@bootyshortsforoldmen

[realtimeanalysis]

( who: Hank Anderson & Connor RK800
when: a few days after dis
where: Eden Club, Hank's Car, Cyberlife Store/Repair & Upgrade Station

warnings: TBA; Robotics 'gore', Android Sex Club, etc )

[ Five minutes isn't supposed to be a lot of time.

It is a lot of time for someone who processes as fast as Connor, and it might also be a lot of time to sit parked outside the front of an android sex club.

Connor had already explained that to Hank earlier that morning, although heading straight to Cyberlife headquarters would be the fastest way to get everything done in one trip, he would prefer to avoid revisiting that particular location. Illogical? Absolutely... Connor by no means expected RK900 to suddenly appear from behind some pristine corridor. He and Hank had taken care of that issue, Hank had destroyed Connor's evolved model.

(But, then again, Connor had also been destroyed, once. Gunned down, taking bullets for Hank. So how unfounded are these unfounded worries?)

Regardless, Connor had opted to get his upgrades at a smaller Cyberlife store, selected becasuse it features the most advanced model of their android maintenance hubs, tucked into the back room for repairs and upgrades. The shop is a small individually owned franchise so it does not happen to stock, by default at all times, a huge assortment of android dicks and other such bits.

The resulting math leaves Hank waiting in his car outside the android sex club while Connor was supposed to go inside and pick up his new parts. Then, they would drive to the shop of Connor's choosing for the actual install process.

But as Connor finally returns to the car in crisp sharp strides, he is conspicuously empty handed. His expression is slightly tart with irritation as he knocks on Hank's window, and gestures for him to either roll it down, or open the door. ]

I'm sorry, you're going to have to come inside. [ His typical polite manner is citrus-soured ] The establishment's owner keeps insisting I need the physical signature of my registered owner to pick up my order

[ Honestly there's no reason to insert such old world technology into this new day and age, apart from being a pain in the ass absolutely on purpose. Obviously, at least to Connor, someone with their fingers in Cyberlife bureaucracy is punching back against the whole new "androids are people" thing.

Connor is not even surprised, but he is reasonably annoyed. ]

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[bootyshortsforoldmen]

[Hank raises a brow as Connor knocks at his window, but he rolls it down all the same. Dick model out of stock, maybe?

He’s glad he decides to let Connor talk first, though, because what the fuck?]

I’m not your owner, Connor. Registered or otherwise.

[Slipping out of the car now; slamming the door a little too hard. Hank gives the ol’ girl a pat in apology before heading toward the club, one hand reaching out to Connor before he drops it. Dipping both into his coat pockets, fists clenched.]

Goddamn motherfuckers.

[He meant to touch Connor’s back — his shoulder, his anything; hoping to comfort them both — but he doesn’t want anyone looking at them and thinking: “oh, so that’s the owner.”

Connor isn’t a thing. He isn’t like Hank’s car. It’s not as if Hank has in his possession some form of android title and registration, nor — the thought makes him tremble with rage — some deed of sale bullshit, or acknowledgement of delivery, or...]

Don’t — don’t apologize for these fuckers. It’s not your fault the world sucks.

[Hank lets out a sigh through gritted teeth. Today is a big day for Connor, and here he is, being all irritable and whiny.

Cool it, Hank. Just for today. But can he?]

Fucking “physical signature” of — I mean, how the hell do they even know you were assigned to be my partner? They got that in their little computer database? Assigned. Partner.

[Still grumbling. Hank isn’t taking this well, either.]