Etraya: Inbox

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

TEXT • VOICE • VIDEO • ACTION
USERNAME: HANK

Hank here. I probably don’t give a rat’s ass what you have to say. Leave me alone. How the hell do I get this damn thing to stop rec — [BEEP]

Comments

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

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.]

[instabilitatem]

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

Did it work?

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

[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?

[instabilitatem]

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

They are still very elementary.

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

Doesn’t have to be perfect, you know.

You getting shy on me, Connor?

[instabilitatem]

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.]

PLEaSE that’s adorable 😭🙏

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

[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...?]

cue connor crying in the corner ! !

[instabilitatem]

[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.

nOOO CONNOR!! WEEPS

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

...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?

[instabilitatem]

[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.

CN: Cole grief again ! !

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

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.

[instabilitatem]

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.]

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

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.]

[instabilitatem]

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

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

[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.]

[instabilitatem]

[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.]

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

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.

[instabilitatem]

[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.]

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

[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!!!]

[instabilitatem]

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

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

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.]

[instabilitatem]

I did nothing to cause the destruction of the trolley.

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

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

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.]

[instabilitatem]

[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.

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

[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.]