the head | the hand (
headandhand) wrote in
dualislogs2019-08-15 09:17 pm
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Entry tags:
- !event,
- dc comics: cissie king-jones,
- dc comics: jason todd,
- dc comics: stephanie brown,
- dc comics: tim drake-wayne,
- detroit: become human: connor,
- detroit: become human: hank anderson,
- ff7: cloud strife,
- ff8: nida nomura,
- ff8: rinoa heartilly,
- ff8: seifer almasy,
- ff8: squall leonhart,
- kingdom hearts: aqua,
- kingdom hearts: ventus,
- marvel comics: david alleyne,
- marvel comics: michael morbius,
- mcu: clint barton,
- mcu: wanda maximoff,
- mcu: yondu udonta,
- npc: the heart,
- silent hill: sharon da silva,
- warhammer 40k: aleifr bjornsson,
- warhammer 40k: mira nero
Midnight, not a sound from the pavement
WHO: All residents of Dualis + special guest stars
WHAT: Strap in, kiddos, it’s a ~memshare~
WHERE: In your head. Or, you know. Everywhere you go to escape that.
WHEN: August 15-24
WARNINGS: Don’t forget these if they’re applicable!
It’s been a few months, Dualis, how are you settling in? New arrivals, we know it’s sudden, but we hope you’re making new friends already and settling in well! You’re all gonna fit in juuuust fine around here.
Things have calmed down after the supposed terrorist attacks during the Dualis Days celebration, and there’s still no news about that strange network broadcast. But maybe that’s for the best, right? See, the Head really does have everything under control.
But speaking of heads…
Over the course of these next few days, yours might be feeling a little funny. Maybe you just aren’t quite feeling like yourself. Or there’s an ache that just won’t quite go away. Or maybe you’re perfectly fine! Which is completely optimal, honestly.
Except--that memory you suddenly have. Is that really yours? And what about those fainting spells that seem to come with premonitions...or are you perhaps remembering something you repressed long ago? You’d probably remember something like this, though, wouldn’t you?
It’s perfectly natural to be concerned. However, if you approach your friendly neighborhood MedBot or clinician, they’re going to be pretty stumped. It appears there's nothing really wrong with you, but hey, here's some mild painkillers if you want them. And if you try and consult the Head, all it’ll be able to do is give you it’s most sincere condolences. It seems that there may have been some complications with the transfer process, but these should definitely wear off soon! In the meantime, why not visit your local clinic for a sedative and some painkillers?
Good luck, denizens. Looks like you’re in for a bumpy week or two...
[[As a reminder, these memory shares can happen at any point in time during the span of the event, not just when your characters are sleeping! You're also welcome to have them experience no side effects at all, all the way up to fainting spells and headaches a la Cordelia circa season 2 of Angel. Feel free to reach out to your friendly neighborhood mods if you have any questions!]]
WHAT: Strap in, kiddos, it’s a ~memshare~
WHERE: In your head. Or, you know. Everywhere you go to escape that.
WHEN: August 15-24
WARNINGS: Don’t forget these if they’re applicable!
It’s been a few months, Dualis, how are you settling in? New arrivals, we know it’s sudden, but we hope you’re making new friends already and settling in well! You’re all gonna fit in juuuust fine around here.
Things have calmed down after the supposed terrorist attacks during the Dualis Days celebration, and there’s still no news about that strange network broadcast. But maybe that’s for the best, right? See, the Head really does have everything under control.
But speaking of heads…
Over the course of these next few days, yours might be feeling a little funny. Maybe you just aren’t quite feeling like yourself. Or there’s an ache that just won’t quite go away. Or maybe you’re perfectly fine! Which is completely optimal, honestly.
Except--that memory you suddenly have. Is that really yours? And what about those fainting spells that seem to come with premonitions...or are you perhaps remembering something you repressed long ago? You’d probably remember something like this, though, wouldn’t you?
It’s perfectly natural to be concerned. However, if you approach your friendly neighborhood MedBot or clinician, they’re going to be pretty stumped. It appears there's nothing really wrong with you, but hey, here's some mild painkillers if you want them. And if you try and consult the Head, all it’ll be able to do is give you it’s most sincere condolences. It seems that there may have been some complications with the transfer process, but these should definitely wear off soon! In the meantime, why not visit your local clinic for a sedative and some painkillers?
Good luck, denizens. Looks like you’re in for a bumpy week or two...
[[As a reminder, these memory shares can happen at any point in time during the span of the event, not just when your characters are sleeping! You're also welcome to have them experience no side effects at all, all the way up to fainting spells and headaches a la Cordelia circa season 2 of Angel. Feel free to reach out to your friendly neighborhood mods if you have any questions!]]
Re: Connor
So just as he sees Connor, just as he's about to check up on him, he's in the middle of raising his hand and glosses over.
It's not for more than a second.
His face goes pale and Hank runs for the bathroom.
He leans over the toilet and wretches, holding to the seat. Nothing comes up, but the nausea from the strength of the headache is overwhelming.
Give him a few moments, then he'll be ready to talk.
no subject
So far he's spent his breaks talking to the other cops - just talking to them, no expectation of them giving him information or advancing a case - and he finds he likes it. And they tell him things about doing this job that he soaks up like a sponge anyway. Even if they're just bitching and not at all useful.
Today, though, most of the bullpen is in a state of extreme fog, Connor among them. There's only enough talking to get people out the damn way of the coffee machine, or to find out what file name some case's info is being stored under because whats-her-name in the evidence room can't use a filing system to save her damn life so who hired her anyway?
He's painstakingly explaining that he's five days into this job and doesn't know the filing system yet and has no cases anyway when Hank walks in. He's still excusing himself, making eye contact with Hank - when even at a distance he can tell something's come over his...no-longer-partner. Colleague.
Friend.
And then he's gone.
Connor follows quickly enough that he's just in time to hear retching from one of the stalls - he silently turns back towards the break room, only to return a moment later with a plastic cup.
"I've got water if you want it."
no subject
"Thanks." He catches his breath, and without getting up out of the floor, takes the water to drink it.
"Saw something from... it was like a fucked-up recording." He breathes heavily in it, waving off the memory. "Someone died. Just fuckin' fell down." Like a ragdoll. And then Hank downs the water, shuts his eyes, and finishes collecting himself.
"It's felt like a hangover all day, but that's the worst it's been." And he knows, knows Connor must be aware of what's going on. "You alright?"
no subject
The first morning they'd got up for work - Connor in his only clothes since he hadn't been into the station at all yet, Hank getting into regular old cop uniform - and none of this had been of any interest to Connor, right up until Hank tied his hair back.
He puts it down to the fact that he's not been around any one human long enough to see them change their hair. Androids can change their hair with a thought - he could change the colour and texture of his own right now if he cared to - but in humans hair almost seemed like another body part. Hardware, not a peripheral.
In any case, Hank's face without the hair in it looks different somehow, and for the two seconds he'd stared before looking away, he'd picked up new lines of his cheek and jaw bones he hadn't seen before.
"I've been the same," he says, stepping into the stall and tugging his pant legs before crouching. "I had a hard reset at one point, just for a second. That's as bad as it's got so far." He indicates his knee, where his pant leg is looking a bit scuffed.
"I was seeing, uh... A man. He was angry with me. He was sick and dying, and his family were already dead, but I hadn't helped them. Eventually he died right in front of me and I... I was like a machine. Like I was before. I didn't care, not enough."
That memory had reminded Connor of himself, or of one of the multiple androids he's heard express outright hatred of humans, more than he's happy to admit.
no subject
"Some machines sharing memories, huh? I guess that teaches me another lesson about machines and people. Fuck knows you can still be made of meat and feel nothin'." He thinks about standing, doesn't just yet, because the wooziness is still there.
"There were three major accidents on my usual route. This time of day there's usually been at most a fender bender. I don't know if this is a symptom of that disease we're supposed to cure or what. Hope it's not." He didn't have the memory of the inky black tar, of the scientist clamoring towards his last moments.
He clumsily pulls out his phone to look up something. As he does, he feels the pressure behind his eyes ebb.
"I also saw fuckin' Batman smile in a memory. That was weird." Does Connor even know who Batman is? Connor's had a very short life. There might have had no place in it for general pop culture. Hank barely does and he's had decades of it.
no subject
But his knee feels oddly warm now as Hank pulls away.
He shakes his head. "I think I saw the disease. The man who died. You'd know the symptoms if you saw them. Besides..." He looks a little wry. "If this was the disease, I wouldn't have it."
Probably. At this point, maybe he shouldn't count anything out.
"I only had some near misses so far." Then he realises something and looks, for Connor, a comical level of annoyed. "I need to read up on how to deal with major accidents."
Reading. Not downloading. Reading.
The mention of Batman gets nothing more than a small shrug - no, DC as a company has passed him by entirely - but he does contribute, completely straight-faced: "I put on a dress in a memory. They're more complicated than they look."
He's half serious...and half hoping the ridiculous mental image helps a little. Even Connor's still getting used to the concept of clothes that aren't his android uniform - something so theatrical and...and fashion as a dress feels beyond him.
no subject
"You have to read, huh? Like us plebians?" Hank jokes with a light smile. "Batman isn't real. He's a character on tv and in movies and in comic books. So it's kinda wierd to know him, you know? To feel proud for making fuckin' Batman smile."
But then Connor mentions that he wore a dress in a memory, and that smile grows a little more, enough to show teeth.
"Thank god for that. I had an ex I had to help into a dress once. She had a nice back. Enjoyed every moment of zipping it up" Don't think about Connor's back Hank. Don't do that stupid damn fool thing that your brain is doing.
Well, good news is, he's not nauseous and he's forgotten the dead people. Bad news? Thought about Connor's back. Didn't want to want the mental image, now there it is. He'll just deal with that mental stumble in its own time.
He offers his hand to Connor, silently asking to be helped up. "Tell me about this memory of the disease, by the way. I might need to talk to someone about it."
no subject
Connor has spent these past few days turning into a person who just repeats things back at Hank. But it's all insane, so he considers it all warranted.
"I was--he was putting on a disguise. It was pretty impressive when he was done," he says, not at all noticing Hank's awkwardness. His own brief foray into disguising himself was nowhere near that thorough.
He pulls Hank to his feet with very little effort.
"I only saw a creature--a person who wasn't human--suffering from it," he says, frowning as he remembers. "His skin was grey, I don't think it was supposed to be. He was covered in sores. Body parts - his wings, he had wings - were starting to rot.
"I think he had started to rot from the inside as well," he sounds more troubled as they emerge from the bathroom. He automatically beelines for the break room. "He got agitated at one point and he coughed up... Blood, maybe. The lining of his lungs. Whatever it was, it was black, like it was rotting. The same fluid was starting to drain from his ears as well. I think he eventually drowned on that liquid."
It doesn't occur to him to spare the details with someone who's just thrown up.
no subject
"Tell me when we get back to our place. I'll write it down." The tie around Hank's wrist is moved again, this time to put his hair back (what will go) into that lazy containment.
Had he seen Connor's disguise, he would have badgered him about looking like he'd escaped from 8-Mile.
"Huh. Not many men can pull off a dress. Some women, too. I worked with a few that you put 'em in a skirt and you might as well be sending an ostrich out. Nobody was gonna buy that awkward shit. Not that they were ugly, just didn't fuckin' look even remotely comfortable. You know? Made me give right up on using cops posing as prostitutes. That was before they started using androids in sex clubs..."
He has abandoned what was left of his cup of water on the floor where he'd been sat, so when he gets to the breakroom he beelines for the coffee machine. The conversation about how he'd used undercover officers disguised as homeless people in various parts of the city where overdoses were the highest in a series of successful sting operations leaves his mind, replaced by something else. He freezes in the middle of pouring it. Just for a beat. Enough that he winces when hot coffee hits his fingers and he hisses back to reality. He turns to look at Connor, switching hands for his cup and slinging the other to get air against the mildly burned skin.
"You really thought I wouldn't think you did the right thing?"
Then he shakes off the words with a physical jostle of his head.
"Fuck it. Fuck it, that's not mine." That memory is Connor's. He shouldn't have it. He shouldn't look at himself through someone else's eyes. He doesn't like what he sees.
no subject
"I was programmed to go undercover if I needed to, but they didn't plan on testing that out with me," he says, remarkably straight faced given he's talking about what would probably have been his successor, after he would have been deactivated and dismantled.
But the memory's interesting partially just because he recognised the face in the mirror - Nida, the guy from the cat cafe who he'd talked to about a topic still heavy on his mind: what exactly he's supposed to do with the rest of his life. Because it doesn't have to be this if he doesn't want it to be.
Hank wanted this life. Connor? He was created for it. Now he has to choose whether he wants it.
He's about to comment that now the androids have all awakened - or they're about to - things might go back to how Hank remembers them, right down to undercover prostitutes, but Hank freezes in the middle of pouring a coffee.
And his words when he turns make Connor freeze.
"What?" he says, knowing what, but just not exactly. His memories are floating around out there. Other people can see the things he's done. Hank knows most of it - but being there and knowing what Connor truly was thinking - or not thinking - is different.
"What did you see?" and he can hear dread in his voice.
no subject
He looks down into his cup, at his own reflection frowning back up at him unpleasantly. No, Connor shouldn't be the one looking guilty. When did he make Connor feel safe around him? Perhaps not until he threw a punch on his behalf.
"Sorry. I was uh... I was really happy you did that. Happier than I let on." But it seems like there might be another officer listening, so he decides to drink his coffee more quickly than he should. A hard swig and an exhale to try and get the heat out of his throat.
"You didn't fail shit as far as I'm concerned."
no subject
"Everything in my programming was telling me to shoot her," he says, voice even only with an effort. "I didn't."
Hank knows that. But did Hank know just what it took from him to do it?
"I knew you didn't want me to. But the last time I spared deviants you were angry. I know now what..." He trails off. For one thing, Hank doesn't know yet: Connor saw why Hank was angry at the park. He knows the reason. For another, a terrible thought just occurred to him--
"I wonder where she is now?" He looks at Hank. "Chloe."
Were those women ever awakened? Or are they all in Elijah Kamski's mansion this very moment, enslaved, their lives object lessons the very next time he needs to make a point?
no subject
Stupidly he doesn't consider why Connor might know how he felt on that bridge, that in those hard moments he wasn't angry at Connor's failure but demanding life out of him, and a reason to live himself. He wanted to find love in the world.
"I know... I know. I'll explain that later. I fucked up. I know. But when I was telling you to leave, I didn't want you to shoot that woman..." But, right? Were they still with Kamski? Those girls? Still obediently serving him?
"If we're lucky maybe the one you spared will realize what you did for her and trigger a change. I bet it'd be a hell of a legal battle to get him to recognize their personhood."
He says it casually but is wandering close to Connor to keep their conversation low. He can still feel the ache in his head from these memories being shoved in.
no subject
"And you don't need to explain the bridge. I know." His jaw moves a little. "That's how I worked out these were memories we were seeing - when I saw myself on the bridge."
Holding a gun to his own head. He still thinks of the moment he realised he was afraid - trying desperately to rationalise it as a self-preservation tactic programmed into him but knowing the truth, very deep down.
no subject
"Yeah."
That's all he says at first. That one word just confirming what Connor's already seen, what he damn well knows. What Connor doesn't know, though, is the feeling that came after.
"I'm sorry for that. I really am. At the time I was almost convinced I was threatening a toaster, but I uh.... I know better now. Would you stop fuckin' lookin' over here!"
He looks around Connor to grumble at the guy that keeps watching them. He continues to stare before lifting up one hand and making a circle between his fingers, and poking the index finger of his other hand through. Hank flips him off. It's a dance of workplace communication through well-meant sign language.
no subject
He doesn't say anything. He doesn't know if Hank would rather just sweep this under the carpet and pretend it never happened. Connor doesn't want to do that, he'd rather put it out in the open and get it out of the way - they both know exactly how the other felt, they might as well acknowledge it - but before he can structure that in words, Hank speaks instead.
At the word 'toaster', Connor's mouth twists in the tiniest movement. But--
He turns from the waist so he can see behind him where one of the beat cops is staring over. The guy makes a hand gesture of some kind - it's not military sign language or an insulting gesture he's seen before, so it's beyond him - and when he turns back to Hank, he's frowning.
"What's with him - do you know him?"
no subject
Then as ungainly as only a big awkward guy used to being utterly certain of himself can manage, he says, "So am I gonna have to grovel or is me realizing how badly I fucked up enough?" He knows he can't completely sweep it under the carpet. He can, however, try to file down the edges with humor at his own expense, a tired smile.
As he says that, he wads up his paper cup to toss to the trash.
There's so much else that they've seen now. This AI overlord and its memories, the disease they've been warned about. But right now they feel like the more important situation. Despite the fact he knows that they have a half-ass audience occasionally paying attention to them.
no subject
Not that Connor injured anything except the guy's pride, but it's still nice to check. ...And maybe he wants to know if Hank found out what happened.
"Hm?" He frowns up at Hank for an instant, then it clears. "For--No, it's fine." He grins with a one-shoulder shrug. "You can grovel if you want to, though, I'm not going to stop you."
no subject
He might still be bitter.
"I'll grovel later. It'll hurt my knees on this floor. What about Reed?"
Because he'd like to know, considering how sick he was of that punk's fuckin' shitty behavior.
no subject
"I'll make a note - carpet works better," he says dryly, trying to make it crystal clear he doesn't actually care about an apology. Hank apologised, he doesn't think Connor's a 'toaster' anymore, and people can change. Connor definitely did.
Niles is staring - it's weird, but Connor can tell without being able to even see him. So he beckons to Hank and leaves the room without a second glance at the other cop. Only when they're back out in the bullpen and Connor's leaning his forearms on one of the standing-height tables for quick meetings - he doesn't have his own desk - that he says anything else.
"I went to the evidence room - after you--distracted Perkins." He's not even going to conceal a grin - he definitely stayed a minute longer than he should have to watch - Fowler was doing the same thing anyway. "And Reed followed me. I thought I convinced him to leave, but he came back a minute or two later and tried to shoot me. I'm afraid I had to use force."
Connor - the very picture of remorse.
"I just wanted to make sure I didn't injure him too badly. That would be, uh..." He makes a face like he's thinking of the word. "Regretful?"
no subject
Not the break room, so he can at least pretend he's checking the maps.
"I distracted him pretty good," Hank chuckles, too. And somehow this fifty-three year old son-of-a-bitch manages to make that grin look a little impish. It's likely that tiny toothgap. That grin grows a little wider, even admiring, as he hears how he had to defend himself against Gavin Reed.
"I'm going to tell you a little department secret, Connor. The reason I got away with pulling shit on Reed as often as I did was that he was real good at turning off his body camera and had a keen eye for raised cell-phones. So maybe giving him a good lesson in appropriate force dispensed in a perfectly logical way is exactly what he needed. And what I needed, that's the best thing I've heard all day."
He grabs the sides of Connor's face and pulls him closer, gently touching foreheads long enough to go, "Give me that memory. I want that one. No? Goddammit."
He lets go then with feigned disappointment. Sometimes even grumpy old fucks have their playful moments.
no subject
He automatically grins back when Hank does, eyes crinkling, the motion lighting up his face. There's even teeth - genuinely this time, not the sarcastic half-snarl he offered Reed himself the last time the two of them met.
"Then I take it back. I don't regret anything."
But then Hank pulls their heads together - and for an alarming second Connor has the distinct image of one of the memories he saw earlier in the day: the face of the Patrinot, cast in yellow, leaning in for their mouths to touch - the feeling of warm lips on his own, and the moment when Tommy, returned from wherever he had been, pulls away from him.
But Hank just makes a joke and withdraws, leaving Connor to blink away that sudden association.
"If you see it, let me know," he's in the middle of telling Hank when Niles passes them, and he distinctly hears the words, "get a room".
Connor opens his mouth immediately. Reconsiders. Closes it until nobody can overhear them.
"He isn't talking about being roommates, is he?" Because that's exactly what Connor was so very close to saying. And maybe a week or two ago, he just would have automatically.
no subject
And once he's passed, Hank just shakes his head and checks his routes one more time. "No, he doesn't mean roommates," idly, like a passing confirmation, before tacking on a, "Speaking of which, I'm thinking about getting a pet of some kind."
Just to give him a little something extra. Something. He doesn't know what.
"I'd get something that I could successfully rehome if we can't bring it home with us when it's time. You have any problems with that?"
Which is easier to talk about than the tension that just passed. Or what feels like tension. He's probably imagining shit.
no subject
"What were you thinking about getting?" he asks, flipping through a brochure for some construction project left on the table - a new combination housing project and shopping centre, all bright colours and smiling people handling construction equipment and pretending to be experts. He's not actually paying attention, he's just giving his hands something to do.
Although it brings his attention to the little LED display at the head of the table showing the day's date. That does pull his attention for a second. His internal clock's still set to November - he's hesitated in changing it, so he just had an extraordinarily human moment of having forgotten the date.
no subject
There are a few things that Hank's been enjoying about Connor being a deviant. It's little things, really. He's never seen an android do a double-take, but that's exactly what Connor just does. Not for reasons he understands, but the gesture is great nontheless. I makes another smile creep in, if closed-lipped and more muted than the previous one.
Hank's probably smiled more today than he has in a fuckin' year and that's annoying because he keeps remembering shit he shouldn't. Even some tragic shit. Even a-
His smile becomes a thin line.
Some guy building a light-saber??? He jostles his head. Alright, what???
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