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

[bleps]

[Connor’s left to fend for himself, given twenty minutes or otherwise met with being called “Gavin” for all to hear. And a time limit is as good as a mission (a start point, an end point, and parameters for both failure and success), which garners some mode of efficiency he otherwise didn’t possess before. This supermarket has likely never seen an individual take dog shampoo shopping so seriously, but at least he won’t be standing there for a lengthy amount of time, instead running through scans and processes in a more expedient fashion.

Exactly nineteen minutes later, and Connor will meet with Hank. He had given himself enough time to spare, just enough to fetch a small cart (with a squeaky front right wheel) for the both of them. It was becoming clear, after all, that they would need more than two pairs of hands to carry what they needed.

The chosen shampoo rolls about in the cart, having triumphed over all the rest.]

I found something suitable. Did you get the food you needed?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Yeah.

[Hank tosses his makeshift bag in the cart, all the stuff in it spilling out and rolling around.]

What'd you decide on? The king of all dog shampoo?

[He reaches for the shampoo to look at its label, curious about what kind of thing it takes to meet Connor's apparently very high standards.]

[bleps]

The one with the best reviews, scaled against the needs of a dog with a coat similar to Sumo's. I think it'll work well.

[But the tail end of his sentence seems to peter out as he watches the items that Hank's picked out sprawl across the bottom of the cart.]

Is this all you've gotten for yourself?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[He grimaces, reaching for the box of protein bars and holding them up for a second.]

Hey, I thought of you, got these. There's probably some kale chips or something back there too if you really want me to satisfy your inner health nut.

[bleps]

[He gives Hank such a plain stare that it might as well be vaguely judgmental.]

Protein bars don't qualify as much of a meal, Hank. You can't live on that and soup for as long as we're... traveling together.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Here they go. He tosses the box back and spreads his arms in a shrug.]

We don't even have a microwave, Connor. Besides, if malnutrition hasn't killed me yet, I'm pretty sure it's not gonna.

[bleps]

[Here they go indeed.]

You don't think we'll have access to a microwave in a moderately-rated hotel? I find that very unlikely.

[Eat better. Love yourself. Hank why.]

Besides, while we're here, you should take advantage of the options you have.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Are you telling me you wouldn’t be whining about this right now if I’d thrown a box of some nasty frozen shit in there too? Come on. Or is this like the shampoo, you wanted me to stare at each thing for ten minutes before grabbing the perfect meal of, I don’t know, a head of lettuce and some berries?

[bleps]

Why does this have to be a point of contention?

[-is his immediate volley back this time, a quick retort that makes his brow grow tight.]

It would take a negligible amount of effort to go back and pick out something a little more substantial; minutes at the most. Instead you're going to opt to argue the point with me.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank grimaces, looking away.]

Look, it's not like I don't know that, it's just-

[Nosy is the word Hank would have used, before he kind of dragged this poor kid into his life whether Connor would have wanted to be in it or not.]

How fucked is it that I had to kidnap a guy to give him a legit reason to give a shit?

[Ugh. That makes it sound like that's why he did it. He was muttering it anyway, half talking to himself and half not wanting anyone - though he doesn't see anyone around - to overhear. So maybe Connor will go easy on him and ignore it.]

Fuck, I don't want to argue with you, Connor. How about you just pick something out yourself, show me how it's done?

[bleps]

[He shakes his head, wanting to argue the point again, and knowing simultaneously that having this argument here probably isn't the best place for it. It's hard to let it go, though -- hard for Connor to let anything go when he believes the other person is wrong, a trait simply carved permanently into his programming, deviancy or no.]

I'm not going to stop caring or worrying. You can deflect as much as you want, Hank; this just isn't going to change.

[A moment of thick silence falls between them.]

...We can go back to look for more food after we pick out something here.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Yeah. Uh...

[Hank steps back, feeling awkward - and looking it, and sounding it - and waves a hand at the shelves in front of them.]

Go wild. A lot of this is group stuff, so we might be kinda limited. Unless you can teach Sumo to play.

[There's some weird party games - including one Killer-style game where one person pretends to be an android but has to keep it secret - but there are also a lot of the classics: Risk, Clue, Checkers and Chess, somehow Cards Against Humanity is still a thing. Hank doesn't really care about any of it. Especially not right now. He's kind of counting on Connor to have an opinion.]

[bleps]

[Once again, they’ve taken a trip straight into Awkward Town, where Connor and Hank seem to be frequent visitors.

He thinks to himself, idly, that he’s going to have to find better ways to approach these situations; better ways even to defuse them. Even as he takes Hank’s suggestion to heart and gazes at all the games available. (A quick scan reveals rudimentary details regarding what to expect. Clue might be fun, though a laughable version of an actual investigation. The one where someone has to pretend to be an android is a little too close to reality and not even considered. Cards Against Humanity is a popular choice, and might be interesting.)

But if Hank once more thinks that Connor will not defer to the man’s opinion, he’s wrong. He should expect it by now.]

What do you like to play?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Well, what are road trips for but exploring new and interesting places. Awkward Town, Hank wishes he knew how to quit you.

Well, maybe Awkward isn't the only state of mind Hank is visiting. The other one is Tired. He looks over the games again and sighs.]

I don't know, uh... Guess I know better than to try a strategy game with you. So, something that isn't that? What are you looking for out of the whole game night thing?

[bleps]

Fun, I guess.

[But Connor belatedly realizes how useless of a reply that is as soon as it leaves his lips. The whole point of a game was to have fun, wasn’t it? The purpose of focused socialization, revolving around an activity placed on a table between a group of people, encouraging teamwork or competitiveness or both—

He tries again.]

Friendly, humorous competition.

[B…etter?]

Word games, maybe.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Fun's fine. [Hank gives him half a smile, still kind of low energy from all the great talks they've been having but wanting to encourage Connor anyway.] You can just want fun.

[He walks closer to the shelves.]

You'd kick my ass at scrabble, too. Some word association thing, maybe, something random. This one [He taps one, ages 8 and up, where you look at pictures and name the first thing you see that starts with a certain letter.] makes me think of a driving game we could have been playing today, but we don't need to buy somethin to do that. Uh... Fuck it, what about this one?

[He holds up a Cards Against Humanity deck. It's smaller than the rest of the boxes and pretty minimalist, with only the description: A party game for horrible people.]

Word stuff, not skill based. Kinda needs more than two people, but it won't be boring. Unless there's something else here that'd work better.

[bleps]

[Hank’s smile, as worn around the edges as it might be, manages to ease some of the tension in the line of his back. Connor takes the box of what appears to be cards, minimalist in design, and lifts his eyes back up to the other man.]

Do we qualify for this?

[Spoken utterly plainly, evenly, this is still Connor’s small attempt at a joke. Are they horrible people, Hank?]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

I do. You, the jury’s still out.

[It’s only half a joke when Hank says it. He’s not always sure of Connor’s actual asshole quotient, and if Connor told him he wasn’t always sure himself, Hank wouldn’t really be surprised.]

So, if that meets your standards we can go ahead and, uh-

[He tilts his head toward where the food section is, looking resigned. If god doesn’t hate him, this will only be a short course on healthy eating.]