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]

[It's inevitable. It's happening.]

So you lean into technology that was prevalent from before you born, as a consequence?

[He doesn't necessarily mean the network set-up this time. More like the record collection, and the man's impractical car.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[No. Refuse.]

Well, people have been using - [Using what? Hank hesitates for a second.] - uh, bread, right, since before recorded history, and no one's decided that's useless and's got to go. Except those assholes who wrap their pitas in lettuce but fuck them, they don't count. Is all my stuff time locked or something, I gotta worship at the altar of wi-fi and throw away all my records?

[bleps]

[Too late.

Hank... he could poke so many holes in that argument it'd look like swiss cheese when he was done with it. Connor looks at him for a long moment, then returns to working at unwrapping a long cord from its circular, wound-up form.]

People still eat bread, Hank. Your example would've been better employed if you used... laserdiscs as an example; but I suppose that would also be incorrect, because they are an old, dated mode of video formatting, and no one uses them except those who want to...

[Pause.] Make a point about something. Or simply enjoy the aesthetic of items that are no longer used.

[h i p s t e r]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank hears the word that was not said. He hears it.]

Oh my god. Are you calling me a hipster, you little shit?

[Hank flicks his hand toward the back of Connor's head, wanting to give him a little tap and hopefully mess up his hair.]

You shut your damn dirty mouth. And there's nothing wrong with liking the way something feels, okay? My records sound different from downloaded music, you listen to them and tell me they don't.

[bleps]

[It's felt, that little annoyed tap on the back of his head, and Hank's successful in rustling a few strands of otherwise perfect hair out of place. Connor looks at him, frowning faintly, running a hand over his head to smooth it down.]

So you're able to identify the difference between analog and digital music?

[It's not impossible, but that's a talent dedicated to true audiophiles, and he wonders, briefly, if Hank qualifies. But if he can't, this completely negates the man's whole point.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Yeah. [He says it defiantly, and not a little smugly.] I can.

[Pretty much only at his house, where his speakers are good enough. Nowhere else. But Connor doesn't need to know that.]

And I never claimed to like it 'before it was cool' and I've never worn a manbun and it's been a long time since I always wore plaid. So. Not a hipster, alright?

[Maybe Hank's a little stuck on this.]

[bleps]

[The way Hank answers so confidently is an answer on its own. He doesn't think he's bluffing. All right, point in his favor.

Still unwrapping that cord, slowly, Connor finally gets around to plugging it into the adaptor.]

I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were so sensitive about this topic, Lieutenant. Forget I said anything.

[Connor is so frustratingly plain-spoken, so very clear in his politeness and geniality that it's difficult to tell if he's being judgmental, sincere, or vaguely amused. It's almost as if he does it on purpose.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Since they're already going at each other, Hank decides to go ahead and assume the latter and that this is a pointed comment, too. It'd feel weird for Connor to give up that easily.]

And now you're calling me sensitive! Tell me something, Connor, be straight with me. Do you ever stop?

[Despite his outraged tone, he's smiling a little. Hank tries to figure out a way to get away with messing Connor's hair up again - it might be the only kind-of-sure way to get to him.]

[bleps]

Stop what?

[Feign obliviousness, that works, right?

The hair would be one way to go about it. It's too perfect all the time to assume that Connor doesn't put some mode of effort into keeping it that way.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

That! That. Right the fuck there.

[Hank puts a hand on the table and leans in to watch what Connor's doing, relaxed enough by the conversation to leave Connor almost no personal space at all.]

What do you think I mean, stop what.

[bleps]

[Connor leans back a little, fingers stilling around the cord. He blinks at Hank, putting all effort of processing into the most android-y poker face known to man.]

I don't know. That's why I asked for clarification.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank doesn't lean back when Connor does, just keeps looking at him. He tries not to smile, and partly fails.]

Don't make me doubt myself, come on. Smart guy like you, I think you can figure out exactly what I mean.

[bleps]

[He tilts his head, ever so slightly. The smile is not missed, and Connor -- surprisingly to even himself -- has to fend off the threat of his own lips quirking up. He fails, only by the tiniest, tiniest of degrees.]

I'm sorry, I really don't know what you mean, Hank. Do you want me to stop conversing about your purposefully outdated tastes in technology? You only have to say so.

a hank situation I never expected: i actually need more smile icons

[fuck1ngusernam3]

'Purposefully outdated,' come on. No, you come at me all you want, you just admit that that's what it is you're doing.

:D sometimes he can be happy

[bleps]

You’re reading into intent that doesn’t exist. What would be the point of me doing that?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank enunciates each word deliberately, pointedly, and even leans forward a little further, for emphasis.]

To fuck with me.

You really gonna keep insisting you're not doing that?

[bleps]

[Defiantly, Connor doesn’t lean back this time. He just looks at Hank, eyes searching. Refusing to be on this side of the interrogation table.]

Androids don’t antagonize humans for no reason. There’s nothing to be gained from it.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

I think you gain plenty.

[He lets that sit a moment, his helpless smile drifting into more of a smirk.]

Wonder why that could be.

[bleps]

[He opens his mouth to say something, decides against it. Revises his statement, trying again and conceding a little.]

Because isn’t that what partners do? Occasionally give each other a hard time in a generally good-natured way?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Yeah.

[Hank eyes him for another couple seconds, trying to decide whether to count that as a real answer. Finally he straightens up, giving Connor back the personal space he stole, and raises his hand as he does it, using an attempt at an affectionate headrub to try and run Connor's hair, from the back of his head to the top, in the wrong direction.]

Yeah.

[His voice softens.]

You're not half bad at it, you know. This partner thing.

[bleps]

[The acceptance is enough to spark a smile — to spark something feeling like contentedness in friendship. If he were so brave to label it as such, one might even call it emotion.

But then Hank runs his hand through his hair completely the wrong way, and Connor is thoroughly derailed by the gesture.]

Lieutenant-!

[A hand flies up to his own head, pressed against his scalp, as if that would somehow help undo the damage; too late. Strands of hair across his forehead, locks sticking out at wrong angles.]

That’s highly unnecessary!

[He doesn’t sound even close to actually upset, though.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank laughs. It's weird. It's not like he doesn't laugh, like he can't joke around with people, but it feels like it's been a while since he's laughed so many times in such a short period. Usually he's chatting with people at lunch, or at a bar, friendly and brief and then everyone gets back to their business.

So. It's weird. But appropriate. Connor looks amazing.]

Oh my god, that was even more worth it than I thought it'd be. And educational. I thought it would feel more like doll hair.

[bleps]

[If by “amazing” you mean utterly terrible!!

Connor attempts to smooth his hair down, only half-successful in taming it. There’s still bits that stick out across his forehead, instead of the usual solitary piece. It never even looks this mussed after rough fight.

He glances up at Hank through it all. Hears his laughter, and wonders just when was the last time he sounded like that; Connor can’t remember, not in the time that they’ve worked together. It’s strange, but nice in its own way. Good to see, instead of the usual gruff frowns and sarcastic quips.]

Now that you’ve been “educated”, I would request that you refrain from doing that from now on. This isn’t very presentable.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Come on, look at me. [He gestures at himself, his hair.] That's plenty presentable. You look... I don't know what the kids are doing with their hair now, you look... stylish, or something.

[bleps]

I wasn’t designed to be stylish. I was designed to be approachable and—

[He moves a hand up to fix his hair. It just falls back into place.]

—professional-looking.