[never let it be said that humans don't have boundless creativity. and yet, too frequently do they use it in ways that go hand-in-hand with callous cruelty to harm themselves and those they have deemed lesser.
connor may be unaware of certain social customs and take certain phrases at face value, but he's not so naive to have thought that humans would just accept androids into their lives as equals even after markus' peaceful demonstration and the revision of the american androids act. their 43% uptick in cases involving androids at the dpd (both as victims and perpetrators, though the former far outweighed the latter) was proof of it. returning back to the dpd had been something of an obvious choice for him, though some may have dogged him with a backlash and insinuated it was convenient and weak to stay where he was programmed to be, to work alongside humans who didn't always treat him as an equal...it's what connor had decided he wanted, ultimately.
obviously working directly with detective reed as a partner did not coincide with this decision, but it's where he is now. they've been tracking a sophisticated ring of android smugglers--specializing in the targeting, kidnapping, and...well, android trafficking of rare models. him and hank are working exceptionally well together and ticking up their case closure rate every day, but there's a wrench thrown into it when he's needed for consulting on a large red ice bust at precinct ten, arguably the only precinct handling crimes worse than their own.
that leaves him and gavin in close quarters for several days at a time while hank plans out the raid, coming home every day after work and grabbing more than one beer. he looks so exhausted and frustrated that connor doesn't have the heart to try and scold him for it, just making sure his dinner is as healthy as possible when their schedules align for a few hours to visit after work. he doesn't want to burden hank with his own increasing frustrations of their current investigation or detective reed's consistent digs. connor knows his ego is still smarting from they way he'd easily been able to disable his attempt at an attack in the evidence room, but connor had done his best to offer an apology in the form of a coffee, a note, and a direct address to his face the day he'd come back to the station. he supposes upon further reflection, telling reed he'd used "minimum force" to spare him from any life-threatening injuries was techno-babble for saying i could have handed you your own ass and held back, which was the wrong move.
spending time alone with his own thoughts at the small, functional 1-bedroom he calls his temporary living space is...also unhelpful. there are millions of articles he has sifted through about improving relations with a difficult coworker, but trying to ascertain which one would be best is like trying to blindly decide which wire to cut on a ticking timebomb.
preparing for their next undercover takes a lot of it off his mind, at least. a masquerade ball. no, i'm not fucking kidding, fowler had told them. they'd managed to catch a lead on this--a tip that their moving ring of rich abductors was throwing a lavish gala and they were going to have eyes and ears there--in the form of gavin and connor.
they arrive separately so as not to arouse suspicion, and because connor's mask doesn't fully conceal his glowing led that he hasn't wanted to remove. it'll make him look like an easy target, at least until gavin can pretend to smooze up to him and they can work the rest of the room together. he spends approximately three hours, twenty minutes, and seven seconds researching appropriate attire before placing a custom order using his rarely-touched salary from the dpd to order his suit. looking at himself in one of the gilded gold mirrors lining the ballroom he's standing in confirms--he looks the part. he's actually better dressed than some of the humans, something that makes him shrug slightly and adjust his tie out of habit rather than an actual aesthetic need.
he's already scanned the room and sent a copy of every recognizable face, along with any cross-referenced background crimes, to the dpd for analysis. the number of androids on the floor is approximately 36% compared to the human counterparts, and he hasn't yet entered any of the large rooms or gone past the lobby and the main party.
a notification flashes in his hud, alerting him that reed's vehicle has arrived.
FIND DETECTIVE REED
>GREET DETECTIVE REED >DISCUSS CURRENT DETAILS (android attendees, android consumables, people of interest) >INVESTIGATE CLOSED-DOOR ROOMS, UPSTAIRS & EXTERIOR LOCATIONS >BLEND IN >>(dance?)
he makes his way towards the foot of the large marbled double-sided staircase in the foyer, lined with golden cherubs and twisted leaves leading to the upstairs. there are two butlers opening the doors, two more taking coats. he stands at the foot of the stairs and waits, having the advantage of being able to scan and identify no matter what mask his obscuring his vision.
psl | coffeedipshit
connor may be unaware of certain social customs and take certain phrases at face value, but he's not so naive to have thought that humans would just accept androids into their lives as equals even after markus' peaceful demonstration and the revision of the american androids act. their 43% uptick in cases involving androids at the dpd (both as victims and perpetrators, though the former far outweighed the latter) was proof of it. returning back to the dpd had been something of an obvious choice for him, though some may have dogged him with a backlash and insinuated it was convenient and weak to stay where he was programmed to be, to work alongside humans who didn't always treat him as an equal...it's what connor had decided he wanted, ultimately.
obviously working directly with detective reed as a partner did not coincide with this decision, but it's where he is now. they've been tracking a sophisticated ring of android smugglers--specializing in the targeting, kidnapping, and...well, android trafficking of rare models. him and hank are working exceptionally well together and ticking up their case closure rate every day, but there's a wrench thrown into it when he's needed for consulting on a large red ice bust at precinct ten, arguably the only precinct handling crimes worse than their own.
that leaves him and gavin in close quarters for several days at a time while hank plans out the raid, coming home every day after work and grabbing more than one beer. he looks so exhausted and frustrated that connor doesn't have the heart to try and scold him for it, just making sure his dinner is as healthy as possible when their schedules align for a few hours to visit after work. he doesn't want to burden hank with his own increasing frustrations of their current investigation or detective reed's consistent digs. connor knows his ego is still smarting from they way he'd easily been able to disable his attempt at an attack in the evidence room, but connor had done his best to offer an apology in the form of a coffee, a note, and a direct address to his face the day he'd come back to the station. he supposes upon further reflection, telling reed he'd used "minimum force" to spare him from any life-threatening injuries was techno-babble for saying i could have handed you your own ass and held back, which was the wrong move.
spending time alone with his own thoughts at the small, functional 1-bedroom he calls his temporary living space is...also unhelpful. there are millions of articles he has sifted through about improving relations with a difficult coworker, but trying to ascertain which one would be best is like trying to blindly decide which wire to cut on a ticking timebomb.
preparing for their next undercover takes a lot of it off his mind, at least. a masquerade ball. no, i'm not fucking kidding, fowler had told them. they'd managed to catch a lead on this--a tip that their moving ring of rich abductors was throwing a lavish gala and they were going to have eyes and ears there--in the form of gavin and connor.
they arrive separately so as not to arouse suspicion, and because connor's mask doesn't fully conceal his glowing led that he hasn't wanted to remove. it'll make him look like an easy target, at least until gavin can pretend to smooze up to him and they can work the rest of the room together. he spends approximately three hours, twenty minutes, and seven seconds researching appropriate attire before placing a custom order using his rarely-touched salary from the dpd to order his suit. looking at himself in one of the gilded gold mirrors lining the ballroom he's standing in confirms--he looks the part. he's actually better dressed than some of the humans, something that makes him shrug slightly and adjust his tie out of habit rather than an actual aesthetic need.
he's already scanned the room and sent a copy of every recognizable face, along with any cross-referenced background crimes, to the dpd for analysis. the number of androids on the floor is approximately 36% compared to the human counterparts, and he hasn't yet entered any of the large rooms or gone past the lobby and the main party.
a notification flashes in his hud, alerting him that reed's vehicle has arrived.
FIND DETECTIVE REED
he makes his way towards the foot of the large marbled double-sided staircase in the foyer, lined with golden cherubs and twisted leaves leading to the upstairs. there are two butlers opening the doors, two more taking coats. he stands at the foot of the stairs and waits, having the advantage of being able to scan and identify no matter what mask his obscuring his vision.
(did reed even own a suit for this...?)]