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singularityderp2011-02-15 10:59 pm
gawdamn.livejournal.com) wrote in singularityderp2011-02-15 10:59 pm
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EVERYTHING TAKES YOU BACK
the song drabble meme
It's pretty simple and fun, folks. This is how this works!
( 01 ) Have a playlist ready! Don't use all your songs--try and narrow it down a little.
( 02 ) Let everyone know how many songs you're working with. Also, which characters you would be willing to write about.
( 03 ) Others tag your post, picking a character or pairing or friendship or familial relationship or whatever, and then choose a number from your list.
( 01 ) Have a playlist ready! Don't use all your songs--try and narrow it down a little.
( 02 ) Let everyone know how many songs you're working with. Also, which characters you would be willing to write about.
( 03 ) Others tag your post, picking a character or pairing or friendship or familial relationship or whatever, and then choose a number from your list.
( 04 ) Write a drabble related to that song, using that/those character(s)!
- reference our previous meme if you're still confused
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-The Rookie || (
-System Monitor Anon || (
Number of Tracks: 66
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#48
Anon and Abraxas, 48
Running Away – Fuel
It’s wrong. On so many levels it’s wrong. How he obsesses over Abraxas, of all creatures. He can’t help it, really. It’s in his programming. Hunting him, tracking him, attempting to destroy him. Being hunted. That’s definitely wrong.
They worry, probably. The others. Gibson probably thinks he’s completely glitched for it, and he wonders sometimes what Flynn thinks. Is that why he’s so bothered about him these days? Not because he couldn’t save the Monitor – though it’s obvious that somewhere he did - but because his programming wouldn’t let him stop chasing after the one thing on the station that could easily destroy him. The one thing that very nearly did destroy him.
But he couldn’t. Stop. And truthfully, he wouldn’t even if he could. Those cycles without the virus had been… shockingly lonely. He wasn’t made to be absent a real foe, and Clu’s Black Guards were a paltry substitute for the only opponent that had made him scramble for cover.
And he couldn’t help it if the only way to keep everyone else safe was putting himself in Abraxas’s way. In whatever way was required.
Whether it was a need to protect his friends or his own need to not be separated from the thing again, even he wasn’t certain. But Abraxas seemed amused by it.
“
Back again, Monitor?”Re: Anon and Abraxas, 48
/cradles the drabble
Re: Anon and Abraxas, 48
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44
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Lovegame - Lady Gaga
The Rookie was fucking intolerable. He doesn’t know how those Spartans can stand him, with that stupidly polite attitude and the cheeriness and his stupid… face. Helmet. Fuck, whatever. And never going by his actual name. Sure, Rookie probably would answer to James or Dante, and did answer to J.D., but everyone called him called him Rookie anyway. What was with that? No one ever called him by his nickname! Either way, he drove O’Brien up a damn wall.
Especially with the way he’d occasionally wander around the base shirtless. Not that O’Brien ever noticed. Even though Rookie only ever seemed to do it in places that he knew O’Brien frequented. Even though every once in a while Rookie would throw him that look like he was so damn amused. He wasn’t looking at the Corporal or his shirtless chest. He certainly hadn’t noticed that he was impeccably clean-shaven. And he certainly hadn’t gotten a good look at those scars on his torso (he had no idea that a couple looked like entrance and exit wounds for a plasma sword, or that one looked like a round from a Needler had exploded in the man’s shoulder). The Rookie didn’t have any call to run around like that. He thought he was such hot shit, didn’t he?
… Well he wasn’t! He so wasn’t!
O’Brien did not get irrationally jealous when he caught Rookie in the kitchen one day, splattered with flour and icing, up on his toes with his arms on Jun’s shoulders, licking stray chocolate off the grinning Spartan’s cheek. He did not wish he was in Jun’s position, putting those hickeys on Rookie’s neck or bruises on his hips that looked suspiciously like fingers.
And he did not wish Rookie would slip into his room some night and moan like he did, loud and lusty, like he had with Tex and Motoko and fucking Jun.
He wasn’t gay. Just that sometimes he wanted to grab J.D. in the hall and fuck him senseless against the wall.
… Or let J.D. fuck him.
Dammit.
James fucking Dante. How appropriate that he had such a damn habit of stoking fires in people.
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also this is canon
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MarjieMotoko#30
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Rookie/Motoko, 30
Dream On - Glee Cast
Rookie didn’t know everything, and he never pretended to. He was bright enough with investigating: he’d looked over one small area of New Mombasa and knew that his squad had fought there, that Romeo had been hit hard by a Brute and that he was badly hurt, but that the others avenged him quickly and had carried him with them. But other than that, he was a simple guy, a jarhead that was tough enough to be elite and smart enough to know how to play the game and survive.
He’d lost a lot, in the years he’d spent with the UNSC. He’d gained a lot back, though, sitting and listening to whoever had a story to tell him. He absorbed a lot in the last couple years. From someone he’d come to think of as an old friend, he’d learned two things – fight with everything, to your last breath, and live like there wasn’t going to be another day in your life.
It was part of why he’d asked O’Brien to the Space Prom, out on the network for everyone to see. Why should he have to hide who he’s interested in? Why should anyone else have to? And it was why he wasn’t particularly disappointed when he was turned down; no reason to cry over spilled milk.
Putting himself out there had come back to him, though, and he’d gotten a date with a gorgeous woman that he’d never met but through audio on the network. She was smart, with a soft spot – he thought – for cute, straightforward guys that don’t have any problem flattering beautiful women. That, or she disliked O’Brien, but he could dream.
And he couldn’t say that he exactly minded O’Brien making a show of not watching them on the dance floor. Rook wasn’t a dancer, not that it stopped him from trying for a while. It was a dance, and he would dance, dammit.
And he enjoyed himself – and later enjoyed Motoko too – and for a while stopped feeling like he was an ancient Atlas, bow-backed and still carrying the world on his shoulders. In the morning, alone and sated, before he turned on the network connection in his helmet, he sang with a voice still rough from sleep and his head pounding with a hangover.
Life is good.
Re: Rookie/Motoko, 30
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Anon and Gibson (with bonus Rinzler), 5
Anon was made for this. There was no getting around that.
Gibson missed his performance on the Game Grid, though Anon assured him it was less impressive and more depressing. Though he got the feeling that Anon phrased it that way because he hadn’t liked derezzing a bunch of programs that weren’t actually security issues. He had seen him in action in Bostrum, though, cutting through Clu’s scouts and Black Guards like they were Gridbugs. And now here in the district named, ironically, Gibson. Against Rinzler. Who was Anon’s mentor a lifetime ago.
Funny how things work out.
Rinzler had caught up to Gibson and would have probably derezzed him, if Anon hadn’t shown up out of nowhere. For a program with bright white lighting, he could manage a shocking amount of stealth when he tried.
… okay, or maybe Gibson just hadn’t noticed him leaping across rooftops above him. He can’t keep track of the little Monitor on a good day, okay? For being so tiny he was damn quick.
Either way, Anon had stepped in, disc drawn, and put himself squarely in between the ISO and the other Monitor. The two hadn’t exchanged words so much as looks, but he could read that conversation clearly.
‘The ISO will bring chaos to this System. He must be destroyed.’
‘He is special. The Grid’s last hope -‘ something that Anon refrained from speaking of at all costs, after that first fiasco about the Purge ‘- and I will not let you harm him.’
‘Then you will join him.’
Anon seemed deeply saddened by this, though he tried to hide it by turning and giving Gibson a shove in the general direction of Away. “Gibson, go!” The lacing of static in the little Monitor’s voice – heavier than usual – didn’t cover the urgency in his tone in the least.
That was the only reason why he took off like he was told. But he didn’t go far, finding a spot to hide where he could see the fight.
Using one disc to Rinzler’s two, Anon seemed hard-pressed but managed to hold his own. Though it seemed to even out when power – no, corruption – exploded from Anon’s disc, crackling harshly and leaving a trail of black and green in its wake. Rinzler lost his grip on his discs, unable to retrieve them until the short burst of corruption wore off.
It still wouldn’t end well. His friend – a Beta, like him (in a way) – didn’t stand a chance against the Program that was occasionally still Tron. But at least he’d be here long enough to witness some of Anon’s last, best fight.
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;_;
Re: ;_;
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Anon and Sam, 29
Everything to Lose – Dido
Anon had been alone for so long. Even after being rezzed in the first place he’d been basically alone. And he’d liked it that way. He was a self-sufficient Program by nature. It meant that he didn’t have to worry as much about everyone else. He’d trotted through crowds, heedless of them. Their interest and their praise and fear hadn’t meant anything to them because he hadn’t known them and didn’t want to know them. He’d lived as he pleased for five hundred cycles, picking his way through the ruins of Arjia and Bostrum at his leisure for places to stay for a rest cycle or two.
He had missed a few others, of course. Gibson, Radia, Flynn, Quorra. Tron. But it hadn’t really bothered him to be without them. They were fond friends and he’d enjoy being around them, but he didn’t require it. It was easier to be without them, anyway; he didn’t have to worry about what would happen to him, with them away from him.
Things changed on the station.
Anon was lost, and afraid, and suddenly keenly aware that he was alone in a hostile environment. But then there was the light at the end of the tunnel, the lone Energy Transfer Conduit tucked into a dark chasm in the Outlands. And his name was Sam.
And he was a User.
He’d automatically fallen into calling Sam by his second name until corrected, and hadn’t hesitated to inform him of the trouble that their current enemies could cause them… and entreat him for aid with the one thing that Anon could not do alone.
He quickly came to the conclusion that he couldn’t be self-sufficient here like he had been on the Grid. He needed information and help with functions he wasn’t designated to perform… and someone to help him get his Light Cycle in working order again.
And maybe he wanted someone to be pleased about the job he was doing. Not that he’d ever say it.
Anon and Gibson, 29
Daylight Robbery - Imogen Heap
It wasn’t so much a day off, as it was Gibson wanting to take a look at the station a little more and Anon willingly submitting to it. The Monitor got out from Kurzweil more often than the ISO did, but he had no problem going with him. Even if it meant cramming both of them onto Gibson’s light cycle because Anon was still working the kinks out of routing the station’s holograms through his baton.
His arms were looped around his friend’s waist as they cruised through the districts, the night lit up with neon signs and flickering street lights and the glow of the light cycle’s brilliant green light ribbon. He hadn’t been on a cycle since he got here, and there was something wonderful about being on one again, leaning into the turns with practiced ease and feeling the vehicle humming beneath him. It took everything to resist the urge to let go of Gibson and stretch his arms out to feel the wind pushing against him.
Eventually they stopped in one of the Garden districts – he couldn’t remember which one – in the middle of a densely-packed forest. Anon beamed at Gibson then, hopping on the balls of his feet for a moment before taking off up a tree trunk to dash across the branches. He leapt between the trees, making a large circle around the ground-bound ISO… and he swore he saw a hint of a pleased smile on the other’s face. That was when he wondered if Gibson hadn’t specifically planned this, considering Anon’s usual dislike of these Garden districts and the simple joy he got from being able to perform Parkour.
Still he was hesitant to ask. When they finally tired of the forest, it was back onto the light cycle… and to a club not unlike End of Line. Anon pointed out the similarities, finding the exact spot at the bar he’d stood at all those cycles ago, and where Gibson had been – and he finally confessed that he’d thought Gibson looked a bit shifty then. Gibson snorted and dragged him onto the dance floor.
That had probably been a mistake, but the place was deserted except for robots and holograms and them, so no one needed to know that Anon was a terrible dancer. As they left, Gibson slung an arm over Anon’s shoulders companionably. The Monitor, so wary of physical contact, tensed only a little before relaxing again. “You have fun, buddy?” Gibson inquired with a grin.
Instead of his usual mute nod of agreement, he spoke. “Yes. Been a good night.” He wouldn’t trade it for anything.
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Anon, the beginning, 1
Gotta Run/Be the One - brentalfloss feat. The Megas
Before being rezzed onto the Grid, he was aware of someone speaking. It wasn’t until later that he would associate the voice with Flynn, the Creator. Something about Isomorphic Algorithms, and the mixed reactions of Basics to them, and that was when he first realized that maybe there was something broken about him. He was a Basic, wasn’t he? And Flynn was amazed by the ISOs having free will – something he didn’t. He was made for a reason. To fight, to protect. Would he be unwanted, because he’d been programmed for something? The thought had concerned him, though he couldn’t put the idea into more than the barest form of thought.
Still, he wouldn’t let that bother him. They might have free will, but he had a purpose and he wanted to fulfill it.
When he did finally rezz onto the Grid, he looked himself over. Blue lighting – as he should have. A voice interrupted his thought process. “Greetings, Program. Welcome to the Grid.” A voice that belonged to a helmet and a unique lighting pattern that he started to associate as friendly immediately. He had a few files on the program that he quickly learned was designated Tron, and decided that he was the best model of a Monitor to follow.
Even later he never understood why Tron had taken out all of those rogue programs for him. Maybe part of it was that they shared coding. The head of System Security was, in a way, his brother, not that he knew the word at all. And that part of him was why he fought so hard, gave everything he could to save the Grid and the ISOs. Why he ran so hard and why he tried so hard to stop everything thrown at him.
But he was still a young Program. And he had only just started his long trek.
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number one, like a boss
Rookie/Jiji, 1
Rookie ran himself harder around Sacrosanct than he really needed to. Maybe it was just old Helljumper tradition getting the better of him – prove that he can stand on equal footing with the Spartans as one of the baddest asses to have picked up a gun and grenade in service of humanity. Or maybe he just cared too damn much about the people here that he’d made friends with or at least become acquainted with. Regardless, each time he ran himself into the ground, he slept like a log during the night.
It was better than the alternative, if nothing else. Because that meant actually remembering the dreams.
Usually it was just replays of battles, either from way back before he entered the ODST program or the desolation and grunge of night-darkened New Mombasa. Listening to the drizzle pattering on the streets under the concussive thudding noises of plasma weapons and the staccato bursts of his SMG. He knew it all well, but sometimes they were nasty enough to jolt him awake. J.D. would just have to take some time to remind himself where he was, and then he’d be back to sleep, albeit only fitfully. And to think that people questioned why he was always trying to sneak naps where he could, even for just a couple minutes at a time.
Some nights they were much, much worse. Something chasing him – he never knew what it was, but he knew that it scared him and he had no weapons and had to get away from it. So he ran hard, down a hall full of doors. Funny, how he’d always thought those scenes in movies were completely ridiculous but he ended dreaming about them. The doors always slammed shut just before he passed them, and he was getting to the end of the hall and he couldn’t wake up.
He careened straight into the end of the hall, slamming his fist against the last door, the thing breathing down his neck and must get OUT-
Rookie started awake with a yelp, seeing a pair of bright eyes in the dark. Brain automatically said ‘Jackal’ and he was grabbing for the knife under his pillow when he heard a familiar voice.
“You make really weird faces in your sleep.”
His fingers relaxed around the hilt of the knife and he sagged back onto the bed. “Startled me, Jiji,” he warned tiredly.
The cat jumped up onto the bed, and he could feel him padding up along his leg to sit on his chest. Those eyes were closer now, accompanied by a tilted head.
“Why’d you yell like that, anyway?”
“Bad dream. Don’t worry about it.” He doesn’t think he has to tell Jiji not to, but he does anyway. Jiji seemed to shrug, then padded a circle on his chest and curled up to go to sleep. He allowed it.
… Maybe having someone here would help.
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#25
Flynn/Tron/Anon, Friends in High Places, 25
Also, drabble is post-infection and post-curing, because with three icons it's a foregone conclusion that Anon will eventually be virusy.))
Occasionally he couldn’t entirely remember himself.
They hadn’t been able to get all of the corrupted code out after he was infected and sometimes he felt more virus than Monitor. All torn up and hurting – maybe not physically, but inside. Not that Anon ever told them that. When he was feeling down and out it was bad enough to think he was just a beta version, just a Basic… just a backup copy of the real him. Being really broken… no. That wouldn’t do, at all.
But it gave him a connection to Tron. Both of them with extra programming. Nasty things that showed up and hurt everyone around them and the Monitors were left to pick up after them. Left with the guilt. Which was why he tried to keep in contact with his mentor as much as possible, setting up meetings, albeit with some hesitancy. They were always requests with easy outs, but Tron seemed to be trying to make a point of seeing Anon, too, in the out-of-reach places he picked that wouldn’t draw attention even if anyone else could get there.
Things were still hesitant and awkward with them, though their other halves couldn’t be blamed for all of it. They were always like that. Anon hesitantly, shyly reaching out to touch the four T-shaped lights on Tron’s chest to prove he hadn’t accidentally called Rinzler. Tron reluctantly brushing a couple fingers down Anon’s hip, where he still bore the marks of the yellow circuitry that had cut up along his left leg and across his chest. Embarrassed, muttered apologies for things they’d apologized for a million times before and were forgiven for a million times before.
At least they hadn’t repeated one of the nights shortly after Anon was pulled back to himself but still disturbed by what the corruption left him. Dropping into sleep cycle with his arms curled around Rinzler’s waist. He still wasn’t certain why Clu’s left-hand Program had endured that.
Things were still… odd, with Flynn. At least he could say that when it came to Flynn, he’d fought himself out from under the virus long enough to get away from the Creator. It was all that he could have done at the time, until Flynn finally got a crew together long enough to subdue and fix him.
Fix him as much as possible, anyway. Initial vaccines don’t always work as well as hoped.
Though now he still spent as much time with Flynn as he could, even in the times when he struggled to remember why he did so. He’d become accustomed to the long elevator ride up to the apartment Flynn had, that Anon had no idea how he managed to get. The ride was… strangely calming. And when h arrived he asked endless numbers of questions of him – trying to keep Flynn’s mind off of Anon’s broken coding and the scars on his leg and whatever happened to him on the Grid that derezzed him… the original him. And on his bad days he’d inquire about playing Go and do his damnedest to focus because maybe that would help keep either of them from hurting so much. Even if he wasn’t nearly as good at the game as Flynn was (but if he was better, he’d still let his User win).
He still wasn’t certain how he’d managed to make friends with the God of the Grid and the head of System Security. And he wasn’t certain that he even deserved it.
But he was content knowing he had that nevertheless.
Re: Flynn/Tron/Anon, Friends in High Places, 25
Re: Flynn/Tron/Anon, Friends in High Places, 25
Re: Flynn/Tron/Anon, Friends in High Places, 25
Re: Flynn/Tron/Anon, Friends in High Places, 25
Re: Flynn/Tron/Anon, Friends in High Places, 25
Re: Flynn/Tron/Anon, Friends in High Places, 25
Re: Flynn/Tron/Anon, Friends in High Places, 25
Re: Flynn/Tron/Anon, Friends in High Places, 25
Re: Flynn/Tron/Anon, Friends in High Places, 25
Flynn/Tron/Anon, Friends in High Places... 50
Ohio (Come Back to Texas) - Bowling for Soup
Flynn was glad to have Tron back, that much was obvious to Anon. Hey, he was just as glad. The program he’d admired for hundreds of cycles, back again? It was the best thing ever. Things were looking up, in the ‘Monitor Anon, This Is Your Life’ department. Not that he would have understood the reference anyway.
What he wasn’t sure about was what Flynn decided the three of them should do to celebrate.
What was a ‘Western’?
More importantly, what was a movie?
And why did Flynn decide it was good idea for them to have a marathon of them? Well, he must have a good reason. He’s Flynn, after all. Either way, they’d managed to borrow a screen from the theatre in Doctorow for a marathon of these ‘Westerns’… and a couple extra movies. He looks the list over again. The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, True Grit, Barbarosa, Lonesome Dove, Red River, A Fistful of Dollars… Office Space? And something called Crazy Heart?
Anon is sure there’s a good reason for this.
He just doesn’t know that Flynn is a closet Western junkie.