GOTTA CATCH (EM) ALL

[hobocop]

WHO: Harry Du Bois | OTA | Plus some closed stuff
WHAT: I MEAN, a bunch of stuff. Consider this a catch-all
WHERE: Aaaall across Dualis
WHEN: Feb, possibly stretching into March
WARNINGS: The usual stuff with Harry, so alcoholism for sure, but will add as needed!

[Some open top levels will be thrown within sometime this weekend! love u, bye xoxox]

Comments

Rooftop refuge | OTA

[hobocop]

[Ever since the island, Harry's been having that dream again — the one everyone warned him about. That one. It's not every night and it isn't the same every time, either, but it's clear now it's not a simple case of drowning it away. He's stuck revisiting that loop again and again, a skipping record with half the details still missing, and he has to learn to live with it.

And most days, he does. He wakes up seven thirty sharp (as he always does) and he drags himself out of those sweat-soaked sheets. The infernal engine roars on.

Only this time, it's not seven thirty. This time, it's barely morning. And rather than the bathroom, or the kitchen, he finds himself padding out of his room and making the slow ascent to the roof. The option is actually there now that the wound on his leg could be classified as a bullet scar, instead.

He takes a long drag from his cigarette and sets his elbow against the edge of the balcony, shoulders drooping downwards like the rest of his rapidly aging visage. He had the decency to drag a pair of pants on, and the coat wrapped around his torso is stopping the wind biting too badly, but... well, it's bracing up here, if nothing else. He can see the scope of the city.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — The Night Canvas, sprawling.

God, but he can be a pretentious prick.

PERCEPTION — Footsteps. A faint rattle and a click.

Harry rubs the back of his head, glancing over towards the door. He stares for a moment, before giving something between a wave and a salute.]

Don't mind me.

[Reaching into his coat pocket for a moment, he finds the crumpled cigarette packet he'd only just set back there. He holds it out. Rucks his eyebrows up while a white cloud of smoke disappears into his mouth.]

[notalive]

[Connor wasn't coming out onto the roof, he was about to go back inside. And not from having been stood out here - he's just climbed up, having jumped onto the side of the building from a tree and scrambled his way up.

He makes his own fun.

If not for the greeting, he might have ignored Harry, figuring the guy didn't come up here looking to be social - but, now that he's got an excuse to speak, he lets the door drift shut and comes over.

He's dressed for exercise out in the cold - beanie, thick track pants, a hoodie - but he's clearly not affected by it at all. He might as well be out here in the middle of summer.]

Didn't mean to disturb you.

Aren't you cold?

[hobocop]

[A grunt and a quick, dismissive wave — you're not disturbing me — before he re-pockets the Astras and draws that coat a little tighter. One hand is hooked at the inside of an elbow, arms forming a kind of L shape. The cigarette hovers by his mouth.]

Getting there.

[He says it with a grin that's just the right side of wry.]

I didn't realize you were up here.

[Not that it's a tiny roof - it's not hard to fade into the background in the dead of night - but he still feels like he missed a trick.]

We, uh... [He takes another drag as he stares at Connor for a brief moment. There's a flicker of something, then:] We spoke before, right?

[It was doubt. He wants to say it with confidence, but without the glare of the light at Connor's temple, and without... anything more than muddy recollection, he's left turning it into a question.]

[notalive]

I wasn't - I just got here. [He nods over at the side of the building.] Climbed up.

What is it they say? 'Wonders of technology'? [He grins. Last time Harry saw him, he was barely walking around on crutches. His miraculous recovery isn't really a technological miracle - just a plain old miracle by any metric - but being able to scale a building is an impressive feat even if you didn't get shot clean through the leg a mere couple months ago.

He steps up next to Harry, folding his arms in unconscious sympathy; it'd have to be a solid 30 degrees colder before Connor would start having trouble. Celcius.]

We did. You were pretty drunk. [He's not judging - and he pulls up his beanie and indicates his temple. Bare.] But I had an LED light here last time you saw me. And crutches.

[And he didn't have the small diamond ring on his left hand last time either.]

[hobocop]

No kidding. [He peers over the edge of the roof. A tiny smile pulls at one edge of his mouth, and he suddenly finds himself thinking of Tiago.] Like a spider. Pretty sure if I tried the same, I'd be a smear on the street right about — [he uses the end of his cigarette to point down to a strip of pavement lit by a lamp far below them] — there.

[And he doesn't doubt him, either. Not after having seen what people like Drifter and Arkady can do. It does kind of put a dampener on his own recovery efforts though. A bit of light jogging and the ability to climb a few flights of stairs without bleeding through his pants? Apparently not all that impressive!

With the drunk comment, Harry's smile winces into something rueful. As if to mask it, he takes a long, slow pull, eyes only flicking across at the mention of the LED.

And what do you know: Connor's telling the truth. Harry's neck twists more, body leaning as he turns enough to get a proper look at that now clear spot. It must be a mind-fuck, based on the way he stares dumbly for a moment, lips pressing together.]

Just like that. [A soft huff.] Shit, man. I wouldn't even know you were— [He seems to catch himself before he can say something overtly stupid. Only, his mouth is still hanging open, and now there are creases lining his forehead.

He clears his throat.]

Hey, listen... [He takes a deep breath. Then, on the exhale:] Sorry if I, uh... I don't know. If I said or did anything I shouldn't have said or done, you know? [A beat.] Before. When I was drunk.

[He doesn't remember anything particularly devastating, but there's a point where the memory just cuts off, and from what he knows of his own history, it's probably better to get the apology in now.]

[notalive]

[Connor grins crookedly.] You wouldn't be stupid enough to try. I'm made of plastic and metal, I can do stupid things without worrying too much about it.

[Fun things are often a bit stupid. He's OK with it.]

Don't worry, I don't think you did. You were a friendly drunk. [Connor's difficult to offend at the best of times, so even if Harry was a belligerent drunk, it would have mostly washed over Connor.] And you're right, I was built to look exactly like a human. I was a prototype, so my designers went all out.

They still put the LED on me, so it was made so they could take it off if they needed me to look like I was organic.

[He's aware of how terrible the way he was treated is, but also sometimes not entirely aware of the emotional response other people will have to it. So he just puts it all out there.]