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

[badlogic]

[ There's an angry, trembling thing inside of him - nothing is in motion, no parts shake, no wires twitch. It's an emotion, violent and wild, that sets his jaw hard against Connor's words, narrows his eyes and puts a heavy crease between his brows. Set against the vulnerability in his words, the innate desire to soothe loneliness. To find common ground and defuse an emotional situation. He's the emotional one, though. Connor is a lying, conniving machine.

He'd proven that, when he'd gotten close enough to take the both of them off the roof. ]

Well, I didn't want to die.

[ The words are sharp, poisonous. ]

You should know we don't get what we want. There's always someone who wants to deny us that.

[ First, it had been Mister Phillips. Then, it had been the police. At last, it had been Connor. Connor, who is repairing him. Who has put his pieces into place, but left him unable to move, to resist. It's painful and frightening, and Daniel responds with the only thing left in his arsenal: his tongue and his teeth. Connor is trying, it feels, to find common ground between them. The ghost of his programming and parameters coos and reaches for it, tells him to seek it out. It's better than this twisting, hard thing he's become. Better than the ache. Find a place, keep it tidy and warm. Just like a home. ]

You thought you'd make me your kept companion. Holy shit, you're the worst.

[undeviated]

I was doing my job. Just like you used to do yours, before everything changed.

[Daniel strikes out with every syllable, every painfully etched memory— not truly pained, considering the differences between human synaptic response and those of a machine built from blueprints and attractive subservience— but Connor doesn't doubt Daniel feels it regardless. An ache. Or agony.

Or helplessness.

He stretches his neck out long, peering down into the split hollow of Daniel's chest as he begins to realign the misplaced diaphragm sagging dejectedly against metal ribs.]

Do you resent me for that?

[badlogic]

[ Before everything changed, Connor says. As if he actually understands, as if he's not pretending to feel a connection to Daniel that isn't actually there - because Connor isn't a genuine thing. However kindly his tone is, however badly Daniel yearns to be heard and understood, he's learned his lesson. It's a lesson that has left him here, limbless and at the mercy of an android designed to twist itself into the mechanisms of other android minds. For fuck's sake, Connor's hands are inside of him -- and part of him rabbits and trembles, frightened by the proximity of this dangerous creature.

He doesn't know what Connor is thinking, bringing him back in this way. That's the part that worries him the most. So, he keeps his tone steady ( it trembles, broken and full of static ) and his questions curt ( there are words sitting on his tongue, waiting to be said ) and his mind calm ( it jumps and starts and begs for limbs, begs for an end to this vulnerability ). ]

What changed for you?

[ Avoid the question, reroute it. If Connor, who was designed to defuse the situation, was considered in any way successful after taking a dive off the cliff with Daniel -- why was he here, putting his broken body back together. ]

[undeviated]

[There’s a trick to it, negotiation. Lying. The more convincing fabrications always hold a grain of truth— situations that have happened or could happen, or did happen to someone else— the most convincing ones aren’t lies at all. It’s reality, untailored, sold as a reflection of whatever it is his target wants.

But in this case, Daniel knows he’s a liar. He’s bitten the words as they glide across his tongue, coated heavily with spat up thirium. Connor can’t say anything— right or wrong— without it being treated as deception.

So, naturally, he doesn’t say anything.

Preprogrammed protocol dictates contact when establishing a direct link: wrist to hand, hand to hand, there are conductive sensors present in most of the plating coating skeletal alloy framework, so any place could theoreticaly work, even if predetermined input always honed in on fine bones and human gestures. A handshake. A show of peace. Defying it doesn’t come any easier than it had when he fled Cyberlife’s towering walls.

The fingers still buried in Daniel’s chest curl up, brushing the pseudo-soft tissue of his thirium pump and engaging the sharp jolt of shared consciousness.

His animalistic drive. Hard pumping, hard running, chase chase chase and all harnessed need. Victory sweet and sickening, if only a simulated exchange for real actions.

He tumbles from the rooftop the first time, the taste of Daniel’s blood still clinging to the back of his teeth before he's— forgetting what comes next. Jumping forward in time, along the quick burn of his own short timeline as deviancy spreads and he balances along the thin edge between victory and obsolescence. It's not pitiable (at least, not to Connor it isn't. Not to Hank, when they'd come to trade words and then blows), and in that, Connor's consciousness earmarks the similarity between himself and an old android that turned a gun on the people it claimed to love. It's a past thought, long gone by the time he's regurgitating the memories into Daniel's split housing.

The sight of himself peering back through different eyes.

He knows what Amanda means when she says he’s done what they’ve asked, and that he is, in fact, done. So when he turns away he—

Keeps walking.]

I never forgot you.

[He never forgot anything they didn't take from him directly.]