bootyshortsforoldmen | Etraya: Inbox

Hi.

I have something important to tell you, but you need to agree to not go drinking right after, first.

[...... Not that he expects Hank to actually live up to an agreement like that given the news, but he may as well try.]

Well that sounds ominous as fuck

And the exact kind of thing I’d need to get drunk for

[But how bad could it be, really?

How bad...?

Enough for Accelerator to text him. Enough for him to ask Hank not to drink. Even his little “hi” makes Hank feel uneasy.]

Don’t like to make promises I can’t keep, kid

[Accelerator is fully and completely aware of how bad this is going to go. He doesn't have much experience with alcoholism specifically, but he does know what it's like to think the person you care most about in the world is gone and not coming back. Their talk before, as hard as it was, was useful, since it gave him some insight into Hank's brain.

The guy is going to fall apart, plain and simple. Which is entirely understandable, since Connor was pretty great and even for himself it hurts to think about him being gone. Of course, unlike Hank, when he gets upset people die, so Accelerator is taking the parental route of compartmentalizing his own feelings to try and manage the fallout of other peoples' instead.]

Well, I'm not giving you shit until you at least agree you'll make an effort not to.

Well fuck you too then

[Hank tosses his little stupid earpiece onto the couch next to him. Trying to read the book open in his lap, but of course he can’t now.

Goddammit.

He might not know Accelerator well, but Hank doesn’t think he’d play games like this. With Hank, of all people. His reactions aren’t exactly amusing.

Unless him getting wasted is funny to Accelerator, but Hank hasn’t got that impression at all. So he sighs, grabs his stupid little earpiece thing, and texts back:]

So if it’s serious enough for me to want to get drunk, what the hell else am I supposed to do? Break things?

[Yeah, that's about the reaction he expects. He'd love to walk away from this but he knows he needs to be persistent. It's the right thing to do.

What a pain in the ass.

Accelerator sits there, trying to come up with a good argument, when he receives Hank's next text. Okay, he can work with this.]

Sure, if you want. The bots can clean up whatever you break, they're good at it.

Well OK. Guess we’re all just fucking peachy then.

[Hank’s not even sure what he’d break. Where he’d go. His own apartment first, sure.

But maybe that won’t be enough. Or maybe for once he won’t want to trash his own place.

A deep, deep sigh, then:]

Lay it on me

Okay.

[He pauses, his fingers twitching before he types out the message and sends it.]

Connor's gone.

That’s

[It takes Hank a while to type even that. And then his clumsy ass manages to send just that one word.

Connor’s gone.

Hank remembers when Connor mentioned people leaving. Disappearing. And Gorgug, too.

But it’s not right, obviously. It’s not. It’s something else, because it has to be.]

The hell do you mean Connor’s gone?????

[Because he’s not gone-gone. Unless everyone’s been fucking with him, death — yet again — couldn’t keep Connor down.

So, what? Kidnapped, like Hank was? That’s gotta be it. Gotta be that fucking Eddie guy. But Connor could hold his own. He could.

He can.

And Hank knows, deep down, that it’s the stupidest question he could ask, but he still sends it:]

Where exactly has he gone then

[Accelerator patiently waits for all of Hank's texts to come in, gritting his teeth. All of this is total shit, he shouldn't be the one to deliver the news and Connor shouldn't be gone.

He tries to keep his texts matter-of-fact. It's easier to do so.]

No idea, but he isn't in Etraya anymore. A brat I know told me, and I confirmed it. I'm not screwing with you.

Gonna have to ask what the hell you mean by “confirmed”

I don’t think you’re fucking with me but I just

Need to know. Like there’s not some kinda weird guestbook is there??? Keeping track of everyone who comes and

Goes

[Okay, valid question. Accelerator doesn't mind answering this, because he doesn't care about people knowing about the computer's existence.]

I guess you can call it that.

There's a computer in the basement level of the hospital that has files on all of us. Medical, background information, that kind of thing. It isn't complete, and it's in some language that I don't think is from Earth. It isn't from my Earth, anyways.

There's a file on everyone in Etraya. When someone leaves, the file is removed. That's how I confirmed, I checked to see if his file was still there and it wasn't.

Of fucking course there’s a weird supercomputer keeping tabs on us

[Background information, okay — but medical? It’s annoying but also a mild comfort that Aurora, or Echo or whoever, is wasting even a fraction of time grabbing Hank’s medical history.]

So, 1. I’m guessing these weird files have pictures of the people they’re for then, since the files themselves are in some weird language

And 2. So I can just go down there and browse all these weird files and see for myself that he’s gone?

[Connor told Hank to stay away from the hospital. Or something like that. Said it’s dangerous.

Not that that matters anymore, really. If he’s gone.]

No pictures, I figured out a translation in my head since I had a general idea of what I was looking at. Connor was the one who told me about the computer, so he would've done the same thing.

[But faster and more efficiently, since he was likely working with more processing power.]

That sounds like him, all right

[All curious and poking his nose around, and...

It’s not like that’s to blame. Connor’s endless curiosity isn’t why he’s gone.

But Hank needs someone to blame. And he has that, really. Not that he ever doubted that. On the day he woke up in the hospital and saw Connor, he knew who to blame if anything were to happen to him.]

It just feels like he’s somewhere else. Which I guess is technically correct yeah?

But I mean it feels like he’s still here. We just can’t see him. Like he’s at the store or wandering around and I’m just gonna keep missing him forever, you know? Maybe by a minute or maybe by an hour and our paths are never gonna cross again but it’s like he’s here

I swear to god I’m not in denial

[Except he kind of is, really.]

It’s just hard to believe when he’s not here to say “hey I’m fucking off back to earth,” or whatever

[And it feels weird to thank Accelerator for this kind of news, but:]

Thanks for telling me. If you hadn’t, I mean, it’s not like anyone else would’ve.

[Accelerator isn't sure what to type back. Something like 'He probably isn't dead' seems silly, it's possible he could be, though chances are more likely that Echo just returned him back to his and Hank's universe. He does think Hank's in a bit of denial, but saying that wouldn't help.

He sighs heavily, dragging a hand down his face.]

Sorry.

[That feels dumb to send, but he does anyways.]

He wouldn't fuck off willingly, that much is obvious to me. It's bullshit that he's gone, he's a good person. Better than a lot of people still here.

[Better than himself, that's for sure.]

Not your fault

[It’s mine, Hank doesn’t add. While he’s not sure how Accelerator might respond to that, he doesn’t want to fight about it. Just wants to let himself wallow in that guilt alone.]

He is a good person.

[The best, Hank thinks.]

Thanks for that too. Guess part of me was kind of thinking he’d want to go, and I know that’s not true but it’s not like he’s here to ask

I’m sure it’s like a zap when people disappear. But now I keep telling myself that if he really wanted to, he could’ve somehow let me know

It’s all fucked. Not even drinking and I still can’t think clearly

Yeah, it's really fucked. I don't think he would've had a chance to say anything before disappearing, I think you're right. One second you're here and another you're not.

[It doesn't get any easier. He'd like to tell Hank that, but he doesn't think the guy needs even worse information given to him right now.]

I don't know if breaking stuff will make you feel better but it's probably a good idea.

[Better than drinking himself into liver failure.]

Suppose nothing would really make me feel better. Unless I could forget

[Which alcohol would help with.

But.

Connor wouldn’t want that. And Connor wouldn’t want him to aggravate Accelerator, either.

Not that Connor is here. With his goofy smile and his breaking Hank’s window and his way of making Hank feel like life might be worth sticking around for.]

Could I ask something?

[The words remind Hank of how Connor used to say: “Can I ask a personal question, Lieutenant?”

And Hank supposes he’ll be thinking of those little things a lot. Till they drive him up the goddamn wall, probably.]

[He fully expects Hank to go drinking, regardless of what he tried to get him to agree to. If he wants to forget that's the easiest path, and it'd take a lot of willpower to avoid it.]

What is it?

Could you maybe tell me about him?

[Hank’s not sure what to ask for, exactly, but he wants to hear about what Connor was like. Here.]

Favorite memory or something like that

Was he happy here? I never got to ask I guess. I mean I know I hate it here but a lot of people almost seem to like it

I was real glad to hear that he had his own place. Whole ass apartment. Back in our world, he hadn’t really gotten a chance to live yet

I wanted here to be different for him.

[....... Oh, he is the absolute last person who should be having this conversation with Hank. At the idea of doing something emotionally healthy his brain kind of stalls out and he struggles to come up with a reply. He could very easily reply that Connor had people here who treated him like a person, something reassuring like that, but his fingers don't want to work.

There's a couple minutes before he manages to type something out and send it, and he instantly feels really, really stupid for doing so.]

One time he got infected and drained by some nanobots because he licked something he wasn't supposed to and got them on his tongue. Laura and Robin found him first, and since they're tiny brats they were dragging his body around because they didn't want to just leave him in the street.

It was complete nonsense. He appreciated the three of us helping him out, though.

[Hearing about this incident of Connor’s disastrous licking feels both like a punch to the gut and something... comforting, oddly.

Because this memory is completely beyond Hank. He wasn’t here for this at all. And it’s silly to hear this now, albeit undoubtedly stressful at the time — he’s trying to imagine two kids dragging Connor around — but Connor lived. For however long he existed here on Etraya, he must’ve got to do all sorts of things. Got to lick things.]

Of course he was licking stuff he shouldn’t have. Always putting weird shit in his mouth

Thanks. For taking care of him. I’m sure that meant a lot to him. Just in general. It’s good to hear that people cared about him. Even if it was just to get him outta the street

Do you think people remember? When they leave here

[He realizes it’s a fucked up thing to ask after he’s sent it. A really fucked up thing.

At least he’s not drunk so he has the awareness to apologize at all.]

Sorry

I just

I’d like it if he did. Remember you

[.... Somehow, it isn't surprising to hear Connor was licking things back in his own universe. That's ridiculous, and Accelerator hates that he and Hank can't tease him about it now.]

I don't know. Maybe it's possible. Our bodies don't get fucked with when we're brought here, so I don't think there are physical side effects to multiversal travel. I don't see why the electrical signals in our brains that constitute our memories would get screwed around when they rest of our bodies don't.

[That is a very nerdy way of saying he's kind of hopeful they all retain their memories of their time here. Or at least, he hopes Connor retains memories of certain people.

Not necessarily himself, because he is garbage and Connor is really better off forgetting him.]

It'd be nice if he remembered Laura and Robin. Laura cared about him a lot when she was here, and Robin still does.

Don’t mean to be offensive here, kid

[A rare occasion!]

But you’re kinda reminding me of myself right now

Laura, Robin, sure. I trust you on that.

But you obviously mattered to him too. Would be an idiot if I said otherwise.

Don’t know Laura or Robin, but between you and me I think you knew him best

Oh, fuck off.

[He doesn't mean it, this is just getting uncomfortably personal and he doesn't want to touch any of the associated emotions with a ten foot pole.]

I doubt I knew him very well. He was just tolerable.

Look, I need to go. I have no idea how Robin deals with loss and he's a little kid, so I need to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.

Fuck you too kid

[Even if Hank had the heart to mean that right now — which he doesn’t — he’s not sure he could.]

Might’ve been tolerable to you but I’m sure you meant a lot to him

[And, Hank doesn’t know Robin but he’s pretty damn sure Connor would appreciate the following, so:]

Take care of Robin.

[He doesn't respond to that. He can't. He doesn't want to think about what Connor's opinion of him was, and how now that he's gone he can't ask him.]

Remember what we agreed.

Oh you bet I will

[He’s gotta be a smartass here, waving away Accelerator’s insistence — concern? — but still.

Oddly, Hank doesn’t intend to drink. He’d like to, sure. But that feels... too easy. Like he’d be doing a disservice to Connor’s memory — god, it’s not like he’s dead — if he does end up drinking.]

You remember what I said too.

[Although Hank’s sure blathered on a lot recently, hasn’t he?]

About Connor. And about learning to live again.

[He doubts he can think that positively right now, though Hank is right. Last Order wouldn't want to see him sad.]

Yeah. I will.

[ Isn't it so nice to have an excuse to go outside in the cold because you have a dog, Hank? It's the dream of every pet owner in January. And Etraya has plenty of open space for walking a dog on or off its lead, and not much to be distracted by. There's been an increase of pets, lately, but how many other dogs? And not all of the buildings around have people in them. Not all of them even have furniture in them!

But you know what you can trust in Etraya to provide? Oddities. And here comes one such oddity while you happen to be taking Sumo for a walk: a ball. A metal-looking ball, actually, about the size of a soccer, just bouncing from around the corner of a path ahead of you. It rolls at first, as most balls do when left to their own devices, but then-- it bounces again. Upward, and then sideways, gaining momentum from its sudden, bizarre actions.

There's no one immediately ahead, but just a ball suffering peculiar spasms. What does Sumo think of this? What does Hank think of this?

(Don't worry, its owner will soon come into view. But first: look at that weird fucking ball.) ]

[Sumo’s a relatively lazy dog. Likes his walks, sure, but his days of stubbornly pulling at the leash to get Hank to investigate god-knows-what have been mostly left to his puppy years.

Until now, apparently. Sumo pauses mid-step when he sees the ball, his large paw hovering as he cocks his head. Sending slobber around his immediate vicinity — which Hank happens to be standing far enough away from, luckily.

Hank is eyeing the ball. Looks like bad news, like most of Etraya’s goings-on. RoboCops doing some weird experiment, maybe. Though Hank is a boring test subject. Just a guy who’s gotten very little sleep these past few days.

And a guy with a very large, one-hundred and seventy pound Saint Bernard who wants ball. He seems almost scared of it at first: stepping back closer to Hank, tail thumping. Whimpering the way he does whenever he sees Hank with food that he thinks should be his.

But then Sumo is bounding toward the oddly spasming ball like the silly dog he is, tugging Hank along.]

Not food, Sumo. It’s not fuckin’ food!

[Obviously. But Sumo seems entranced, regardless. What a strange ball! Not like those boring old squeaky toys Hank gets him, probably.]

[ No, it's nothing like those boring old squeaky toys. Rather, it being metal might be a problem, or maybe that it's too big for Sumo's mouth, but you know what it still does when Sumo makes contact with it? It rolls, just like any other ball! And Gorgug sees this: he sees a dog playing with his ball! Oh, oh! He's got the perfect test subject! Even if the dog isn't also metal.

Sumo can chase after it as it rolls, and it will also keep rolling a little more, but not entirely. Stopping so Sumo can get to it, and he stops bouncing it so much--and when it does bounce, they're smaller, more suited to Sumo's height.

Gorgug does move closer to the area to watch Sumo interact with the ball better, but also keeps towards the wall, not wanting to distract Sumo from play time. A green guy is rarely sneaky, that even Hank will probably see the half-orc teen...with what looks like a small square remote that he's fiddling with at the same time the ball is moving.

Is Gorgug looking out for the dog's owner?? no. It's just a dog, right?? You just find dogs on the streets! (no you don't) ]

[Sumo lets out a sharp bark as the ball rolls, as if to say: “look at this weird ball, dad! Remain alert!!” For all his laziness, he does have some manner of protective instinct when it comes to Hank.

Just not usually. Like when people break into his house. It’s fine, though. Nobody’s tried to break into Hank’s apartment here, anyway.

Yet.

Sumo lumbers after the ball, a gentle giant trying to get his enormous maw around said ball. He pauses to turn his head back to Hank, either wanting his help or wondering what the heck is going on. Why is ball so hard?

Hank shrugs.]

Sorry, bud. Can’t help ya there.

[Whoever’s ball this is — well, Hank hopes they don’t mind dog drool. Because that is exactly what Sumo does: he licks the ball. He tries to get his teeth around it before the ball is rolling on its merry way again. And then, perhaps near giving up, Sumo looks down at the ball, dejected. Slobber falling from his mouth.]

Jesus. [Hank steps next to Sumo, patting his head.] This robo-ball-thing gettin’ you real worked up, huh?

[Hank is still weirded out by the ball, but it at least seems... responsive to Sumo’s interest. Playful. And it’s not like whoever’s controlling it is hitting them with it.

This is, oddly, an endearing sight. But strange, as Etraya often is. So Hank isn’t exactly surprised to see Gorgug when he squints — or he’s pretty sure it’s Gorgug, anyway. Hank does not need glasses, thank you very much.

He can put two and two together, despite his eyesight: Gorgug’s fiddling with some kind of doohicky whenever the ball moves. Which is decidedly less concerning than if it were the RoboCops out with their remote robo ball.]

[ Please get glasses, Hank. There's literally only one tall green guy in Etraya. At least one of them can recognise a guy when they see him, which--to Gorgug, there's only one white-bearded old guy that he knows about in Etraya with a rather rounding figure, and that's drunk guy. Or Hank--he remembers his name because of that message he got, and the flask he spent some time making.

But as for Gorgug, he's got a smile on his face! A very happy, enjoyable smile, which is before he sees Hank, though that only makes it dip a little, and not for any other reason than 'oh, the dog has an owner'. But he still looks positive enough, looks between the pair, and... ]

--Is that your dog? He looks like you.

[ Nevermind that Sumo has far more colour to his fur than Hank does to his hair... and that Sumo is also a dog. ]

What?

[Hank is still squinting, albeit more in confusion now rather than his need for corrective eyewear.]

You think this slobbering oaf looks like me?

[He looks down at Sumo. Back to Gorgug. Hank rubs his chin with his free hand — which isn’t a good idea, in case Sumo decides to take off. He really has been good so far, though: a mix of laziness and wariness, wanting to stick close to what he knows. Which for Sumo, unfortunately, is Hank.]

You know what? That’s fair.

[Even though Sumo is cute where Hank is very much not. Sumo does have a dopey, tired look to his face though — much like Hank.

Sumo can be stubborn, too, which leads him to flopping down over the ball while Gorgug is talking. Making himself comfortable — or not so comfortable — as he lays on the ball.]

[ Gorgug looks at said slobbering oaf when Hank does, tilting his head. It's more the rotound, soft yet grumpy face that does it for Gorgug, but he can't say if the slobbering part is also a factor he should be including.

But Hank seems to come around, and Gorgug nods, earnestly, like see? He was right! And Gorgug looks at the dog again, thinking--and then realising a less happy thought when the dog flops itself on his ball. Which Gorgug doesn't mind, but his cheery expression starts softening as he becomes thoughtful. ]

Did he come from an egg?

[ Hank.

Did your dog come from an egg? ]

No, he... what?

[Hank remembers the whole egg thing. Boy, does he.]

You think he came out of those eggs? [Looking down at Sumo now, who looks quite content atop Gorgug’s ball for the time being.] The hell you think I feed him to get him this big?

[It occurs to Hank to lie, just for the heck of it. But he’d rather not have that bite him in the ass later.]

No, Sumo did not come from an egg. I got him from... y’know. [Eyes furtive. Mumbling:] Aurora.

[He thought about thanking her, but then she was all “it wasn’t me who took Connor!” So while Hank is grateful for his dog, he is still bitter about his friend being gone.]

[ Gorgug shrugs, not embarrassed by his guess--if anything, he relaxes around the shoulders again, the tension that had been threatening to stick between his brows.

But he notices the way Hank's voice quietens, and he nods at him--for once, maybe understanding. ]

My friend had to get his bike from Aurora, too. He's not a fan, either. [ And he glances over at Sumo; or, specifically: ] --that's who the ball's for. His bike's a dog.

[ A beat. Hm. ] ...is that weird?

[ To just say? Or is it totally normal? ]

Yes, that’s weird. What does that even mean? Bike in the shape of a dog?

[Is it a bicycle? A motorcycle? And why does it need a ball??

Sumo kicks out his back feet, in the meantime. Tongue lolling.

Lazy dog.]

Good to know some people aren’t fans. Weird that Aurora has fans.

[Except this isn’t true, and Hank knows it. Assuming Aurora is her own person — is she?

Hank just needs someone to blame. For everything.]

She's good for getting dogs.

[ That's one thing, right? Gorgug's looking at Sumo, half-tempted to make the ball roll...

...but he won't. For now. ]

Do you feel better? [ Oh. ] I got your beer. Finally.

[ Get it. "Finally"! ]

Guess that’s one thing she’s good for.

[Hank says this with a little more tenderness than he means to. Because while he’s been directing his overall ire at Aurora, she did get him his dog.

A very cute, large dog who currently prefers laying on Gorgug’s ball-doohickey rather than actually playing with it.

And what would Hank be doing without his silly dog?]

I’m okay. [Which is a loaded response — who here is okay? — but hopefully Hank’s clarification helps somewhat:] Haven’t got wasted since Christmas, if you can believe it.

[Not that he’s abstaining from alcohol entirely, nor does he have any real desire to. It’s just something that’s happened, and maybe part of him thinks that doing the stupid missions and not being drunk will somehow give him what he wants, even if the thought is absurd.

It’s enough to get Hank to be good — for now — so he’ll cling to that.

And Hank does get Gorgug’s little joke: it even makes the corner of his lips twist in a smile. He wasn’t drunk enough at Heather’s party to forget everything.]

[ Haven't got wasted since Christmas. Gorgug's eyes do that thing, like a visual oh--surprise, but a good sort, like he might've suspected otherwise. And considering how wasted--and how quickly--Hank got at the party, he is surprised. Wondered if he had a drinking problem, but also not caring enough for it to be his problem what the ails of an old guy are. But still, not exactly judging him much for it, either. ]

That's good. It'd be bad to get drunk too often if you wanna stick around, and do something. Probably. You wanted to stick around to save your world, right? Even if this place sucks.

[ Gorgug's remembering back on their conversation--that it wasn't the robot babys' fault if they were being used in weird missions, but also, that for as much everything sucked, he didn't want to get kicked out. Also, he knew a Connor? And Gorgug thinks the name is vaguely familiar, but he also can't say where.

Maybe it's from Hank himself. ]

No, I... [Hank furrows his brow.] Wasn’t saving my world I cared about.

I was whining — [even he can admit that’s what it was] — about not wanting to do whatever weird missions. And you said somethin’ about Aurora maybe sending me home if I kept up my bullshit.

[That, Hank remembers, is when his head really started swimming.]

You were right, I think. I kept up my bullshit — [nevermind the fact that Hank still hasn’t been on a mission, so it wasn’t a punishment for that] — and whoever-the-fuck took Connor. Zapped him away.

[Hank isn’t sure what he figures now, exactly. Be good and get Connor back? Sure, that’s the dream. But while part of Hank will always hope... he isn’t that stupid.

Connor isn’t coming back.]

Can’t say I wanna stick around, or do much of anything. But Connor isn’t here, so until he is, I guess I have a world to fight for now, y’know?

[Since Hank has Sumo here, too. Shifting around on Gorgug’s ball — perhaps finally realizing it isn’t as comfortable as he thought.]

[ Gorgug's listening, and it's simple enough until-- Connor. Connor going, Hank says, and Gorgug realises the blame there, but also-- the main detail is big enough, isn't it. His face falls sympathetically, glancing away to Sumo when he shifts on the ball--sturdy, at the very least, but also very much metallic. ]

I'm sorry Connor's gone. [ But that's what he says when he looks back at Hank, looking down at the device in his hand, but doing nothing with it. ] I don't think-- whatever you did, it didn't take him away. I lost a friend from home too, but-- I've seen a lot of people go without a reason. And it's not great. When you don't know why they went.

[ Even if it might be better. Maybe? But there's people Gorgug still thinks about, even if it's Adaine he worries about the most. If she even is back in Elmville, or-- who knows where? ]

It really sucks, the answers we don't have.

hey old dude

you're banned from any of my parties for the next three months

You know, that’s fair

[Hank was going to apologize!! But then he did get kidnapped!

Not that Heather needs to know that. Hell, most people do not need to know that.]

Still sorry though. Putting myself in a situation with all that booze and no one to hold me accountable wasn’t my brightest idea

Been going through a lot lately. Not an excuse. Doing better though. I think?

I got my dog

[...He says, as if that makes everything here on Etraya better.]

( well that put a kink in her plans of being truly angry-

especially when he mentioned a dog. when she thought about it, her father did always emphasize on forgiveness and really hank hadn't hurt anyone [technically]. )

well I guess I can forgive you on one condition!

[Uh oh. Really, though: the least Hank can do is play along. It can’t be that weird of a request, right?]

Sure. Shoot.

you mentioned something about a pet dog. well...

I just so happen to have a pet rat who needs a friend. so how about it? a play date for the two?

[Sumo is a good boy. A good boy who has never met an actual rat, as far as Hank is aware.

And Sumo is stubborn. Protective. But how might he react to a rat?]

Sure

Where do. Uh. Dogs and rats go on play dates?

well I haven't ventured around etraya much but I did see a bounce castle near the kwik trip. maybe they can have fun there?

unless you want to let them run loose in the rec room at the apartments?

[Why there’s a bounce castle here on Etraya is another question entirely. What’s the lore there?]

You know what?? Let’s do the bounce castle. Be all adventurous

[If Sumo and his new rat friend destroy it, then... well, won’t the RoboCops come and fix it all up?]

( that's the spirit hank-

though she does think of one thing. )

hell yeah! our friends will have a great time.

just uh....don't drink before going okay?

Haven’t been drinking much, to tell you the truth

Won’t drink before, is what I mean. Sorry about your party.

it's fine, when should we meet up then?

and what does sumo like to eat or snack on by the way?

Whenever’s good for you. Probably sometime earlier in the day. Kind of a long walk. Wouldn’t want you to have to walk home in the dark

[That’s when the weirdos seem especially active. Like Vincent.]

Sumo’s not too picky about treats. Likes meat. Jerky, that sorta thing. Big on elk and turkey

And peanut butter

[Because Sumo is a dog of fine taste.]

Pumpkin. Zucchini

[Hank is a dog dad, okay. He doesn’t really expect Heather to get any of this for Sumo; he’s just kind of been in a weird caretaker mood ever since Connor got zapped away, or whatever.]

( unfortunately for them both, she very well knew weirdos like vincent.

she knew him after all. )

peanut butter?

( odd.....but she won't question it further. )

cool, mr. cheese just like seeds and dried fruit, but he can't or shouldn't eat anything too crazy. how about before another mission rolls in? aurora usually announces those ahead of time.

Yeah. Couple spoonfuls of peanut butter and Sumo will be your new best friend

[Probably less, even.]

Got it. I’m sure between the two of us we can keep them from eating something weird

[Although Sumo might be tempted to gnaw on the bounce house.

Hank doesn’t really want to say his schedule is wide open, but... well. Not like he has anything else to do here.]

Aurora do those missions often? December seemed pretty quiet.

[Quiet from the AI overlords, anyway.]

( well that was good to know if she ever needed to win over the big fella. )

oh absolutely, we have to keep them safe.

well I'm not sure to be honest. I arrived in October and the last real mission I remember was everyone having to build race-cars. I guess they wanted to give us a 'holiday break'?

Holiday break, huh.

[Hank arrived on Etraya mad, and he’s especially mad now that the AI overlords saw it fit to take Connor, but...

He shouldn’t whine at Heather.]

Guess that’s reasonable. Now if only they’d give us some kinda rubric on what they’re looking for, maybe we’d be in business

Making racecars sounds weird. Sorry you had to deal with all that

[At least the whole train thing is something Hank can do. Really dig into. Mystery, and all that.]

I kinda sat that one out but I get the vibe we're not suppose to. at least gorgug told me that.

( he is more than welcomed to share his thoughts on loosing connor, but anything more might out of her depth. )

I'm sure aurora kinda hints at what they want, based on the stories others have told me about past missions. I guess we'll find out when the next one comes in?

Makes sense. I’m sure you’re doing fine though. Representing your world and all.

[Unlike Hank.]

Gorgug seems like a good guy to have around.

[He kind of freaked Hank out with his know-how, but it was a truth he needed to hear about Etraya: that he needed to do missions.

That if he didn’t, maybe Hank would be sent home. Leaving Connor scared him.

And now...]

Yeah. Not really looking forward to playing Aurora’s games, but

What Gorgug said, yeah. We should do the missions I guess.

well aside from the pressure of doing the missions we should at least try and make friends with those we can.

you know if sumo and mr. cheese get along, and you ever need a pet sitter...

( she might be roping herself into something she shouldn't, but here she is trying her best.

even if he did get drunk at her party and all. )

hey Uhhh whats up Been a minute wrote a thing I wanna show you. Metal, right?

Hey, Till.

[God, what hasn’t been up with Hank lately? So he meanders right on past that question.]

Feels like it’s been ages

Metal, yeah. Nice of you to remember

I’d love to hear it.

Can I bring my dog? He likes metal too

[Which isn’t exactly true. Sumo is more the jazz type, Hank has decided. Rolling over for belly rubs and thumping his tail whenever a record’s on — but that might just be him picking up on Hank’s mood.]

[Hank’s “dog”? he???

Till thinks he’s heard “dog” before… probably an Earth animal, like the cat Ivan lives with. and has tracked its fucking fur into his apartment.]

Haha it does Oh I was thinking about coming to you though if that’s ok, I have a gig kit Animals like music??? We dont have dogs and whatever in my origin universe so I don’t really know

Sure, yeah. You can come over

[Hank looks around his apartment. It’s not drowning in bottles of alcohol like it was back in December, but it’s still messy. Garbage and dog hair and drool stains everywhere — and only one of these three is Hank’s fault.]

What kind of universe doesn’t have dogs??? What the fuck

My dog is. Uh. Really big. So don’t be scared. He’s nice I swear. Also a nosy fucker so he’ll probably try to sniff you

And he drools. So don’t come wearing any designer shoes I guess

[Till is a messy person; if anything, he’d consider someone’s mess a window to who the person is, likening it some ways to art. that’s why before he lost his spirit and his hope, he’d go on stage barefoot and wouldn’t let his masters style his hair or makeup.]

Uh well…. Assuming thats an earth animal … we just dont have those things which is why it took me a while to get used to the food in this place. “Earth” hasnt existed for a long time

[which is in part why Till finds Hank so curious—but not solely. he likes him as a person, too. but the curiosity is a strong pull, regardless.]That said I have no concept for how big or large a “dog” is so dont worry [Till, from previous experience of “lesser” aliens that were kept as pets that weren’t human, already has a gauge assumed that’s about as big as horses. so. he’s fine, probably.]

I only ever wore designer on stage, I don’t fuck with that. don’t worry You okay if I swing by like, now?? I haven’t felt good about music for a while but tonight I’ve been kinda feeling it. Like I’m in the flow

Huh. I know you were kind of explaining how your world worked before but......

Wow

[How long hasn’t Earth existed in Till’s world? The question isn’t really pertinent, but it’s still an odd thing to ponder.

Thousands of years? Maybe more, if there aren’t even dogs.]

You’re welcome whenever, Till.

[Did something good happen? Hank is curious and would be happy to hear about it — assuming it’s not anything like what Hank does to “feel better” — but he doesn’t want to pry.]

You sound like you’re in a good mood

Is it that crazy? Dogs sound important haha ....Um, yea, I guess thats ...true?? huh Im doing better

[it's embarrassing to acknowledge, since it's come from basically stapling Ivan to his side. he's been so preoccupied he hasn't cognizant noticed; he's managed to eat enough to get used to the food and gain some weight back... he still has pretty shit quality sleep due to the traumatizing nature of his home universe breaking his brain, but he has been sleeping. well, for him, even.]

im just gonna come right now

Hell yeah dogs are important. Man’s best friend and all that.

[And historically they’ve helped people with a lot of tasks, although Sumo mostly just lazes around. But that’s okay, because he’s very cute.]

Sure, yeah. Come on over. My apartment’s the one that says FUCK OFF on the nameplate thing

[Which, obviously, does not apply to Till!]

Glad you’re feeling better, bud.

[huh. man's best friend?? Hank says it so casually, like it's some kind of common second nature. he's not sure how he feels about it... how humans keep pets, themselves. but he's going to figure it out, he's sure...]

Hahaha wow.... I'm kinda jealous Thx See you in like less than an hour just gotta get my shit together

Maybe we can get you a dog

[Can they?? Hank has no idea. What if someone here wants a pet that they didn’t have back home? What then, AI overlords?

There was that whole egg thing too, but... well. Till can see how that turned out for Hank soon.]

There’s no rush.

[With most other people Hank might at least feign impatience, but right now he’s just... in a mood.]

Get yourself here safe and sound

as a former pet myself..... I dunno..... lemme meet your dog first anyway be there soon!

Hank are you available this evening?

When am I not available, bud

What’s up?

[Should Hank worry...? He’s gonna worry.]

[Keeping a secret. That's the tough part.]

I wanted to cook for you again.

Okay. What’s on the menu?

[He’s a little suspicious. A little worried. Hmm.]

What would you consider your favorite?

Uh

You know you don’t gotta go to all that trouble, Connor

But I dunno. Lasagna??

[Cheese and meat and pasta! It’s like spaghetti... but more.]

[So pasta cake to go with the actual cake. Connor can do that.]

If you could leave the apartment for an hour, I'll have everything prepared when you get back.

You know Connor, if we hadn’t just talked about this I might think you were trying to get rid of me because you don’t like me

I can get out of your hair for a bit. Take Sumo on a walk. Enjoy the nice. Uh. Scenery

[And out he goes! Hank considers picking up more alcohol while he’s out, but he doesn’t want to hurt Connor more than he already has, so — no alcohol today.]

[As soon as Connor has space, he gets right to baking both cakes! The lasagna goes in first before the teeny little layered cake-- whiskey flavored of course--.

When he's ready, with the candles representing 54, Connor texts Hank.]

The lasagna is done.

[When Hank comes in, both the lasagna and the little layered cake are on the table.]

Edited 2025-02-26 03:00 (UTC)

[Something feels off although Hank can’t quite put his finger on what. And he’s not going to complain — yet — because Connor said he likes cooking, and he likes Hank, so why not lot him go hog wild?

He can’t blame Connor for not wanting him around while he cooks, though. With how their conversations have been going lately, with Hank just... going off.

Once Hank gets back to the apartment, he and Sumo both sniff the air.]

Smells good, Con.

[Then, heading toward the kitchen:]

Uh.

[Jesus Christ, the guy’s gone and made him a cake and a lasagna.]

Don’t think I need to tell you it’s not my birthday, so... there another very old occasion we’re celebrating?

[Connor nudges the cake toward Hank as the candles burn away.]

I wanted to celebrate, regardless. [While he can, he doesn't say.]

Suppose I can eat to that.

[Hank pulls out a chair. Sits down, eyes squinting as he looks at the candles.]

How many candles is that? About eight hundred?

[Don’t make him count eight hundred candles, Connor. Don’t make him...!]

[It's not 100 candles! It's exactly 54! Connor did his homework and counted each one out.

Connor sits down across from Hank, smiling as he regards him.]

It's fifty-four candles. To celebrate your birthday early. The flavoring is whiskey.

Not quite following the logic there, Connor.

[If his birthday were next month, sure. But it’s ages away.

Making up for lost time, maybe? Not that Hank’s birthday really matters to him, but it seems to matter to Connor.]

Thanks, Con. This is... really nice of you.

[Hank whistles. It still feels weird just stuffing his face in front of Connor, but cake especially feels greedy of him.]

[Connor is quiet for a moment before he finally confesses,] I wanted to celebrate because I'm not sure I'll be here for it.

[He looks down at the lasagna, at the cake, and then back up to Hank. He can only hope this doesn't trigger another panic attack.]

[Hank sighs. Leans back in his chair, raising his chin as he looks over at Connor.]

You’re gonna be here. [He doesn’t even add “if you still want” like he usually might, because Connor clearly wants that.]

But I get... this. [Gesturing toward the table.] We should be making memories, yeah? Regardless of whatever happens. Sorry I haven’t been great about that.

[Hank’s just been hurting Connor, both physically and emotionally. And getting him to smile sometimes, too. But he should be smiling more.]

[Quietly,] Happy birthday, Hank.

[Connor is clearly upset, but he's not talking about it.]

Yeah. Thanks, Con.

[Hank forces a soft smile. Grabbing a fork to stab at the cake, then:]

You gonna deprive me of your whole crime lab mouth thing for this cake, or what?

I don't think you want to know the sugar or alcohol content in the cake.

[Connor nods toward the cake.]

Hey, hey. I’m the birthday boy, right?

[Hank offers the fork to Connor. It just has a bit of frosting and cake on it, hopefully not enough to hurt him. Assuming that’s how it works. Hank realizes he has no idea.]

Here. [Grabbing another fork, Hank gets his own forkful of cake.] Let’s try it at the same time, so you can’t spoil me with the nutritional whatever.

[Connor's face brightens when Hank offers him the fork with frosting. He nods with a smile and touches the frosting to his tongue.

It's.

So.

Sweet.

Did he put in too much powdered sugar? Or perhaps too little whiskey.]

[Hank watches Connor, trying to commit that smile to memory. And human memories fade with time, but he’ll remember this.

He raises his own fork to his mouth, eyes widening. The cake is sweet and boozy.]

Damn. [Hank lets the flavors settle on his tongue before swallowing.] I’ve never had a whiskey cake before, y’know.

[Connor continues to smack his tongue as the frosting lingers on his tongue. Once he gets it off he nods.]

I thought you might like a non-traditional cake. [Connor sets his fork down, keeping the nutrient information to himself this time. As he climbs to his feet, he asks,] Do you like it?

You know what? [Hank has another bite of cake.] Yeah. It’s like rum cake, but... well. Stronger.

[Whiskey itself is already kind of an overwhelming flavor, and the cake perhaps even more so. But with the added sweetness, it reminds Hank of some of the whiskey cocktails he likes. He grimaces a little at the next bite — this bit of icing is even boozier — but he swallows it down. Just like drinking the real thing, honestly.]

You went and got more whiskey, huh?

I did. Now that I know it's not replacing me. [Connor does his funny little wink and then disappears back into his room. He emerges moments later with what can only be described as a trash bag. A very rumpled trash bag. He sets it on the table next to the lasagna and seems particularly excited by it.]

[Hank’s paused his cake eating to actually cut the lasagna, and then...]

Uh.

[Connor looks very excited about a trash bag, which is both confusing and endearing. The guy is just so damn earnest.]

Do you need me to take this out for you?

No. [!!!] Please open it.

[Inside is a digital camera, maybe not as fancy as the ear devices, but will most certainly take up more physical space.]

[Hank gives Connor one of his squinty “the fuck are you up to?” looks before reaching for the bag.

Really just a trash bag, huh? Hank hmms, pulling it open, and —]

Oh. [He holds the camera in his hands. Just staring down at it before he starts to turn it.

Hank should be taking more pictures. His memory isn’t bad, but the images go fast. Get all blurry in his head.]

You gonna show me how to use this thing?

Of course. [Connor mimicks holding a camera.] Put your eye to the clear rectangle in the center. Then press the large button on the right side.

[Well all that comes after turning on the camera.]

It should have enough storage for thousands of pictures. And there's a flash for low light environments.

How do I — [grumbling a little as he stands up to offer Connor the camera] — tell if the flash is on?

[Usually there’s that little electric bolt symbol, right? He doesn’t want to blind someone. Not Connor, anyway.]

I believe the flash is on if there is a lightning bolt symbol. If the flash is off, the lightning bolt is crossed through.

[Connor is pleased that Hank seems to like the gift, though!]

Yeah. Okay. [Not unlike some of the older cameras back home, although Hank hasn’t actually gone and taken his own pictures like this since... well. It’s been a long time.

He steps back, raising the camera to his face as he points it at Connor. Snapping a picture that appears blurry on the little screen, so Hank tries again.]

This is... okay, right? I mean — is it okay if I have pictures of you?

Of course. Would you like me to smile?

[He doesn't wait to be asked and smiles on his own. It's bright, unhindered by the future, and also just as goofy as Connor is.]

I would like you to smile, yeah. [Hank snaps a few more shots of Connor. And then approximately a dozen more because you just never know with these things.

Once Hank lowers the camera, he says:] Want you to smile more in general, I mean. Not just for pictures.

[Aiming the camera over to Sumo, laying in his bed in the living area:] You got a real nice smile, Connor.

[Connor smiles through out the mini portrait session and then smiles over at Sumo when Hank aims the camera that direction.]

I'd like to smile more. [He's just got. A lot on his plate. A lot to think about.]

Yeah? Well, we’ll find you lots to smile about.

[Like Sumo, with his legs twitching in his sleep. Dreaming he’s chasing something, maybe — like a nice steak.

Hank takes a few more pictures of Sumo, creeping around the couch to get a better zoom, before he returns to set the camera back on the table. Next to its trash bag wrapping.]

Thanks, Connor. And thanks for my... birthday. [Early birthday? Super early?] You got any more surprises up your sleeve?

No, these are the last of them. [Until he's repaired and the plan starts.] I wanted to make sure we celebrated.

[Hank thins his eyes.]

No, no — I think you’re forgetting something there, Connor. Something real important.

Am I? [Connor cocks his head ever so slightly.]

Obviously. [Hank rolls his eyes.] Thought we talked about this.

[He steps closer to Connor, easing him into a hug.]

[Connor will never turn down a hug from Hank, especially now that they aren't painful. He shuts his eyes and allows himself to absorb the sensation. Who knows when Accelerator will get those parts.]

[Being so insistent on hugs all the time makes Hank feel especially old, like the grandpa on family trips who also demands a million hugs.

But it’s worth it. He tries to keep his hugs short, at least. Usually.

Except when they’re not.]

Oh, and — [Hank pats Connor’s head before stepping back to grab the camera again] — indulge me, okay?

[Raising the camera so the lens is faced toward them.]

It’s cringy; yeah, yeah — just let me have this. It’s my damn birthday, or whatever.

[It’s one thing Hank wished he had more with Cole: pictures of them together.]

[Connor turns his head so he can smile into the camera with Hank.]

Happy birthday, Hank.

[And he hopes it's a good one.]

Thanks, Con.

[Hank takes a few dozen pictures again, just in case.]

Next we can celebrate your super early birthday, yeah?

I can’t eat cake or lasagna.

[What do androids do to celebrate birthdays? He certainly hadn’t celebrated in Solmara.]

Can still do your little scan thing, if you wanted. It’d be your day. You ever wanna know the exact make-up of, hell, I dunno, fettuccine alfredo — we could get you some damn fettuccine alfredo.

[Setting the camera back on the table before turning to Connor.]

And food is important for celebrations, sure, but only if you want it to be. It’s more about what you want. Could go all out and blow up balloons. Decorate. Invite your friends. Get a little party hat for Sumo.

Could go to the bounce castle, Connor. You ever think about that?

[That all sounds incredibly nice, but Connor has a very important question first,]

What's the bounce castle?

The bounce castle, Connor, is a big ass castle filled with air. Like the bounce houses back home, but bigger. Bouncier, Connor.

[Hank and Heather talked about taking Sumo and her rat to the bounce castle. Someday!]

It’s in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere, I guess, but the trolley goes that way now, I think.

[One good thing Aurora has done for them.]

I’d like to ride the trolley.

[Connor’s never been on any kind if trolley, only taxis and Hank’s car in Detroit.]

Yeah? [It makes Hank happy when Connor likes things!! Wants to do things.] We should take a trip sometime, then. You pick where you wanna go.

Or — [shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, wanting to give Connor space] — you’re welcome to go on an adventure yourself. Could take Sumo.

It runs in a circle, one-way, correct? Could we ride it from start to finish?

[Connor considers for only a moment.]

I’d like to go with you, Hank.

You really wanna ride on a trolley for who knows how long — with me? [Hank makes a show of looking behind him.] Sure you’re not talking to someone else?

[He’s just bullshitting. In a good mood that he’s sure won’t last, but Hank’ll take what he can get.]

Of course, Connor. Can ride it as long as you want.

It would be a good chance to get to know both you and Etraya better.

[Connor looks hopeful that Hank will agree.]

[Hank bites back the whole “why would you wanna get to know me?“ bit that first comes to mind. Connor makes him want to be better.]

Sounds like a plan. I haven’t done much traveling myself here. Went to the church, once. I’m sure there’s lots to see.

[And it would be nice to see those things, sure. But even better is imagining Connor looking out the windows of the trolley as he takes in the sights.]

[Connor brightens.] When would you like to go? I would prefer sooner rather than later.

Anytime, Connor. Don’t exactly got anything going on here.

[Hank still hasn’t managed to get through a single book since he got here. His hobbies have consisted of... drinking, mostly. Then when he got Sumo: walking Sumo. Lazing with Sumo. Drinking while Sumo naps.]

Dunno how long the trip would be, exactly. Can bring snacks and thirium. Stuff like that.

That would be nice, Hank. I think I’ll enjoy the trip.

[Connor nods.]

Don’t forget the camera.

We’ll make some nice memories, yeah?

[Connor can get some reconnaissance in too, Hank realizes, but he’s beyond caring about that right now. If Connor wanted to map out the entirety of Etraya, he could do that on his own.

And it’s not as if Hank is accepting that Connor is returning to Solmara after all this, because he’s not, but he’ll at least have these memories to take back with him.

If.

If.]

[Joke's on Hank because Connor hasn't reached out to any online databases. He doesn't touch his phone, to keep up appearances, but he knows extremely little about Etraya and what he knows about Solmara doesn't match up.

For example, there are far fewer starving people in Etraya.]

I'd like that very much, Hank.

[Hey man, he saw all that on the network, he knows the implications of 'shit went down but it's fine now' when both Hank and Connor are involved.]

Yo, what happened?

[God, where to begin??]

I guess the whole Solmara mission thing activated. Or whatever.

I’m not gonna lie. I don’t know all the specifics.

[Like why now, of all times.]

Connor shot his co-conspirators.

[Hank’s always assumed the network was compromised in some way — private messaging, too. So he assumes Aurora knows all this. Or she will now.]

And he deviated.

[He’s scared right now, which makes Hank scared too.]

And the WAHTEVER thing is fine. Aurora’s thing

[Not at all Hank’s priority, but it’s fine! Aurora is fine!!]

Yeah, I'm checking in with her.

[Aurora said she isn't damaged, so that's good. No need to go on a rampage yet.]

I'm guessing Connor had his orders preprogrammed into him, set to activate at a specific time. Like an alarm clock going off. [It makes him sick to think about, since it reminds him of a certain virus that nearly got an innocent girl killed and was the reason for his brain injury.]

He told me some stuff about deviating when I was fixing him up. Neither of you died?

[Because Connor made it sound like serious trauma is needed for it, and what better way to kickstart that trauma than killing someone?]

Makes sense. And I guess all the other guys were a hindrance in some way.

[They were — are? — Connor’s friends. And Hank doesn’t know them, really, but that means a lot. So he doesn’t think Connor would go and incapacitate them all unless he felt like he really had to.

For his damn mission, and all that.]

Neither of us died, no.

But I could’ve died, I guess.

[Not a big deal!!!]

So that’s what did it. Got Connor to deviate.

Did they want Connor to go through with the mission? They'll be less of a problem if they had decided to give up on it.

[Really, if Connor's the only one who went through with it because he was programmed to, Accelerator doesn't see an issue with the rest of them. Only the person who programmed Connor.]

Fucking hell, it's good it didn't get that far. Dying around here sucks.

I think..... they didn’t want to go through with the mission.

Although I can’t say for certain.

Connor’s really torn up about what he had to do.

Maybe they fought about not wanting to do the mission. Or HOW to do it.

And I know everyone wants to talk to Connor. And whoever else involved. They deserve that.

[Hank just wants Connor to be safe. And Solmara’s AI overlord is still a threat to him. To them all.]

You do much dying around here, bud?

Seriously? If no one is sure then why the hell is talking to Connor a priority? People should be hunting down the rest of them and finding out why they all fought. If those bastards still want to complete the mission they're the ones who're a danger to everybody, not Connor. And if they don't want to complete the mission, then the people who sent them on the damn thing are the danger.

[Cool cool cool, everything is still kind of one fire. Love to see it.]

I died once. I don't recommend it.

[He's just going to gloss over that because the post-death loss has been rough, and recently getting news there's no way to fix it hasn't helped.]

[Hank is torn here. When Sevika asked who all was involved, he tried to avoid saying anyone else’s name.

Except Catdog. Whoever the hell Catdog is.

He doesn’t want anyone to get hurt — more than they already have been, anyway — but this is all so much bigger than Hank. Which is why he confided in Accelerator in the first place.

And Hank will probably sound like an idiot if he says he trusts Connor here. Would Connor really feel this guilty about hurting his friends if they were the type to go through with this fucked up mission? Hank wants to believe no.

But what if Hank is wrong? What if he’s risking people’s lives?

Regardless, this isn’t something he wants to burden Accelerator with.]

I’m sure Connor will tell us everything we need to know. Now that he’s deviated and that barrier is gone.

[Although the whole “physical rewiring” thing that Connor mentioned has him worried.]

I’ll try not to die. TRY being the keyword.

[And he mostly means that, although Hank has kind of yo-yo’d on that. As recently as yesterday! But dying to help Connor is another thing entirely. Not a waste of his life at all.]

I’m sorry you had to deal with that. I don’t know how it all works, but I’m sure it sucks.

[He and Vincent talked about losing things through death, but Hank had been in a weird place mentally at the time.

...And still is. Just a different sort.]

[Accelerator has a hell of a lot more trust towards Connor and Hank than... whoever else was involved. Unless it was someone like Laura, which he seriously doubts. Either way, he's really hoping the fight that broke out was because these people were trying to stop Connor. That would make things a lot simpler, a lot less dangerous for everyone on Etraya.]

Yeah, I trust he will.

[This is Connor, after all. If he has the power and agency to do the right thing, then he's going to do it.

He's just... a little worried that if Connor is freshly deviated he's coming off some trauma, and interrogating him might cause additional damage. Accelerator isn't sure, he supposes he's just being (over)protective.]

Well, if anyone tries to fuck with you or Connor and you two can't handle them, let me know.

[It's fine, he's a contingency plan for Damian, he can be the same for them.]

It was my own fault that it happened, so whatever. I've moved on.

[Not really, but that's more because of the loss rather than the death.]

[Connor sets down his device after upsetting both Robert and Hank. He closes the door to his room and seeks out Sumo. Luckily, Sumo is on the couch and Connor joins him, running his fingers through Sumo's fur.]

[Hank’s gone and pissed Connor off for the millionth time, thereabouts.

He’s bad at this. So goddamn bad. Why can’t he ever say the right thing? Do the right thing? Why can’t he magically figure out what Connor needs to hear and fucking say it?

Hank cares about everyone else, sure. He doesn’t want anyone to die. Doesn’t want anyone to get hurt. And yeah, maybe he would let one of Connor’s friends slug him — but preferably where Connor couldn't see because goddamn has the guy been through enough.

Everyone else can hate him. That’s fine — even when it’s not. He’s not exactly a likeable guy.

But Connor is different. If there’s one person on Etraya that Hank needs to believe in him... it’s Connor.

Hank rolls over in bed. Groaning. Setting down his stupid earpiece because he needs to stop getting into arguments with people on the network.

They’re never going to understand. And Hank will just have to deal with that. But Connor — him not understanding Hank is what hurts.

He’s getting up to splash some water on his face, get a drink of something that isn’t whiskey, when he sees Connor on the couch.

Connor said he wanted to spend some time with Sumo. Hank should respect that. And it’s not as if he has anything helpful to say, anyway.

Looking at the back of Connor’s head, though... Hank really misses his smile.]

You, uh — [clearing his throat as he stands awkwardly in the hallway] — you doing okay?

[Connor is a mess of feelings. Guilt. Shame. Fear. He looks up when he hears Hank, turns to face him. Connor can't cry, but if he could he would be.]

No, I don't think I am.

[Hank sighs. Crosses his arms. Tilting his head back to look at the ceiling.]

It’s a lot right now. I know.

[Looking back at Connor now.]

I wish I knew what I could do that would make it better, Connor. But you were right: I can’t protect your forever. Can’t even protect you from... this.

[Connor nods, directing his gaze back to Sumo.]

Maybe you can't. Maybe that's the entire point of Alrys's mission. She had to have known that we could fail.

[That Connor could deviate.]

And that we would confess our sins for all of Etraya to see.

[Connor stops petting Sumo to look back at Hank.] Maybe this is something I need to go through alone.

Were you supposed to be back by now, d’you think? I’m sure she’s got some manner of contingency plan cooked up if that doesn’t happen. If you don’t come back.

But Connor. We’re gonna deal with her. [Hank and whoever the fuck else. Once they figure out how to get to Solmara, or lure Alrys here, or whatever it might take.] And I know the fear won’t go away just like that. I know...

[Slick roads. The car rolling, rolling.

Sometimes in Hank’s nightmares, it’s still rolling. Never stopping. Never ending.]

That’ll be one thing. One thing I can do for you.

I think that's why my programming went off. It was time for us to steal what we could steal and return with at least recon.

[The guilt and fear are so overwhelming, but he knows Hank has dealt with this as well. In his own way.]

I don't think I can drink whiskey.

Even if you could drink whiskey — you know I wouldn’t want that for you.

[Not that that’s Hank’s call to make. But seeing Connor fall to addiction would break him in ways he doesn’t want to think about.

Alrys must be expecting them, then. And how long might she wait before...?

Hank doesn’t want to deny the inevitable. Doesn’t want to ignore the danger everyone is in — not like he has all these past few weeks.

But now, at least, Hank’s goals mostly align with what the rest of the people here want: deal with Alrys. Keep Etraya safe.

And in doing so, keep Connor safe.]

Can I sit with you, Connor?

[Connor listens and nods slowly. It makes sense that Hank wouldn't want to see someone else fall to to the bottle.]

Of course, it's your house.

Yours now too, Connor. [Hank walks to the couch, watching Connor. Looking for any sign of discomfort.

Then he takes a seat, one arm draped across the back of the couch. It’s crowded with Sumo, but the dog rests his head on Connor’s lap. Giving Hank a little more space.]

Not like I’m paying rent.

[Connor looks over at Hank, rubbing Sumo’s head the whole while.]

I don’t feel like I’ve done right, Hank. And by every merit, I haven’t. Ithaqua will never forgive me. Catdog won’t either. Robert’s forgiveness is… I can’t help him.

I nearly killed you as well.

Let me ask you this, then: what could you have done differently, Connor? If you don’t feel like you’ve done right. What could you have done — that was in your power to do differently?

[An annoyed mumble:] Told you I don’t care about that last bit, Connor.

I would've deviated during my encounter with Catdog. Or earlier even. I would've known there was a timer and warned them, warned you.

[But the programming didn't let him. There had been that red wall, pushing him along. Get the gun, through any means necessary.

And yet he didn't kill Catdog. Perhaps because he was already injured by Connor.

And Ithaqua, who will likely never speak to him again, took two shots to the legs.

And Dr. Romano. Who tried to stop Connor.

And Hank. Who had a gun pointed at his head.

Connor would change all of it if he could. However, he can't and that's a painful truth he will have to live with.]

Edited 2025-03-09 03:58 (UTC)

Connor. [Hank looks at him. Lips pursed. Pulling his arm from the back of the couch to rest in his lap.] I asked what you would do differently that you had the power to do.

[He doesn’t say “none of that was your fault,” because they just keep going in circles with that. But the implication is there, regardless.]

Deviation isn’t that simple, right? If it were, you would’ve done it back on Solmara, yeah? Or like you said, with Catdog.

Do you see what I’m getting at here? You said you might need me. To be able to deviate. That’s not something you had control over, Connor — especially since you didn’t know how far you’d have to go to hit that point.

You didn’t know, Connor. You didn’t know.

[Connor leans his head against the couch, his hands stilling in Sumo's fur. In the space of 24 hours, everything he knew, every constant has turned on its head except for Hank. It's likely the only reason he hasn't run.

It had taken nearly losing that constant to deviate.

But it doesn't stop Connor from becoming familiar with another emotion: self-hate.]

I have to deal with the consequences, regardless.

I know, Connor. Let’s just take it one day at a time, okay?

[Hank knows it’s true. Necessary. But, god, he wanted to punch people when they talked to him like this after he lost Cole.

But they were right.

Everyone always said things would get easier eventually, but mostly they just changed. Evolved. Devolved. Got a hell of a lot worse before they got any better.

But then one day, here came this android with his wink and his breaking into Hank’s house. Wooing his dog. Worming his way into Hank’s life, and now he doesn’t want to imagine anything else — especially not after just getting him back.]

How do I do that?

[Connor looks absolutely miserable as he tries to think through possibilities down the road instead of focusing on the moment. He will lose his friends, he might lose Hank. If Aurora arrives, Connor is certainly dead again, perhaps permanently.

He feels steeped in a darkness he can't hide from and can't shake either.]

Well, y’know what I did to deal with my shit. But like I said — don’t want that for you. Whether or not you can.

[Hank doesn’t want to see Connor testing this hypothesis, either. With alcohol or anything else.

Regardless, Hank’s view on this is very “do as I say, not as I do.”]

We need to get you hobbies. You had much fun since you got here, Connor? [Again with the hypocritical “do as I say” bit, seeing as how Hank knows he has been as jolly as a bag of bricks since he got to Etraya.] Or even just something to get your mind off things. You said you liked cooking, yeah? Stuff like that.

[Connor is tempted to test Hank's manner of dulling feelings, even if it could break all his inner components.]

I did enjoy cooking. Rations were scarce in Solmara. It's never something I got to do in Detroit either.

[A beat.]

I've also never tested my ability to drink whiskey.

Connor...

[Eyes thinned.

Hank sighs.]

I can’t stop you. Not like you couldn’t squirrel some away behind my back. But I’d really rather you didn’t.

You don’t even drink thirium. You — [okay, no, he should not be giving Connor any ideas] — if you gotta try it, promise me you won’t be alone. I don’t want you breaking down ‘cause you’re guzzling this shit.

But you are more than welcome to cook to your heart’s content, Connor. And more stuff like it.

[A thoughtful pause, then:]

What is it about cooking that you like, exactly?

[Connor looks up at Hank and the temptation is definitely there. Perhaps just a sip. Just enough to see what is so appealing.]

I'll have a sip with dinner.

[And, considering what he likes about cooking,] I never cooked until I arrived here. It's very colorful. And it's not a science, it's an art. I've never expressed myself in such a way.

A sip, huh? [Hank raises a brow.] You do remember when you poured out all my whiskey, yeah?

[He has the bottle in his bedroom, but maybe Connor doesn’t know about that yet.]

That’s what I like to hear, though, Con. You getting creative — that sounds good for you. You might like other creative sorts of things, too.

That’s the thing: we gotta get you exploring that.

Did Dr. Romano not bring any over? [He's put himself back in the deferential position.]

What other arts should I explore?

Nah. Unless he dropped some off when I wasn’t here.

[He tries to keep the bit about Connor’s friend short. Someday Connor might want to talk about them more, but... right now Hank just imagines it hurts.]

You could write. Draw. Paint. Could indulge in your, y’know — musical inclinations.

How about we take you clothes shopping sometime? [“Shopping” being used loosely here, since everything is free.] You can express yourself that way too. Just like I’ve got my... well. Shirts.

[Connor looks puzzled a moment, considering he'd advised Dr. Romano to bring whiskey. Perhaps he didn't bring it.]

I could stop wearing my tie.

[He pulls the black fabric from the collar of his white shirt.]

[Hank’s jaw drops a little before he smiles.]

Your tie, huh? Somethin’ wrong with it?

I'm trying to express myself. [Connor looks down at the tie in his hand and then back up to Hank.]

Is there something wrong without it?

No, Connor, I was just wondering.

[Hank clears his throat.]

How do you, uh — feel without it, then? Good?

[Connor frowns before looking up at Hank again.]

I feel the same. It wasn't obstructing any of my abilities.

Yeah? Well. [Hank tries to give him a look-over, eyes darting down and back up, although not much has changed.] You look good, Connor.

Not that you looked bad with the tie, but — y’know what I mean.

Thanks, Hank. [And there's a hint of that smile. Connor still doesn't feel his best, but he's trying to recover.]

I think I may stay with cooking for now.

Glad to hear it, Connor.

[That smile...! Fleeting, perhaps. But one step at a time.

One day at a time.]

And I don’t just mean that ‘cause I get to eat what you cook. [Although it’s a nice bonus.] It’s nice to see you... getting all creative. Enjoying things.

I believe we have steak and eggs in fridge. I have a recipe for that.

[Connor won't eat any of it, but he likes plating the meal, presenting colors.

Maybe art would be the next step.]

Have you seen art supplies in Etraya?

Sounds good, Connor.

[When isn’t Hank up for eggs? Steak?!]

Maybe even ol’ Sumo can get a bite of steak.

[The dog raises his head at the sound of his name — and steak! — but only slightly. Perhaps not interested unless there are smells to go along with the words.]

Haven’t seen art supplies, no, but I’m sure the store’s got ‘em. Is there anything particular you’re interested in? We can check it out sometime.

Sumo is welcome to have some steak.

[Connor sees Sumo perk up and there's that smile peeking out of the storm clouds again.]

I'm not sure. I've never tried anything artistic.

Careful there, Connor. Might think you’re just here to spoil Sumo.

[Hank meets Connor’s soft smile with his own. Looking down at his lap as he thinks.]

Well, you got that whole room now. Why not get a little of everything?

[And with that, Connor's small smile blossoms into a full smile.]

Are there materials enough to try a little of everything?

[Hank could never match Connor’s smile, really, but something inside him insists on trying.]

Don’t worry about it. If the store doesn’t have something you want, I’ll figure it out. I’m all resourceful like that.

[He’s not. But for Connor, he’ll make it work. Pull some strings. Beg for favors. That sort of thing.]

I like it when you smile like that, Hank.

[Connor likes it best when they both smile, when they both seem to be enjoying themselves.]

It doesn't need to be a pull on resources. I wouldn't want Etraya to become another Solmara.

Yeah? [Hank looks away. Covers his smile with his hand for a second before dropping it. It’s embarrassing.]

Not a burden, or anything like that. We just need to find where stuff is. And if you want, I dunno... watercolors, and the store doesn’t have it, I’m sure someone might know how to make them. Can’t be that hard, yeah? Mixing pigments, and all that.

[He knows nothing about watercolors other than “water” and “colors.”]

[Connor's smile widens as he watches Hank.]

I think paper and pencil would be a better place to start. Maybe some basic paint.

Simple enough. [Paper? Pencil?? Hank can do that.

Probably.

But paint might require some manner of specialized paper. Canvas?? Cole used to do his little fingerprinting on printer paper.]

We’ll get you whatever you need, Connor. I could pop out while you’re working on dinner. How's that sound?

Be careful. [ Connor is distinctly aware of how disliked both of them are. He stands from the couch to start searching the fridge for the steak.]

I will. [Hank still has Catdog’s gun, too. Not that he’s taking it with him, nor does he have any intention of using it, but... he has it.

He’s never been a very well liked guy here, anyway. Now everyone's got an actual reason to hate him beyond “there’s that drunk asshole.”

The trip to the store isn’t actually quick, and the selection isn’t great. Not that Hank knows what he’s looking for, really, but not this: a couple of notebooks with obnoxiously shiny covers. Gel pens in a bunch of different colors!! Okay, that takes Hank back.

...And that’s it. Along with some oddly scented pencils and a set of erasers shaped as an assortment of animals, that’s about all Hank finds. Which is disappointing, but he figured as much.

His ride back on the trolley seems shorter, somehow. Probably because he feels like a disappointment. But regardless! He got Connor gel pens!

When Hank gets back to the apartment, he sets the bag on the coffee table.

Sumo is patiently awaiting by his bowl for his very much deserved steak!!]

[Connor takes the time to not only to cook, but to think through his situation. He's now enemy number one for quite a few people and, while not extraordinarily well liked in Detroit, it's not the scrappy friendships that are built when one is trying to survive.

Ithaqua would likely kill him on sight.

Robert hates him.

And Catdog is probably the most regrettable of the losses. They were sort of partners in crime, with Connor providing him with rations whenever possible.

Now it's all gone.

Hank may be his only friend left in the city.

And for a brand new person with feelings and thoughts of his own, it's akin to scrambling around for someone to grab while drowning. He doesn't want Hank to drown with him.

As Hank returns, Connor is cutting a piece of the steak for Sumo, depositing it in the bowl, before plating Hank's dinner. It's a simple set up: ribeye with buttered asparagus, mashed potatoes, and something new he's learned: chimchurri. The whole plate is bright, the colors balanced, and hopefully tasty.]

Food's ready. [And then Connor settles in the seat across from Hank's.]

Smells good, Connor. [It still feels weird to have someone cook for him — plating the food up, even.

But it’s Connor, so it’s okay. Because Hank knows he’s exploring his interests.

Still...]

You spoil me, y’know. Thought you were gonna make a steak, and here’s this whole ass meal.

[He remembers Connor wanting to try some whiskey. But maybe he forgot — does Connor forget anything?? — so Hank doesn’t mention it.]

[Connor enjoys it at least and there's no need for him to eat as well, so it makes portions easy.]

I thought a steak alone would not be enough to eat.

[And there's no whiskey, so,] Did you get whiskey for me to try?

[It's a double-edged sword: having whiskey in the apartment. Yes, Connor could try it, but then there would be the rest of the bottle for Hank to sample at his leisure.]

I didn’t.

[Hank shoves a forkful of steak in his mouth so he doesn’t say anything stupid.

He could cave. Hank could so easily cave — but should he? Yes, it’s what Connor wants. But what if it hurts him? What is Hank supposed to do then?

Like he told Connor earlier, though: better to try it with someone else rather than alone.

Hank doesn’t want to come home and see Connor... well, in the sort of state that Connor’s seen him in.]

He finishes chewing. Sighs.]

What would we do if you got hurt, Connor? What would I do?

I can taste substances in the field. I shouldn't be hurt.

[All that blood he's been sampling is probably not the best example to use.]

How is your meal?

[Glossing right over the question of what they would do if Connor got hurt.]

[Hank squints at him. Bits of asparagus stuck to the corner of his mouth.]

So you’re... what? Gonna have a single sip? Not gonna chug the whole bottle?

[Like how Hank does. And he looks down at his plate guiltily: all the food. The arrangement of it. Hank would just pile everything onto a plate and call it a day.]

It’s good, Connor. Real good. Thank you.

I have no need to drink more than a sip.

[He's not sure how he would even have that much whiskey.]

Good. I'm glad you like it. I especially liked the bright green of the asparagus.

Hmm. You like green, huh? Bright green?

[He wishes Connor could taste it the way he does, especially with all the effort he puts into cooking.]

You wanna do your little test thing? Figure out its... I dunno, makeup? Salt content?

[As for the whiskey — surely a sip wouldn’t hurt? Just one sip? The guy licks all manner of weird shit from the floor, for fuck’s sake.]

If you promise me it’ll just be a sip, we can figure out the booze thing, Con.

It's a very energetic color.

[But what Hank says gives Connor an idea. Sure, he can't eat the food he's cooking, but perhaps he can sample it like he might blood. He climbs up to his feet and returns to the stove, where the hot pan is still waiting.

He dips his fingers into the remains of the meal, still quite warm, and brings them to his lips.]

That's not what I expected.

Oh, yeah?

[Hank chews on another bit of steak as Sumo loudly licks at his bowl.]

What were you expecting?

[Connor grabs the pan by the bottom to bring it over to the table. Unfortunately, the bottom is not nearly as cool as its contents. Connor's fingers go white in an effort to protect the false skin from being damaged, before he sets the pan down at his seat.]

It's saltier than I imagined.

Saltier, huh.

[Hank looks down at the pan.

Then at Connor’s hands.]

Why’d they go all white like that?

[Connor shimmies his hands out from under the pan and it takes a moment for the false skin to crawl back over them.]

Most androids' skin is designed to pull back when exposed to extreme temperatures.

[Which is just a fancy way of saying he burned himself.]

Oh, Jesus Christ, Connor.

[Hank is standing up to grab an ice pack he keeps in the freezer for headaches. Wrapping it in a washcloth from the cupboard.]

We really need some goddamn hot pads. And you need to take better care of yourself. Gonna give me a heartattack one of these days, I swear to god.

[He hands the ice pack to Connor. Eyes thinned.]

I will add hot pads to the list.

[Connor accepts the ice pad, pulling his skin back from his fingers to help balance the temperature.]

I apologize. I'm not used to needing to care for my bodily autonomy.

[In Solmara, he lost pieces of himself regularly, especially after his fall.]

Please eat, Hank.

It’s okay, Connor. I mean — I get it. I’m sure it’s weird to have an old man whining at you. Watch it get real cold, and I’ll be here yelling at you to layer up or else you’ll get sick.

[Which Hank figures probably isn’t a thing, not in that sense, but what does he know? Nothing!!]

Yeah, yeah. I’ll eat. [He pats Connor’s head before sitting down.] I just... worry. And you’re the only one I really have to worry about — you and Sumo — so you probably, y’know. Get an unfair slice of that.

Androids cannot get sick. Not in the traditional sense.

[Connor takes another sample from the pan, intrigued by the results it brings up. The salt content is far higher than he expects and a man with Hank's fast food habits should not have so much sodium.]

Can I ask why you worry about me? I am replaceable in every sense of the word.

[Hank gawks at Connor as if he’s sprouted a second head.]

Why do I worry about you? The hell kind of question is that, Connor?

[Muttering:] “Replaceable” my fucking ass.

[That is always a sure sign that Connor has said something wrong.]

Should I phrase it differently?

Yeah, Connor. Go ahead. Phrase it differently.

[So Hank can get annoyed all over again. But with different phrasing!!]

[Alright. Phrasing things differently.]

I am made up of entirely interchangeable parts. If I were to become damaged, I can have an arm, a leg, or part of my face removed and have it replaced later.

[A pause, just enough to evaluate his words.]

Because I can only be killed in very specific circumstances... [A shot to the head, a loss of thirium, a loss of an essential biocomponent.]

There is less need to worry, because of those factors. With that information, why expend valuable energy worrying about someone replaceable?

‘Cause you’re family. Obviously, Connor.

[Hank pauses to take another bite of his meal. How many times does he need to tell Connor that he cares about him?]

Why “expend valuable energy” worrying about someone like me? If I die here, I’ll just come back.

Because I like you and I enjoy your company. I wouldn't want anything to diminish your happiness.

[And then comes the mental gong, the duh moment. They've had this conversation before but it still hasn't ingrained itself in Connor. Maybe because he's deviant now it will finally click.]

Likewise, Connor. See what I’m getting at here?

[Hank chews slowly as he looks at Connor.

He’ll say it again. And again. And he might get progressively more pissed off, but Hank will keep on saying it.]

[It seems to at least click for now.]

I see.

[He pauses before nodding.] I will try not to make you worry in the future.

[Hank gives Connor another long, appraising look. Sighing as he stands up, chair legs scratching against the floor.

He pats Connor’s shoulder before saying:] Wait here.

[It’s a stupid idea. Beyond stupid. But Hank still heads back to his room, kneeling beside the bed to grab that goddamned bottle of whiskey. A quarter full, now.

Heading back to the kitchen, Hank finds a small glass. Pours a smidgen of whiskey inside before setting it on the table.]

Here’s your sip, Connor. Because — [hand on Connor's shoulder again] — I care. Which probably sounds like bullshit, considering I just got you some booze when we don’t even know how it’ll affect you, but you said you wanted to try it. And like I said, I’d rather you not be alone for this. If you still want it.

[Connor isn't sure what he's waiting for, but he waits very obediently. For once, he doesn't follow Hank. Then, Hank is back with a bottle of whiskey and Connor's head tilts in the silent question of where did that come from. However, he waits for an explanation to come.

When he has a glass with a smidgen of whiskey in front of him instead.

Well, might as well. He lifts the glass and empties it.

Connor squints at the burning in his mouth, but then alcohol works through systems not designed to process it. He sticks out his tongue and shakes his head. Then he shakes his head again and he reaches up for his neck.] I think you were right. I'm not designed to drink any...

[And then up comes the whiskey, purged with cup's worth of thirium. Blue paints the cooking pan as Connor wipes his mouth.]

[It’s kind of nice, being with Connor the first time he tries alcohol — and there it comes right back up.]

Jesus Christ.

[Hank hurries to get a pack of thirium from the cupboard. Unsure if Connor really needs it, but they have it regardless.

He sets it down on the table as he rubs Connor’s back.]

You okay? Looks like a lotta blood.

[Connor coughs and blinks as he reorients himself. He's never thrown up before, but he supposes it was more of his body purging a foreign substance.]

It's a purge. I'm not bleeding.

[Like with the snake venom and how his body had needed purge that as well, albeit not through the mouth.]

Oh. Well, shit.

[Hank stops rubbing Connor’s back for a second before resuming.]

Anything I can do to help? Or — fuck. I’ve done enough. I know. You’re okay though, right? I mean, you’ve got it out of your system, yeah?

I should be alright with some rest.

[Connor wipes his mouth, pauses to see if any more will come up before he sits up straighter.

Thank you for indulging my curiosity, Hank.

[His voice is a little rough from the purge, but these are all things that can be repaired internally with time.]

Don’t gotta thank me, Connor. Could’ve done it on your own time — thank you for, y’know. Not.

[One last pat on Connor’s back before he starts working on putting away the leftovers on his plate. Appetite more than a bit spoiled.

The pan can go in the sink... once it’s sufficiently cooled. Hank doesn’t have fancy android skin like Connor.]

Should be swearing at me for letting you do it, maybe. Calling me a stupid old fuck. Wouldn’t even argue with you there.

I didn't know where the whiskey was.

[Connor internally winces as Hank's food leaves the table. He should have waited to ingest the whiskey so as to not spoil Hank's appetite. In the mean time, Connor gets up and heads into the living room to rest on the couch. He needs to remain sitting up in case there's anything left to purge, so he settles in, waiting for the inevitable guest appearance of Sumo.]

You're not that, Hank. I indulged with the experiment as well.

Luckily for me, Etraya’s got a whole ass liquor store.

[A liquor store that isn’t too inconveniently far, unlike some other places. But Connor doesn’t need to know this.

Hank looks down at Sumo, sitting by his bowl. Probably both confused as to what just happened as well as why his bowl is empty.]

Go watch over him — yeah, Sumo? [Predictably the dog does not listen, despite knowing some of those words. Stubborn, Hank thinks as he washes his plate in the sink. Just like him.]

Would’ve known where the whiskey was if you hadn’t poured the rest out, so — good thing you did, I guess.

[Sumo does eventually head toward the couch, sitting on the floor as he rests his head in Connor’s lap.]

A liquor store?

[Connor remarks before personally leaving a mental reminder to search for alcohol in the apartment. In the mean time, he lets his body do the necessary repairs as he sits.

Sumo eventually comes to sit with him and Connor gently rubs Sumo's face, finding it very calming.]

I promise I won't try anything else like that again.

Yep. Got all kinds of booze.

[Which is why Hank wasn’t that pissed when Connor poured his out. Alcohol luckily isn’t a scarce resource here.]

I’m happy to hear that, Con. But — [rinsing off his dishes now before setting them on the counter] — you’re free. Free to make all kinds of decisions, stupid or not. Just hope you think about me before you do somethin’ really stupid.

[Hank realizes that sentiment should be mutual, but... he couldn't promise that. Especially not now. With Alrys still out there, and everything.]

[Connor makes a second mental note to check liquor stock in the apartment. But all of it has him oddly tired. Perhaps it's the whole show he put on at dinner that has him feeling just a bit off, a bit wiped out.]

Free to make mistakes?

Of course. Can’t fault you that, can I?

[Especially seeing how Hank makes mistakes regularly. Constantly.

...Daily.]

Nobody’s expecting you to be perfect, Connor.

I am meant to execute at a level near perfection.

[Although now that he's a deviant, he will likely have more errors.]

Still not expecting perfection here, Connor. ‘Specially not from me.

[Hank wipes his hands on his shirt before heading toward the couch. Chin tilted up as he looks down at Connor.]

How’re you feeling?

[Connor's expression softens. Maybe he could try to relate more to people by looking for less perfection in himself.]

I'm feeling better, though I should run a diagnostic to determine if there is any damage.

(ooc: Also totally good with focusing on zombie thread, and/or another game thread whenever the thirst arises. 💖)

—

You do that. [Hank gives him another curious look. Lips pursed.] Run your diagnostic thingy. And you’d tell me if something were wrong, yeah?

[Voice softer, then:] Glad you’re feeling better, Connor. Really.

[Connor looks up at Hank and is about to answer when Hank adds the most vulnerable part of his reply.]

Thank you for indulging me, Hank.

Hank I have a question.

Can just ask, Con. Don’t gotta ask if you can ask.

What’s up?

I've acquired some paints, but I'm not sure what to paint.

Do you have ideas?

Hmm. Anything in particular strike you? Inspire you?

Things you like.

[Painting Sumo might be hard, but...]

Sumo? He sure as hell sits still enough for reference.

I like Sumo.

[And Hank, but that's a discussion for another day.]

I think I'll paint him first. Thank you Hank.

Sure thing, Connor.

[Although a dog might be... difficult to start with. Hank can’t remember the basics they made him do in school. Shapes? Trees??]

Let me know if you need anything while I’m out.

[He almost says “I’ll be home in a bit,” but... Connor deserves some alone time. Some Hank-free time, specifically.]

Perhaps materials for hamburgers. I read a new recipe today.

Sure thing. You just send me grocery list and I’ll pick everything up.

[Of course Connor asks for something that’s really for Hank. Of course.]

Sumo’s gonna be eating like a king tonight, huh?

[It's still a wonder to Connor that he can ask for any food he likes, that he isn't trying to feed Hank on rations.]

Ground beef. Tomatoes, Lettuce. Onions. Garlic and Oil.

He will. He deserves it after posing for his portrait.

Got it.

[Onions, garlic... Hank’s stomach rumbles. Why does Connor have to be so good to him, huh!!]

He being good? You making sure to paint his drool?

He's perfectly still. I think he might be asleep.

Yeah?

[It’s a sweet mental image. But even more than that is the fact that Connor is exploring his interests. And they’ll probably never be quite at peace here — chaos seems to be the name of the game — but this is something.

More than Hank thought he’d ever get just a few months ago. Before Connor was here.]

Lazy dog. He’s earned it though. Cute fucker.

I never asked but, where did you get Sumo? Was he a rescue?

Got him at a shelter, yeah. Just a pup and already almost as big as some adult dogs.

Cole insisted. Said he liked big dogs, WANTED a big dog, even though he’d never seen one before.

Little guy was surprised when Sumo ended up being..... Well. Horse sized.

I'm glad you have a good memory like that.

He must have been really surprised when Sumo grew up.

[Connor knows he was surprised after tumbling through Hank's window.]

He sure was. Kept saying, “Dad, Sumo keeps growing?? He’s bigger than all my friends’ dogs!”

Like it was something to be proud of, you know?

Anyway I’d catch Cole filling Sumo’s bowl in the middle of the night. Thought he could get the damn dog to grow... Well, BIGGER than a horse.

[Makes Hank a little nostalgic to talk about, but with Connor it feels... safe. Perhaps oddly.]

[Connor smiles on the other end. He likes hearing about Cole outside of the context of the accident.]

Did it work?

[Hank’s first thought is “hell no.” Simple. Logical.

But...]

Maybe a little.

(:

[Is that smiley weird? Hank isn’t even using it condescendingly here.]

When you gonna show me one of your paintings?

[Don't worry! Connor is smiling on the other end.]

They are still very elementary.

Doesn’t have to be perfect, you know.

You getting shy on me, Connor?

Alright. I'll put one out in the living room.

[When Hank does arrive in the living room, something similar to this is hanging on the wall.]

[True to his word, Connor’s gone and hung up one of his paintings.

A painting that Hank isn’t quite sure what to make of — immediately heading over to it once he gets home.

It’s abstract, yeah. Colorful. Is it happy? Sad? Exploratory?]

Huh. [Hank crosses his arms. Really absorbing all the different colors.

Maybe Connor just likes colors...?]

[Huh.. That's what Hank says, with his arms crossed, and Connor steps up onto the couch to try and pull down his 'painting.']

I indicated it was elementary.

...The fuck are you doing? Hey. Hey.

[Hank presses his palm to Connor’s shoulder. Gently.]

All I say is “huh,” and you think I’m — what? Mocking you? Just observing, Connor. Give a guy a minute, yeah?

I like it. [Honestly. The colors, the textures. The fact that it’s Connor’s.] Tell me about it. What did you think about when you were working on it?

[Connor has the painting off the wall when Hank stops him and Connor hesitates before replacing it on its hook.]

I thought about the colors I like to see in the world.

[He points to the yellow-creme color.] This is the shade of the stripes on your shirt when we first met. The blue here resembles thirium.

Well, what d’you know? Thirium blue, and... Hank yellow, yeah?

[He takes his hand back. Rubs behind his neck.]

It’s nice, Connor. Could really see the walls covered in stuff like this.

[Which makes Hank, predictably, think of Cole: how he has none of his drawings here, and how finite they would be even if he did.

His soft smile turns to a frown for a moment before he catches himself. Bringing the smile back because, really, he’s happy for Connor.]

Glad you’re having fun. Really.

You enjoy it? [Connor perks up. He knows the purpose of art is to have fun expressing oneself, but hearing the positive feedback from Hank means more than Hank likely knows.]

Edited 2025-05-13 18:28 (UTC)

I do. [And it’s a simple painting, sure, but there’s nothing wrong with that.

Because:]

It’s insight, y’know? [Hank playfully butts Connor’s shoulder with his own.] Into that head of yours. What you’re thinking. Feeling.

[And Hank might not understand, but... he is looking.]

Would you like more? [Connor asks, wondering if perhaps the novelty would wear off after one of his paintings.]

[Hank tosses Connor another incredulous look, albeit brief.]

Obviously. And, I mean — hell. If we run out of room? We’ll figure it out.

[Connor could start giving some away, maybe. If he wanted. Although part of Hank is selfish and would rather hoard them — who knows when there might not be any more? — but if they manage to fill up a whole apartment...]

It’s homey, y’know? [The painting itself, as well as the thought of more.]

[Connor smiles over at Hank, making a mental note of what Hank likes about the painting, including the painting itself.]

I'll keep painting. [He has another group of paintings he might hang at some point.]

Good. That’s — [there’s that goddamn smile again, which Hank stares at for a few seconds] — real good, Connor. Happy to hear it.

[He pats Connor’s shoulder before turning back to the painting. Nodding.

Life here, or anywhere, can’t always be this tolerable — pleasant, even — but sometimes. Sometimes.]

And... shit. [Hank reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out the spare apartment key. Offering it to Connor.] See? I didn’t forget. Taking your list seriously.

[Connor's smile burns brighter at Hank's response and even a touch of surprise tinges it as he holds his hand out for the apartment key. Now he officially lived in the apartment, there was no doubt.]

Thank you, Hank. I promise not to stay out too late.

[Coming from the android that goes to sleep at 20:00 sharp, with the exception of some extenuating circumstances.]

[Hank presses the key into Connor’s palm, pulling back to shove his hand in his coat pocket.]

You don’t gotta... I mean, you don’t owe me that, Connor.

[Multiple people have mentioned Etraya’s relative safety between missions, but Hank’s still not buying it. Especially with Connor here.]

I just, y’know — [Hank clears his throat] — worry about you, so I guess just keep me posted. If you’re out late, or if something keeps you — like weirdos fucking up the trolley again.

[Weirdos!!!]

I understand, Hank. [Connor nods.] I did hear about the trolley. It's a shame, I enjoy that trolley quite a bit.

Weirdos. [Hank says this for emphasis, arcing his hands like a rainbow.] They’re fixing it, right? It’s whatever.

As long as you weren’t involved. [Which isn’t an accusation, but it might sound like one. Hank’s just worried about Connor’s safety — again; always — but he imagines Connor would have said something if he were there.]

I did nothing to cause the destruction of the trolley.

[He hadn't even been riding it and he enjoyed the trolley rides.]

I know, Connor.

[Or: it would be difficult for Hank to accept otherwise. They did have a nice trolley trip a while back, which devolved into their brand of bickering, but...

That’s just sort of their thing, unfortunately.]

What I’m saying is more... I mean, if you’d been on the thing when it happened, or something else like that — you’d tell me, right? Would tell me if you got hurt. You wouldn’t just suffer in silence.

[The way Hank does.]

[That's a good question, actually. Would Connor tell Hank and risk Hank diving deep into a well of grief and guilt?]

I may have before. [Connor finds that the truth is the best response here.] But, no. I don't think I would tell you if I was hurt.

[He still remembers Solmara, being strangled and then tossed off the side of a building. He remembers awakening, missing plates. And then not long after, he arrived here in Etraya.]

I wouldn't want you to worry.

[Hank is slipping out of his jacket, tossing it onto the couch: still a slob. Sorry, Connor. Some habits are hard to break.

He isn’t sure what he expected Connor to say, but it isn’t that. Even if the answer doesn’t surprise him.

Part of Hank thought Connor might lie to comfort him.]

Well, now I’ve gotta worry about you extra hard, don’t I? [It’s not as if he can blame Connor — he really can’t — but goddamn why can’t Connor go along with the whole “do as I say, not as I do” thing?]

I’d do the same, y’know. Two stubborn fucks here, I guess. I wish —

[Hank squints as he stares up at the wall. Gaze sliding back toward Connor’s painting.

He wishes a lot of things. Most of which he has little power over, but Hank can still try.]

Edited 2025-05-14 00:26 (UTC)

[Connor stares at Hank, eyebrows raised as he listens to him. He follows Hank's gaze back to the painting and then to Hank once more.]

You wish what, Hank?

You want an essay, Connor? I’m like a broken record over here. [Said not unkindly, although somewhat dismissive.

Hank has said this all a million times, and he isn’t exactly a fan of repeating himself — especially when it’s for things like this, things that make him feel vulnerable.

But it’s Connor, so:]

You know I want you to be safe. Which is why — [a little side glance toward Connor] — I wish you’d tell me if something happened. If you got hurt. How am I supposed to help you if you don’t tell me?

[Not that Hank has been great at helping Connor, anyway. He’s been so focused on the here and now, Connor right here in front of him, that Connor had to go and make that list of Hank’s failures. The guy doesn’t even have bedsheets or spare clothes, for fuck’s sake.]

And I want you happy. So I like that you’re, y’know — [gesturing to Connor’s painting with a nod] — like that you’re painting. I like that a lot.

[Connor, at least, looks sheepish for asking again. It's nice to hear, he's not sure how else to describe it.]

I will reach out when I need help.

[And another nod.]

I enjoy painting. I hope to share more with you.

[Several days after they are in the new apartment, a new painting is hanging on the wall.]

[It’s early afternoon and Hank is just waking up, still half-asleep in his T-shirt and shorts as Sumo snuffles noisily beside him. Following Hank to the kitchen as he pours some kibble in his bowl for lunch.

Hank is turning toward the living room, still groggy when he sees the painting and again says:] Huh.

[His arms aren’t crossed this time, but he is squinting.]

[Connor has been waiting for Hank to notice the painting, sitting inside his room-- wearing new clothes !! -- and waiting for Hank to make some kind of remark. As soon as he hears the huh, Connor steps out of his room to watch for more. He folds his hands into each other and looks over at Hank.]

Do you like it?

It’s real colorful.

[Hank hmms. He doesn’t really understand the color scheme, but the variation is nice.

Gesturing toward the bottom of the painting with his hand:] What’s all that green there represent?

[Still a little sleepy. Still squinting.]

[Connor looks at the painting with a smile.]

When you mix Thirium Blue with Hank Yellow, you get green. It represents our relationship.

Oh. [Hank nods at Connor’s explanation.] I like that.

[He wants to ask if there’s so much green, and at the bottom, because it’s a sort of base. Strong. Their friendship.]

Okay, then how about the —

[Looking at Connor, Hank’s eyes widen. Head jerking back in surprise.]

The hell are you wearing?

[Connor smiles over at Hank before looking down at his clothes.]

They're new clothes.

[Duh, Connor.]

I thought I might try them out.

They’re. Uh. Got a nice lookin’ texture to them.

[Except Hank obviously hasn’t touched them so that sounds very weird.]

I mean — you know what I mean. [Rubbing the back of his neck, eyes darting away.] Looks real good, Connor.

Edited 2025-05-15 23:15 (UTC)

[Connor looks down and runs his fingers over the texture in question. He didn't realize anything was wrong with it, but perhaps he thought wrong.]

It does. I enjoy wearing it.

[It isn't his favorite color blue, but Connor doesn't mind too much.]

Better keep Sumo off of it. You know how he sheds.

[Now Hank is just rambling.

His face isn’t warm. It’s just hot in here. Why is it so warm in here??]

Guess I would’ve figured you’d pick something more like — y’know.

[Which is Hank’s way of saying “that whole beanie get-up,” but he remembers, again, that this Connor never got to that point.]

[Connor looks down at himself and then back up at Hank.] I don't think I know what you mean.

It’s nothing.

[They haven’t touched much on everything Connor missed back home. Hank still isn’t sure how it might make him feel to know everything.]

A while after Kamski’s place, you got some new clothes, is all. Had a jacket that looked kinda like Reed’s, honestly. Pretty sharp. And a — [voice a little garbled] — beanie.

[After clearing his throat:] Guess I just thought you might like wearing that sort of thing.

Hmm. [Connor considers that, creating a mental image of himself in a leather jacket and beanie. It's not too off the mark, but Connor also assumes he must have dressed in such a way because of an assignment.]

I can change if you like.

No.

[Said very quickly — too quickly — but Hank tries to shrug it off.]

I like it. I mean, doesn’t matter if I like it, but — it’s fine, Connor. It’s good to see you trying new things. Exploring your style, and all that.

[Well, that was fast.]

It felt... comfortable and I like the color. [Blue will always be his absolute favorite, but he enjoys white as well.]

Is that all you got?

[A little shifty-eyed. Don’t mind Hank. Don’t mind him at all.]

I mean, did you just pick up a single outfit, or...?

I also picked up a sweatshirt and jeans.

[Connor smiles brightly. He can do a fashion show, if Hank so requests.]

Can’t just say that, Connor. [A little grumbly: mostly joking.] Are you gonna show me, or what?

[Connor smiles and nods before ducking back into his room. In a few minutes, he emerges in a plain blue sweatshirt, a pair of lightly-colored jeans, and a pair of sneakers. He would fit in well in any college dorm.]

What do you think?

[Hank has to sit down on the couch when Connor goes to change. Or — he doesn’t have to, but god is it easier on his nerves. Connor seems happy to show his clothes off, but...? Hank can’t help but feel a little greedy.

Whatever. Connor’s coming back out so Hank stands up, hand on his chin. Appraising.]

Well, look at you, Con. I like the — [everything? How does he say that without sounding weird?] — the whole ensemble you’ve got going there.

[Yeah, that works.]

[Connor looks down at himself and then back up at Hank at the use of the word 'ensemble.']

I like the sneakers most.

[Very different from his 'work' shoes.]

They look nice on you.

[Hank steps back to get a good look. Arms crossed as he nods.]

They comfortable, and all that?

Very comfortable.

[Connor bobs on his feet, smiling over at Hank.]

Seem pretty happy there, Con.

[Which is what Hank has wanted: Connor safe and happy and thriving. As much as he can here, anyway.

Hank wonders about the whole friendship angle — has he been making friends? Getting along with people? — but Connor seems goddamn elated.

And Hank doesn’t want to fuck that up.]

Glad to see you’re working through that list of yours.

[What else was on it? Something about sheets?]

You pick up any bedsheets while you were out getting new clothes?

[The wild thing is that Connor is really happy, which is something he never even contemplated before deviating. It wasn't something that crossed his mind as a possibility. Now that he is deeply happy? He never wants to let this feeling go.

At the question of bedsheets, Connor nods, albeit sheepishly.] I did. But I had to study your bed to see how they fit.

[Connor went into your room, big guy.]

You had to study my bed?

[The thought of Connor going all Investigation Mode on his bed is both hilarious and a little horrifying, considering — well. Hank hasn’t had time to really fuck up this new apartment, nor the last, but still. He puts the fitted sheets on, sure, but the blankets are always a tangled mess. And socks: socks get lost in those blankets. Devoured. There are maybe half a dozen empty beer bottles stashed beneath the bed, too. Not that he’s trying to hide them, exactly.]

Shit, I hope you didn’t take too much inspiration from my room.

I made sure to add the half dozen socks between the top sheet and the fitted sheet.

[He's not sure how that helps with sleep, but Connor also... doesn't sleep. He's just trying to at least look the part of human.]

I didn't think the beer bottles were required.

The socks aren’t... aren’t necessary, Connor. Unless you like socks, I guess.

[A little weird, but no shame!!]

Sometimes I just lay down in bed and I’ll get all wrapped up in my blankets, and the socks just come off.

[It would help if Hank made his bed, but he doesn’t. Won’t.

Hank isn’t surprised that Connor found the beer bottles, but it’s still a little embarrassing. He rubs the tip of his nose, looking away.

Focusing back on the socks:] You use your socks or mine for your little project?

Your socks. [Connor looks down at his sneakered feet.] I don't wear socks.

I can return them if you want.

My socks.

[Hank has to blink at that.]

They were at least clean, right?

I assume so. [Maybe? Maybe not? Connor is not a domestic model, he's still learning this stuff.]

Alrys is gone.

[Hank’s following Aurora’s announcement and all, but still he’s gotta ask:]

GONE gone, right? Like dead? Really dead?

[Connor is climbing the steps of the apartment building two at a time.]

Gone gone.

Jesus, Connor.

Feels weird to say, but thank fucking god.

[Hank is getting up off the couch. Pacing around the apartment before he texts:]

Where are you? Are you safe?

[Connor is at the apartment door when Hank texts him back and Connor fits the key into the lock before pushing the door open. Seeing Hank there, remember how he held a pistol to Hank's head after stealing it from Max-- it's too much on top of everything else. His emotions are running wild after the news and he surges into the apartment to curl his arms around Hank in a tight hug.]

Hey. Hey.

[Connor beats him to the punch, and all Hank has to do now is return the hug. For a moment, though, he hesitates. Remembering how when Connor first got here, it hurt: touch. Hank hurt him.

But Connor’s okay. He’s real and alive and he’s here.]

I’ve got you, yeah? [Hank pats his head, holding Connor against him.] I’ve got you.

[Connor couldn't cry or, rather, he didn't know how to. He'd seen others do it in his time as a detective, but he'd never seen another android cry, not even Carlos Ortiz's poor android. Not even after being beaten and attempting destruction did it cry. Perhaps they did not have the proper machinery to release tears, perhaps crying was an error in their programming.

So Connor doesn't cry, but there is an ache deep inside him that has no name.

He buries his face in Hank's shoulder, breathing in shelter and safety and everything he never truly felt until this news. Never again would Alrys put her fingers into his mind and twist and pull until she wired him exactly as she wanted.

He was safe.]

I’ve —

[Does Hank need to say it again? Does it help at all?

It feels nice to hold Connor like this. Warm. Homey. Not that Hank wants Connor to feel this distressed on the regular, but it feels right. That it’s Hank he’s coming home to; Hank he wraps his arms around.

The person who hurt Connor is finally gone. Hank wishes he could’ve been there to see it, but deep down he knows it’s for the best he had to stay behind. How could he have kept his cool while facing down the person who hurt Connor so badly?]

You just let me know what you need, Connor. Whether that’s words or space or a goddamn hug, or — whatever you need. I’m here.

[Connor has no idea what he needs, outside of continuing to hold Hank. Of course, Hank doesn't need to do anything either, but even if Connor knew, he has no words for perhaps the first time in his short life.]

I don't know.

[He murmurs it into Hank's shoulder as his hug does not decrease in tightness in the slightest. Perhaps simply knowing that Alrys is gone would be enough.

Or maybe it's holding Hank here and now, knowing she can never use Connor to hurt Hank again.]

That’s okay.

[He smiles against the side of Connor’s head. Both happy and a little sad.

Hank wishes Connor didn’t have to feel this scared, but he can’t take that away. Hank just needs to be here. Treat Connor well. Stop putting his foot in his mouth and fucking everything up. Seek that goddamn smile, always.]

Don’t gotta say anything. [Raising his palm to Connor’s back; rubbing up and down, softly.]

[Connor wasn't sure how one might improve a hug, but there Hank goes. Hank rubs his hand down Connor's back and something in his systems registers the comfort. Something else quiets and Connor actually powers down. Just a quiet little nap there in Hank's arms.

Just a casual hundred plus pounds of android going completely boneless in Hank's arms.]

[Hank is enjoying the hug. He wonders, idly, if that might be a little wrong of him — when Connor goes boneless in his arms.]

Connor? [He sags a bit beneath his weight, knees dipping. Startled.] Connor?

[Trying to raise him up enough to look at his face and he’s just out. Of course Hank is going to freak out. What the hell is he supposed to do here? Is there some kind of reset button?

Hank is muttering “fuck” over and over as he eases Connor onto the couch. Sitting beside him now, hand cupping his face.

Sumo, too, comes to nose at Connor’s legs.]

[Connor is out cold, his breathing steady as Hank eases him onto the couch. His head drops to the side and he snoozes for about five minutes before he rouses, blinking sleepily up at Hank.]

Hank, what's wrong?

[Nevermind that the last thing he remembers is being upright.]

Jesus fucking Christ. I thought you were...

[Hank brushes Connor’s cheek with his thumb before pulling his hand away.]

Just scared me, Connor. You were out like a light for a while there.

[And this guy has the gall to look all sleepy like that. Innocent, somehow. Trusting, maybe: for Hank to keep him safe.

Hank clears his throat and gives Sumo’s head a pat.]

Oh.

[That's it. Connor is trying to figure out why he would power down like that, but maybe it's a new 'feature' of being a deviant.

Give him a moment as he wipes at his eyes unnecessarily. Then it clicks.]

It may have happened because I felt safe. I haven't been sleeping since the I wasn't selected for the Solmara mission.

[Not that he needs sleep specifically, but he needs to rest and rejuvenate every now and then to keep circuits from crossing.]

Did you... want to go?

[Gaze flitting back to Connor’s:] I didn’t want you to. Especially not without me. If they would’ve sent you without me... it wouldn’t have been pretty.

[Not that Hank cares much about what other people think of him, not when it comes to keeping Connor safe. But he would’ve escaped that goddamn camp, or at least tried. Hollering and screaming.]

[Connor considers for a moment before nodding.]

I wanted to make sure no one else got hurt.

[And if that meant he got destroyed again, then fine. Well, perhaps not fine, not for Hank.]

I wanted to hurt Alrys. [He remembers all the android murders they investigated and frowns at himself.]

Edited (tenses) 2025-06-03 00:27 (UTC)

I wanted to hurt that fucker, too. Although you — you deserved that chance. More than me.

But I didn’t want you to risk yourself. So while I get it — [Hank’s shoulders slump as he sighs] — I dunno. Is it fucked up to say I’m glad that you didn’t go?

Alrys is gone. Suppose that’s what matters. And I hope you can... y’know. Rest easier.

[Connor tries to find the words to express how he's feeling. He takes time to sit up in the mean time.]

I wanted to hurt her myself. I wanted to make sure she could never reprogram me again.

[His mind flashes to that moment again: his fingers curled around the trigger of a pistol, looking down the barrel at Hank.

Never again.]

I wanted to make her suffer.

I know, Connor.

[Hank’s voice is calm, although he is... concerned. But he’ll always worry about Connor, won’t he? Alrys or no.]

I wanted to hurt her, too. For what she did to you. For what she made you do. I — just. Fuck. [Clenching his fists in his lap.] Listen to me, Connor. Listen.

[Raising both hands to set one on each of Connor’s shoulders now.]

[Connor is concerned, too. He's never felt any of these cornucopia of feelings, most of which are positive, but the insidious darkness sneaking in makes him a bit sick to his stomach. What if he felt this way about others in Etraya?

He blinks at Hank and nods. He's listening.]

I don’t want you to end up like me.

[He squeezes Connor’s shoulders.]

And I know. I get it. I do. I hate that you got hurt. I hate it. Wanted to hurt Alrys for you, too. For me. For us.

But I don’t want you to focus on the hate in you, Connor. I want you to focus on Sumo and me. Your home, your friends. Those paintings you do, yeah? Your nice new clothes.

Not saying to let go of all that hate in you, ‘cause I know it’s hard if not downright fucking impossible, but I just — I want better for you, Connor.

[Connor listens, eyes focused on Hank as he talks. He's not quite sure how to let go of his hate for Alrys, of the borderline glee for learning of her death. He understands that Hank wants better for him, but how does he get there?]

How do I do that?

It’s gonna be different for everyone. For me, I, y’know — [taking his hands from Connor’s shoulders now] — I met you.

But you’re real special, and it’s not like we can just ask Aurora-Echo-whoever to plop down someone as good as you, anyway. What I want for you is to be open: to ideas, conversation, people.

Don’t — [very “do as I say, not as I do” here] — keep shit inside. Let love in, Connor.

[A pause, and then:] I like it when you paint. When you had all those new clothes. I like it when you smile. What I’m saying is to focus on those sorts of things. I don’t want anger to define you, Connor. You’re too... y’know.

Edited 2025-06-03 01:58 (UTC)

[A small smile quirks the corner of Connor's mouth as Hank mentions him. He watches Hank and nods in a couple places. He also enjoys painting and wearing new clothes and cooking and all those new experiences. He supposes he didn't realize he had this other part of him that wanted to hurt others.

He pauses to consider Hank's words before nodding.]

I enjoy painting.

I know you do. Makes me real happy to see your stuff, Connor. We can cover the walls, yeah? And then... Well. Suppose we’ll figure that out once we get there.

[Maybe some people in Etraya might want some paintings, if Connor might be willing to give any up.]

[Connor smiles back at Hank and nods.] We'll cover the walls.

[It sounds easy, like he simply continues painting and life goes on.]

I found your bracelet.

Oh yeah? Looking forward to it, Connor.

You end up making a bunch?

No, just you.

Why just me?

[ Not judging. Just curious. ]

‘Cause you missed me?

Actually, yes. That's precisely the reason.

You don’t gotta miss me, Connor. I’m right here.

But I missed you, too. If you hadn’t jumped through that damn cabin window… hell, maybe I would’ve eventually.

You are now, yes.

I would not expect you to climb through the window.

Well, damn. Don’t trust me to break into a cabin? For you?

I didn’t expect you to do that either, exactly. Although in retrospect I guess I should’ve. Based on past experience, and all.

I surprised myself as well. The compulsion was more overwhelming than I expected.

[ And this compulsion is just aimed at Hank, from what he understands. Which makes sense: they’ve been through a lot together.

But still. ]

If it happens again, we can try to. I dunno. Better prepare.

If we have another bullshit thing like camp, I mean. I’m not leaving on purpose or anything.

[Connor isn't sure what to make of the compulsion either. Some deviants have demonstrated compulsions in their time. Perhaps this is similar.]

I don't seem to have the same compulsion when we share an apartment.

[Or not yet.]

Well, sure. That makes sense. You’re probably used to the apartment, yeah? For better or worse, it’s our home for now.

Camp was something new. Made us both jittery. Even though we knew we’d see each other in the morning.

I’m glad you came to see me, Connor. Real glad.

[ Even if Hank wouldn’t have broken into Connor’s cabin, he would’ve been especially cranky the next day. ]

I suppose that makes sense.

You are? I thought you would be angry with time.

I’m not. Not angry.

Fuck Aurora-Echo-whoever and their rules, anyway.

You wanted to see me. I wanted to see you. Sometime shit gets to be simple. Not often, but sometimes.

[ Even though Hank still doesn’t think he deserves to be on the receiving end of Connor’s attention, it makes sense. What is he supposed to do? Try to subvert that? Even if Hank wanted to, even if he thought that were for the best... what he really wants is for Connor to decide what he wants. Who he wants to be around.

Unless those people are treating him poorly, but Connor and Doctor Asshole seem to be getting on well enough. ]

Not to say that you should go breaking into places just to see me, but I’m glad you did. Those nights in the cabin were... you know. Didn’t sleep well, and all that.

I did. I wanted to see you more than I am capable of expressing.

Are you sleeping better now that we're home?

I wanted to see you, too. Real bad.

Sleeping a little better, yeah.

[ Hank figures he should lie here and say yeah, everything is just peachy. But he also figures that Connor would catch on eventually. He’s managed to avoid raiding the fridge at night, but he’s still rustling around his room at three in the morning. ]

Could be worse.

Has that happened before to you? Wanting to see someone?

Are you sure? Is that Sumo moving around in the middle of the night?

Oh, sure. It’s been a long time, though. Real long time. Until you.

It’s not Sumo, no.

[ Lie, Hank!!!! Lie! But again, he doesn’t. ]

If I may ask, what makes me so special?

So it's you up and moving so early in the morning?

I mean, do you want an essay here? We’ve been through a lot together, and yet you’re still wanting to stick around. Which I don’t really understand, not entirely, but I’m glad.

That’s one thing that makes you real special, Connor. You want to be around me, and I wanna be around you. Can’t say that about most people.

Yeah, yeah. It’s me. Sorry. Wasn’t trying to disturb you. Was trying not to, actually. Can see I fucked that up though.

I want to be around you as often as possible. And I don't think it's the programming.

No, it's fine. I don't need real sleep. I hope that you're alright.

I’m sure it’s not the programming. You’re your own person. Figuring out all the things you like.

[ Even though one of those “things” is Hank. Hmm. ]

It’s sweet of you to be concerned. I’m fine. I’m just. You know.

Sumo kicks when he sleeps on my bed sometimes.

[ No, that’s not it at all. That is a LIE! ]

That's true. I am capable of self-actualization now. Part of that is determining things I do and don't like. Which you've been helping with considerably.

Oh. I could have Sumo in my room if he keeps you awake.

Etraya: Inbox

un: Accelerator | text

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[early january, action]

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un: mason | text

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gasp I never got a notif for this!

No worries!! 💕 It happens

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'like vincent' LMAO

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UN: UNKNOWN | text

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cn: alcoholism mention? sort of

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UN: 313 248 317 - 52

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