singularityderp | EVERYTHING TAKES YOU BACK

Characters:
-Moira Brown || (

a_perfect_end )
Number of Tracks: 42

Fluttershy and CLU being the yellowest. #11

Moria and Vaultie #39

...Friendship?!

11) Unicorn Kid - Lion Hat

Something streaked past his visual field and landed with a clatter: a series of hard surfaces striking the ground almost simultaneously. Clu didn't unseat his disc for just anyone, but he wasn't expecting company--that sound suggested flexible armature or multiple limbs. He couldn't tell, not without an approach.

It was keeping quiet. He needed more data. "You okay, over there?"

"Ow," it replied, with a soft whicker of air. "I--I think so."

It was disoriented, or acting that way to gain his trust. He closed the distance in long, swift, quiet strides.

It had a head like a knight in chess. Solid hooves--Equus ferus caballus, unknown subspecies.

"Greetings!"

It shrieked and dove behind the nearest wall, not realizing that the blue neon glow outlined it perfectly, giving away its exact position.

"Huh. Could've sworn I saw someone." Clu was careful to act as though he had no idea the pony was right there, kept his tone even and friendly as he rounded the corner. "Ah! There you are."

The pony squeaked out an Oh, no way, and darted for the nearest dark corner.

"Are you kidding me?" Clu was more amused than angry, and intrigued. "Guess you don't want to play."

"What are you?"

Not the worst response he'd ever gotten. "That's too bad, man. It's a heck of a game. There's cake for the winner."

The pony scoffed and looked mildly interested for the first time, velvet ears and pink mane just flickering out past the wall.

"F-for real?"

"Sure," he said, shrugging. "GLaDOS showed me. Hey, what's your name?"

"What?"

It was official: no one on the entire station knew how to provide a basic User ID. Not even the talking ponies. He suppressed a sigh.

"I'm Clu," he said, tilting his head as she stepped out. "What's your name? And--man!--are those wings?"

"W-well, I'm...Fluttershy. And yeah." With a hint of duh.

"Cool! Can you really fly?"

"You are," she looked down, away, shook her head, "are..." She gave up. There were no words. "You talk a lot."

"Part of what I do," he said. "What do you do? When you're not crashing into things."

"I wasn't--" she fidgeted and backed up. "I didn't crash," she muttered.

"Huh." He considered that, and grinned. "You must've been going pretty fast, then."

"Yeah. Part of what I do." It was basically a whisper.

One that made him laugh. A deep, hard laugh that stretched his face creepily.

"I like to race, too. And this cake isn't gonna eat itself." There was tension, almost anxiety, in the way he brought his hand up over his back--whatever had been in his hand clicked softly into place, exchanged for some kind of wand. "Come on. Just one round."

"What?"

"There is cake." He spoke slowly, used the minimum wordcount and complexity settings. "I will race you for it. It's just over the ridge, there."

He pointed to a gleaming loop of electric blue far down the horizon.

"Okaaay," she said, still trembling around a long sigh. This guy was so weird.

"Cheer up! It's a fun game, promise. Hey," softly. "You're yellow. And I'm yellow."

Like that meant anything. Weirdest. Guy. Ever. She'd just agree with him and avoid making any sudden movements until the race began.

"Y-yeah," she stammered, wondering what his deal was. "We're the--yellowest."

He smirked at that. "Right on. Let's go." And his bizarro wand became a bizarro collection of lights and angles that resolved into what even was that, seriously. It rumbled low in its throat as he turned his hand.

No way he was going to beat her there, riding a weird, clunky thing like that. She mantled her wings, sucked in a deep breath, and stomped her hooves. Fluttershy was faster than anypony, and she knew it.

This really was going to be a piece of cake.

Clu was laughing as he brought his freakish wheelie dealie in line with the road.

"Same team, kid!" And he floored it.

She flew. He drove. The finish line extended endlessly ahead of them, a trail of neon blazing golden where they rushed past in the dark.

The cake, of course, was yellow.

Oh my god, Fluttershy, find an adult.

N- no. This was amazing and you should feel amazing. Also, I'm downloading this song, I don't know what it is but my life was incomplete without it.

CLU & Kevin, one-up. #12.

La Roux, "Colourless Colour"

It's late, even by the system clock. Picocycles tick away between them, silent and unresolved. Without an explanation for the gridbugs, without some idea of why, the best they can do is deploy more security and reroute critical energy conduits through lower-priority areas.

"Let's," it's a long sigh as Flynn scrubs his hands through his hair, "come on, let's take a break."

Clu can't get tired, not in the same way, but he can stall. He can freeze. He can lock up trying to process problems built on fallacies: he knows where the gridbugs are coming from, but he also knows Flynn doesn't want to hear it, not again.

"That's acceptable."

Flynn gives a tired kind of grin and dumps their diagrams into a new directory with a sweep of his hand. "Let's blow this pop stand."

The expression is new. Clu blinks. "What?"

"Let's go. Come on."

"Okay." It's a nicer alternative to yes. "Where are we going?"

"Not Flynn's," he says, with a rueful chuckle and the look that means please, buddy. Even this late, he'd draw a crowd. They wouldn't be able to stay away, and he wouldn't be able to turn them away--they're his responsibility, and his joy, a continual source of inspiration and surprise. But he's been staring at screens in two worlds for what feels like three and a half days crammed into one twenty-four-hour space.

Flynn can't even deal with Programs swarming him in worship right now.

Clu considers with a slow tilt of his head, using the same angle and tilt of the chin. Sometimes it really is like looking in a mirror.

"...Not End of Line."

He's still struggling to resolve his stated directive with the implied command that he leave the problem alone, insofar as it concerns the ISOs. Clu is not in any frame of function to...Man. He can't even deal with partygoers right now.

"Deal." Flynn's already moving, as though energized by a new plan that Clu can almost feel taking shape around him. It's reassuring. "Hex it is."

Clu's busy sorting Flynn's new subdirectory, and he's caught off guard by the deviation from procedure. "This late? They're still open?"

Flynn twists in place to regard him with bemusement. "For us? Yeah."

And that was that.

Snobs would call Hexadecimal a hole in the wall, a socializing and recharge station run by Byte and Kilo, paired sibling programs who were into graphic modeling, but not fancy about it. They were intrigued by the User world, and tried to recreate it in their interior and structural designs, which changed as often as Flynn brought them more data on architecture. Tonight, the Hex was very casual, all rough pine paneling--still smooth as glass to the touch--and overstuffed cushions. The wide, square windows were propped open, letting the electric tang of rain drift in from outside.

Probably Byte's doing. He was always working in some new detail, coming up with interesting variations on any pattern he was given.

"Greetings!" Byte waved them over from behind the counter, quick and eager. "I mean, welcome."

"Not bad," said Clu, one arm folded. "Try adding IDs to it," he suggested.

"Welcome, User Kevin Flynn, System Administrator Clu."

Neither of them completely understood what was so funny, but Byte was kind of flattered. He'd made the Creator laugh.

"Oh! Here." He scooted one of his experiments across the counter at Flynn without prompting. The contents of the glass were a bright, throbbing electric green, like a drinkable traffic light. "Try this. It's called an Extra Life."

"Sure thing." It occurred to him an instant too late that green meant go. It was like swallowing a live wire. One that tasted overpoweringly of sugar. "Whoa," he gasped. "There's--there's a kick to that."

"The principle ingredient is identical to caffeine," Kilo supplied helpfully.

"No kidding," Flynn managed, sipping more cautiously this time. It was a lot smoother with a little warning. He surveyed Clu with a glint in his eye. "Come on, you ought to have one."

Clu processed that look for a long moment.

Then he flashed them both a grin and ordered a double.

CLU, memories. 40.

Please Hang Up And Try Again
CLU - Memories - Maroon 5, "Through With You"

They're arguing, in their way; Tron demurring softly without ever saying no--he would never contradict Flynn, would never question or snarl or push--and Flynn trying to reassure him without making it an imperative, so that Tron doesn't just decide Relax is a directive and obey. Their voices carry gently, murmuring to greater and greater echoes as they come closer, all unaware.

It's the last insult, in a way. They're both so sure he's deaf. Both so busy ignoring him.

"Flynn!"

He will never be able to make himself say Kevin.

And Flynn looks up, startled; You're not supposed to be here clear on his face, and it's like--nothing Clu's ever experienced. It's nothing he has any reference for, something that tightens inside, a clenched up rush to shutdown, and it burns.

But he has the Creator's attention. Finally.

"Am I still to create the perfect system?" Even the words ache. Lying is still new to him, difficult, contrary. It takes so much processing.

His core instruction--everything he was made for--is a lie.

He has to be sure. He has to hear it directly.

The Creator blinks at him, slow and wide-eyed, and tells the truth: "...Yeah?"

That's all the reassurance Clu will ever need again.

Pardon me while I bawl for a while. CLU... why such a sympathetic badguy? I just want to hug him and reassure him that everything will be all right. Whyyyyy. ;___;

Wow, that song fit perfectly. Did that really work out that way or did you cheat? XD

sajdhlasdfjkhl Why the puppyface Tron so sad ;_; here, have a sad Clu. :D

I think it has something to do with his limitations being hardwired; he's evil and he's getting a kick out of being evil (see: blowing Zeus the hell up, kicking Tronzler in the faaace)...

but he's doing it because he actually thinks it's right. When he was all, "we're totally going into the User world to crush it and I will never leave you" I finally got what makes him tick, and put the journal together that. day.

No way! I just--have a mix of Moira and CLU songs and this is how it turned out. I can PM you the full list? ;)

Actually, it's making the Clu and Sam one really hard, l-lol XD

:\

Yeah, definitely. He's just trying to do his directive the best way he knows how--which is unfortunately not the way to go about it. But he can't see that, can't comprehend that. Not won't, can't. It's not written in him. So to him, he's in the right.
And that's what makes him such a sad "bad" guy. :c

Hehehe! I would not object? ^_~

Ooooooops. Oh well. I'm sure you'll get it! Your writing is GREAT. I love it. All of it.

Clu and Rookie, comparing armor, 22

CLU and Sam. 42.

Flynn and Clu, "when everything was beautiful and nothing hurt," #41

CLU + Flynn. CLU writes self-insert RPF set in a bizarro AU where Flynn ~rules the world~ and CLU is his #2.

Hey.

Hey Clu.

If you do this Flynn will love you again.

No really.

I swear.

YOU MOCK MY PAIN.

Oh, dramatize.

...You mad?

(Not that he's hopeful, or anything.)

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theuserabides - 2011-02-18 02:12 (UTC) - Expand

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a_perfect_end - 2011-02-18 03:04 (UTC) - Expand

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theuserabides - 2011-02-18 03:11 (UTC) - Expand

..You didn't pick a song, bro.

DAMMIT. I knew I forgot something. (This prompt is so awesome it doesn't need a song, okay. :|)

Okay, um. 4.

Infinite Recursions

Clu writes ~~self-insert RPF~~ lame purple AU softcore in which he and Flynn RULE THE WORLD~

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 conclusion.

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

-

And it was the best fanfic ever.

/swoon

This. This is canon. Because on the inside this is exactly what CLU wants.

EVERYTHING TAKES YOU BACK

we drank to stars and heroes, buried deep beneath the sand

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Fluttershy and CLU, being the yellowest~

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Downtime - Kevin and CLU - one-up

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Re: we drank to stars and heroes, buried deep beneath the sand

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oh god it has two parts s-sob. SO NOT A DRABBLE.

they don't care about my inclinations, they're not frightened by my revelations

Re: they don't care about my inclinations, they're not frightened by my revelations

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