RK800 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
undeviated) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
albinomilksnake2018-06-13 03:48 am
undeviated) wrote in albinomilksnake2018-06-13 03:48 am
DETROIT BECOME HUMAN OPEN RP POST
Pick your poison:
Markus | Connor
( Josh | Gavin Reed )
Connor default is Machine Connor— but I can throw down a nice Connor if that's more your jam, just let me know what your preferences are if you have them
When is he not ruining Hank's life I mean...
--okay no. Hank had fallen to sleep earlier than normal yesterday in part thanks to a few cups of whiskey. What was supposed to be a nap had turned into sleeping fully clothed in bed for ten hours. After a few choice of cursing words, he had dragged himself out of bed and into the shower to at least look somewhat presentable before slipping into his normal outfit of whatever-the-fuck was was clean enough and didn't smell.
You just don't expect to suddenly become part of a bloody horror movie.
Hank's first reaction, before his tiny human brain registers that it's Connor is to jump out of the shower at whatever silhouette was behind the semi-see-through curtain that hung up awkwardly in the window, and run to his bed to grab his gun, not all caring if he was naked or not. Then it happens. An assailant would not call him Lieutenant.]
That piece of plastic shit...
[He'll just grab a towel and walk back in, shutting down the water before moving part of the curtain and staring at Connor with the look of a thousand angry suns.]
For fuck's sake, the goddamn hell is wrong with you?! Didn't they program you to have some manners or giving a man privacy?
I wrote this when I was half-asleep and had no recollection of it woops gj self
I apologize for the unorthodox intrusion. However given some of your less stable tendencies, and the hour at which your bathroom was occupied, I was concerned that you might have injured or incapacitated yourself.
[Connor leans lower, craning his neck as he taps an index finger against the glass in an almost playful demonstration, eyebrows lifting by expectant degrees.]
I would also appreciate it if you'd let me in.
It was a good tag anyway
What kind of perfect partner taps in other's fucking windows is the question but anyway.
Towel still around, him he closes the curtain without a word (just a glare). Connor might hear him move somewhere else, only to return about forty seconds later.]
Front door's open. I'm going to finish my shower, you stay in the kitchen. Got it?
[God he's gonna need to go and wash the floor least he slips on his soapy feet or something.]
:*
It's peaceful. A decent kind of quiet that sinks in in the wake of an otherwise jarring disturbance, and maybe the kind of quiet that Hank Anderson's needed in his life as of late.
It's also extremely short-lived.
Another handful of minutes and the bathroom door is snapped open, Connor's bright-eyed stare peering out from behind the door's lip, one curl entirely out of place as he leans in.]
Our odds of capturing a suspected assailant at the scene of a crime decrease by 4.5% every ten seconds we're delayed.
not a real tag
Now an actual tag before bed
Jesus Connor, didn't they program you some goddamn manners?! Get the fuck out of my bathroom!
[He must he the only cop in all of Detroit who gets assaulted in his own house...twice. Grabbing the towel still wet from drying his hair and body, he makes a pretty good throw in Connor's direction and towards the other's face.]
Lemme put on some damn clothes and we'll go! Were you planning on dragging me out of bed if I hadn't been up?!
[He's grumpy, annoyed, hasn't eaten and, worst of all, hasn't had one drop of liquor since last night. He's feeling too sane this morning, he doesn't like it.
But eventually, just a few minutes later, Hank appears, still glaring at Connor the same way as he had before, a towel around his neck.]
What are we dealing with?
[...and yet least it be for Hank to ignore the call of a crime in progress.]
the deviants never leave.jpg
If necessary, I am both equipped and prepared to assist you in all matters of personal mobility.
[In other words: yes, Hank. He would have dragged you straight out of bed.]
Approximately one hour ago I received a report involving a deviant that had been working at a loading bay nearby. Its attempt to steal valuable biocomponents and resources from the storehouse in which it was housed resulted in the injury of three human workers, as well as a number of damaged shipments.
It is also possible, given the nature of the theft, that this android may have been in contact with Jericho.
This and other great writing by David Cage
What the fuck, Connor.
[He does not need an android to carry or drag him around. He finishes adjusting his outfit (with one quick check to make sure it doesn't smell of 'I didn't wash you this week') he listens to Connor's details even as he opens his fridge. Shit, there's gotta be some leftover takeout he can eat this morning with coffee.]
Right, so you want to go see if you'll find clues leading to Jericho. I got it.
[Fuck, whatever. This twinkie will do, he'll just microwave this coffee.]
Breakfast of champions, Connor. Let's go.
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[One curt nod sees them on their way (Connor doesn't bother asking for the car keys; aside from those brief instances where Hank is far too inebriated to responsibly handle his own vehicle, there's a mostly unspoken agreement between them that Connor stays out of the drivers seat), and within the span of another twenty minutes filled with the scent of stale coffee, they arrive to a mostly lukewarm crime scene: much of the initial crew has departed, leaving a spattering of police, forensic crew—
—and Gavin Reed, visible not twenty feet off from their position, already curling his lip in a sneer angled right into the bright haze of Hank's headlights.]
Not a real tag 2: electrical bungalow
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Produced by: David Cage
Directed by: David Cage
Written by: David Cage
Music by: David Cage
David Cage by: David Cage
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Think he'll leave once he sees us?
[After all, they had sort of proved Gavin wrong at the Eden Club last time.]
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Calculating...
The numbers read clearly: lines of traced code only Connor can see, reinforced by each and every prior encounter with Gavin Reed thus far, all organized by statistical probability. His head turns, expression reading as sympathetic for how he thins his lips— letting them pull upwards just at the corner.]
No, Hank. [If being correct in terms of evidence and policework were a valid deterrent for Reed's presence, the man would probably have retired by now and fled at least three states over. Instead he's here, hands already folded across his chest, mouth twisted into a crooked line.] I don't think he will.
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[Everyone at the force knew Hank and Gavin's mutual hatred for each other. Well in the case of Hank, it started much later when he saw the other's true nature.]
Right. Let's just get it over with.
[The looks of the other policemen at the fact HANK ANDERSON is there so early in the morning is totally worth it, now that they don't have to stay around Gavin anymore. Even if that smile on the other fades just briefly, it is 100% worth it.]
Why the face? We figured you boys could use a hand...
[Or at least Connor's analyzing abilities.]
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Gavin drops his voice, lowers it just enough so that he's barely, barely audible:]
You two are a joke, you know that, right? Fowler's just stringing you along so that none of us have to put up with you fucking everything up wherever you go.
Nah. We don't need your help.
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But he moves in close all the same, posture angled sharply between them.]
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He doesn't even bother whispering too much - the animosity is well known in the force.]
Fowler and I go way back, kid. If the thought of him stringing me along helps you sleep at night and get your dick up, I don't give a shit. If you thought you could continue to go around yapping for the past few years, just thought I'd let you know that recess is over.
[Maybe that thought is more frightening; whatever this case had done to him, Hank was starting to sound a lot more focused than before.]
Comeon Connor, I'm sure there's a bunch of shit that'll need analyzing.
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[He's smiling when he says it, showing the edges of his teeth as he jerks his thumb towards the dead center of Hank's chest, eye line shifting towards Miller (who, to his credit, seems less enthusiastic about Reed's commentary).]
Good luck with your uh, 'case', Lieutenant.
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Well then go back to the office and have fun with your paperwork.
[The way he moves Gavin's accusing finger is both a testament to how often Hank's done this before - he's been in Detroit for far longer than Gavin and had far more dangerous accusing fingers pointed at him. In the end, Gavin was nothing more than an asshole.]
Looking forward to getting it solved, detective. I'll make sure we figure it out properly.
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Connor turns, following doggedly along in the shadow of Anderson's footsteps.]
Lieutenant, you should exercise caution when dealing with Detective Reed. He is unpredictable, and faces very little disciplinary repercussion for his actions.
[If something were to happen to Hank, Connor's own mission would be jeopardized: he does not know if they would assign him to someone else, he does not know if he would be blamed for either stepping in on Anderson's behalf (—he would—) or for failing to. He does not know— and in reaction to that, the ring at his temple flashes vivid yellow, flickering brightly in dim light.]
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[Hank might have binders of actions against him, but it's not like Folwer did much about it apart from just adding it to his dossier. He looks and sees Connor's yellow circle and understands enough that the Android is the equivalent of being upset or at least stressed out.]
Listen, Connor. He might be unpredictable, but I've dealt with him for a few years. I know what makes him tick. He's the type of cop that either needs to shape up, or he'll just become the bad apples you hear about. Folwer and I might not always see eye to eye, but I know he wants his district to be run clean. If Reed steps out of line, he'll regret it. Or maybe he wants to be shipped off somewhere else. Would do everyone at the station some good.
[But now they have a mystery to solve and also Hank needs something better to eat after this. The twinkie only had a limited amount of sugar and energy.]
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[But he can't force Hank to listen, and by now, he doesn't expect him to. Connor thins his lips, stare flickering briefly as it falls away from the Lieutenant down towards the scattered debris and marked evidence nearby— and then back again.]
In the future, I'd prefer it if you would simply file complaints against his personal conduct.
Take the appropriate approach.
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When I start being an ideal cop, I'll think about it. [Hank had entire folders worth of bad conduct. A complaint would probably get Fowler laughing in his face.]
Look Connor, don't worry about it. If he gives you a problem, just tell me. We've got more important things to do than keep talking about the force's Chihuahua.
[Besides Hank's appropriate approach; punch people in the face. You'd love it Connor.]
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He lids his eyes, nodding out a quiet concession. Focus on the mission.
(Strange, though, having Hank as the bearer of that particular sentiment.)
It takes him little time to comb over the crime scene once he is on task: most of the evidence markers have already been placed— but beyond the damage done to shipment crates and heavy machinery, aside from the testimony of present witnesses and remaining police staff— there are small traces of unnoticed blood. Blue blood, he believes, already dipping his fingers down into the still-viscous liquid and swiping them decisively across the tip of his tongue.]
Lieutenant, over here.
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woops wrote a novel
THAT TAG IS VERY GOOD