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

I’m not going to change my mind.

[-he says this immediately, while still conceding to duck down and stick a searching hand under the seat. Even edged with the awkward atmosphere in the car, Connor is ever the people-pleaser.]

Your soup isn’t here.

[His hand feels no soup can, but there’s something smooth and cool— he plucks it up and straightens. It’s an old penny.]

...but maybe we should consider finding you something more solid to eat.

[Hank looks over to see what Connor’s holding, then shrugs.]

Sure. Sumo could probably do with another stop anyway. Think I saw a sign for some fast food joint right up here at the next exit. We should probably change the hologram over the car too, it’s that little box next to the radio there. Fiddle with it and it should change the car model, paintjob, license plate, all that. Nothing too flashy.

[The penny is palmed and put in his pocket, for no other reason than because he can. Connor leans forward as instructed, and the car changes accordingly. Paint job, body style, license plate.]

Like so?

Probably.

[He shrugs, tone dismissive, looking at the road as the car drifts over toward the exit lane. It’s not that he’s mad at Connor, he tells himself. That would be stupid. And honestly, maybe he’s not. It’s just... It’s a lot, his reasons for doing this in the first place, Connor giving a shit about those reasons, giving a shit about him. It’s annoying. He’s annoyed. Or maybe he’s just, just on edge. Not that his stupid issues are the most pressing thing there is, right now, to be on edge about.

Probably better if he eats now, anyway. Depending on how things go, he might not want to after Connor gives his bosses that report.]

Guess we’ll find out.

[Having a general idea why his tone’s dismissive and distracted doesn’t mean he’s going to change it. He’s not being short with the guy, anyway. He’s just driving.]

[The tone is dismissive and terse, and he's heard it before. And Connor considers, for all of a handful of seconds, of dropping it. To let the awkwardness in the car slowly eke out, like water dripping through a leak.

He dips his gaze back to the road, watching as they slowly shift into the exit lane; in the distance there's the quaint-looking parking lot of a fast food place, as unglamorous as one might expect out in the middle of nowhere. And for a moment, it's almost as if Connor is going to actually let something go. A small miracle unto its own, until reality sinks in, and proves that he still doesn't know how to do such a thing.]

Becoming agitated when someone affirms the longevity of a friendship is paradoxical.

[JUST SO YOU KNOW.]

[Hank realizes after a few seconds that his mouth is actually open and that he is staring, shocked and offended, at Connor instead of watching the road. He looks back just in time to make the exit, talking in an exaggerated, faux-patient tone]

Well, Connor, there’s something unique and special inside all of us. Inside you there’s circuits and blue goo and magical robo-unicorns farting out perfect logical thought processes, inside me there’s...

[It takes a second before Hank realizes he has no idea how to finish that, even sarcastically. He shrugs, pulls a face, and waves an arm around, hoping that will be enough and that the spirit of the thing, the sarcastic derision, will show through. Give in to the spirit of his message, Connor, not the letter.]

[That's too strange and too much of a weirdly-put together metaphor(??) for Connor to even remotely understand the point that's trying to be made. The sarcasm is nigh unmissable, of course, but it leaves him vaguely confused, and wishing that Hank would finish the comparison even if he knows it's derisive.

That, compiled with something that must be what exasperation feels like, makes him put words in his mouth.]

-irrational thinking?

Ha. Yeah. Among other things.

[Connor did try to fill the blanks in, to say just what it is Hank is, but of all the things he could have said that’s probably the least painful, the most obvious, and it halfway makes Hank relax.]

You telling me you haven’t figured that out, even after all this time?

[Wasn’t he thinking it hadn’t been that long, earlier? Well, sometimes it feels like something else, since he met Connor. Like the beginning of a lifetime, maybe.

It’s been long enough, anyway, that Connor’s had plenty of examples of Hank’s irrationality. No excuses.]

[Connor wouldn’t be so cruel to say something hurtful, even if it was wrapped up in the truth. Not purposefully, anyway. ~~This isn’t machine route Connor.~~

Has this android learned the human gesture of rolling one’s eyes, though? Not quite yet, though Hank is definitely adding XP to gaining that particular level up.]

No, I know that much. Hearing confirmation from yourself at least makes it all the more a certainty.

[He’s had plenty of examples in the short time he’s known the man.]

Well, you can’t complain. You’re the one who said you were, uh-

[He realizes it still puts him off, this idea, that something about just saying it outright freaks him out a little, but realizes too late to avoid stumbling a little over what was meant to be a tease. He tries to cover it up with a smile that comes out more like a twitch of his lips, seen only briefly before he turns back to the road to pull into the mickey d’s parking lot.

-that you’re sticking with me, you knew what you were getting into.

[At least hearing Hank say it, as awkward and the delivery might be, seems to have the opposite effect on Connor. A small mollification, in knowing that his declaration of continually being Hank’s friend has at least stuck.]

I could say the same for you, of course.

[If Connor doesn’t get to complain, then neither do you, Hank. Once the car finds a parking spot, he waits for the other to exit before he’ll do the same.]

What about Sumo?

Sumo?

[Hank frowns at the dog, baffled, trying to find a way to connect the question to their previous conversation and not coming up with anything that makes sense.]

Pretty sure he's sticking with me too, not like he's got a choice about- Oh. You meant, uh-

[Hank points his thumb out the window, at the parking lot.]

Right.

[He gets out and opens the back door, leaning over and patting his knees encouragingly while he waits for Sumo to heft himself out and down. Hank forgot a leash when he was packing, because you should never pack when you're freaking the fuck out, but Sumo's always been pretty chill so Hank's not really worried about him getting distracted and running away.]

You know, out of the three of us, he's probably the only one who's actually not going to complain, like, at the first possible opportunity. You do complain, too, you can't tell me you don't.

[The question had meant to lead into what they were going to do about Sumo (he doubted dogs were allowed inside, and it would be prudent for someone to walk with him and let him do his thing), but Hank derails this line of thinking with talk of complaints.]

What is it you think I complain about?

[He looks vaguely skeptical and adds:]

I only make observations and offer advice based upon those same observations.

Bullshit.

[Hank’s tone is relatively friendly, despite the curse and the way he’s still focused on Sumo. He straightens, backing up to give the dog room to heft himself out of the car.]

Maybe that’s what your words say but I was married, Connor. I know a tone when I hear it.

I don’t see how my tone and your experience with marriage are at all related.

[-he says, slightly befuddled but also definitely utilizing just the barest whisper of that same tone.]

Simply because you aren’t always willing to adhere to my suggestions doesn’t categorize it as complaining.

[He walks over to the other side of the car to spot Sumo flopping out it.]

Right, Sumo?

Edited 2018-08-19 21:40 (UTC)

[Sumo gives a quiet - for him - bark and walks up to Connor, nudging Connor’s leg with that dinnerplate sized forehead of his. Hank, watching this, makes a disbelieving, amused noise.]

And now you’re using the dog against me. Shit, you learn fast. Do you just do that without thinking about it or are you fucking with me? Cause you should record yourself and play it back for me next time we argue about something, you’ll hear it. The Tone. Used by tired spouses and passive-aggressive androids as a first resort to get the last word.

[Well, that earns Sumo a pat on the head, which Connor takes the time to bend down and scritch behind his ears, before answering Hank.]

Do what without thinking?

[Unlike before, this is a legitimate question.]

And I'm not passive-aggressive; that would defeat the purpose of my design in interacting congruously with other humans. You're only hearing what you want to hear, Hank.

[Hank watches him, grimacing. Connor has this weird way of making Hank doubt himself.]

Well shit, maybe I don't know what I know after all. Congratulations Connor, you won the argument. Now go walk my dog - please - so I can go keep my stomach from eating itself.

[He starts to walk toward the building, then pauses.]

Um, what do you do for uh... for fuel? You guys don't eat, do you, should we be looking for, uh, a charger, or something?

[Argument officially won. It's okay, Hank, you'll have no room to doubt yourself again once Connor slips in another passive-aggressive comment sooner rather than later. It'll definitely happen at some point.]

I can recharge. You know the stations that people leave their androids to dock with -- the "parking" zones? They act as a secondary location to keep an android charged if need be, though the point is moot. CyberLife saw to the fact that I was running at optimal power capacity at all times.

Regardless of that, I have a core battery, for a lack of a better term. It can keep me active for many years to come without the need for locating a remote power source. So again, a moot point.

Well, that's one less thing to worry about. Okay uh, see you in a minute.

[Once the more-than-a-minute is up Hank walks out again with a bag of food, hunching his shoulders and rubbing at his hair.]

I know it'll be a while before anyone gives enough of a shit to wonder where I went but uh, I think I need a disguise too. I know you need time to work on that code stuff but maybe we should do something about me first.

[Connor had walked the perimeter with Sumo in that more-than-a-minute, though it was less a walk than it was a lazy amble. But Sumo is such a laid-back creature that he never seems to be in a hurry, and as a result, neither was he.

He comes back around just to see Hank leave the establishment.]

Would you like suggestions on how to begin?

[A question couched in politeness, as if that'll stop Connor from offering his opinion anyway.]

[Hank sits on the hood and pulls a burger out of the bag, wanting to spend time outside the car while he can.]

Well, I got to pick out yours, it's only fair if you get to pick mine.

[Here it comes:]

You should start by cutting your hair. And consider trimming down the amount of facial hair you have -- or remove the latter altogether.

[Hank stops before his next bite, putting the burger down instead and frowning at his knees.]

I know that's disguise 101, but do you think we could just uh, trim the beard, pull back the hair, uh, I don't know something... Not so clean cut?

[His brow furrows.]

We could, but it wouldn't be nearly as stark of a change. Which is, as you said, the point of a disguise.

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lmfao robo-unicorns

well he wants his weird metaphors to be inclusive

how thoughtful of him

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in which i delve into headcanon and early ass promotional material for this tag

sounds good to me

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