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

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

((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?

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What, like a four course meal? How many of those you think we can fit in the trunk?

[Hank can eat real food. He’s great at real food. He ate a real greasepile of Chinese takeout the other day, and it wasn’t imaginary or anything.]

Nothing extravagant. But you've subsisted on nothing but a diet of soup lately, and wouldn't you rather have something more filling than that?

[Does Connor sound enough like a fussy mom yet, Hank?]

Would I rather?

['Fussy mom' isn't a comparison Hank's making yet. He's mostly just glad the way Connor asked left him a loophole.]

I don't know, it'd be kind of convenient if I didn't have to fuck around with stupid human bullshit like food at all. Wait, shit, wait, we forgot your hat.

[Hank stops, spins on his heel, and tries to remember what the car looks like.]

But you have to—

[Oh, right. His LED. Connor reaches up to touch it a little self-consciously, uselessly, as he turns around and indicates at which car is Hank’s.]

That one there.

[It's still weird, sometimes, to see evidence that Connor feels, but seeing this feeling is mostly kind of sad, seeing Connor experience the emotion of 'self conscious in public'. Hank watches him, noting the gesture, then walks up to the car and digs around in it for a second.]

Sorry, Sumo. We'll be right back, buddy.

[It's cold enough that they don't have to worry about leaving him in the car, and that's a blessing. The less memorable they are, the better. He gives Sumo a quick pat, then heads back and moves to plop the hat on Connor's head. If Connor lets him, Hank will give the hat that rakish little tilt that hides the LED so well.]

There. Classy.

[It shouldn’t be a hard habit to fall into, the need to hide his LED. Especially since it’s going to be a vital thing to remember, and Connor has already briefly scolded himself for forgetting, even as Hank neatly places the hat on his head, skewing it at an angle. Still, it’s an awareness that’ll have to be wrought out of habit, and his hand comes up to adjust the rim of his (questionably incognito) fedora.]

Perfect. Thanks.

[He grins at him a little, then motions at the super market behind them.]

Ready now?

Like I’m the one holding us up.

[Hank’s lips quirk up a little and he speeds up, trying to go fast enough to deliberately bump into Connor as he walks past.]

If there’s anything else you want, speak up now. I don’t wanna stop for stuff any more often than we actually have to.

[Anything he wants other than “real” food, that is, which is a topic Hank’s happy to let go if Connor’s distracted from it.]

[And Hank does indeed take the lead, Connor jostling lightly with that friendly shoulder-check. He tilts his head, lets out an exhale, and speeds up to match pace.]

I don’t require much. We should focus on food for you and Sumo. Maybe more clothes.

[Since this is definitely one of the larger stores that carries more than just produce.]

Brought some of my clothes, unless you want to dress me up or something. But yeah, Connor, I know you don’t require much. I asked what you want.

[He’s been pushing this a little, yeah. He’s going to keep pushing it, or at least asking it, until Connor starts thinking to ask it himself.]

[He hadn’t been thinking at all about what he wanted, and it’s more than just because Connor isn’t used to it. Though he understands that Hank wanted to use this opportunity to craft new experiences for him — in this new life-after-deviancy — there was only so much shopping for pleasure that Connor cares for right now.]

I want to purchase what will be useful to us in the future. That’s all for now.

Yeah, that’s fair.

[He lets it go - now’s not the time, but the question of what he wants is in Connor’s head now, and that’s fine. Hank looks around once they get inside, not bothering to people watch like he normally might but heading straight for where the hair dye probably is. Then he finds and starts looking over them, making a face.]

Hey, what shade would you say you are? ‘Havana Brown, or ‘French Roast’?

[He follows, brows cinching together as he looks upon the rows and rows of hair dye products.]

Hexadecimal color #37261B.

[A pause.]

Closer to the latter, but you don’t have to match my hair exactly. That isn’t always how genetics works.

[Hank runs his fingers over a line of boxes, looking for one of those ones that’s supposed to leave a little gray. It’s supposed to look natural, after all, not like he’s trying to relive the glory years.]

Well, we got time for a science lesson if you really want to enlighten me. Hey, this one look okay?

I didn’t think you’d be interested in hearing a full explanation on the variances of human genetics. It’s easier explained in this way — if a father has a certain shade of hair, even if the allele is a dominant color, it doens’t always guarantee that the child will possess the exact same shade. Genes from the previous generation should also be taken into account.

[Connor eyes the box that Hank takes, obviously considering it a fine enough of a choice since he doesn’t protest against it.]

Should be fine. Some slight variation is more believable. anyway.

Great.

[Hank grabs something for his beard too and heads off in a random direction, glad to be done with the part that makes him feel like a poser.]

Where to next? Something for Sumo?

[Whoop, there they go. Connor picks up his step so he's not trailing behind. What's the big rush?]

Food. For both you and Sumo.

[Feed yourself, Hank!]

And... if you're still not against the idea of bathing him, we'll need the proper items for that, too.

No, I'm into it. Wouldn't miss the chance to see you wash Sumo for the first time.

[He grins to himself and, spying the dog toys, heads toward them. That's one aisle over from the dog shampoo, but Hank tries to steer them smoothly around that. Connor's so taken with Sumo, Hank wants to wander through here and see whether Connor just spontaneously decides to want something.]

[Hank is too sneaky for his own good.

That is to say, of course Connor's attentions are going to be centered on the dog toys. There's such a small chance of them not garnering his focus that he actually has to look towards Hank as the man (seemingly) keeps moving forward, his own step faltering for just a second, as if to bid him to slow down.]

Hank? [-he calls after him.] Maybe we should buy Sumo something to play with...?

[Hank stops, takes a second, and his smile is at least mostly under control by the time he turns around.]

Yeah? You think so? Well, I'll let you pick.

[He waves an arm at all the toys. There's stuffed toys, toys that aren't stuffed for when they inevitably get torn apart, squeaky toys, rope toys, misshapen science-experiment toys with a small tire in their stomach, crinkly, noisy toys, all sorts of little animal shapes and toy figures, just generally a vast and bounteous array of choices.]

Go on, go wild.

Edited (forgot a word) 2018-09-02 10:39 (UTC)

[What is he supposed to do with all this freedom?

That is to say, it’s hard to know where to start. It’s a whole aisle of toys of different shapes and sizes, and Connor feels like making this choice without the proper sort of... information or research goes against the grain of who he is.

He looks at Hank briefly after his eyes flick over the multitude of toys.]

What sort of toys has he enjoyed in the past? Do you think he’d destroy the stuffed ones?

[Hank raises his eyebrows, amused. The ever so slightly formal phrasing of the question kind of tickles him.]

Well hang on a second while I whip you up a personality profile for my dog. Let's see, uh...

[Hank's gaze goes distant as he thinks back. Sumo used to play with toys, didn't he? It feels like a long time ago.]

You don't have to worry about him ripping them apart or anything, he never had a problem with that. He's more likely to try to save his toys than tear em up. We used to have this game, uh, put his toy just on the edge of a table or something, kind of hanging off it, and he'd get this look and try to get up to it, take it in his teeth real gentle, and then he wouldn't let you have it for a while, like he was protecting it from you. It was the funniest fuckin thing.

So uh, I don't know. Anything you want. You kinda have to get him worked up before he wants to play at all, so maybe something you can play with, too.

[Joke as you might, Hank, this is actual useful information for Connor. He takes it into consideration while his friend speaks, gazing over the multitude of toys once more.]

I see.

[His LED blinks with processing, with obvious consideration, brow furrowed. This is obviously a very important decision for him to make, you know. And finally, Connor moves to one in particular, plucking it from its spot. He turns to face Hank, holding it out for appraisal.]

What about this one?

[What about this one. Connor's never seen a real hedgehog in person but it sure is ~~cute~~ a decent choice, right.]

[Hank turns back - he actually had to turn and walk away a few steps, once Connor started really concentrating, to get his amusement under control - and nods.]

Looks great. Why that one?

[His voice, like his face, is hanging on to seriousness by a very thin thread. But he does want to know. Connor was thinking so hard about the whole thing, Hank sort of does want an in on just what circuits are sparking or whatever in that head of his.]

[Connor doesn't focus on Hank's expression long enough to know he's holding back amusement, just barely. Instead, he turns the dog toy around so that he can scrutinize it a little more.]

Because it looks like something he'd want to protect. You said that's what he had done in the past.

[Does this require a better explanation? Connor continues.]

Decently-sized, soft, and relatively round in shape. I think it's suitable.

Yeah, I think you're right.

[Now that smiling won't look so much like he's laughing at Connor Hank lets himself do it, a little, and turns to wander vaguely dog shampoo-ward. He sees some fishbowl decorations and hamster toys on the way there, wonders if Connor's specifically a dog person or if he gets this way with animals in general, wonders if he can find a good excuse to take Connor to a pet store to find out - and has an idea.]

Hey. How do you feel about zoos?

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