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]

[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.]