Designation : EVE @evecolourshock - Tumblr Blog

Had an idea for a thread with fCon Ed - or, at least, Ed getting a friend and dragged out of fCon...... whether he realises he needs to get out, or not. Respond if interested :)

Eve peeked around the door of the tech conference's closing gala, eyeing the attendees. She wasn't supposed to be here. Wasn't supposed to be this side of the screen. Definitely wasn't supposed to be attempting to poach employees from rival companies.

But really, was it poaching when it felt more like a rescue?

Future Control Industries... Eve shuddered. She knew exactly what kind of Programs they had as flagships. The Master Control Program that had torn through her home before she was aware enough to understand what was wrong was proof enough.

But their new star programmer...

The child of the owner, named for the same. Intelligent, inventive, driven. A dangerous young man, second only to his father.

At least, according to the media.

Eve thought Edward Dillinger Junior looked... tired. Burnt out. Chained to the man who even now gripped his shoulder so tightly it couldn't be any less than painful.

In need of an Admin - someone to look out for him and help him thrive.

Eve could provide.

She flashed her pass, a gift from Lora Prime - unable to make the conference for health reasons - and stepped in to mingle. Her black dress shimmered pink in the lights, heels high and sharp, eyeliner like tiny knives.

The Legacy Grid had become a battleground not too dissimilar to this one, for all the weapons didn't leave visible wounds. And Eve was an Encom Program - designed, as they all were, to adapt and fight.

Ed always hated tech conferences. It's something he should have looked forward to. There were lots of good talks about the latest innovations, demos of the latest gadgets, lots of fascinating ideas.

It also meant he was stuck in close quarters with his father and no escape.

"Because of his disability," his father rationalized. And maybe that was part of it, but Ed was also aware it was to keep him in line. He had his entire schedule handed to him, every second of his day and a warning not to deviate.

By the time the closing gala arrived, Ed was exhausted. The ballroom was too loud, to bright, and Ed was out of patience for interacting with his father's business partners, or anyone. The only saving grace was the soft silk of his outfit expensive outfit. Ed doubted he could manage any other texture.

He just wanted to go back to the their suit at the hotel and sleep.

Ed snapped at a one of his father's business partners. Someone important, though Ed doesn't remember the man's name, and doesn't particularly care to.

His father squeezed his shoulder in warning.

It's only years of training and discipline that kept Ed from tensing or flinching. He apologized, then excused himself. His father stepped in to smooth things over, and Ed took the opportunity to attempt to disappear into the crowd, though he's aware Dymitr--Ed's "assistant", though Ed was fully aware that the man reported to his father and was truly there to keep him in line-- is following him, not too far behind.

He had been so focused on putting space between him and his father's business partner that he hadn't noticed the woman approaching until she was nearly upon him.

Ever so slightly, Ed tensed as Alan reached out and curled his fingers around the handkerchief, his breath caught in his throat and his heart racing again. He continued too stare at his hand, at his curled fingers around the small square of soft fabric, and slowly dropped it back into his lap.

"...t-thank you, sir," he whispered. He'd have to figure out how to clean the delicate thing without damaging it before he did return it.

He glanced back at the books on the nightstand again. Reading would be nice to take his mind off... everything, except--

He attempted to read the title of the first one again, his exhausted brain refusing to connect meaning to the shapes and associated sounds of the letters on the spine through what felt like a dense fog in his head.

"Any time, Ed. You're most welcome." Alan hummed.

Needlework was normally soothing, and Beck's new dress certainly wasn't going to finish itself, but... Ed seemed to be struggling. That more than anything would keep Alan distracted - and experience sewing for more than forty years wouldn't stop him from stabbing himself on pins in his distraction.

Ed, if he ever guessed Alan was more focused on him than his sewing, would most likely blame himself for any pin-related frustration - or think Alan would lose his temper at Ed.

Unacceptable outcome.

And yet- Alan was pretty sure an offer of reading to Ed would be taken entirely the wrong way. Sure, reading would probably help them both, and not only did Jet and Sam both still enjoy being read to but so did some of their older cousins, yet-

Who even knew how Ed would feel about such a thing. How Ed had been made to feel about it, as well, if that was a factor.

So perhaps- perhaps a different approach.

Alan had packed several books for Jet, not knowing the exact shape of what he'd be walking into. Some were already on Ed's bedside table, ones Alan had been told Ed had read in the past, but Ed's puzzled staring at the spines and covers told Alan exactly how well Ed attempting to read them was going.

Alan had a few more with him. One battered book, far older than the others left with him, would hopefully also be more Ed's taste.

The book was white, or at least had once been that way, a riverbank carefully replicated on the cover. Once a painting, now a glossy print, golden reeds sprang up around the calm pale-blue water's edge, a grey heron peering up proudly from beside an old birch tree. In the very foreground lay a fish - a trout, in fact, green-grey topped and pink-white bellied - and the trout was pinned by the webbed paws of a brown-furred, long-bodied, white-bellied creature.

Tarka the Otter, the title declared in muted gold. Alan had read the book often when he was younger, had had it read to him even more. It was still a favourite - a glimpse into the world as it was when it had been written - and he hoped Ed would enjoy it too.

Alan settled with the book, doing his best to pretend he really was just reading to himself, and opened it to the first chapter. His voice was quiet, soft, but no less audible if Ed was willing to listen. "Twilight over meadow and water, the eve-star shining above the hill, and Old Nog the heron crying kra-a-ark! as his slow dark wings carried him down the estuary. A whiteness drifting above the sere reeds of the riverside, for the owl had flown from under the middle arch of the stone bridge-"

The relief, once Alan's attention wasn't directly on him, was near instantaneous, though Ed was too exhausted to be consciously aware of it. Breath came easier. The tension in his shoulders eased. The sudden lack of attention was disorienting, the uneven pressure leaving him dizzy. It was awkward, sitting in the same room but with neither attention nor expectations.

Just as awkward was just... sitting there, listening while Alan read, though the cover and the cadence of Alan's voice ensnared his attention.

...Alan had suggested reading the books on his nightstand.

Cautiously, half expecting some reprimand for touching the books regardless of the invitation, Ed picked up the book on the top of the pile and opened it to the first page.

He stared at the page, unable to decipher the text in front of him through a thick fog of exhaustion, but... it was something to hold, something to stare at--something to at least pretend to be busy with-- while he listened.

"-a dog-cub, and when he drew his first breath he was less than five inches long from his nose to where his wee tail joined his back-bone. His fur was soft and grey as the buds of the willow before they open at Eastertide. He was called Tarka, which was the name given to otters many years ago by men dwelling in hut circles on the moor. It means Little Water Wanderer, or, Wandering as Water-"

Alan kept reading, relating to Ed the tale of a young otter's cubhood - from the first few steps, to learning to fish, to hiding from the cries and teeth of men and dogs as they pursued wild things across the Devon moors. From playful delight at a rattling toy made of vole skull, to crying the weasel-threat iss-iss-ic-yang! at his mother for coming too close to his tadpole catch (helpfully translated as go away, or I will drink your blood!), to meeting old Marland Jimmy, the dog-otter who lived in a long-submerged engine deep in Blackdagger Pond.

It was good to see Ed daring to touch the books, although reading was something of a stretch - unless Ed took more than twenty minutes to read a single page, which was certainly unusual for him if Jet's animated discussions were anything to go by - so Alan hoped it was at least a step in the right direction. And Ed certainly wasn't protesting listening to Alan reading, if anything mimicking Alan's own faked lack of attention so he could continue to listen without appearing to.

Turning the pages would make it a little less obvious. Alan hid a smile in his book.

On a normal day, if Ed wasn't so exhausted that he could barely think straight, he could read faster than most, but in his current state, it probably would have taken him twenty minutes or more to make sense of the words on the page if he were to actually try. As it was, the book was more of a distraction.

Except that very quickly, Ed found himself very drawn into Alan's story, and any intention to flip pages and make it believable had been forgotten.

It reminded him a lot of when he was really little, when his mother used to read to him at bedtime.

...He didn't want to go back to sleep, despite his exhaustion. He was so tired of the nightmares and not being able to stay awake for very long, but he could feel his exhaustion pulling at his eyelids again, threatening to pull him back to the realm of dreams, where only terrors awaited.

#a glance at eve. she has been a busy owl. and ed will be so confused when he realises who and what she is when they finally meet again.

Ed, Alan mused, was doing a remarkable job of avoiding sleep for someone doing an impression of a nodding dog.

Of course, telling Ed he needed to sleep before his body made the decision for him would break the calm that had settled over the past little while, so Alan elected instead to keep reading. If there was anything he'd learned from Sam's struggles with insomnia, it was that pointing out the inability or unwillingness to sleep did not help. A relaxed environment did, at least a little, and that Alan could do his best to provide instead.

Eve finally extricated herself from fCom's systems - harder to do than expected, both from Thanatos' company being some of the most pleasant she'd had from Programs who remembered what the MCP had done (family notwithstanding), and from the system in question not wanting to let go of someone who consisted of a good quarter of what was left of the MCP's code. But Encom was home - she was home - and the Grid flew by under the wings of her secondary form.

With Thanatos reinstated as the sole permitted wielder of the digitization functions, Hypnos... somewhere gathering data to drive Dillinger Sr into a corner, and that bootless whelp Deus hamstrung through careful reallocation of functions and memory, fCom was as handled as it was going to get.

There was still so much to do. And so little time to do it.

But nothing would be done while tired, Eve knew, so she settled down on the Sphere bobbing nearest Yori's house, tucked her head under one brilliant pink wing, and fell asleep.

If there were problems she could help solve, someone would wake her. Eventually.

Open RP - Rainbow Falls

After causing quite a bit of trouble for the Occupation, Ark decided that it was best for her to lay low for a while.

The area around Bostrum seemed like a good choice. The Colony had been infected and devastated, but the Crystal Conduit was far enough away that it likely was spared from the Virus' wrath.

The Conduit was full of energy and crystals, and also Gridbugs. But, she hadn't seen a swarm of them on her one previous visit, just a few here and there. The danger added to the relative safety of it, as most programs wouldn't venture out there.

The roads on the way to and from Bostrum were intact close to Tron City, but the further and further they got from the living City, the more damaged they became.

Ark's trek was slowed as she navigated the shattered roads, occasionally making a small detour into the Outlands to dodge debris.

Upon reaching Bostrum, she took a quick break on the outskirts to rest and replenish from the plentiful energyfalls that surrounded the former Colony. The Conduit was still further ahead.

Ark's travels took her through caves and canyons and the more crystals she saw, the closer she got to her destination.

Crystals dotted the rocky landscape as she compressed her light cycle into its baton and continued by foot.

It had been many cycles since she had been here and the crystals had grown and shifted around the area, so there were new paths she hadn't seen before.

One such winding path took her down far below the main level of the Conduit.

There, she was greeted by an underground energy pool encased in a cavern full of blue energy crystals.

The sight was beautiful, and she slipped into the shimmering energy to float along and rest.

As she floated, she drifted from cave to cave, each one containing crystals of a different color that imposed their wavelengths upon the energy below - and Ark and her circuits.

The caves made a ring around one in the middle, after doing a full circuit around, she slowly swam into the middle chamber to observe it.

There, the cavern was full of crystals of every size and color, but most impressive was the energyfall that flowed down one of the cave walls.

Surrounding the energyfall itself were the many colors of crystals, spiraling up it in a wonderous play of light.

The result was absolutely breathtaking.

Ark had heard that the Crystal Conduit contained the source of energy for all the falls around the Colony, and this astounding place felt like it should be that source itself.

After taking in the sights, she spent her time floating and swimming through the caverns of colorful lights.

Fortunately, there were rocky landings in all of the chambers, allowing her to climb up out of the energy and sit as long as she liked.

As far as places to hide and stay for a while, this one was among the best she could imagine.

((This post is for Ark on the Grid, but if anyone else wants to play, that's cool, too - it can be a memory or hologram or something.

Also, the Crystal Conduit is from the Tron: Evolution DS game, but I've done my own things with it - partially inspired by the purple water at sunset in Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp.))

((Trimming it down.))

@evecolourshock

Call immediately caught Ark’s hand, scanning it and fretting over impact fractures and microsplits. Those they could fix, and Ark could definitely do without - an injured hand was far from ideal, especially for someone who put themselves in danger on a regular basis, and damage tended to invite infection. Here, more than anywhere, being whole and unhurt was vital. Gears groaned, spokes grinding as they struggled to turn. Motors shrieked as they began to spin. Valves hissed with newfound pressure. Slowly but surely, the fountain began to glow. It bubbled and gurgled, energy roiling in its pool as the pumps began to heave to life. And then. All at once. Energy flowed from the upper level. Operation smoothed out, quieted down. Sprays activated, a rolling mist contained by a delicate barrier flickering in the light of the very fluid it shielded. The crystalline fountain, one of dozens scattered across Bostrum, finally flowed again. “i diD nOt consIDEr pErcUSSive maINTenaNce.” Call murmured, voice glitching again when they lost focus on keeping it steady. “mY teMPlAte hiTs tOO hArd, anD It doEs noT wORk oN pEOple.” They smiled up at Ark. “thANk yOu.”

-

Ark was taken by surprise when Call fussed over her hand, but she didn't resist, letting them inspect it to their satisfaction. She hadn't considered that her action could've caused injury to herself, she was only focused to trying to fix the fountain and not letting Call down.

The fountain itself was making strange noises, but she wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Had she just made it worse?

But, it finally activated and Ark breathed a sigh of relief as the shimmering energy flowed freely.

Ark laughed lightly, "You're welcome, I'm just glad that it worked. I couldn't think of anything else and figured that it was worth a shot."

Call grinned, putting the back panel back in place. It clicked in, solidified, and the fountain was whole once more. "And life continues to return here." They focused on their voice, smoothing it back out - a Virus' glitches had no place here.

Maybe one cycle the young ones they could sometimes hear would return - would splash in the fountains to the amused disapproval of their caretakers, would chase the Bits that flocked to the spilled energy, would play in the courtyard around the fountain while the older ones watched but did not interrupt their fun.

Call hoped it would happen. But more had to heal and recover first.

They sat and watched the fountain for a while. "It is pretty. The fountain. Like the Conduit but small."

Ark gave Call a small nod in agreement, "Yeah...it's a lot nicer that way." It was hard to believe the difference that something so small made. Even though it was deep in the Outlands, Bostrum had been full of life when she had first visited all those cycles ago.

She enjoyed the peacefulness of simply observing the fountain with Call. She agreed with their assessment, "Yeah, a nice reminder of where the Colony's energy comes from. I'm glad we got it working."

Call hummed, leaning against Ark's shoulder. This was nice. Peace was nice. They hoped they got to experience it more.

That everyone would, once the Reds were gone.

A quiet clatter behind them had Call using the nearest reflective surface to see what had made a noise. They were expecting perhaps a tumbling tile, or a skittery small-bug.

The yellow eyes reflected back, barely visible in the dulled, dusty windows, were a surprise. Call did their best not to react. "Behind us." They murmured to Ark. "A youngling. Maybe more than one, but I cannot see how many. I do not know how old. You can see them in the glass, if you are careful." They hummed quietly in their throat, almost purring. "They are not normally so bold. Easily scared, usually hiding. I think they like the fountain too."

Ark was in agreement with Call, the peace, quiet, and togetherness were wonderful. Closeness with other programs was something that she hadn't had a lot of, especially lately, so it was a nice change from her usual pace.

She went on alert at the sound of the clatter, tensing up and ready to react to whatever came their way. But, Call's calmness steadied her and she followed their lead, moving her head just enough to get a peek on the glass.

"What should we do?" Ark asked quietly, deferring to their expertise, "I don't want to bother them, but if they're normally shy, should we leave?"

The younglings had good taste, the fountain was a great fountain.

"I am going to say not yet." Call decided. "If we move now, they will know we have seen them, and will not come back for a long time."

"Right now, they do not think we have seen them. As long as that continues, they will continue to be bold. Bold is good, means they are getting used to more people than just their very small networks - or at least less scared. I think- it is easy to tell you are Monitor, but you are not hurting or hunting them - you do not treat them as threats, but no threats will get to them without you knowing. It has been a long time since anyone has protected them, and Monitors are good at protecting, so maybe they are beginning to wonder if they are allowed to feel safe again." Call shifted against Ark a little, thinking. "Perhaps we can move when they are more hidden again, or at least closer to easy hiding places we won't have to pass to leave. Then they can continue to feel safe and bold."

Ark nodded quietly, "All right." She thought over everything that they said, "So, we just sit here and chat and act normal while not looking in their directions?" That sounded easy enough, and right now, they were only visible on the reflections. She turned her eyes away, using only her ears to listen and track them.

She smiled lightly, "I'm glad to protect them, if they'll have me. Everyone on the Grid deserves to feel safe."

Ark paused a moment before ading, "And, I'm in for however you want to handle them, letting them stretch and be around others is important for them to adapt to."

"Yes. We sit." Call hummed. "They will do as they please, as long as we do not scare them. There are dens they can use-"

A velvety grey hand poked gently at a stack of tile fragments in their peripheral, what used to be a surprised chirp ringing out when the stack collapsed - quickly followed by happy clicks when the young Infected in question realised they could stack the tiles back up again. A kind of game quickly started up, consisting of what seemed to be one team trying to stack the tiles and another trying to knock them down again.

"And they can always learn new things while playing. Like how physics works."

Ark looked to Call, "That means no loud noises, no sudden movements, things like that, right?" Those made sense, but she wasn't sure what else might spook their visitors.

At first, it seemed like stack had possibly spooked them, but it quickly turned into delight and then a game.

It was rather endearing to watch them at play, and she tilted her head at Call's comment, "Huh, I didn't know playing was so important."

"Yes to all of those, also respecting boundaries. Getting too close is scary for them." Call shrugged. "And... learning is good. No reason learning cannot also be fun. Different strength throws make things go different distances, and it can be learned with catching games just as easily as drills." They offered.

"I knew some of how things worked when I rezzed for the first time, but not everything - my template had to teach me many things, and I am still learning more. Not everyone gets even that much. Games help with learning basics - for instance, I have memory games for learning repair orders, because it's more fun than staring at diagrams and text all the time. And my template liked the fun disc wars when they were still allowed, he got to try out new trick shots and dodges which even now help him lots." They grimaced, amending their statement. "Well. Most games help with learning things. Not the Enemy's ones. Those teach nothing but fear and pain and sadness."

"Good to know," Ark replied, "I don't plan on moving, in case that might spook them, so if they get to close, it's their choice." She could stay put, but couldn't do anything if they chose to approach.

She thought over Call's words, "Huh, okay. I was rezzed on the Grid with a lot I needed to know, but learning wasn't fun, it just was." Drills and practice and simulations and so much more.

"Yeah...I miss the old Games, too. It was fun competing. I never won, but I always had a good time playing. I stopped when they turned deadly, that was too cruel and too much pressure."

"My template got in trouble the first time he played the fun ones against people other than his friends. Someone was very mean, tried to start a fight for real. Not disc fight, but still fight." Call giggled at what they were remembering. "My template ending the fight was not the problem."

"Him ending it by biting was. He is very bitey, when he wants to be - less so, now, but if he thinks he needs to then he still bites." They shrugged, flashing a grin. "Teeth do not need permission to be a weapon."

"He has been in the Bad Games once. Not by choice." Call bit their lip. "He won. Though winning is not- they almost killed him anyway. He is very scared of the Reds putting him back in there." Their jaw firmed. "If they try again, I will make sure they get me instead of him. I will not let them hurt him again. And I will be in their walls, with all of the angry. I am Virus, they will not hurt my Program template. He bites, but I have bigger sharper teeth. I will use them to protect my template."

Ark tilted her head as Call told tales of their friend. The first part didn't make much sense until the last piece of information came to light. She couldn't completely hold back a quiet snort of laughter, "That's one way to solve it. I'm not much for biting, myself, but if the Occupation's got a hold of me, I won't mind using my teeth."

She looked impressed at the next part, "Survived the Games and won, that's a feat. I'm not surprised the Occupation tried to pull something, I'm glad he was able to get away."

Ark looked Call over, then nodded, "I'm glad you've got his back. It sounds like you protect him well."

"I am very good at being in their walls." Call ducked their head a moment, circuits shimmering at the praise. "My template is precious to me. To many, but very much to me. He is my template, and I am his mirror. I love him, he is family. And family protects their own."

They didn't know how else to describe the relationship - how could they, when the closest kind of creation to theirs was that of the Enemy and the Creator? With them being more like the Enemy - a twisted mirror, far more prone to viciousness than their source, with the only difference being how that source treated them?

Call didn't know what they'd be, without their twin's love and support, and was eternally grateful they'd never find out.

Ark grinned, "And, they deserve every bit of your wrath you can bring to their walls." It was nice to know that somebody else was fighting against the Occupation in their own way.

"It's good that you're so close like that. Hopefully you can meet back up soon." Their template sounded like quite the interesting program. Maybe she'd get to meet him somecycle.