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]

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.]