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

Hey, you said it, not me.

[As easy as it would be to turn that into a joke about Connor admitting he'd make a good stripper, or something, that kinda feels like it'd make things weird. So Hank leaves the implied whatever at that. He'll probably wait until the poor kid's been out in the real world for more than a month before he makes those sorts of jokes. Keep it PG, Hank.]

Nah, you just got the kinda face that'd be on some tween magazine, you know? Why, what did you think I was implying?

[Hank, did you forget that they went to an android sex club together? Though admittedly, maybe a stripper comment would make the conversation go down a very awkward path that the other man wouldn’t be prepared for.]

I have a face that is meant to be pleasant and approachable. I simply thought you were implying that I had a handsome face, which would contradict the point you were trying to make. But I guess that is what you were saying.

Well- [Hank tilts his head, studying the face in question.] Yeah, I guess that's it. I mean, you all look like you're about to walk into a photoshoot at any second, which I guess makes sense, but you look like... Good looking in a harmless, dorky kind of way. Not really the kind of look I'd expect them to go in for on a cop bot. You can look goofy and handsome at the same time, you know, just cause I'm all one all the time doesn't mean both are mutually exclusive.

[Unsure if they’re still talking in underhanded compliments, Connor falls back into rational thinking. His reply is to reason out his supposed “goofiness” as pointed out by Hank.]

Don’t forget that I was also created for the sake of negotiation. I’m sure what you’re perceiving as “goofy” [to use Hank’s inelegant term] was just an attempt to not look intimidating to those I’m trying to talk down.

[Every part of his design had a purpose, he was certain of it. Of course, it could simply be Hank’s perception of him, which he could hardly change.]

Mmm. Yeah, that makes sense.

[Hank slumps a little further still. He doesn't need to sleep, that's still true, but he's relaxing now and has to brace his feet on the side of the footwell against it.]

But I don't know, there's lotsa ways you can get someone to trust you, if you know what you're doing. You saying I don't have a face that can charm someone into a confession? [Hank doesn't bother to hide his little grin.] Gotta be a cleancut prettyboy to make it work?

[An arch of the brow as he neatly sidesteps the “clean-cut pretty boy” comment.]

Being charming consists of a multitude of factors. Appearance actually has very little to do with it.

[He gives the appearance of scrutinizing Hank, a look that the man should probably recognize. The same way Connor peers at a piece of evidence.]

It has more to do with attitude and demeanor. Yours is often... rough around the edges.

Heh.

[Hank blinks slowly as his body keeps trying to tell him it's time to doze, and mentally awards a point to Connor. He's not wrong.]

I dunno, I used to clean up okay. But I mean, some people respond to rough too. You think you got to be smooth and polite all the time to get the job done?

No. But that’s not charm. That’s intimidation.

[He knows the difference, being what he is. Being able to do both.]

...take a nap, Lieutenant. You look you’re about to fall asleep.

That your example of bein' charming?

[Hank lets his eyelids do what they want for a moment - and only a moment - before he takes a slow breath and blinks them open again. Yeah, sure, nap, whatever, he's got heckling to do.]

That wouldn't convince a housefly to take a nap.

[Do houseflies nap? Yes. Yes they do. Fuck you.]

[Um, no? Incorrect.]

I don’t think houseflies nap.

[Thus your point is invalid!]

Well, fuck, not when you talk to em that way they don't.

[Hank squints balefully at Connor. Or maybe at the concept of napping. Or maybe at the idea that he doesn't know much about wildlife. All three? Yeah, he can multitask, let's say all three.]

[It’s almost amazing how Hank can be nearly as stubborn as Connor. The android pauses, giving an idea an assessment, before clarifying with a question:]

Am I supposed to construe this as a challenge to charm you to sleep?

[Hank ducks his head with a breathy half-laugh. In the not-quite-awake state his brain's in, the noise almost sounds like a giggle.]

Yeah, sure, why not. Show me what you got, Sandman. What's your first charm-offensive gonna be?

[This is half ridiculous, and half an actual challenge — for good or ill, Connor always finds it somewhat difficult to let go of the latter.

Besides, anything to encourage Hank to actually sleep like a real human being for a change. Even if it is just a nap.]

Well. Then first I’d have you close your eyes and focus on my voice. Think you can do that for me?

That's cheating.

[If he wasn't still smiling this look would absolutely be a glare. It's sort of glare-like. Feel Hank's wrath.]

I close my eyes and that'll cut your, uh... [He tries to think of whatever word he's trying to think of, and doesn't get there.] your charm-time in half, and you know that. Sneaky fucker. Bet you cheat at Monopoly, too.

[Dammit. Hank is still unfortunately still sharp for someone who looks like he's about to fall asleep; Connor had been banking on the fact that the man would close his eyes and therefore let him win half the battle immediately.

But like any good ~~cheater~~ bluffer, he keeps his poker face on.]

That wasn't my reasoning at all. I just don't want you getting distracted by anything else in the car.

[You know. Like.... Sumo.]

[There's that giggle again, quieter but there.]

Bullshit, more bullshit! You know, for a guy whose every word cost about a thousand dollars to design, I'm not seeing much expertise here. Was all that shit about being designed to be charming just talk, or...?

[Eyebrows raise even further, because while this is humorous, it's still turning into more of a goading challenge (thanks to Hank's words) more than anything else.]

I can be as charming as I like, but if you're going to stubbornly attempt to not sleep, the point is moot. I'm fine with you not closing your eyes, but you still need to willfully listen to my voice regardless.

[This would honestly be more meditation than it would be an exercise in charm, but Hank doesn't need to know that.]

Is that acceptable?

Wow, no, that's actually a terrible start Connor, you know that right? But hey, I'm a generous guy, I'll give you another chance. I'll listen to whatever, once the charm actually starts up. If it's just more of this you might actually have to tell me when that is but uh, I'll listen.

[Hank's looking a little - a teeny itsy bitsy little - bit less asleep now, maybe because heckling gives him power. He's still all slumped over and curled up, but his eyes are actually focusing.]

I can even give you like, little icebreakers or something, if that'll help? Let's see, uh- So, Connor, what does an android who's never actually slept think sleep is like? Tell me what's good about it, talk me into that. Or, I don't know, whatever super convincing thing you were about to do.

[Hank, stop heckling him before he's even started!]

Fine. I'll talk about sleep, then, if you want that to be our jumping-off point. Sleep is-

[Sleep is a naturally recurring state of consciousness and body, distinguished by REM sleep and non-REM sleep, in which the individual's body systems remain anabolic and-

Connor discards the first line that comes to mind. Too empirical. Hank is wanting something charming, which means his words need to be a little more lyrical, a little less like a scientific explanation. He tries to mould his explanation accordingly. Slowly, plainly, steadily. No hurry in his enunciation.]

Sleep is a blank screen that the human consciousness recedes to when the body and mind is too worn from reality. It's a quiet, restful state that vacillates between the void of nothingness, and pictures playing across the partition in the form of dreams. It's an escape as much as it is an entrapment. Time loses all meaning, muscles relax and become heavy. Breathing is... steady.

[He's watching Hank carefully as he recites all this, to see just if there's any reaction at all. Anything other than amusement, which would mean that this isn't really working.]

[And a reaction is definitely what Connor gets. The energy Hank got briefly a second ago starts to fade off. His eyes start to unfocus a little, and his words come a little slower.]

Shit, that's... actually poetic. Ever thought 'bout, uh, about writin poetry? It's not, uh... it's not worn, though. My mind, I mean. 's just the driving. Long car rides, uh, they always do this to me.

[Sorry, Connor, one of the dangers of success - the less awake Hank gets, the less he remembers that he's supposed to be shutting the hell up.]

[Hank's interjection is both promising and a little problematic. But the subject is focusing on car rides, and Connor wonders if he can twist that to his advantage.]

Lengthy car rides are just as difficult on the mind. They require an endless focus on... [This is really making his LED blink. This isn't how Connor goes about thinking about things, couching words in metaphor or even "poetic" descriptions, but his programming does allow for it. He's meant to adapt, and if he's deviant, well. Hell, he'll spew poetry all day if he has to, just to make a point.]

...An endless focus on the road ahead, stretching too far. Too long, just over the horizon. The ambient hum of wheels spinning on the freeway is white noise, and it allows the mind to wander and overthink. Is that what happens to you, Hank?

Mm. Um. I guess so.

[Hank tries to make his brain work, turning his head to rub the side of his face against the seat. He wants to rub his eye, but unfolding his arms and reaching all the way up to his face feels like so much work.]

It's uh... It's the movement too, I think, it uh... The engine. Don't get engines like that these days in these modern cars. Too smooth.

Is that so? Tell me what you like about older cars?

[Connor wonders if Hank will just put himself to sleep at this rate, since Connor is making him delve into memory so that he can explain it to him.

(Also, give him more ammunition to label Hank a true hipster.)]

Um...

[Hank takes a deep, slow breath.]

Piling into someone's shitty SUV, eardrums all blown out from standin too close to the speakers, half of us stoned out of our minds. You just feel the, uh... the car kinda humming cause you can't hear, falling all over each other when you hit a pothole and stayin there, everyone's hot, broken air, sweaty as hell an' no one gives a shit. Like that. Tha's what it, uh... Had a friend who, um, she had a little Volkswagen, got it from her parents. Engine'd just fall out sometimes.

[Hank's laugh isn't so much a laugh this time as a shaking outward breath, a noise made in time with his smile.]

She'd just coast to the side of the road and run out, pick it up and put it back in. You don' get that anymore. Everyone buys these new cars for their kids cause they're, uh... they're so cheap. Everyone threw their shitty old junkers with the, uh... In with the junk. Damn shame.

Edited 2018-08-27 05:40 (UTC)

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