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

[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.

Uh-

[Hank recovers after a second. That is not a gotcha question. It's a normal question, and Hank can answer it normally. He hands over the bottle so Connor can do his deep web research on dog shampoo, and hopes the movement gives him an extra second to think of something without taking too long.]

Well, I was thinking of trying drunk bear wrestling next, what do you think?

[He shrugs, his voice going more genuine.]

I don't know, Connor, the last time I got out of the house to do something you'd approve of Fowler was still spending his free time hanging out with me. We'd go to a game, have a few drinks, that kinda thing. Most people don't have a lot of time for hobbies, you know that, right? I mean, between work and... and life, that was pretty much all there was time for. Guys in narcotics had this bar we all liked but uh, even that was kind of a 'smush it between work and sleep' kind of thing.

[It’s a normal response, yes. Relatively normal activities, nothing out of the ordinary or concerning, but Connor would’ve liked to have gotten a response that had a few less bars in the equation. The sarcastic remark about drunk bear wrestling is neatly discarded, in a very Connor-like way.]

Then maybe you can find something new.

[It isn’t as if they won’t have extra time on their hands now, as unfortunate as the circumstances might be. Almost idly, Connor scans the new bottle, his LED flickering — now thankfully obscured under the fedora.]

Hey, don't you watch movies? Only young guys go out on cross country trips to find themselves.

[He walks a couple steps off, reaching to give Connor a friendly pat on the shoulder as he goes past so it doesn't seem like the topic's making him sort of antsy. He can't go far, though; they just have to wait until Connor's written up a full history of every single shampoo brand on the shelf.]

Me, I'll just start playing bridge, or going to bingo halls. Don't disown me if I go full little old lady and perm my hair blue.

[If Hank thinks that Connor won’t legitimately plant himself on this aisle and spend an hour scanning the back of shampoo bottles, he’s very mistaken. The man might have to gently (or not gently) remind this android that he can settle for something good-but-not-the-Best, given their supposed time crunch.

Bottle put away, he goes for another.]

If you actually enjoy bridge or bingo, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.

[A correlation pings in his background processing not focused on the information plastered on the label.]

Maybe we could integrate “game night” into our routines.

[Hank makes a surprised noise, looking over at Connor for a second. Some part of him wants to make a snarky comment about playing happy little families and Hank tells that part of himself to fuck off, that he probably got himself thinking that way by saying Connor could disown him as if they really are the family their cover needs them to pretend to be, and besides-]

That's uh, not a bad idea. As long as you don't get it in your head to play Monopoly or something like that, you'd kill at Monopoly. I bet you count cards, too.

I’ve never played cards before.

[(He would definitely count cards. It’s all a matter of probability, and fairly irrational that it’s considered cheating.)]

What game would you suggest, then?

[Connor wonders if the Lieutenant is good at chess — but discards the idea. Not very fair. Also not what one associates with game night, he’s sure.

To him, this is the most straightforward line of reasoning. He doesn’t pretend to assume that Hank will be taken with “family” activities; it’s not even crossed his mind. Only that it might be something amusing for them both to do.]

[Hank meets Connor's not-actually-a-denial with an unimpressed look. Uh-huh. He's on to you.]

I don't know, let's start with the game of 'pick out a fuckin dog shampoo' and go from there, okay?

[His voice is more dry than annoyed. Connor hasn't been at this long enough to really get to Hank, just long enough that Hank wants to let him know to hurry it up.]

We can go by the toys and shit after this, see if any of the games catch your eye.

Edited 2018-09-04 16:46 (UTC)

[He is innocent. He has admitted to nothing. You can’t suspect him of a thing.

But the comment is enough for him to end his current scan (apparently still not living up to Connor’s high standards), put the bottle back, and pluck up the one next to it. He turns it over.]

Sorry. Give me just a few more minutes.

Uh huh.

[Hank watches him, amused and unconvinced.]

Look, I'll just go pick up some food and we'll meet up back at the toys, okay? If you're not there in twenty I have em call your name on the speakers.

[That's a threat.]

I'll have em call you, uh... [What's the most embarrassing name he can think of?]

...Gavin. Okay? Listen up for that.

[um that’s fuckin rude Hank

Connor actually cinches his nose at that, mouth going lopsided at the very idea of the overhead speakers calling him… Gavin.]

I’d prefer for you to choose a different name, but there’ll be no need. I’ll meet you by the toys in twenty.

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