but her voice was calm as she said, "You weren't processing anymore. I didn't know if - it seemed the easiest way to get your attention."
"Why?" he repeated, suddenly weary, and now it was no trouble at all to feel that soft sussuration that thrummed through his circuits, the gentle rhythm which had been part of his first lucid moments and which now beckoned him back into its lulling depths ...
Her lips pressed against his again, and this time, with forewarning, he knew not to press back; that this was not his comfort to take. But she did not pause and then pull away as he expected, but pushed back instead, and now there was something more ... a steady pressure, coaxing, and his lips parted automatically beneath the insistence before warmth slipped inside.
" - it is something that Users do - "
He stared unabashedly when she sat back upon her heels, considering him with a grave look. He curled his tongue within his mouth, trying to compare that odd sensation to what he had just experienced, and for a long moment, was so distracted that he forgot fear and shame and even the sea, though it whispered but mere meters away.
"You're different, now," she abruptly murmured, bringing him back to himself, and he shook. Different? He had been so far from defaults for so long that reports from revision control had become meaningless.
There was a touch ... two. One on his chest, and the other reaching around -
"Shh, Tron, don't be afraid!" she murmured when he startled, her slim weight pressing back against him until he realized he was trembling with tension, chest heaving beneath her palm. He tried to turn away, but her kohl-lined eyes, the same piercing blue as her circuits, held his and he could do nothing but stare back with the system whispering - caution caution - and shiver as her touch ghosted over the empty sync port on his back. "It's all right, I'm not going to hurt you ... just let me take a look, all right?"
Her gaze fell, releasing his, and he let his eyes fall closed in fleeting relief. The probe was gentle, as promised, and barely skimmed past the surface interfaces ... "What - " he croaked when he felt the change begin at his throat, whispering across the surface of his body.
"Don't worry," was all she said, rocking back to take him in more fully, and he realized that his grid-suit was slowly being eaten away.
"Hey, man, if you've got it, flaunt it! But let's not leave everything just hangin' out there, if y'know what I - "
No, he hadn't known what it meant, but he had learned enough to feel unease as he was bared, squared-centimeter by squared-centimeter, revealing traces he could barely recall underneath. Her eyes were following the retreating sheath of black, obviously searching, and he had to fight the urge to hide from her gaze before she made a sudden sound.
He froze, struggling to parse its distressed nature - caution caution - when she reached out slowly. By now, she had learned to telegraph her intentions, and by now, he had learned to hold still for them, and this time, there was no wince when her touch rested over a silvery contact. "Tron," she whispered. "What is this?"
He blinked, glanced between the point of her chin to the press of her hand, and did not understand until he noticed the dull lines which lay beneath her palm. Gray and lifeless, the intermittent swaths of dead contacts looked even more dingy next to their bright-lit brethren. "Was this because of ...? Did Clu do this to you?"
They had not hampered the execution of his duties, and thus, no resources had been expended to repair them. It was not as if there had been any expectation that he would be interfacing with others while under the sysadmin's reign.
He shrugged one shoulder minutely and turned his head aside ... but in the corners of his eyes, her expression abruptly changed, and the system flashed - warning intent - and his arms crossed out of sheer reflex in a block that she bypassed completely, hand flashing through the space where a now-missing disc would have stopped her. He felt a pressure against his chest, a tingling at his back -
Light flared beneath her palm, and he shuddered, choking.
Her eyes were wide in that brief flash, shock illumined upon her face.
He stared down at the clean, unfettered glow that now gleamed from between her fingers. "Are you a user?" he rasped in awe and fear.
"You can hear the sea?" she gasped, with a wide gaze that whispered of -
" - name's Ophelia. She picked it herself! She picked her own name, man!"
"But you're not an ... you don't have a mark ... "
- wonder -
- she surged close, and only battle-grade reflexes flung an arm behind him in time to brace them both as she pressed full-length against him -
It was worse than the blow that had come from the hand of a friend. More sweet than energy pure from its source, shared between hard-won comrades.
- amazement hope -
He had never known heat like this; something that seemed to transcend simple, numerical measurements of temperature. He knew the refreshing chill of a natural energy spring, the frigid pain of battle damage, the pleasant, fluttering warmth of a touch upon bared contacts ... but this was the scorch of a processor on the verge of burning out, the dangerous spark of a short about to leap its insulating barrier. A sound escaped him that he did not consciously make, and it was only when she stroked his shoulders with a soothing 'shhh' that he even realized he was shaking; clutching her with a desperation that must have been painful, though she did not complain.
"Tron, it's okay, just a little longer ... "
The sea crowded in. This must be what it was like to drown - a heady, dizzying sensation while an unbearable pressure filled his body. He spasmed, choked, a heretofore ignored self-preservation routine clawing desperately for the surface -
Her lips were pressed against his again. A kiss - she was kissing him, and he could feel her arms tight around him and her body pressed against his - he could feel it, all of it, all the traces and contacts and sensors coming on-line with glass-edged clarity until he sobbed -
"Tron ... "
He trembled. A hand was tangled in dark tresses, and each finger ached as she coaxed him to unlock them, one by one.
"Tron?"
He glowed. All his circuits were once again flushed with life, and as if he had been half-blinded as well until now, he found all the thoughts that he had grasped at for a thousand cycles.
"I didn't - none of it, I didn't want any of it ... I tried to stop - always, I never gave up, but it was so hard ... "
It was like the clouds above finally breaking, showering their contents down upon the Grid, too heavy to maintain their burden anymore. He felt the dampness upon his cheeks, eyes hot and stinging beneath their lids, and he clung to the last ISO as she cradled him against her.
"I know, Tron. Shhh ... I know you didn't - I believe you ... I believe you ... I believe you ... "
Illustration by Winzler