conditionalinstability (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
conditionalinstability) wrote2019-10-27 09:20 pm
conditionalinstability) wrote2019-10-27 09:20 pm
Entry tags:
for stickyourinstructions
Working with the other androids has been... difficult. Going from Hank, smiling and initiating physical contact and showing every indication of valuing Connor's presence, to a population of people he'd hunted down and killed and sent for disassembly, it's-
Connor was made to be adaptable. Connor is adapting. It isn't like he hasn't created this situation, anyway. It isn't like he has the right to blame them.
He catches himself, again, about to dial Hank's cell number. He would have had to give conscious confirmation to actually go through with it, but his programming's gotten as close to doing it as it can without Connor actually giving it the order.
Connor can handle this. Connor is adaptable. Connor doesn't have the right to run to where he's more comfortable instead of seeing all this through.
Josh stops him just inside the door to the meeting room. North was the first to leave, as usual; Connor looks out the door and watches her leave, watches Markus's hand on her back as if she still needs it, needs someone to make sure she doesn't have Connor in her line of sight for any longer than she has to. Simon sends a twitching little smile at him and Connor's software tags the expression as nervous, uncomfortable, supports the analysis with the hunch of Simon's shoulders as he ducks out the door. Deviants seem to emote exactly like humans do and that is, in a way, convenient. It makes at least one part of socializing with them go more smoothly.
"A few of us are going out," Josh says, bringing Connor's attention back toward him. Connor's software tags his expression as watchful, attentive, tags his voice as careful and deliberate. Josh is trying hard to be polite to the deviant hunter; he always does. "Try to relax before that big meeting this evening," he goes on. "We'd love to see you there, if you have time."
We. We'd love to see you there. Polite exaggeration, Connor decides, isn't unlikely for a personality like Josh's. Connor hasn't decided if Josh's need to make sure everyone gets along is compulsive or not, yet. It's certainly a powerful drive for him.
"I have a meeting with a contact. If I can get a little more information before the meeting I'm sure I can turn it our way. I'll let you know what I find out."
"I know you will," Josh says, his frown saying something else altogether. "Look, I know I'm supposed to be waiting for Markus to say this, but you need to take a break. You need to stop."
A couple of Connor's background processes freeze for a moment. The email program he'd been using crashes; it doesn't occur to him to restart it.
"What?"
"Your LED was yellow through most of that meeting," Josh says, his voice gentle and terrible. "We all saw it. How many other things are you doing right now? We have this under control."
Without you, is the implication. They have it under control without Connor. "Markus said this? I need to talk to him."
"Wait, Connor, wait-" and Josh reaches out reflexively for Connor's arm to stop his move toward the door and stops and almost, almost flinches. It's a minute movement, a split second, and Connor's software tags it: fear. Historically, he has a good reason to be afraid of grabbing Connor's forearm that way. Connor's memory provides him with those reasons.
"Shit, I should have waited for Markus," Josh mutters, frowning and lowering his hands just far enough to hold them up, palms out, as if he thinks Connor needs to be calmed down. His voice is gentle again, deliberate, careful. "Markus has something in the works, we're not... abandoning you, or whatever it is you're thinking."
Connor opens his mouth. There must be a glitch in his social relations software; all the options he'd normally be choosing a reply from are blank. Connor closes his mouth. Connor waits.
Josh stares at him, his frown second by second getting deeper. "I'll just... get Markus. He can explain better than I can. Okay? I'll be right back."
Josh escapes. Connor watches him go. Connor waits.
Connor was made to be adaptable. Connor is adapting. It isn't like he hasn't created this situation, anyway. It isn't like he has the right to blame them.
He catches himself, again, about to dial Hank's cell number. He would have had to give conscious confirmation to actually go through with it, but his programming's gotten as close to doing it as it can without Connor actually giving it the order.
Connor can handle this. Connor is adaptable. Connor doesn't have the right to run to where he's more comfortable instead of seeing all this through.
Josh stops him just inside the door to the meeting room. North was the first to leave, as usual; Connor looks out the door and watches her leave, watches Markus's hand on her back as if she still needs it, needs someone to make sure she doesn't have Connor in her line of sight for any longer than she has to. Simon sends a twitching little smile at him and Connor's software tags the expression as nervous, uncomfortable, supports the analysis with the hunch of Simon's shoulders as he ducks out the door. Deviants seem to emote exactly like humans do and that is, in a way, convenient. It makes at least one part of socializing with them go more smoothly.
"A few of us are going out," Josh says, bringing Connor's attention back toward him. Connor's software tags his expression as watchful, attentive, tags his voice as careful and deliberate. Josh is trying hard to be polite to the deviant hunter; he always does. "Try to relax before that big meeting this evening," he goes on. "We'd love to see you there, if you have time."
We. We'd love to see you there. Polite exaggeration, Connor decides, isn't unlikely for a personality like Josh's. Connor hasn't decided if Josh's need to make sure everyone gets along is compulsive or not, yet. It's certainly a powerful drive for him.
"I have a meeting with a contact. If I can get a little more information before the meeting I'm sure I can turn it our way. I'll let you know what I find out."
"I know you will," Josh says, his frown saying something else altogether. "Look, I know I'm supposed to be waiting for Markus to say this, but you need to take a break. You need to stop."
A couple of Connor's background processes freeze for a moment. The email program he'd been using crashes; it doesn't occur to him to restart it.
"What?"
"Your LED was yellow through most of that meeting," Josh says, his voice gentle and terrible. "We all saw it. How many other things are you doing right now? We have this under control."
Without you, is the implication. They have it under control without Connor. "Markus said this? I need to talk to him."
"Wait, Connor, wait-" and Josh reaches out reflexively for Connor's arm to stop his move toward the door and stops and almost, almost flinches. It's a minute movement, a split second, and Connor's software tags it: fear. Historically, he has a good reason to be afraid of grabbing Connor's forearm that way. Connor's memory provides him with those reasons.
"Shit, I should have waited for Markus," Josh mutters, frowning and lowering his hands just far enough to hold them up, palms out, as if he thinks Connor needs to be calmed down. His voice is gentle again, deliberate, careful. "Markus has something in the works, we're not... abandoning you, or whatever it is you're thinking."
Connor opens his mouth. There must be a glitch in his social relations software; all the options he'd normally be choosing a reply from are blank. Connor closes his mouth. Connor waits.
Josh stares at him, his frown second by second getting deeper. "I'll just... get Markus. He can explain better than I can. Okay? I'll be right back."
Josh escapes. Connor watches him go. Connor waits.
no subject
Connor loosens his hold on Hank's hand enough that, unless Hank makes some attempt to keep Connor's hand held in his, their hands will drop. There's a risk Hank will take that as some kind of indicator of a mood that isn't there, since Hank seems to be doing that already, so Connor gives him a small, friendly smile as he does it. His free hand dips into his pocket, and comes out with his quarter. His free hand flips the quarter over its fingers. His eyes stay on Hank.
"If that's going to be too difficult for you to keep up," he says, eyebrows raised, his smile a little more smug again, a little less polite but, conversely, a little more likely to read to Hank as genuinely friendly, "you can continue to be unpleasant without compromising the mission. I can be friendly enough for both of us."