More random-ass Hold On sequelstuff (plus ranting)
I've been writing, but my work on my ongoings has been slower than I'd like, and I haven't posted in too long. So, stuff.
A brief continuation from my earlier preview-whatchamathing. Oh, and I decided I liked past tense better anyways.
The baton broke in his hands, lines of shape diagramming through the empty air. He pulled up sharply, the seething blackness below closing as the steep turn flattened him against the jet. The water rushed towards him, dark waves reaching towards the blackness of his helmet as it unfolded to shield him-and then the lightjet rose, slipping just barely above the surface of the Sea.
Reckless. Pointless risk.
Tron smiled, gave himself over to the motion of the sky.
Motion was what he’d had. All he had owned for so long. No choice (but thought), no action (but skill). Existence without answers. It still seemed unreal, to reach for memory, directive, self and find it. He felt jagged inside, broken edges and pieces released in a tumble. He wasn’t all there, he knew-stray threads of filters, restrictions, commands still wound through his processing, halfhearted whispers of wrongness. But they could hold back little, now. It was there, he was there-knowledge and self and choice so sharp it hurt.
It always had hurt to reach for memory. He hadn’t expected so much pain on finding it, too.
But knowing brought far more agony than anything Clu had done.
Tron leaned back, tilted upwards, and flinched as the world went orange. Vision reconfigured, subprocesses scanned in reflexive alarm, but it wasn’t him. The sky was blocked. Clu’s Rectifier loomed above, an immobile shape, a helpless prison, massive and uncompromising. But useless. Tron could see the faint shimmer locking it down, external system commands beyond anything Clu could wield acting to halt the behemoth, hold it in place. User power. Flynn. No jets swarmed from the hangers; no weapons platforms mobilized.
It was a silent wound in the sky.
This will be the proof. The spark. Clu’s followers might have stayed in quiet vigil, order maintained and enforced as they awaited their master’s return. If the users had vanished, and their leader had left, how were they to know who had triumphed?
Tron rose up alongside the frozen mass, reflective black surface and red-orange blaze. This sight removed ignorance. Programs would come. Would return, spread the word, fix the image in the minds and disks of the city. And chaos would take hold.
Tron stared at the main hangar, a gaping entrance to the orange wound. He should go back. There was data inside, schematics-enough information to define the plans and patterns of Clu’s forces for cycles to come. He knew Clu’s tactics and enforcement (too well, too long), but the specific allocation and instructions for how the Grid was to have been kept after Clu’s departure… that knowledge could be crucial to retaking the city. It could make all the difference.
He should go back.
…
The silent floor of perfect, ordered masses. Stepping on command, thinking on command. Trapped, devoted, helpless, invincible. Endless, endless lines.
Tron retracted his helmet because he could, felt the wind tear at his face as he shot forward, leaving the burning orange hulk behind. Someone else would find the data.
And he knew he was running away, but he didn’t look behind. He couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t.
Because maybe that floor is where you belong.
He wished he knew whether that was Clu’s voice or his own.
>.>....
...myeah. I'd be doing more with this now, but I'm at that planning stage where I've got 2/3 of the stuff I want blocked out, including several awesome scenes, but not some of the key plot-elements that'll tie the whole thing together. If I could just answer one or two major questions about what certain peoples are doing, I would pretty much have this story plotted.
But I don't have all the details, and I'm reluctant to sit down and make myself focus on it while I've got two other long fills in progress. If I were writing at a reasonable rate, I could finish Letting Go within a couple weeks max; I've got 7 chapters left, and they're all planned at least in summary. Extraordinary Voyages is just... >.< *shakes head* I started trying to block it out by chapters, and... it's probably a 20+ chapter fic. Long chapters. And I haven't even finished the general plotting for it.
Blargh. -_- I should not be having these problems in conjunction. I'm used to writer's block, and I'm used to having lots I want to write, but the two combine... poorly.
A brief continuation from my earlier preview-whatchamathing. Oh, and I decided I liked past tense better anyways.
The baton broke in his hands, lines of shape diagramming through the empty air. He pulled up sharply, the seething blackness below closing as the steep turn flattened him against the jet. The water rushed towards him, dark waves reaching towards the blackness of his helmet as it unfolded to shield him-and then the lightjet rose, slipping just barely above the surface of the Sea.
Reckless. Pointless risk.
Tron smiled, gave himself over to the motion of the sky.
Motion was what he’d had. All he had owned for so long. No choice (but thought), no action (but skill). Existence without answers. It still seemed unreal, to reach for memory, directive, self and find it. He felt jagged inside, broken edges and pieces released in a tumble. He wasn’t all there, he knew-stray threads of filters, restrictions, commands still wound through his processing, halfhearted whispers of wrongness. But they could hold back little, now. It was there, he was there-knowledge and self and choice so sharp it hurt.
It always had hurt to reach for memory. He hadn’t expected so much pain on finding it, too.
But knowing brought far more agony than anything Clu had done.
Tron leaned back, tilted upwards, and flinched as the world went orange. Vision reconfigured, subprocesses scanned in reflexive alarm, but it wasn’t him. The sky was blocked. Clu’s Rectifier loomed above, an immobile shape, a helpless prison, massive and uncompromising. But useless. Tron could see the faint shimmer locking it down, external system commands beyond anything Clu could wield acting to halt the behemoth, hold it in place. User power. Flynn. No jets swarmed from the hangers; no weapons platforms mobilized.
It was a silent wound in the sky.
This will be the proof. The spark. Clu’s followers might have stayed in quiet vigil, order maintained and enforced as they awaited their master’s return. If the users had vanished, and their leader had left, how were they to know who had triumphed?
Tron rose up alongside the frozen mass, reflective black surface and red-orange blaze. This sight removed ignorance. Programs would come. Would return, spread the word, fix the image in the minds and disks of the city. And chaos would take hold.
Tron stared at the main hangar, a gaping entrance to the orange wound. He should go back. There was data inside, schematics-enough information to define the plans and patterns of Clu’s forces for cycles to come. He knew Clu’s tactics and enforcement (too well, too long), but the specific allocation and instructions for how the Grid was to have been kept after Clu’s departure… that knowledge could be crucial to retaking the city. It could make all the difference.
He should go back.
…
The silent floor of perfect, ordered masses. Stepping on command, thinking on command. Trapped, devoted, helpless, invincible. Endless, endless lines.
Tron retracted his helmet because he could, felt the wind tear at his face as he shot forward, leaving the burning orange hulk behind. Someone else would find the data.
And he knew he was running away, but he didn’t look behind. He couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t.
Because maybe that floor is where you belong.
He wished he knew whether that was Clu’s voice or his own.
>.>....
...myeah. I'd be doing more with this now, but I'm at that planning stage where I've got 2/3 of the stuff I want blocked out, including several awesome scenes, but not some of the key plot-elements that'll tie the whole thing together. If I could just answer one or two major questions about what certain peoples are doing, I would pretty much have this story plotted.
But I don't have all the details, and I'm reluctant to sit down and make myself focus on it while I've got two other long fills in progress. If I were writing at a reasonable rate, I could finish Letting Go within a couple weeks max; I've got 7 chapters left, and they're all planned at least in summary. Extraordinary Voyages is just... >.< *shakes head* I started trying to block it out by chapters, and... it's probably a 20+ chapter fic. Long chapters. And I haven't even finished the general plotting for it.
Blargh. -_- I should not be having these problems in conjunction. I'm used to writer's block, and I'm used to having lots I want to write, but the two combine... poorly.