bootyshortsforoldmen | Etraya: Inbox

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?

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cn: mention of Cole’s death

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