[DISCONNECTED] Mailbox [IC]

[a_perfect_end]

[he got it to beep just like a tape-fed answering machine]

Greetings!

Recently-deposed Grid management and complaints department.

You know what they say: if you can't say something nice, lay it on me. Do your thing at the tone!

Comments

[a_perfect_end]

[He's only doing what he's supposed to do. He was written that way. Rewritten that way: pushed, prodded, pulled apart and pared away, more and more, and more than once--

I never needed you.

And Clu is just fine.]

Functional.

[There's an explicit timestamp and a neutral nondescript location shoved across with the next line.]

I have something for you.

Tomorrow.

[More preparation will not make him more ready, and they have more important things to discuss.]

[notglitching]

[The first line is nearly a dismissal. The rest... not. Clu has something for him? As thoroughly as they've strayed from defaults, Rinzler has trouble imagining many conditions under which that could be good. What had he done? Or is it what he hadn't done? Should he have made more effort to track Clu? Where has his admin been?

Maybe he'll find out. Probably, he won't. Probably, it's just a task. He's delayed longer than he should, regardless.]

Acknowledged.

[He'll be there. Of course.]

[a_perfect_end]

[It's taken so much longer than it should, and it's such a small thing, and--

They'll never be as they were, but that was true already. They are not as they were.

That's his doing, too.]

Inquiry:

[The cursor flickers at him, steady amber solenoid beats, and then:]

Status? Location? Specify range and duration of position.

[How've you been, and how do you do?

...Y'did the sitting on the doorjamb thing, didn't you.]

[notglitching]

[He has his answer. He has his orders. Rinzler isn't expecting a response. When his TAB chimes, it takes a moment to recall the texts. A moment longer to stop lagging and answer.]

Functional.

Kauto, R1. Scouting sector boundaries.

[Wow, Clu. He's not sitting on the doorjamb. That was yesterday! Besides, scouring the streets (or rooftops) allows for a much more comprehensive search.

Range receives a numeric estimate, along with a current vector and approximate path speed. It's the best he can offer for duration.

Rinzler has always hated sitting still.]

[a_perfect_end]

[Functional. Sure. They both are.

Fine. Just fine. It's all fine.]

Good.

[And if his fingers are just slightly unsteady as he turns over the packets passed to his TAB--

Wait. Wait, those vectors are--

He's. Moving.

This way.]

That's just fine.

[IT IS NOT FINE.]

[notglitching]

[Wow, Clu. Paranoid much? Rinzler is, in fact, approaching on a tangent. And aiming to pass on a tangent, too. Just because he hates waiting on standby doesn't mean he doesn't know how to wait.

Tomorrow. Those were Clu's orders, and Rinzler has a timestamp and location to match, too. Under normal circumstances, the current message would qualify as a dismissal, but he'd assumed that much before and been wrong too. Better to be sure.]

Further data required?

(wrap here? we're already logging the important bits~)

[a_perfect_end]

[Clu should know better--does know better, rationally--but that's never slowed the racing of his processor before. He's always like this--just not always with Rinzler, and that had proved a massive tactical error, had exposed a huge vulnerability that he's too eager by half to just patch already: paranoia restored.

He won't fail them again, not by that route.

The message is exact, formulaic, adhering perfectly to the oldest possible formalities.]

No. Your report is sufficient. Thank you for your time.

[Now all that remains--for both of them--is to wait.]

(Sounds good!)

[notglitching]

[It's not Rinzler's formula. Not the one he's used to... not just that. Still, it can't be faulted for its clarity. Rinzler eyes the display for a long moment, fingers curling over the keys—before he nods (to no one) and closes the device.

Tomorrow.]