PSL; [It's bigger than us, it's bigger than everything]

[bleps]

((ooc; cont. from here))

[Anything happening within the walls of Hank's house is now being shattered by the blaring of the doorbell. Once, twice, a third time for a bit longer. Less an actual doorbell and more of a buzzer, a harsh thing that is sure to grab the attention of anyone possessing a heartbeat within. The very obvious sign of someone (a certain RK800 unit) at the door, hoping to find the Lieutenant at his home if he cannot be located at his usual haunts. The sort that serves alcohol, mainly.]

Lieutenant?

[The voice should ring familiar, if not slightly muffled by the obstruction before him. Connor stands waiting, straight-backed, staring at the closed door like the obstacle it is to his entry. The usual curl of hair that falls across his forehead sways in the breeze as he waits, only half-patiently.]

Lieutenant! [The downwards cant of his head, just slightly, eyes averted to the side; the look of someone listening for noise within.] Are you home?

Comments

[bleps]

[He just smiles at him. He is learning, in his own way.

Still, a brow raises.]

Your... "dickbutt graffiti". [this must be a millennial thing]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank laughs, the danger of the compliment safely past, and moves to sit down at a table.]

Yeah, lemme show you, uh...

[He starts flipping through pictures on his phone. This one has pride of place, so it doesn't take him long to find it.]

Yeah, here. The first and last office party Detective Gavin Reed ever passed out at. There it is, on his forehead right there. How's that for fine art?

[bleps]

[Connor follows accordingly, and scoots out a chair across from Hank to take a seat. Learning forward to take a look at the picture shown, there is absolutely zero way that he can't at least find it even the smallest amount amusing.

Too bad he wasn't around to view that. It would've been an interesting exercise in people-watching, he tells himself. Office parties always bring both the positive and negative dynamics of co-workers to the forefront, shown in stark lighting.

(Also. Gavin Reed deserves a dickbutt on his forehead.)]

It has... impressive line work. How did Detective Reed like it?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank grins and shoves the last of the food into his mouth.]

Took him about five minutes to figure out it was there, but they were the best five minutes of my life. It's too bad I uh, forgot to put the sharpie back in my pocket or he might of never known it was me. It's not exactly graffiti, I know, but that was back in high school and I figured I wasn't gonna get a better chance to take the old skills back out for a spin.

He'd probably blow a gasket if he knew I showed you. He kinda loses it whenever anyone brings it up.

[bleps]

[A moment passes where Connor is so obviously deciding whether or not he should keep this information in his back pocket to bring it up at just the right time.

His grin widens, just a tad.]

Detective Reed's sense of humor only extends far enough to laugh at others -- not so much himself. This isn't terribly surprising.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Handing Connor that particular weapon may have been ninety percent of the reason Hank brought that particular sensitivity up.]

Yeah, guy's got an ego the size of Texas. Chris and some of the other uniforms he works with say he's not always that bad but I don't know, some guys just aren't worth getting optimistic about, you know?

[bleps]

[Remember your remark about bias, Hank? Well, here's a bias: Connor has a hard time visualizing Reed as "not always that bad".]

An overinflated ego and a penchant for deriding others is often a sign of overcompensation. Maybe this is the case for Detective Reed.

[Look at these two, throwing shade behind your back, Gavin.]

At any rate, were you a troublemaker back in high school? [After all... graffiti, and everything.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank laughs again. That was a dick joke. That was actually a dick joke.]

Remind me to get you talking shit more often. But uh, I don't know. My parents didn't ground me too much, so there's that. And you can only get caught for so much shit before the academy won't take you. But we had a good time. What, I don't come off like a perfect student? Not like you woulda been. I bet you woulda been a straight A kid, on the president's list, that whole thing.

[bleps]

[What? A dick joke? No, no, of course not.]

It's hard to judge what kind of student you would've been, given how far departed you are from those years of your life.

[That was not actually meant to be a dig at Hank's age; just another example of Connor's straightforward remarks couched in obliviousness. Sorry, Hank.]

Just as it would be difficult to say what kind of student I would have been. I have zero point of reference to form an accurate hypothetical.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Take it from me, you would of been. Straight A's, strict parents.

[Hank deflates just a little. 'Strict' doesn't begin to cover it. Hank finishes off the rest of his coffee, deciding that's enough highschool AU-ing Connor for now. He sighs.]

Well, that'll hold me over for all of half an hour. Ready to get back to it?

[bleps]

[He will just have to defer to Hank's judgment regarding that. He wouldn't know; unless having Cyberlife as your creator counts as possessing "strict parents".]

Ready when you are, Lieutenant.

[Ready to work, ready to shake off the beginning of this day as if it were nothing. He already feels better, more relaxed, than just a half hour before.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Connor's not the only one. Hank feels better, too; hungry, still, and tired, but better. He moves toward his desk, leaning against Connor's instead of sitting down.]

So, what's our next step? We could look over everything we've got again, see if there's another angle. Or I think you said something about a simulation, some kind of fake AI you can test that program out on.

[bleps]

A simple program, yes. Probably easily run through the system available to us here at the station.

[He looks up at him, considering.]

I had considered running it on myself, but... I'm not certain how viable of an option that is.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Yeeeeeah, no. Not even if the damn thing works exactly like it's supposed to. No. Would that even work on you anyway, since it was made for a different model?

[bleps]

[Wow don't shoot it down so quickly, Hank. It was a solid plan-- for a while there.]

I don't know. I wouldn't know, unless I ran it.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Yeah, well. I hope you don't want to know too bad, cause we're not going to find out. What did you say about running it through the system? Wouldn't we have to uh... disconnect whatever we used from the rest of the department first? The IT guys are always telling me about opening the wrong email on department computers, let alone something like this.

[bleps]

There are a few options. I'm an RK800 unit, Hank; I can interface with the station's system myself, and isolate my own console from affecting the rest.

[IT will probably still lose their minds. And an android casually hacking into the DPD even for the sake of a case probably wouldn't... go over well, with all that's happening.]

The second option is to literally isolate it from the station. Connect it to another closed, limited network. Your home set-up, maybe.

[Also casually walking out with a DPD computer is FINE PROBABLY, who knows. Connor has a strange tendency to do whatever the hell he wants, veiled in politeness the whole time.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank thinks about it. Here at the station would probably be the best way, but if something does happen with Connor that they don't expect, at least at his house no one else would be around to see and start yelling about glitches and wanting Connor going back to Cyberlife for repairs. It's a little paranoid, maybe, but it feels safer.]

Well, we'd better grab whatever else we might need cause I vote we go back to my place. I don't have much of a home set up, though, nothing more than what you get packaged with the TV and data.

[bleps]

[Hank's house it is.]

Don't worry. I'll make sure to bring all that's needed. Just let me know before we leave.

[So he can haul off his desk's console like he owns the place.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Mhm. No time like the present, unless you had other plans.

[bleps]

No.

[Then that settles it.] I'll be ready in a minute.

[And he is, really. Anything and everything he needs is really not that much; an adaptor for the USB, a few extra wires (in case Hank's home really does fall into the "technophobe" category), and the console itself -- easily carried in Connor's arms, impeccably balanced.

And easily shoved into the backseat of Hank's car, when it gets to that point.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[And hopefully as easily carried inside. Hank squats down to greet Sumo, trying to shuffle the big dog backward as best he can to give Connor room to get everything in.]

Nope, can't say hi yet buddy, Connor's got expensive shit to carry.

[Dog thus corralled, Hank turns his attention back to Connor.]

It'll probably all fit on the table, just shove all my shit over. How long do you think the, uh, AI thing will take you to set up?

[bleps]

[Actually using the front door is a nice change. Seeing Sumo in his periphery, past the edge of the sleek console screen blocking his view, is also something that sparks a strange eagerness in him. (I like dogs, he once stated simply to Hank, and that was far from an over-exaggeration.)

But Connor manages to slip through and place everything on the table, with an enviable lack of real effort, shifting a few of Hank's things aside.]

Not very long. A few minutes at the most.

[But first thing's first: Connor's hands now free, he crouches down, and opens his arms towards Sumo in the universal gesture for "come here!"] Hello, Sumo.

[Priorities. He didn't get to see him the last time.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank lets go of Sumo and watches him go over, tail wagging, to snuffle against his shoulder. Greeting Sumo that way may or may not have been a mistake; Hank knows from experience how much drool Connor is going to have all over him.]

He likes you. It's weird - I'd of thought he'd be freaked out by someone who doesn't have a smell.

[bleps]

I'm almost certain he can scent where I've been-

[Oh, it's Sumo against his shoulder. Words leave him, his focus on the overlarge dog instead; responding to Hank has been shuffled down in the priority list.

Connor smiles, scratching at Sumo's head. What a good dog. If he gets slobber on his jacket, it is of absolutely zero consequence to this particular android.]