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

[instabilitatem]

[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.

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

[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.

cn: vomiting

[instabilitatem]

[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.]

cn: vomiting

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

[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.

cn: vomiting/blood

[instabilitatem]

[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.]

cn: vomiting/blood

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

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?

cn: vomiting/blood

[instabilitatem]

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.]

cn: vomiting/blood

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

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.

Re: cn: vomiting/blood

[instabilitatem]

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.

Re: cn: vomiting/blood

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

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.]

[instabilitatem]

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.

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

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.]

[instabilitatem]

[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?

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

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.

[instabilitatem]

I am meant to execute at a level near perfection.

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

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

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?

[instabilitatem]

[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.

How has it been five days (GASPS) time is unreal

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

(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.

we've been having too much fun in zombieland

[instabilitatem]

[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.