Quorra who lives. Others who died.
I draw in the name of de-rezzed.
The feels. ;__;
…I…want to write the story behind this.
Expo, 32, freelance film and video editor and professional nerd living in the Pacific northwest.
Whaaaaa! :D It is so cute!
“When I said I wanted something to read, this wasn’t what I had mind,” Sam said, looking up from the pile of books that Quorra had draped over him. Fuck, why did his leg have to be in a cast? It made his house-mates three hundred percent worse.
“Well, you didn’t specify,” Quorra said from the open kitchen, where she was mixing the egg wash for french toast with the precision of a chemist. Why were they having french toast? Because his painkiller had come with instructions to eat something when taking, and that happened to be Q’s favorite.
His protestations that it was two in the goddamn morning were met with a pat on the head. He had a feeling the books would be met with the same if she wasn’t distracted, even if the point had been to just have something to stare at until he could sleep.
“Do you want syrup or nutella?” Quorra called, a giggle in her voice as she snuck a glance over at him.
Sam looked sideways at Rinzler, who had taken custody of the prescription bottle when Sam had tried to take the damn pain pill earlier. Rinzler stared back, his chin resting on one hand, before he deliberately plucked a copy of The Martian Chronicles off the book pile.
“Someone has to keep you out of trouble,” Rinzler proclaimed. Sam groaned.
Kat, you are a national treasure. <3
And here’s an example of what to do with the stencil pack I posted last time; I saved a few steps along the way to show you how ArtRage works. Hope you like!
Uhm, HAI EVERYONE I’M STILL KINDA SORTA ALIVE :D
Yeah, uh, work is still kicking my butt all over the place, but the end is within sight! Hopefully April will be my last really manic insane work month, but in the meantime, I’ve had these amazing omg images saved on my desktop for all of February waiting until I had 20 mins to drabble and here I am, finally.
In the theme of the gridscape drabblets, I present Part 4 of 5 (yup I’ve determined that there will be just one more final installment!)
Gridscape Drablet 4
For a single, precious nano, he was free.
As the stolen lightjet entered the apogee of its climb, he did not feel the weight of his damaged limbs. As his sensors temporarily reported undefineds, confounded by the lack of vectors at the arc’s crest, the ever-present murmur of tactical feeds fell into standby and there was silence. The jet strained against its hardcoded limits, engine guttering, and the moment was suspended when it died altogether and he could only wait … wait … wait to see if it would re-ignite, if they would survive, if they would fly again …
Everything started again with a shriek of delirious laughter.
The iso pushed them into a punishing dive as the engine roared. Tron gritted his teeth as the forces clawed at old fractures, fought to sort through the sudden flood of new data, managed to grind out, “Down!” when he sensed the jet’s vector leveling and the iso obediently drove them deeper into the clouds.
The lights appeared first; scattered bursts of brilliance as they punched through the atmospheric haze. By the time the lines became a recognizable map, though, there was another excited whoop from the iso as she strained against the controls … the lightjet groaned as it fought to pull its nose up, barely clearing the lowest structures, light ribbon shimmering bright with shed heat behind it.
There was a hollow crump behind them and a glimmer of reflected light off building surfaces when someone behind them was not so lucky. “Think we’re gonna make it,” the iso gasped, humming with excess energy, the jet dancing beneath her touch.
“The question is why this is necessary in the first place,” he retorted, fingers curling into the armrests, feeling joints creak and warning messages flash like lightning crawling across the bellies of the clouds.
“Dunno. They’re getting better at finding us - “
The second time already, that a potential meeting was interrupted. A second missed chance at pooling resources, at joining forces, at potential healing -
” - but Flynn got a message to me. He wants to try again. He said he’ll be at - “
- and suddenly, he wondered if more than just his shell had been damaged, wondered how he could have been so blind. Wondered why it was, that users seemed to always hold the balance of salvation and destruction in their hands. “Flynn,” he groaned, closing his eyes.
EGADS! A DW! <3
This was going to be a big old thing about how happy I was to see that you still exist but then lightjets happened and I forgot what I was gonna say. Dammit, woman, you still know my weakness.
It’s been years since I’ve actually written anything, but somehow the Tron fandom has inspired me to try again.
I’m currently having Anon/Quorra feels from playing Evolution and all the Anon appreciation posts lately. This is hardly anything I’d call special, but I should be brave and let people see my stuff if I want feedback. Excuse my emotionless writing and lack of editing. Also, I suck at titles.
She would never tell him, but Quorra was thankful for the slow decay Users experienced. That process so uniquely human, as Flynn called himself, unfathomable by ageless programs. As the cycles in exile grew longer, his once brown hair thinned, turning a silver grey. Youthful vitality was replaced with the weariness of time. Smooth features became fissured with wrinkles.
She kept secret that his aging was a relief. It altered a face she could never look at without feeling a surge of anguish threatening to overwhelm her. It was no longer his face.
The face of her savior. The face of a last friend in a sea of enemies, her only companion in a world turned against her. The face underneath an obsidian helmet, contorted with pain, eyes turning soft at the knowledge she would survive and all wasn’t for naught. A face gone blank in as the life drained from it before dissolving into pure energy.
Quorra would never tell Flynn that when she looked at him, all she could see was the face of a newly rezzed System Monitor who died to save her.
I love the ambiguity of the first part, it makes the reason for her relief so much more feels-inducing.
Leave me alone to die.
This fic was beautiful. The fact that Quorra remembers Anon as more than just “a sympathetic program” both warms my heart and shatters it at the same time.
As the line between synthetic and organic disappears, we may transcend mortality itself, to reach a level of existence I cannot even imagine. And we will remember that this chance for a new life did not come without cost. No matter how far we advance, we will remember the sacrifices of those who made it possible.
Originally I was just gonna leave who Clu’s talking to open to interpretation but then…
Quorra brings home the bacon.
And then Clu puts all of it in pancakes. ._.
Everything I draw becomes a comic…
I lost it at “Kiss Me, I’m Perfect!”
A ficlet as promised, based on this picture:
It had happened so fast.
There had been a feeling of compression, not unlike what he had felt the first time Tron had crammed him into that dark, empty, unfeeling and endless hole where he had kept him for so long. Then there was a light, and then ground beneath his feet that caught him too quickly, that made him stumble and fall, and a voice saying:
There were two people in the room when he looked up from the floor where he lie, sprawled on his stomach. Both were male. One was young, dirty blond and critical looking. The other, who was still speaking, was old, with panes of something shiny over his eyes.
“I thought you said he’d look like me?”
“That’s what Dad said,” the younger one said, eyeing Cyrus suspiciously before spinning in his high-backed chair to look at something on the screen before him. Cyrus retracted, scrambling to his feet, almost colliding with the device behind him. It stood on a tripod and stared at him with one bright blue digital eye. He could smell the heat coming off of it, and it whirred quietly beside him. It was stationed in a room with a desk, a chair, and one high up window; a subterranean office with brown carpet and white walls.
The older being —User, he was certain— was looking at him with an unpleasant expression.
“Shit,” the younger one replied, “I got it wrong, Alan, they just share some of the same code. This program is too new to be—”
At that moment Cyrus struck, lunging at them both and throwing the older user into the younger with such force that both of them and the chair they were perched in tumbled to the ground. Then he bolted.
There were stairs to his right, and he took them. Through every window, he saw familiar darkness, but on every table were unusual, soft looking lamps, all yellow light and poor viability. There was a light on at the end of the hall, and from that room came the sound of humming and the smell of something hot, and… he did not have the word for it, but it made him salivate for some reason, colorless power sludge leaking into his mouth at an increase rate so that he had to swallow it back.
He turned down another hallway, though, passing framed images on the walls and too-small for anything tabled made out of a brown, shiny material he couldn’t name, running from the light and the warmth and the sound. He was met by another staircase, and he ascended it quickly, but quietly now. If he was going to escape, then he needed to be subtle. Needed to be careful. Needed a weapon, or a hostage, and then to hide …
He pulled some kind of soft, hooded jacket that was hanging from the banister as he passed it, pulling the hood low over his forehead, trying to hide his own glow as he dove through the first door that he saw. It was open, and the room was dark, as if someone had either just left or had just gone in to pick something up and did not expect to be there long or need a light to find it. He collided with that someone even as he pulled the door shut behind him: it was a dark haired girl, an image that glowed just as his circuits still did emblazoned on her arm.
She fell on her backside when he hit her, and while he scrambled quickly to his knees, she was slower to recover, seeming somehow unable to process what she was seeing.
“You’re not who they were trying to bring,” she stuttered, but he hardly heard the words.
A hostage indeed, he thought as he lifted his hand. Before she could throw him off, he lunged for her throat. He said only two words as he dragged her to her feet and -still half-strangling her- placed her between himself and the door. In a voice roughened long ago by code degradation and his own glitch-driven ravings, he whispered:
SUDDENLY: a Tron-centric female character ficathon!!!
This sort of developed spontaneously over a couple of hours yesterday. With so few female characters in Tron continuity, it’s natural that the guys get the bulk of the attention — so here’s something to redress the balance a little: a December/January ficathon specifically for female characters in the Tron franchise. It’ll last till February 1 to give extra time to those already involved in the Tronblr Secret Santa.
The ficathon is open to Tron fans anywhere — tumblr, lj/dreamwidth, wherever. Link, share, and enjoy!
Your fic must be about a canonical female character. Male characters can, of course, appear, or even figure prominently also, but the female character should be the focus, not an accessory to a male character’s story.
Consider passing the Bechedel Test (having the story contain a conversation between two women which isn’t about a man).
Female OCs are more than welcome as side characters, including OCs based on minor unnamed characters (like that one employee at Flynn’s Arcade, or Siren #2, or a background program from Able’s garage), but this ficathon is about giving some attention to our much-neglected canonical ladies, so your main character(s) should come from the list below.
This ficathon is ship-friendly (and gen-friendly) and open to all ratings and content; therefore please use appropriate tags to help readers categorize your fic.
AU scenarios (like “And then Lora got zapped into the Grid instead of Sam!!”) are fine. Crossovers are okay too, but should balance more toward the Tronverse than away from it.
Fic should be over 500 words. Try to stop before 1000, but there’s no penalty for going over. XD
The sign-up period will end on December 9th, 2012. Prompts will be distributed by December 16th.
Deadline is February 1, 2013. That gives you about a month and a half to write!
Fics should be posted on February 1. They may be posted anywhere, as long as they’re open to readers and the link is sent back to us so we can link the story in the masterlist.
Sign-up: Since tumblr eats asks, leave an anonymous comment here, using the signup form given in that post.
Next week, you will receive: a name, what the person wants, and their three prompts. You only need to write one prompt.
Major Named Female Characters:
Lora (Baines) Bradley
Jordan (Canas) Flynn
‘Gran’ Flynn (Kevin Flynn’s mother)
Minor Named Female Characters:
Voice of the Grid
Tron 2.0 Characters:
Take it away, folks! :)
I am on this like Donkey Kong, for all the sense that makes.