acatalepsy_rpg | video | dated at the very end of week one

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video | dated at the very end of week one

[The video opens on a patch of dirt, a leg stretched out along one edge of the screen. Next to the leg a number of very small muddy spots map out a connect-the-dots picture that more creative minds - or just anyone who's ever been a bored teenager - might recognize as a sort-of accurate depiction of one particular x-rated body part. A voice, cracking and hoarse like it has to drag itself over gravel to get its words out, starts speaking immediately.]

Hey, you know what makes me-

[His coughing is harsh and wet but it's only a few seconds before it stops. Hank mutters a curse under his breath, just audible, and hacks up a loogie, spitting it so it lands just so off the end of the art in the dirt next to him. The dirt there goes wet and dark, and with this artistic rendering of a drop of splooge, his masterpiece is complete. When he leans back the camera's in a different position; in the opposite corner from the dirt the screen shows the massive head of a Saint Bernard, taking up a good part of the screen and the majority of Hank's lap.]

You know what makes me feel better when I'm feeling like shit? Bitching about it. Let's bitch, guys. Tell me how shitty you've got it right now. It's not like anyone's got anything else to do here, right? I mean, not unless someone can get this big furry boulder to unglue itself from my lap. I'd have something to do if he'd just play. Look, watch this, it's pathetic.

Hey, Sumo. Fetch.

[Anyone with motion sickness might want to look away; the screen jerks around wildly as the arm with the camera on it moves to grab a rock and hold it in the air like Hank's going to throw it. Then the screen goes still again as Hank has to lean forward to cough, his dog's big, placid face now taking up the whole view. Sumo gives a single low whuff, lifts his head, and apparently settles himself right over the camera because the screen goes dark. There's the muffled sound of Hank cursing, trying to say Sumo's name between coughs, and then nothing as Hank manages to work his other hand under Sumo's jaw and shut the recording off.]

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Oh my god.

[Maybe someone who's throat's feeling like his shouldn't be wasting words talking to himself; Hank does it anyway. It just kind of comes out of him. He looks in the screen to make sure, looking disbelieving, that this is who it is, then leans his head back, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. When he goes on his voice is quiet and exasperated and very tired.]

Connor, just- not right now, okay? Whatever this is. Just don't do it right now. Save it for if I actually start feeling better, maybe I can handle you then. But till then, unless you got somethin to bitch about you can just wander off, okay?

[Hank frowns at the camera. He stops short of making a shooing motion but only cause he's a nice guy, and probably because he is (unfortunately) more sober this time than he was when he saw Connor last.]

[A moment passes with Connor unable to reply to that. Perhaps it’s a moment in where he’s trying to garner as much as he can from Hank’s body language, his words, from an actual live feed between the two. Hard to say, but his LED moves in circles at his temple, before he opens his mouth and offers more advice.

There’s something carefully schooled about his tone, maybe even more than the last they spoke. Hank being more sober this time is something he’s thankful for, as well as potentially works to his advantage. Perhaps the man wouldn’t be so stubborn, or simply too tired from feeling unwell to put up very much resistance.]

I’m only telling you what I would be telling anyone else.

[No special treatment from Connor here, is the implication. (Yeah. Right.)]

Is there anything I can do to facilitate you feeling better? If you still feel inclined to sit outside, I mean. Maybe bring you something for your throat?

[When Connor says that’s what he’d tell anyone else Hank gives a little ‘huh’ and keeps frowning, taking a second after Connor finishes. As usual all the seconds in the world aren’t going to help him figure Connor out but the idea that he’s not so much latched onto Hank as he is programmed to just be too helpful to everyone eases the exasperation out of Hank’s tone.]

Uh- I guess, uh...

[He does sound plenty reluctant, though, heaving a crackling sigh and then regretting it, but once the coughing’s stopped and he’s got his breath back he says it anyway.]

You guys are, uh, stronger than people, right? You think you could pick Sumo up? My legs are going numb.

Got it.

[The acceptance of that request holds no such hesitation as before, Connor’s eagerness to aid his friend shining through any front he had put up regarding distanced formality. A step in the right direction. Maybe removing Sumo from being permanently attached to Hank would open the door to being less reluctant to accept further aid.]

I’ll be there soon.

[He knows exactly where Hank is based on surroundings alone — a true to his word, Connor appears minutes later, approaching where Hank sits on the ground.]

Lieutenant.

[A beat, and a glance down at the Saint Bernard.]

...And Sumo. Hello.

Uh. Hey.

[Sumo lifts his head to look at Connor, then drops it back onto his paws. Hank watches him and then watches Connor, feeling distinctly awkward. He’s only thought of Connor for the past week in vaguely disturbed passing thoughts and it’s weird to see him in person, especially while Hank’s too sober to pass Connor off as just another part of the dream he’s still pretty sure this place is. Talking to people he didn’t know before, whatever, but seeing something he associates with Detroit right here in front of him makes his surroundings feel even more bizarre and unreal.

Or maybe that’s the fever. Hank runs a hand through his hair, his palm wiping over the sweat starting to gather on his forehead, and he tries really hard to think of something to say. You have to be nice to someone you just asked to help you. Hank doesn’t always stick with that rule, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.]

Thanks. He uh, he likes to pin me like this when I’m sick. Think he’s trying to sweat this fucking fever out.

[Connor can’t stop the way his eyes track over every detail visible to him, concerning Hank’s state — it’s the best he can do, relying on observation alone, with his scans so unduly disabled. The sweat glistening on his forehead is noted, the nature of his voice, having been roughened with a persistent cough, even more so.

He decides how to approach this, LED flickering. Wanting to aid Hank, but he thinks he can translate what he feels in the air into awkwardness. It’s probably strange seeing him again after a week; it almost registers as strange for Connor, as if their first encounter was an anomaly, a sight from home in an otherwise odd place.

But he doesn’t say that much. Only decides to take a step nearer, then crouches down, beckoning Sumo to come to him with hand motions urging him forward.]

Come here, Sumo. Come here.

[Sumo lifts his head again and seems to stare at Connor for a few seconds before his tail wags a couple times. He doesn’t get up but he doesn’t settle down again either, just keeps staring at Connor waiting for that open hand to have something interesting in it.]

You programmed to be a dog whisperer too? [Hank drops his head back against the wall. His voice is starting to sound like it did when he was a teen, with all cracking it’s doing, and he clears his throat a couple times, carefully, before he continues.] This is gonna take a while.

I have him interested.

[-comes the retort rather quickly, born of equal parts stubbornness and the fact that Connor believes that he can get Sumo to say hello to him without any sort of bribe -- like, say, food.

Connor's eyes don't even lift from the dog to Hank. He offers the canine a big smile, as if it'll help.]

Isn't that right, Sumo? Come here.

[Sumo's tail thumps the ground again and this time he gives a short bark with it. Hank rolls his head against the wall, wanting to watch and trying to lift it as little as possible to do it.]

Yeah, sure do. Takes a lot more than interest to get this big guy moving, though.

[Hank's not really impressed with Connor's efforts, at this point. If his tone's harder to read with his throat like it is, it shows pretty clearly in his face.]

[Come on, Sumo, work with him here.

Connor refuses to deflate, refuses to give up. Also refuses to immediately fall on the last resort of having to go over and pick up Sumo off of Hank just yet, preferring instead to garner the dog's good will before forcibly moving the big lug around.]

Are you hungry? [-he says, ignoring Hank's obviously unimpressed look.] Want to find something to eat in the kitchen? Want food?

[(So much for not bribing him.) A lilt added to his voice, the way one does when talking to a dog.]

[Sumo lifts one paw and then the other, shifting around like he's getting ready to rise, but doesn't go much further than lifting his front half up a little. His stare is steady and constant; he's been promised food, and he is ready to receive it.]

Shit, Sumo, I think that was the f-word. You might have to chase Connor down, make sure it- [Hank's voice falters, and he clears his throat. It only helps so much and his voice comes out sounding a little worse, breathy and quieter.] -make sure it follows up on that. Search those pockets.

[His eyes do move over to Hank’s face this time, the sound of his voice not getting any better even through all the heckling. Connor assesses the moment, looking at Sumo, still crouched.

Then he stands, walking nearer, deciding that even if Sumo won’t willingly draw close, maybe it’s a goal for next time. Best to expedite the process for Hank’s sake, and it’s not as if he’s giving up — he’s still accomplishing the task set before him as he bends down-]

All right. Going to pick you up, then.

[-and gently has to...basically wrap his arms around his big furry body to (hopefully) heft him up so that Hank can scoot out. As long as the dog allows it.

His actuators still strain a little, though. He might be stronger than a human, but it’s only slightly stronger. He wasn’t a model made for manual labor.]

Edited 2018-09-09 21:32 (UTC)

[Hank makes the effort to scoot himself a couple feet sideways, taking a moment to clear his throat again and then take a slow breath. Sumo, for his part, doesn't fight Connor, because it takes even more to get Sumo to put up a fight than it does to convince him to move. He just looks up with a short, confused whine, trying to see Connor's face.]

Thanks. God, I always forget how hot he gets until he wants to cuddle.

[Hank plants his palms on the ground but doesn't get up, trying again to clear his throat. He'd have to cough to really get this shit out, he knows that, but that's got so fucking old already and he is this close to losing his voice for at least a little bit.]

Finally decided Sumo wasn't gonna come, huh?

Edited (remembered something else i wanted hank to say oops) 2018-09-09 22:06 (UTC)

[As soon as Hank is free, he gently puts Sumo back down on the ground— not that Connor had lifted him up very far to begin with.

He then straightens, vaguely satisfied, hands coming up briefly to adjust his tie. He look at Hank, nodding slightly.]

Well. Maybe I underestimated how much he’s concerned for you, versus his interest in anything else.

[Connor then offers Hank a hand up, without any sort of real warning.]

Though I have a suspicion that if you continue to sit there, he’s just going to do the same.

Yeah, you're probably right.

[He is right; Sumo's looking at him, and Hank knows that look. Sumo walking toward him cuts off Hank's 'frown at Connor's hand' time so he stops frowning and just takes it, his grip tightening despite him as the cough that's been threatening takes the excuse to try and come out. As soon as Hank's far up enough that he can let go without being weird about it, though, he does, leaning against the wall and kind of curling up against it as he just gives in and lets the damn cough come out. Some seconds later he takes a couple thick breaths, a few follow up coughs, and spits onto the ground, muttering to himself after. For a second he lets a whine into his voice, just for a second, because motherfuck.]

Ugh, shit...

[Then he takes a real breath, since he finally can. Time to enjoy that for the, like, minute that he has it.]

He's uh... He's just a creature of habit, that's all. Old guy, used to things, uh... things a certain way. We do this whenever I uh, have to call out of work cause of stuff like this. Tried to get him to play... wouldn't have it.

[Time to straighten up the rest of the way. He can do it. Okay, shit, here he is, upright and everything. Wonderful]

[Not surprising that Hank detaches himself as soon as he's able. And quick how Connor's face forms a frown at Hank's display of coughing, this time seeming even worse than before; nothing he can do right now, other than let the fit pass, which makes him register in his coding what he dislikes the most -- an awareness of being useless.

His LED erratically flashes a time or two, and when he's given a chance to reply, he sounds almost ingratiating -- as if he really would like Hank's cooperation on the following.]

Then I think what will make him feel better is when you start feeling better, too. It only makes sense, right?

[A beat, then:]

Follow me to the kitchen and I can prepare something to soothe your throat. I've been doing so for many people in the last few days.

[That ingratiating tone is not a good one. That tone makes Hank grimace at Connor, doubtful and openly suspicious. It feels like it takes him a long time to decide what he wants to do about that, the little offer there, because on the one hand here's an android trying (again!) to slide into his life and do shit for him. Maybe. If he's doing this shit for everyone it feels less like a personal violation but it's still a... A weird, uncomfortable thing, just on a wider scale.

On the other hand, his throat is screaming. He tries to swallow, grimaces, sighs, and manages to stop the cough that starts to come out.

Several seconds of weighing these two, equally heavy hands doesn't help him decide anything, so he doesn't move.]

What, they program you to be a nurse, too? You got a manual, '101 neat tricks to do with needles'?

No. Not particularly.

[He's definitely not as qualified as a caretaker android, nor one created to assist with various medical facilities. But-]

But a large part of my programming centers on adapting and learning. Especially when something becomes a necessity.

[Connor, on the other hand, is not willing to let heavy silence settle between them. He continues.]

Besides, Lieutenant, it's just something as simple as tea. That doesn't exactly require a detailed set of instructions to make.

Think this's gone a little way past what tea's gonna solve.

[Hank grimaces, still leaning on the wall, leaning away from Connor, very slightly. But he wants to be wrong, at least about this. The hope on his face while he watches Connor probably makes that clear. But tea's not going to help, definitely not enough to make it worth letting Connor act like it wants to help him, like it's not acting on some quirk of android programming that makes it want to make itself useful.]

I mean, unless it's magic tea.

[The hope on his face has leaked into his voice, here. He's really not writing that option off; please let it be magic tea. He'd pretend he never heard about any of this android shit just for one day if something Connor can do would just make him feel better.]

[He can't help the way the lift of his brow raises by small degrees, but he can try to edge the exasperation out of his tone. Schooling it to something more middle-of-the-road, easily achieved for an RK800.]

No. Unfortunately, it's just chamomile.

[Nothing magical about this tea, at least. There would be a lot less sick people wandering around if it was.]

It won't cure you, but it'll soothe your throat. Potentially ease the cough. Even if it's just a temporary reprieve, isn't it better than nothing?

[Hank laughs. The only thing that stops it sounding like another cough is that it's quieter and he locks his jaw shut afterward, swallowing the real coughs that followed it up back down his throat until they go away. Laughing is, yeah, probably not a good idea, but fuck, that was funny, in an unfunny kind of way.]

You know, I'm not sure.

[HIs voice sounded a little lost just there, and honest. But only for a second.]

Why do you care how well us little humans work, anyway? Is it a... I don't know, a mechanical thing? You see a broken part, you wanna fix it?

[The little double meaning behind that reply is something he's uncertain about. Prone to making his frown deepen, at least, listening to a hint of something sincere in those very few words. But just like that, they're gone, right when Connor considers subtly encouraging him further.

Instead, he's met with a question of why, and he finds that he needs to be careful with his response if he wants Hank's cooperation. Skirting the line between truth and convenient truth.]

Not at all. But... what good are we to each other, when a majority of our group is sick? And what am I to do with my time, other than to facilitate everyone's wellness? This is what I've chosen to do, because it's the most beneficial in the end.

Yeah.

[Hank closes his eyes, pressing the heel of a hand against his temple because it kind of helps the pressure in his head, just for a second, and stops himself before he sighs. What do you know, old dogs can learn, or some shit - at least, when their body punishes them every time they do it.]

Kinda is what I said though, isn't it? Just on a larger scale. Efficiency. That kind of makes sense.

Fuck it. Yeah. Let's go make me some tea.

[He takes a step away from the wall for the first time in probably hours, stands there cautiously and, hey, actually keeps standing there on his own power! It's the little things in life.]

That's the most effective way to do it, though? Like, really? Tea?

[There is pointedly no remark regarding efficiency. Connor doesn't want to risk a reply undoing his once-friend's compliance.]

It's quick. Simple. And even if its efficacy is temporary, it's soothing. Which is a benefit to itself, when rest is so important.

[RESTING. IN BED, HANK.

Connor makes a little motion with his hand, indicating for Hank (and Sumo, too, if he likes) to follow. He'll glance back a second or two later, though, to make sure Hank's not toppling over.]

But if you have another suggestion, I'm willing to listen.

Chloroform.

[Hank follows, reaching down to pet Sumo as he goes. It kind of helps, and kind of gives him a point of balance, not that he really needs one. Walking sucks because right now everything sucks, everything is slow and takes way too much work, but he can do it.]

You think helping the group might not be the 'most beneficial option'? Let all the humans drop, any bots left'll be the most effective game in town.

[He wonders, for a second, why he said that, why he's needling someone like this who's just trying to help him. But he's not doing it to needle Connor; he's doing it for himself. So that's fine.]

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