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

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank leans back and listens to Sumo hefting himself out and giving a bark once he gets out there, and Hank doesn't really try to sleep. It's not gonna happen now. But he stays in the car for a while anyway, turning his face away from the window and waiting until either Connor's gone a little ways away or until about ten or fifteen minutes have passed before he gets out. He rolls his shoulders, rolls his neck, looks up at the trees for a minute, then leans back into the car and grabs the carton of cigarettes there. It's empty, of course, but he leans back against the car and starts flicking its lid open and shut anyway, waiting for Connor and Sumo to finish up, waiting to get settled.]

[bleps]

[Connor and Sumo don’t go far — it isn’t like this is a park, or anything meant to really cater to people going out for a walk, so the two of them will always remain in sight. The pair of them are hard to miss, at any rate; sometimes there’s a glimmer of silver that catches in the sun, a quarter flipping up in the air or running along Connor’s knuckles, even from a distance.

Approximately fifteen minutes later and the two of them are ambling back towards where Hank is, and Connor doesn’t seem to be surprised that Hank is definitely not napping. He eyes the empty box of cigarettes.]

Manage to nap?

[He thinks he already knows the answer.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

My eyes are rested.

[He shrugs. It's not all the way a lie. He hasn't been looking at the road all this time, after all, and they say crying cleans your eyes out anyway, so, what the hell. Rested.]

Think of anywhere you want to go next? If you don't come up with something I'm going to have to show you something real crazy, like a nightclub or something.

[He keeps flipping the box of cigarettes open and closed, not looking away from it. He'll settle back into talking to Connor like normal, he has before - and he doesn't know how he feels about the fact that this is a pattern, now, but he'll think about that later, when he can afford to. For now climbing back onto an even keel would be fine.]

[bleps]

[Not a lie, but Connor sees it for the sidestepping that it is. But he’ll once more not press the matter; even Connor can only wrap themselves up in so much awkwardness before he feels like they need to reach their baseline of “normalcy” again.]

Well. You did mention the need for a disguise — mostly revolving around hair dye. We should pick that up when we’re able.

[The threat of bringing him to a nightclub neatly slides off of his android shoulders.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Yeah, sounds good.

[Hank closes the cigarette box regretfully - a smoke would be great right now, really great, even if the only kinds anyone sells these days are shitty - and slides it back onto its place on the dashboard as he opens the door.]

Ready to go?

[bleps]

Ready.

[After urging Sumo to return to the backseat, Connor will take his place at the passenger’s side once more. He settles in for another long car ride, uncertain what to say, eyes kept forward past the windshield.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[So Hank drives. It’s still new and weird to drive so long at once, after decades of not really traveling, but at least the zone you go into doing it lets him pretend the silence in the car isn’t awkward. It shouldn’t be - Connor didn’t actually do anything wrong, except refuse to let what should have been a good idea go. But it is. To Hank, anyway. On top of that, it’s not long before Hank remembers his earlier nerves, his need to keep up with how Connor’s doing somehow, but now he feels weird about even trying to chat.

He turns on the radio, making sure it’s still on the jazz station Connor said he liked, and glances over at him.]

[bleps]

[The jazz music fills the air in a lazy sort of wave, and while it works to still the silence, Connor is too observant to not note the glances from Hank in his periphery. His jaw works for a moment, feeling obligated to say something.

(It feels a bit like the day he waited for Hank in the DPD, and struggled to find a topic to engage in conversation with. Except turned on its head, all backwards.)]

We should purchase Sumo a leash, too. And a dog bowl.

[All that state of the art programming, and this is the topic he cobbles together.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[This time Hank's glance over at Connor is amused, for a second, at his expense. HIs eyebrows are raised, a corner of his lips briefly curved up. It's been long enough that the topic's kind of out of the blue and it's honestly kind of a relief to hear how the whole awkward feeling in this car isn't just one sided, at least if Hank's reading Connor right.

He wonders just how awkward Connor does feel, how far Hank could maybe take this.]

Yeah, and a dog sweater. Maybe we should go all the way, give him a total makeover. We never did talk about whether Sumo needed a disguise.

[bleps]

[Part clinging to a topic that has caught some momentum(?), part vaguely oblivious, Connor doesn't interpret it as a joke immediately -- it lacks Hank's usual sarcastic edge, which is often a dead giveaway.]

I don't think Sumo needs a disguise, Hank. [He returns the look, mostly with a lift of the brow.] Or a dog sweater.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Yeah, no, Hank can't hold the straight face for long - his lips start curving up a couple times at the reply - but he's putting a solid effort in, pressing the curve flat again each time it happens.]

You sure? You guys could like, get matching ones, do your hair the same way. I guarantee you that no one is gonna think a guy who's coordinating outfits with his dog is on the run from the law.

[bleps]

[Do their hair the same way? All right, Hank is definitely stringing him along now.

His tone takes on something flat.]

You’re his owner. You should be the one to wear the matching sweater, then.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

I don't know, you're the one who said you'd take care of him. What's wrong? You don't like my idea?

[bleps]

Would you like for me to list the reasons why, or would you be satisfied with a plain “no”?

[ 8| ]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank can't not laugh at that, he physically can't.]

Shit, what was it that turned you off? I thought I was really onto something.

[bleps]

If you think I can’t eventually tell when you’re being facetious, then you’re several underestimating my programming.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

No, what was it though? You got all-

[He makes a face demonstratively, pinching his expression into an exaggerated pout.]

[bleps]

[Wow? Wow.

Purposefully schools his face into “android neutral” as if to help aid him combat this statement.]

I don’t make faces that look like that. You’re exaggerating.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[The pout dissolves into a trying-not-to-smile-as-hard-as-I-want-to type grin.]

You don't? Shit, I didn't know you had like, invisible eyes floating in front of your head, so you can see what you look like all the time. Hell that's, that's really advanced, I'm impressed, Connor.

[bleps]

[Why. Why this.

This must be what it’s like being a child teased by a parent; Connor can be as indignant as he likes, but it’ll only fuel Hank’s amusement more and more. This is obvious, given the man’s smile and what he knows of his personality.

Connor exhales through his nose, debating on saying something, before just turning his head to look at the road again.]

“Invisible eyes”. Why not just “mirror”?

[Criticizing Hank’s use of not-quite-metaphor is what he’ll do instead, yes.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

I don't know. [Hank shrugs, feeling loose and close to relaxed enough to let Connor get away with the topic switch.] Mirror doesn't sound advanced enough. Invisible eyes are cooler. And probably better for seeing yourself pout with, you know, get a view from all sorts of different angles.

[Okay, so he's not totally going to let Connor change the subject. There's at least a little more fun to get out of that.]

[bleps]

[Hank doesn’t seem keen on dropping this subject. Who does he think he is, him?]

I realize that you’re just trying to get a reaction out of me, but it needs to be said: I don’t pout. When have you ever known me to?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Oh that's easy.]

Just now, when I told you you ought to get a dog makeover. What's wrong, you too good to look like Sumo?

[bleps]

No.

[Wait. Yes? His LED blinks.]

That is to say, that doesn't even make any sense. Even if I wore the same sweater as Sumo, I wouldn't look like him. What constitutes a 'dog makeover' in your mind must not have very many prerequisites.

[This is definitely a very human-android "argument".]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

I don't know, you must not of seen many dog owners. People kinda start to look like each other, you know?

[He considers, then points a finger at Connor for a second.]

I mean, look at me. You watch out. It'll happen to you.