#android verse > my eyes were closed. they're open now

[patchworkpoett]

ANSWERED     //     from CONNOR   >>   @detectiveconnor​​

SEND ☕ TO GIVE MY MUSE A CUP OF TEA.​

Vin doesn't even notice the foreign mug on his desk at first - which is a clear signal to how tired he really is. He'd been up late a few nights in a row working on a case, (and he hadn't admitted it to anyone yet, but nightmares had been keeping him from sleeping when he did have the time.) It's really amazing how drastically a lack of sleep can destroy a mind, Vin thinks, as he finally notices the mug, wondering what the fuck it's doing there. A fully lucid Vin would've deducted the cause immediately - Hank's at home, so it's Connor. 1, 2, 3, simple. Right now -

"Connor?" Vin raise the mug in question, silently asking if it was from him. Of course it was from him - his brain just kicked in.

"Uh, thanks," he says, trying to switch tactics. It's already too late. The tea itself is a sign that Connor had noticed his offness. It's tea, not coffee, the universal sign of you need to calm down.

The subtle message kind of sinks in at the moment.

"I need to go home," Vin realizes outloud, and internally, he realizes he doesn't want to. He's just going to have nightmares again. He's going in circles.

He puts his fingers to his temples, trying to suppress a headache. He's too old for this, really. He's gotta find a way out of this cycle.

"Гребаные кошмары, " He mumbles under his breath.

[patchworkpoett]

ANSWERED     //     from CONNOR   >>   @detectiveconnor​

 "No," a change of routine - "thanks. I'm headed a different direction." Sometimes he, Vin and the Lieutenant would stop off at a cafe together on the way home (Connor enjoyed the company), because they lived in the same direction. It had happened. Today, Hank didn't even look up for Connor's answer as he went to collect his jacket (he knew Connor was not coming) - when Vin looked up to question, Connor clarified, "I moved." (From Hank, from afar: "He's living with his boyfriend.")

"Boyfriend?" Vin echoes Hank, delighted. As far as he's concerned, this is ammunition. He's been a dad for dozens of kids, teasing people about their partners will never cease to delight him. Connor is generally a private man, which makes this realization so much better. They’d probably already been dating for years, which means he can probably tease Connor without stepping on any toes. "Who's the lucky guy?"

[patchworkpoett]

CLOSED STARTER     //     for MARKUS   >>   @jericholeader​

HE HAS BEEN AWAKE FOR TOO LONG. Chasing after his lost friend is a weight on Vin's shoulders, but at least he has the experience of his job to keep him from breaking down.

If Connor died, he would carry on. It would not break him, but it would add another chip to his heart where many already lie.

Finding him broken and bruised does not make him feel better. He wishes he could feel better. Connor is alive after all, but he is wounded, and the grief of that somehow weighs equally to the gratefulness of having found him, leaving Vin rather numb.

He is not the only friend of Connor's. Hank is here, too, and others must be notified. When someone needs to stay behind to manage things, Vin offers to. (He doesn't like hospitals anyway, he would rather not stay in one longer than needed.)

So Hank leaves to check on Connor, and Vin stays at the precinct. Fowler is managing the official side of things - Vin will need to give a report eventually, but not tonight.

No, Vin knows what he needs to do. He looks through Connor's file to find the number - he does not even look at the name, he knows who it is.

He calls Markus.

He is too tired to plan the call, and anxiety has already run him dry. The thoughts of what the hell to say chase him through his head, but he cannot find the energy to be particularly worried about them.

"This is Detective Tserendorj," Vin says as soon as the call is answered. He should be official. ( He wonders if Connor ever mentioned him (?) )

"We found Connor. He's alive." His choice of words, he thinks, probably carry themselves. Alive, not okay. "He's at the hospital, room 213."

It feels sour that the first time he had spoken to Markus had been to bear bad news. He could hear how Markus loved Connor through the phone, just how he could see how Connor loved Markus in that specific shade of blue light.

The call ends, but it is the first of many. He will be busy for another night, it seems, but he will be visiting before morning. He will make sure of it.

[patchworkpoett]

IN MY BRAIN NO LONGER. I SHALL WRITE IT DOWN.

CLOSED STARTER // for CONNOR >> @detectiveconnor

He snaps right after Connor tells him four simple words - "I can handle it."

"Yes, but you don't have to!" Snaps, yes is the right word. Defense is built into Divinity almost as if was born there, protecting his loved ones is natural, even from themselves.

"You don't have to!" Vin repeats, still furious - most of his anger goes away quickly, but this specific fire was a slow burn and a long one - he hadn't realized, for too long, that Connor shouldered the weight of his own problems like that, that he wrote off the idea of help when he didn't need it. Vin had spent so much time delicately testing the waters to see if he could help carry some of it, and it's fine that Connor hasn't let him, Connor is fine, but there's something just slightly off about it all.

"And you don't have to share either, you know that," His voice cracks on a word and he knows he sounds ridiculously emotional. "But I can help. And I want to. I want to. I want to help you, because you're my friend, and you're strong and smart and so, so ridiculously clever and all of that but you- you can deal with this, and worse, alone, but you don't have to, kid. I'm here for you. Markus is here for you. Hank is here for you. It's not a burden to share."

[patchworkpoett]

ANSWERED   //   from CONNOR   >>   @detectiveconnor​

Send behind closed doors for my muse’s reaction to being asked about your muse.

"You know Detective Connor, right?"

Vin turns toward the voice - there's a young woman sitting at Connor's currently empty desk. He tenses.

"Why?" He demands. If this is another reporter trying to encroach on Connor's personal life so help him god he will throw hands -

"He's on my case," The woman says, and Vin relaxes.

"Oh." He gives a gentle grin. "Congratulations.'

"Sorry?"

"On your case. If Connor is on it then it'll end well. Or as best as it possibly can. He's one of our best - might even be the best," Vin says, considering. He hadn't thought of it before, but now that he had, he knows it's true.

"He seems ... distant," She says, and Vin can clock the worry in her posture from a mile away.

"He's private," He corrects, scooting his chair closer so that he doesn't have to talk across the desks. "Connor is ... intelligent. He's analytical. He likes his job. He might seem distant to some, or closed off, but he's just ... independent, really. But all of that is just the surface layer. You might not believe it, but he's one of the most passionate men I've ever met. He just doesn't let that passion control him - it drives him, makes him capable, smart, kind when he needs to be. That passion is his work. He likes what he's doing, he likes solving cases like yours, helping people, making this city grow for the better. Trust me,"

Vin puts a hand on her shoulder.

"I'd trust him with my life. I have. You couldn't have a better man helping you."

“You’re friends with him?”

“Yes,” Vin smiles, brightly, wrinkles crinkling around his eyes. “I am. ...Very lucky. And so are you.”

[patchworkpoett]

thinking about how connor's mind palace is a garden/park/outdoor area with a little stream and many modern looking structures and architecture. what do the mind palaces of other androids look like ????

[patchworkpoett]

𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔢𝔯

for @lieutenantgivesnoshits

His new office is... well, it's an office. 

Nothing particularly interesting about it except for the people that work there - the little bits of themselves left behind on their desks, tipping Vin off on their personalities.

He's quietly examining them until someone notices him, at which point he gives an awkward smile and nod and focuses on finding the man he's supposed to be working with until he gets used to Detroit.

Hank Anderson's desk is not empty. The man himself is not there, so in that sense it is, but he has left his personality splattered all over his desk. Vin has a brief moment of contemplative panic as he tries to figure out whether to make a show by sitting in Hank’s chair or pulling one over.

Maybe he'll just go to the break room.

He does, and he makes coffee - a full pot, and he offers a mug to the other two officers currently working, keeping one for himself, and leaving one for Hank. The officers snag him into more conversation than he intended, but after he fails to respond with anything other than shy nods, they leave him be.

Hank is still not there.

He examines the prisoners, the lobby, the entire damned precinct - by the time Hank does arrive, Vin is sitting at Hank's desk next to a luke-warm cup of coffee, completely and entirely enthralled in a conversation with an android about the chemical components of thirium: how it disappears to the eye over time, and the most efficient way to track it quickly. 

"Carry a UV light," the android tells him.

"I do."

The android almost looks impressed, but Vin simply sips his coffee, silently showing him the tiny light from the pocket of his coat.

[patchworkpoett]

ANSWERED     //    Connor   >>   @wasscared​​​ sent: 

"I brought you a cup." It was early the next week: the snow from the blizzard had cleared up, at least a little, and though Connor often made the Lieutenant's morning coffee in the breakroom, today he had stopped in at a cafe on his way here, and purchased an extra. He set it on Divinity's desk, with a nod, and a smile (Vin would find Connor had catalogued his preferred coffee, from the last time Tina had gone on a coffee run). Peace offering? They were not arguing. This was more ... thank-you, maybe. "You come in early."

Connor notices. Vin notices. Vin is of the opinion that noticing is it's own type of love language, and he's pleased to have found someone who shares it - speaks it the same way.

Connor usually gets a coffee for Hank. Today Vin gets a coffee, and the urge to stick his tongue out at Hank just to tease is hard to suppress - Hank is looking at him actually. A Look. Vin tries really hard not to roll his eyes. Banter is their love language, and Vin can hear Hank teasing him about stealing his friend from here, even though he's not talking.

That silent conversation takes place in only a few seconds, and then Vin smiles at Connor, truly happy as he scoots his chair over to takes the coffee from him.

" Thank you, Connor. I would get you coffee but."   He makes a gesture as if to say ' it's obvious why not'. They both know Connor isn't made to eat. Vin could get him something else, but Vin would have to think about it. He takes a sip of the coffee, just to show Connor he appreciates it, and it's a mocha cappucino, and he's not surprised. He doesn't know how Connor found out what he usually orders, but no, he's not surprised - pleased, even, to know that he was paying attention. He hums, appreciating the flavor and trying not to smile into his cup. He fails.

As for 'you come in early'.

" Morning run, shower, work. Better to run before sunrise. I mean, I- "   He's hears a snort from near Hank's desk, grabs a piece of paper, balls it up and tosses it in that direction, laughing.   " I'm ridiculous, I know! Vin's healthy and he wakes up at 4 am, hush. "   He hears more laughter from over there. Can't tell if his paper collided or not. Hank is distracting him and he's trying to talk to Connor. He turns his chair fully Connor's way to devote all of his attention to him.

" Thank you, Connor. I appreciate it. "   He reaches out to gently squish the detective's arm, giving him a wink.   "Just let me know if you want help with that case. Any- any case, I mean. Or if you just want to hang out, or anything. Or! Better - if you come up with something I can buy you instead of coffee.  . . .No . . .mm. I changed my mind. It means less if you tell me. Let me figure it out.  . . . Well. "   His indecisiveness summons chuckles from Hank's desk and some other spectator’s. Tina's?  

" Will you hush, I'm trying to be nice! Let dad talk, for fuck's - " A rolled up paper hits him in the face. He starts laughing. " -sake! Connor, we work with children - ! "   He announces as he stand from his chair just to make sure it hits as he throws it back.

[patchworkpoett]

ANSWERED     //     @wasscared sent:  

SEND 🛑 TO CLEAN BLOOD OFF OF MY MUSE AFTER THEY PROTECTED YOURS.

Had he been stabbed? No. Had he been repeatedly almost stabbed, punched, kicked, and then thrown into a pile of the establishment's recent shipment of alcohol, resulting in a large collection of tiny burning cuts all over his body, glittering with glass?

Yes. He had. It hurts. Plus side, he probably doesn't need to worry too bad about the cuts getting infected. Other plus side, Connor hadn't been stabbed.

Their very first case together and Connor had been wrapped up in a fight with someone else (literally, they wrapped him up in a sheet to try to slow his movements), and when the other one approached him from behind, Vin didn't even think. He'd managed to push Connor out of the way of both of them, giving him enough to time to tear himself free, and somehow didn't get killed by both men.

Just thrown into a pile of bourbon.

He smells like he hasn't been sober for at least a decade, and he feels like he hasn't been sober for a least a decade, but with a whole lot more body pain.

Vin makes a quiet sound as Connor pulls a shard of glass from his hand ( stupid hands, always wanting to catch your fall, getting covered in cuts because of it ). He's used to pain, but right now he's kind of just tired, and he's allowed to make 'ow' noises if he wants to.

Silently, he lets his head fall forward to rest his forehead against Connor's shoulder while he works, humming quietly. He'll thank Connor when he's done. Right now, he's just going to sit for a bit.

[patchworkpoett]

"I won't lie to you, Alexis. Have a seat."

     Ｉｔ＇ｓ   ｓｕｐｐｏｓｅｄ   ｔｏ   ｂｅ   ｃｏｍｆｏｒｔｉｎｇ．

     He can appreciate that much. But the words do nothing to settle the sickness of his stomach, the 𝕦𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖-𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 of his insides. Nausea. Nausea is the term, but he liked it better when the kid in pediatric had called it 𝕦𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖-𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤. It feels more accurate. (He doesn't even have a stomach, so why should it be upside-down?) But it feels that way.

     Maybe if he had been a different person, the words would have settled him, but no. Lies could be safe. Lies could be warm. Lies could be easier, smarter. 𝙻𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎. Truth invites an inevitable harshness that he does not want to face. The truth was that which the so-called deviant hunter searched for like a hound to a scent. He hadn't found Alexis. (Alexis had shrouded himself in lies).

     But Connor had changed, and Alexis was changing too. Perhaps he could be brave, like Connor. At least he wouldn't be alone. 

     He takes a seat.

[patchworkpoett]

𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔢𝔯

for @wasscared

* Systems Check Failed. Please Seek Medical Attention.

A high-pitched beeping (512 hertz, his sensors inform him), periodically breaks through the silence of the sound-proofed interrogation room they’d stuck him in. Three thousand, five hundred milliseconds between each beat precisely. The drips of thirium pooling from his nose and temple drip against the table in front of him at approximately eight thousand millisecond intervals.

Alexis had been here long enough for them to overlap more than once. While the loss of thirium wasn’t anywhere near at a worrying rate, his pump (his heart) is overworking in preparation for a fight. It didn’t matter if he was innocent. He is a deviant. This interrogation would be a battle of wills, and if his stress levels had anything to say about it, he would lose. More stress, lower chance of success. Lower chance of success, more stress. Circling his own tail like the sound of blood against the table circles the warning noise in his head

.

He startles as the door opens, a rush of cool air entering the room followed smoothly by…

An android?

* Chance of Success: ^23%

He has to tilt his head strongly to find the android with his left eye, the static error message in his right blocking his view - he looks professional. Alexis isn’t programmed with the ability to read people as well as he’d like, let alone an android. He seems to let nothing slip through his expression.

Alexis wants to say something if only to break the tension, but silence would be the wiser decision, most likely. He sits straight, eyes locked on the officer (detective?), until the thirium hits the table once more, causing him to anxiously twitch, nearly imperceptibly.

[patchworkpoett]

ANSWERED     //     from Connor   >>   @detectiveconnor​​​​

"We'll find your daughter, Vin."

This isn’t his   worst   nightmare. His worst nightmare would probably involve finding Ori - dead. (He will give that thought no more time to linger.)

(It lingers anyway.)

He appreciates the comfort, but the attempt runs cold. When it's his life on the line, that's fine, but when it's his daughter . . .

He taught her to speak. To write. He taught her self defense, too, not just how to fight, but when, and when not to. He's thankful for his foresight in that, at least. It's little comfort but anything helps.

The worst sting is that this is his own fault. She’d been assaulted and kidnapped in Vin’s home, likely in Vin’s stead - the force seems to think this is due to that case he’d closed two weeks ago, though something lingers in the back of Vin’s mind, saying that’s not all.

She hadn’t even been home for a month yet.

Connor does not often make empty promises, but this is one he cannot swear to hold himself to, even with footage of who had kidnapped her. He cannot promise what had happened in the interim of Vin’s return home. Vin, however, would not be upset at him for trying or failing, and he is not upset at him for saying it.

Yet he does not know what to say in return. He says nothing, and hopes that says enough.

[patchworkpoett]

ANSWERED     //     from CONNOR   >>   @detectiveconnor​​

[ requirement ]   -   for sender to provide something receiver needed without asking.

It's a nice foggy morning at the Belle Isle park, only slightly hindered from perfection by the half buried corpse by the shoreline.

Detective Tserendorj is leading this case, and he knows, too, that Connor is across town, heading on a similar case - on that may be directly related, even. They haven't been called to work together yet, but it's only inevitable at this point, they've basically skipped to that point already.

Vin's just finished listening to the briefing - he has one important question.

" We've identified that they're stealing these parts, but for what - " His phone dings in his pocket.

" - Purpose, " He mumbles, pulling out his phone. That's was Connor's notification tone, a little high pitched ding that reminds Vin of the sound Connor's coin makes. Connor knows he's on a case - it must be important.

. . . Connor has sent him exactly the file he needed, pertaining to the exact part he'd mentioned, all possible uses, as well as access to the case he's working.

" Mother . . . fucker, " Vin mumbles, smiling, and he allows Connor access to his own case files before Connor can even ask to compare the similarities.

He calls, too.

"Connor, " He greets as soon as the detective responds. "Beach house at Belle Isle. Come bother my crime scene. Did yours, uh? The - " He waves his hand around vaguely. Connor will know what he's talking about. " Yeah? Yeah, mine too. Placement is, mhm. Do you think the . . . hm. . . . да. " He's not finishing his sentences, he realizes, he's distracted with the crime scene, but Connor seems to be reading him just fine. "Нет, мы должны поговорить лично. See ya when you get here. Bye. "

Ends call, looks at the officer who stopped staring at him strangely as soon as Vin said Connor's name.

"Connor's on his way, "  Vin says.

" Half of that conversation was in your head, " The officer replies.

"Hm?" Vin mumbles. "Yeah, sure."

The officer sighs and walks away - Vin is fully focused on investigating, now, and it's hard to draw his attention when he does so. He finds something he thinks Connor will find interesting and wordlessly puts a quarter from his own pocket there to draw Connor's attention to it. Jesus, he's talking to him and he's not even here yet. He's not sure when he and Connor figured out how to match their wavelengths exactly, but it'll surely come in handy with a case like this.

" Hey, Connor, " he greets at Connor's arrival, not even turning around to see that he's arrived - he's looking intently at piece of glass he'd found in the sand. " Coin. "

[patchworkpoett]

ANSWERED     //     from CONNOR   >>   @detectiveconnor​​

"It will be alright, Detective. I'm gonna get you out of here."

This isn't the first time he's been shot, and it won't be the last. He's grateful, at least, to have Connor by his side. If anyone else had said that he would write it off as mindless comfort - no one can promise such things, swear to a positive outcome when death is on the line.

Connor can.

'It will be alright' is suddenly inevitable - things are always alright eventually, aren't they? 'I'm going to get you out of here' - he will, then. Connor wouldn't have said it if he did not believe he could do it. If Connor believes in himself, then Divinity Tserendorj is inclined to believe in him.

All of this flashes inside of him in a brief surge of affection and trust - or perhaps that warmth is the blood seeping through his clothing. Probably both, he thinks, his thoughts blurry and distant from himself.

He should probably help, but he can't really bring himself to remember how to do so, in the moment.

"You should - " A choked noise escapes him - talking with a stomach wound never seemed to be a good idea. Walking with a stomach wound wasn't a good idea, but he has to, at the moment. At least he has Connor to lean most of his weight on.

"Should . . .Thirium, into my heart. I'll . . . the blood loss will - my . . . heart will overload, I'll have a . . . heart attack. Before it's. . . really a problem, " Vin wheezes in between breaths, steps, whenever he can manage. Tiring, really, that his heart will kill him before the wound does.

[patchworkpoett]

ANSWERED     //     from CONNOR   >>   @detectiveconnor​​

"I trust you."

That means something. Especially since it's Connor saying it. Vin ducks his head as he smiles, wondering how to acknowledge that statement in kind. He still hasn't figured out any sort of love language from Connor that doesn't take time. He can take time - he'd be happy to - but that statement is something he should acknowledge now. 

Direct and perceptive, that what Connor likes, and that's what Vin likes too, really. He doesn't have to be wasting time on overthinking it. 

 "I appreciate that, Connor. The sentiment is mutual." he emphasizes, because that's important too. "That's . . . not a simple statement in our career." 

Is he making too much of a thing out of this? Possibly. But if Connor's going to leave Vin his cases while he's gone, then he's going to point out the affection there, particularly being that Hank is here, this time - and Hank had been assigned a few, too, but now Vin is allowed to have one. He's beaming. 

Vin silently offers a hug, opening his arms to allow Connor to walk into them, if Connor so chooses. Maybe he's just touchy-feely today. 

 "If you're gonna be gone for two weeks, I gotta bother you extra while you're here," he adds in explanation, with a lopsided grin.

[patchworkpoett]

CLOSED STARTER     //     for @detectiveconnor​​

"Connor!" Vin calls, approaching.

"Think fast!" He says, and then does absolutely nothing for a few seconds, just to watch Connor get confused. He grins.

"I'm fucking with you," he clarifies, walking closer to bump shoulders with the younger detective.

"I heard about your case," Vin says, still smiling. "Good job. You doing anything to celebrate?"