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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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?

[Connor tucks the dog toy under an arm, gingerly, feeling a mote of satisfaction that his choice was met with approval.

Down another aisle they go, stocked with items for pets that are very much not dogs, but Connor spares them glances anyway. Scans them, briefly, simply because he can, and that he's curious. But Hank's question interrupts that process, his vision blooming out of digitized light and HUD pop-ups, and back into reality.]

Zoos? [A moment while he attempts to understand the intent behind that question, what Hank means by how he feels about zoos.]

They provide opportunities to observe the habits of animals that would remain otherwise unfamiliar to most. Generally speaking, one can consider that a positive aspect.

Great. Next time I edit Wikipedia I'll make sure to quote you. But what do you think about them? If you went to one, would you, like...

[Hank hesitates, knowing he's steering toward potentially awkward territory, not seeing a way around it, but wanting to take a second anyway before he has to get there.]

...freak out at seeing em all locked up, do you think, or do you think you'd like it?

[So it wasn't what Hank was asking, but the man makes it clear what information he's actually digging for just a moment later. Connor doesn't have to ask to clarify.]

I don't know.

[It's honest enough, at least. It takes a moment for him to guess at how he might feel, imagining himself there, watching the animals sleep or bathe or be fed behind tall railings, or glass enclosures.]

It's all a matter of intent. With those specific animals, many of them are in captivity simply because they wouldn't be able to survive in the wild. That being said, I might interpret their biomes, made to simulate their natural environments, as... regretful. Sad, even. The recreation of a free state that they don't actually possess.

[Hank nods, thoughtful. He's reached the aisle they wanted and he walks along it, looking over the shelves.]

Even the nice ones, huh? I guess even a nice cage is still a cage.

Well, if you change your mind let me know. Or, hell, you could backpack through the wilderness and see shit out in the wild yourself, if you wanted. I bet you could do it. I could see you wrestling a bear.

[Plainly:] I don't think I'd have the physical strength necessary to wrestle a bear. Nor do I think we should ever find ourselves in a situation where I needed to.

[That being clarified, he continues.]

I never said I didn't want to visit one. Simply that my mind hasn't been made up on the matter. My first inclination is that I would like to see all the animals, if given the chance.

[He supposes they can decide just how the idea of finely-tended to cages bothers him after the fact.]

Alright. I'll keep that in mind next time I take a look at a map. And if you decide you don't like it once you're there, we can just leave.

[He picks up a random bottle of dog shampoo while he talks, holding it up toward Connor with raised eyebrows.]

And you could absolutely fight a bear. There's a trick to it. You just trip the guy next to you and when the bear's chewing on him you just hop on its back and go to town. I guess they don't teach you that kind of strategy in-

[Don't say 'android school', Hank, jesus, you're in public and - oh yeah - on the run from the law. That whole thing.]

-uh, in school these days, do they.

[Connor takes the bottle, immediately turning it over in his free hand to inspect the back of it. His reply to Hank is almost distracted, because he is apparently deigning whether or not this particular container of shampoo meets whatever specifications he’s drawn up in his head.]

I don’t think you should sacrifice someone else for the sake of your own survival.

[Hey, it’s that hint of deviancy made manifest in basic morality.]

I hope you’re not speaking from experience, Lieutenant. There’s nothing in your file about bear-wrestling.

[That last part surprises Hank into a huff of near-laughter.]

What, you think I'd let them put that in my file? They don't need to know my hobbies.

[He imagines it for a second - Hank Anderson, amateur bear wrestler. It does not have even a little bit of a ring to it, but that doesn't mean the image doesn't bring a little smirk to his face.]

Fowler'd flip his shit.

[And for a brief moment, Connor lowers the bottle just so Hank can clearly see the subtle upturn of a single brow.]

I’m not sure which one is more unlikely — you wrestling bears as a hobby, or you caring what Captain Fowler thinks about it.

[Connor's got him on that last one. Seeing the look on Fowler's face would actually be more reason to tell him something like that, not less. Still, Hank isn't going to give up just yet.]

What, you think I couldn't do it? Thought I needed more hobbies.

[He picks up a bottle himself, something with a label trying to look all green and naturey, and glances at the back like Connor's doing. The ingredients use the word 'organic' a lot. He tries to remember if that's something he's supposed to be worried about when it comes to dogs.]

What're you looking for here? A certain brand, or...?

Not necessarily. I'm cross referencing brands and various types of canine shampoo with multiple reviews listed on the internet.

[The bottle in his hand is put back on the shelf, either apparently not making the cut, or Connor is inclined to do a bit more searching before he makes a decision. He walks forward, then holds out a slightly expectant hand, hoping that Hank will let him look at the bottle that he currently has.]

As for your hobbies, you could find something potentially less harmful.

[He’s talking about bear wrestling, but he might also be talking about hobbies that aren’t exactly bear wrestling.]

What do you like to do, Hank? Other than listen to music.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject