DETROIT BECOME HUMAN OPEN RP POST

[undeviated]

Pick your poison:
Markus | Connor

( Josh | Gavin Reed )

I'd probably play other DBH characters anyway lbr so if you want someone else, just ask

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

Comments

[undeviated]

[Strange. Strange, because there's nothing to be measured and everything to be unpacked: Connor can't tell if he's winning or losing— giving lips, bared teeth, the way Simon spills warm across his tongue compared to how distinctly his wrists lock with resistance— and as a creature made less for the thrill of the chase or the moment, hard-wired for the end result, Connor eventually concludes he doesn't like it.

But that's before Simon's honeyed voice works its way under his skin.

Rocks into paced and whirring components in the back of his throat, and his lips tighten as they press into a narrow band, his dark eyes flickering with indecision. With independence.

He abandons Markus's voice because he's being spoken to without the illusion (concerning— or satisfying) his own body still levered against Simon's.]

I [I. I. A damning word, when it isn't attached to predetermined objectives or motiveless statements. Connor isn't buckling, he isn't wilting wholesale into whatever strange synthesis rests, uniquely sparked, between them. He is not compelled. He is not folding.] find it acceptable that you aren't willing to make the same mistakes he did.

[bodyguards]

[ as connor speaks with his own voice, the roiling and sickly feeling in the pit of his abdomen begins to unfurl. some measure of control has been stolen back, now that he doesn't have to listen to that beloved ghost speak to him through the wrong pair of lips. he'd have gone readily to his demise, if it had been markus who asked it of him - but this is connor, the hunter, and everything is a ploy to usher him along, placid as livestock to the slaughter. ]

I said I would listen, [ he whispers, mouth still soft along connor's; they do not breathe, so he has no need to pull back. he does have need to move his hands, to apply pressure and flex his inferior system to draw murderous fingers away from his spine. he relents, briefly. lets connor's dangerous hands remain pressed along his spine, as simon remains pressed along the angle of the damned hound's hip. ] I know enough about you not to be drawn in too deeply. Markus wanted to show you another way, Connor.

[ markus was kind at heart; he gave everyone a chance, though only one. it had broken simon to know that the chance he had given connor was used, devoured, then lead to his demise. ]

That's the trick of it - the thing all these newborns never got to learn, so fresh-faced and bright-eyed they are: you're always yourself, in the end.

[ like simon, who calls himself a machine.

like connor, who chooses his paths. ]

Let me go.

[ his tone, flat and serene, promises connor only one opportunity to do so. ]

[undeviated]

I can't do that.

[To kill him cleanly instead of cruelly, to bring him back instead of dismantling him on the spot, that's the inflexible border of his own willful concession— if he were making concessions. Instead he has a gun at Simon's temple in a figurative sense, maybe literal in the next minute or so, and yet the android wrapped up in his killing grip has the audacity to ask for more.

He takes it back, he thinks. This machine does remind him of Markus.

Not in his eyes or responses, not in gaunt features and hollowed sockets, or the low hum of an android that's outlived its own maintenance timespan, only noticeable this close, with their mouths poised to devour and disobey all at once. But there's familiarity in the image of something lost, something defeated, flexing itself into a sliver of hope rather than submissive dismay.

And that's dangerous, something in his logical processing acutely warns. Dangerous enough that if Connor releases him, he knows he might not get another opportunity to catch him again. Dangerous in the thought that what's left of Jericho will only adapt more easily under his leadership, bolstered by a martyred prophet and his miraculously unscathed disciple.]

You already know I can't.