Hank Anderson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sociallychallenged) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dualislogs2020-03-03 11:09 pm
sociallychallenged) wrote in dualislogs2020-03-03 11:09 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
WHO: Hank Anderson | Michael Morbius
WHAT: Trying to jar some sense into Mike
WHERE: Outside of the hospital where he's been staying.
WHEN: Early in the month.
WARNINGS: Hank's mouth. Otherwise, none planned.
Hank remembers the time he met a kid. A teenager or barely twenty, young and defiant. He was a nice guy, and even if Hank continued to confuse his name with 'Storm', he did make an impression. Now he's gone. David. Gone. Heather. Gone. Squall now? Gone.
The last thing Squall did was come in and ask about his missing girl. He never had a chance to finish the case. He hopes that he found her. He hopes that they're together.
Hank had intended to tell Connor where he was going, to ask for support. But he doesn't. Instead, he just leaves during his lunch break, makes a trek across town to the hospital where Morbius lingers now, puts his hands in his pockets and waits for another missing friend.
He ignores most of the patients coming and going. A girl stops and offers him some fundraiser cookies. He takes them and holds the box miserably. This is probably a shit idea. He just has to ask, he just has to be sure that it's okay to... you know...
Just give up.
He taps the box against his hand and purses his lips and waits. He just needs to say one thing to Morbius, make sure of this last question, and then he'll go. And when he sees that familiar not-quite-so grimdark figure leaving, he offers a sad greeting.
"Think I preferred the Nine Inch Nails look. Here. I got you a peace offering." He holds out his unplanned gift.
WHAT: Trying to jar some sense into Mike
WHERE: Outside of the hospital where he's been staying.
WHEN: Early in the month.
WARNINGS: Hank's mouth. Otherwise, none planned.
Hank remembers the time he met a kid. A teenager or barely twenty, young and defiant. He was a nice guy, and even if Hank continued to confuse his name with 'Storm', he did make an impression. Now he's gone. David. Gone. Heather. Gone. Squall now? Gone.
The last thing Squall did was come in and ask about his missing girl. He never had a chance to finish the case. He hopes that he found her. He hopes that they're together.
Hank had intended to tell Connor where he was going, to ask for support. But he doesn't. Instead, he just leaves during his lunch break, makes a trek across town to the hospital where Morbius lingers now, puts his hands in his pockets and waits for another missing friend.
He ignores most of the patients coming and going. A girl stops and offers him some fundraiser cookies. He takes them and holds the box miserably. This is probably a shit idea. He just has to ask, he just has to be sure that it's okay to... you know...
Just give up.
He taps the box against his hand and purses his lips and waits. He just needs to say one thing to Morbius, make sure of this last question, and then he'll go. And when he sees that familiar not-quite-so grimdark figure leaving, he offers a sad greeting.
"Think I preferred the Nine Inch Nails look. Here. I got you a peace offering." He holds out his unplanned gift.
no subject
What was the past? Who cared?
All that mattered was keeping the big wigs happy and keeping himself high in power.
He was making his way out of the hospital, stopping at the sound of the voice. He arched a brow above one of those glowing eyes. "Nine inch nails?" It was buried in there somewhere, a comeback that he wouldn't dare say but something in him found it curious. He blinked again taking the box. "....Thin Mints? Why, Mr. Anderson, what a thoughtful offering, but I didnt know we needed a peace offering."
no subject
It bothers him. That some crucial parts are taken away, bits including bands that rage against authority or call out bad behavior and complacency. It's not surprising, but seeing the vague shreds of a friendship, the rotting corpse of it right in front of him? Is too much. He's an idiot. He should have thought this through.
"Nah. Just thought you could use 'em. I uh..." He sticks his hands in pockets, trying to consider something. Oh. Right.
"I uh... I was thinking of asking Connor to uh... But I'm not sure of how much you remember so maybe you're not the best person to come to for advice. Just in case you do, though?"
He draws his hand out, extends it with fingers clasped, ready to drop an object into Morbius's hand. A little dramatic after fucking cookies. The man's former engagement ring.
no subject
"...I do enjoy Mint." He always had, he looked at Hank confused as if trying to figure out something. The programing was strong, but Michael was such a damn medical mystery that he rarely made sense.
Michael caught the ring, scrunching his nose some the way he used to when being annoyed, but as he held the ring he sat the cookies aside, both clawed hands going on it.
"...Martine."
He spoke the name as images flashed his mind. Moving a clawed hand up to his head as he clucthed it in the other. The sounds of her screams when she died protecting him... the look on her face when she had lost her emotions.... the pain she put him though, the love that still burned. "...Martine." he repeated almost as if something was broken.
no subject
"Probably should uh... think about it when you're not standing in front of the hospital." Where people can see and whisk him away and try to reinforce that programming. But it's nice, though, to see a glimmer of the man who was his friend. If only for a second, in a broken motion, in visible heartache.
"You never told me much about her, but I thought you'd need at least that."