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Dec. 22nd, 2010 02:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thene posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
queerlygenTitle: Binary
Creator:thene
Universe: TRON
Type of work: Drabble
Contains: One swearword, one potentially shippy femslash moment.
Summary and/or notes: Sam Flynn kept her name, even after changing everything else.
She'd kept the name, even after changing everything else. It was snappy and people knew it, you could walk into a room and say "I'm Sam Flynn" and it worked, and if at the back of her head she always heard it in his voice, stone skimmed over water Sam Flynn SamFlynn Sam SamSam myboy, grainy .WAV playing somewhere inside her brain, it didn't hurt. If he ever turned up again, he'd at least know her name. Bits of heritage, like shares or motorcycle parts. Being Sam Flynn.
Back when she first figured herself out - herself, Sam Flynn - she wondered what he'd have to say about it. She wondered the same when she dropped out of Caltech, too.
She'd felt weird-vulnerable among the sirens, second of dread of not even knowing what the programs would see under her real-world clothes. What the fuck did they read here, her DNA? Memories? The thoughts of her-father their-creator? The sirens had got it right, though she still wasn't quite used to the new shoes. Everything in binary, walking on platforms, gravity not quite applying right, ice-taste thrill in her mouth. Riding tandem and uphill with the pretty little stranger, brain dancing with her black-rimmed eyes.
Waiting for him to say her name. Say something about how she'd grown, the little boy on the beach being so many grains of sand.
Creator:
theneUniverse: TRON
Type of work: Drabble
Contains: One swearword, one potentially shippy femslash moment.
Summary and/or notes: Sam Flynn kept her name, even after changing everything else.
She'd kept the name, even after changing everything else. It was snappy and people knew it, you could walk into a room and say "I'm Sam Flynn" and it worked, and if at the back of her head she always heard it in his voice, stone skimmed over water Sam Flynn SamFlynn Sam SamSam myboy, grainy .WAV playing somewhere inside her brain, it didn't hurt. If he ever turned up again, he'd at least know her name. Bits of heritage, like shares or motorcycle parts. Being Sam Flynn.
Back when she first figured herself out - herself, Sam Flynn - she wondered what he'd have to say about it. She wondered the same when she dropped out of Caltech, too.
She'd felt weird-vulnerable among the sirens, second of dread of not even knowing what the programs would see under her real-world clothes. What the fuck did they read here, her DNA? Memories? The thoughts of her-father their-creator? The sirens had got it right, though she still wasn't quite used to the new shoes. Everything in binary, walking on platforms, gravity not quite applying right, ice-taste thrill in her mouth. Riding tandem and uphill with the pretty little stranger, brain dancing with her black-rimmed eyes.
Waiting for him to say her name. Say something about how she'd grown, the little boy on the beach being so many grains of sand.