WHERE DID THE TIME GO? IT'S LIGHT AT MY WINDOW—

[cyberlife]

WHO: connor cyberlife and you!
WHERE: connor and markus' apartment.
WHEN: august 15th (this is my last log i swear).
WHAT: a very special birthday party for a very special android and whoever else wants to celebrate being a leo.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: tbd, please don't destroy their home.

(for all of the leos out there, here's an open ruckus log for all ensuing party things. connor would love to host it at his place, even though he has the social grace of an awkward nineteen year old and has no idea how to host get-togethers without accidentally raising his voice to stave off the jitters. this is an event that happens only once a year and prompto reminded him of that — even if he's not even quite there yet.

so. feel free to make a top level and mingle, there will be lots of party-like activities. here are a few to choose from:

—get drunk with your friends and make horrible decisions, because there will be alcoholic beverages and no supervision
—little party favours that may include things connor thinks humans enjoy (i.e. tic tacs or gum, various potted succulents, saltine crackers, batteries, hand sanitizer, toothpaste, friendship bracelets, shot glasses, socks, and anything you think is super weird)
—many ours d'oeuvres connor both bought from the store and tried to make himself, so i'd avoid anything burnt options if you love yourself
—a beautiful birthday cake courtesy of markus, who is the only good baker in the house and should be the only one who uses the kitchen
—a death robot, hellachopper, who will be present and zooming around who only attacks when provoked, like a big, metal pit bull
—sleeping bags for the people who get too hammered to venture home
—and many, many more horrible things

clearly he doesn't understand that these occasions are supposed to be for the one having the birthday and not for the guests who attend. happy b-day to all and to all a good night.)

Comments

OTA....

[saviorexe]

[Hellachopper hates him.

He’s been told otherwise, of course. That the little fight-bot whirring and zipping around the feet of milling party guests, with hidden blades slotted inside a metal body, does not “attack” unless provoked. Does not look at one single person and paints them as a viable target for prime ankle-slashing, unless otherwise given a reason. Markus doesn’t believe it for a second — he’s had it charge in his direction, viciously protesting in mechanical noises, while he’s done little more than keep to himself. Has seen it stop mid-roll and turn to face him, some unread threat hanging precariously in the air until the moment passes.

As a result, he avoids it for now. Focuses his attentions on the guests and all of those celebrating their birthdays, giving Hellachopper an appropriately wide berth to appease it. He’ll speak to Connor about the bot’s odd behavior later, maybe, when all the guests have filtered out of the apartment and the celebrations have officially come to a close. That’s his belief, at least, as he crosses the kitchen to put away a dirty plate. Into the sink it goes, and it slides from his fingertips just a little too quickly, hitting the metal surface only a mote too loudly.

Hellachopper, which had been ambling its way just around the kitchen island, stops. Spins to face Markus. The android, quite aware of its presence, stills his hand. Stills his entire body, mouth twisting into a frown, brow worrying.]

No. [HE SEES IT THINKING ABOUT IT.] There’s no need for—

[Words might as well have been severed by the steel knife that pops out from one of the bot’s compartments. Moreover, it begins to spin in perfect circles, viciously fast, like a crazed top. Like an upward-facing wheel. Like a hellachopper.

It barrels towards Markus’ ankles in a rush, but the android reacts as if he’s coiled spring, or a startled cat. A twist of his body and he’s hefting himself up onto the kitchen counter, lifting his legs up and away from the angry little death bot that spins just beneath him on the floor.]

Standby! Sleep mode—!

[It’s not standing by or sleeping.]

christ

[cyberlife]

Markus.

(walking in with a couple of empty beer bottles gathered up en route from his trip to the washroom, connor stands astride the kitchen island and watches as his eyebrows arch high enough to crease his forehead. what in the world— he has to put the beer bottles down in order to start forward after hellachopper.

his presence is enough to placate the bot enough that it stops its death spin, but. well. the knife sure is out and ready to shank.)

De-stroy, de-stroy.

Excuse me? Language. (there's an angry buzz, but it behaves itself and quiets, thoroughly chastised.)

(stepping over him to get to the other side of the island to visit markus at his perch, placing a hand on the countertop. it strikes him as funny but it'd be extremely inappropriate to laugh, so connor stares up at him with a tilt of his head and gives him the best concerned frown he can muster.)

Sorry about that. I thought he calmed down after the last time, now I'll have to paint the bottom of the cupboard again...

—are you alright?

*robojesus

[saviorexe]

[He’d be more embarrassed about his perch on the kitchen island if there wasn’t a death-bot destroying the cabinets just beneath him. Connor’s sudden presence is a welcome one — someone who can talk sense into the little robot, calming it down and somehow convincing its programming that Markus isn’t a target. It works, however briefly it may last.

And touting a mantra of “de-stroy”, only to be quieted when Connor reprimands it, the android’s gaze finally tears away from Hellachopper and meets that of his friend’s.]

I’ve jumped up on the island to save my legs from a spinning, knife-wielding robot, Connor. If I said “yes”, would you believe it?

[This is noT FUNNY you better not laugh at him, you better keep that concerned look on your face CONNOR]

He doesn't like me.

[cyberlife]

(is this some kind of test? connor takes another look at the situation. markus on the counter. hellachopper on the floor, a small, very avoidable machine who shows signs of aggressive dog breed behaviours.

he clears his throat, poker face steely.)

Not when you put it that way, but you have to challenge Hellachopper's idea of dominance.

(become the alpha dog you were manufactured to be, markus.)

He doesn't have to like you, he has to respect you. That should come first.

[saviorexe]

[There’s a passing moment where it’s more than obvious that Markus is trying to decide if Connor is joking, unyielding poker face or otherwise.]

...I’m not a dog, Connor.

[A clarification he never thought he’d have to utter, and yet here we are.]

I’m not going to effect dominance on him when it shouldn’t be necessary to begin with. This is about common courtesy.

[The last bit is pointedly said in Hellachopper’s downward direction before looking at Connor again. COMMON COURTESY.]

Something needs to be done about the knife.

[cyberlife]

I know you're not a dog.

(said defensively, with his powers of observation under attack... markus is obviously not a dog, but it's the concept of a more animal nature coming into play in this scenario that he'd have liked to impress upon him — it won't stick. he's a very cultured, civilized man whose best technique to calm hellachopper down is.

well. this.)

With all due respect, Markus, I don't think he was designed to understand common courtesy; he was built for fighting arenas.

(hinging at the hip, connor puts hands on hellachopper and presses on the hilt of the knife. this prompts the bot to retract it with a whir and begin to spin very slowly under his fingertips.)

We can't remove it, I think that'd be distressing. Maybe a... sleeve of some sort?

[saviorexe]

And I don’t think that’s true at all. He displays common enough courtesy around everyone else. Everyone except me.

[Even if they’re taking liberties with the phrase, accurate only if it means not spinning into a death whirl to ravage someone’s legs.

Such is his argument, at least, as he leans forward a few degrees, peering over as Connor tames the little robot with the viciously sharp knife, somehow convincing it to put the weapon away. If nothing else, Markus’ sense of balance is as strong as ever, affording him a clear view of Hellachopper lackadaisically spinning under his friend’s touch.

Unbelievable, really.]

We could at least dull the blade, so it doesn’t draw blood.

[It would be a dry remark if it wasn’t instead distracted by how Markus is carefully — so very carefully, again, like a wary cat — shifting his body to hopefully, gently, place his feet back down on the kitchen floor...]

[cyberlife]

(the moment markus touches the floor with a toe, hellachopper is swinging the knife back out to connor's dismay.)

Hellachopper— (he exclaims with a drop forward onto the bot's middle in an attempt to wrestle the arm back in while keeping it from zooming forward after markus' ankle.) You're absolutely right, I— damn it— I couldn't agree more. I'll try to lure him into my bedroom so he won't disturb you or the other party guests.

...

(suspicious when the bot seems to slow to a halt, tiny gel tires beneath its body leaving small tread marks on the kitchen floor, connor only tightens his grip with one hand and uses the other to dab at his forehead.)

I'll take care of it. He's my responsibility.

[saviorexe]

[And as soon as the knife whips back out (Markus wonders if he just imagines the sound of metal ringing, like a well-placed sound effect), the android immediately retracts himself back onto the countertop, his reply momentarily hitching in his throat.

He wishes that he had more experience with pets — or small angry children. Maybe then he’d have a better idea regarding how to proceed, though Connor already seems to have formulated a temporary solution to his lingering problem.]

You might have been the one to bring him home, but he’s our responsibility. I have to live with him, too.

[If Markus had an LED, it’d be blinking.]

If I make a mad dash to your bedroom, he’ll be sure to follow, don’t you think?

[It’s one way to lure the little bot into a trap…]

[cyberlife]

(er, well,) I'd imagine so, Markus, but are you willing to make your ankles bait? The knife might seriously injure you, if we don't time this correctly. (really don't want your blood all over the place in the middle of his birthday party.

he doesn't like hospitals.

but what markus says, markus means. connor gives one last pat to hellachopper's casing and straightens up to let it assess its new situation with a fanning red light that scans the immediate area in search for prey in the shape of the fearless revolutionary currently hunched up on the island's countertop like a frightened old woman who's just spotted a mouse.

annnd takes a liberal step back to get out of the bot's way, flattening himself into the divot between the opposite counter and their fridge.)

Okay... whenever you're ready...

[saviorexe]

I've been in more dangerous situations before, Connor. Risking my ankles is nothing in comparison.

[And that, they both know, is the legitimate truth.

So he nods, waiting for Connor to stand and give Hellachopper (the little bot is already scanning for him, he just knows it, how utterly unbelievable) wide berth. Markus' eyes narrow on it, casting in its direction the most judgmental, disappointed look, before the android adjusts his position. Tenses in a telltale way, leaning his weight into the cool edge of the island like a man ready to take a flying leap of faith-

And practically does just that, springing himself off and several feet into the adjoining living area, using that momentum to carry him forward in a flurry, dodging past a few of the guests and over the back of the couch with impressive, if not somewhat hilarious, fluidity.

The path to Connor's room is straightforward. He's sure he can make it there without the angry arena robot catching up to his achilles tendons, or something.

CATCH HIM IF YOU CAN, HELLACHOPPER]

[cyberlife]

(markus leaps and weaves like a gazelle or an animal with its equivalent grace, over and around furniture, dodging confused party guests — for good reason. the moment his toes touch the floor, hellachopper flies like a bat out of hell straight through the legs of their visitors, the adopt-a-bot's side bumpers guiding him through the fray with proximity sensors. right after his arch nemesis, intent on his destruction.

connor swears at the ridiculous high-speed chase and darts out from behind the island after them.

hot on hellachopper's tail, connor's initial goal is to stand by the door and close it the moment markus bounds into the main room from the end of his bed, but... well, hellachopper isn't a seasoned battlebot champion for nothing. the robot whips around the frame and tucks himself neatly behind the door until connor, the rube, pokes his head in to check on the situation. which turns out to be a couple of steps too far, immediately outwitted when hellachopper pushes the door closed behind him and lets out a very angry buzz.

connor, startled by the noise and the surprising turn of events — so sure his son would forgive him for helping The Enemy — spooks him up onto the bed with markus. it's an undignified scrabble, rolling onto a hip with a sharp huff to survey the situation below. plain to see that hellachopper is dominating the floor after activating his patrolling program to pace in front of the door.

knife extended.)

...

That didn't work at all.

[saviorexe]

[Markus had quite literally jumped up onto Connor’s bed, fleet-footed, planting his balance squarely upon the springy mattress to stand up tall and survey the goings-on from there. Opening his mouth to provide his friend with a warning as soon as he spots his head poking in from the doorway, he finds that they’re both too quickly outwitted by the stubborn arena bot, and soon Connor is jumping up on the mattress beside him. Both of them now cornered quarry, isolated in the bedroom, trapped, while Hellachopper patrols across the floor in quick back-and-forth successions.

Problematic.

Two highly advanced prototype androids — one of them the most advanced of their faraway world — outsmarted by an aggressive fight-bot housing rudimentary AI at best. CyberLife would be appalled. (Kamski would probably find this fucking hilarious.)]

…I can see that. [Thank you, Captain Obvious Connor. Markus reaches up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, exhaling and closing his eyes.] I miscalculated.

[Or rather, he couldn’t calculate at all. Couldn’t force algorithms and quick-fire predictions to blossom into his vision, providing the usual routes of preconstruction, couldn’t move as quickly as he liked, overburdened by a human body.

Markus crouches down, pressing his knees into the mattress, looking obliquely at the other android.]

Hellachopper isn’t very loyal, is he.

[your son has turned on you, too, Connor.]

a wildcard this is your life now markus

[selfimage]

[ parties is something that Loki actually does well: he's a choice mingler, an enthusiastic drinking partner, and feels absolutely comfortable doing anything he wants in someone else's space. when the party gets a little more rowdy and the crowd begins to open up (with the help of the alcohol), Loki decides that the apartment is ripe for snooping.

he either disappears to get another beer or use the toilet, but whatever it was he finds himself sliding into Markus' room. nothing is big in New Amsterdam, and none of them have a lot of things, so there's not much to go through. he finds the paints, but doesn't use them, rifles through a few drawers before finding the closet. going through Markus' wardrobe with under-the-breath commentary, he finds a particularly good looking coat.

despite the heat, he nabs it and puts it on, drawing it up over his shoulders to get a sense of the weight. ]

Hm ... not bad, I suppose.

what did he do to deserve this

[saviorexe]

[He’s returned to his room to fetch something; what that something is happens to be a mystery at the moment, because Markus doesn’t get far before spotting — quite blatantly — Loki’s presence in his room. Digging through his closet. Tossing on one of his many coats.

Markus doesn’t say anything at first, before stepping forward and replying to the rather scrutinizing commentary.]

Only “not bad”? I like that one.

[It’s heavier, suited more for the cold. He can’t wear it yet, not in this weather.]

took loki as a friend

[selfimage]

[ even in being caught, Loki hardly blinks. there's a brief, careless glance up at Markus, but he continues adjusting the jacket over his shoulders (because it doesn't quite fit) like he's merely walked in on him in the dressing room. ]

It's a bit bland for me. [ not nearly enough useless buckles and fur collars. Loki is far too extra for it, in other words. his wardrobe being absent is one of those things that he misses, even though he has his own flair of style.

then he turns for Markus like he's on a runway. ]

regretti

[saviorexe]

[Somehow the casual way that Loki ignores any kind of wrongness on his part seems... just par the course. Markus continues sauntering close enough to stand almost directly behind him, at an angle that affords him view of his own closet. Peering in, just briefly, to make sure he hasn't rifled through it so fervently that he's left it as a disaster zone.

Then his eyes sweep over Loki in the same moment that he turns with a flourish, as if he's in some very circumspect fashion show.]

There's nothing bland about it. It's an elegant coat, with clean lines and dark solid colors. There's beauty in simplicity, Loki.

[Also. Also:]

Anyway, you're too small for it.

[selfimage]

Please, I never said it wasn't a nice coat. Just a bit basic.

[ excuse you for implying that Markus.

while Loki had rifled through his closet, he hadn't rifled too violently. aside from some clothing shuffled aside, it doesn't really seem like he did too much damage. he has to be fairly percise in his nosing abouts or he's too obvious (even if he does want to be too obvious at times). ]

And I'm not small. I'm slim.

[ petty differences. ]

[saviorexe]

[Petty differences, po-tay-to, po-tah-to. Slimmer, smaller, the truth doesn’t change — it falls strangely on the god’s shoulders, too big. But that does guarantee one thing, at least, that Markus can make comfort in: Loki is less likely to run off with one of them, potentially discouraged by the discrepancy in size and its “basicness”.

Basic. Really, now.]

What exactly is it lacking, Loki? A fur trim? Not enough pageantry and flash?

[And now that he’s close enough, the android reaches out to quietly close. his closet. door.]

And here comes the real question — why are you digging through my things? You realize that my closet isn’t part of the usual birthday celebrations?

[selfimage]

[ rest assured, Markus, he'd make off with it regardless of his opinions on it if he wanted; nothing stops him from being petulant. there's a purse of his lips as he gives him a roguish smile—nope, he's not at all apologetic. ]

It's a perfectly adequate way to get to know you. [ he says like people do this every day. ] You don't have something to hide in there, do you?

[ it's a curious question rather than an accusing one. if there are things to hide, then Loki will surely want to find them. ]

[saviorexe]

[These coats are like his children. He knows each and every one by fabric blend and designer, and if one does go missing at least he'll have an idea who to blame now.]

A perfectly adequate way to get to know me is to ask me questions about myself; that's the way normal people do it, at least. Mundane, I know, but it works, Loki.

[An arch of a brow, eyes moving from the closet and then back to the god.]

If I have something to hide in there, would I tell you?

[Spoiler: there is nothing Markus is hiding in his closet that's even worth the barest of gossip.]

[selfimage]

[ he walked into this one, even if he doesn't do it. ]

As if I wouldn't ask. [ because he has, and because he will. there's a knowing smile on his face, and a little arch of his brow. ] Would you tell me anything that I asked? I generally don't expect that sort of honesty. [ he's the god of lies, after all. he means it like he doesn't judge, like everyone has to tell lies to themselves to get by.

he's just nosy as hell. ]

Thus, if you're not telling me, I can find out for myself.

[saviorexe]

By rifling through my closet.

[He finishes that thought, as if to accentuate how silly it is. As if Markus would stow away any hidden facets of himself in the pockets of coats lining the interior of his closet.

Honestly, he views it for what it is: an fancy excuse to just be nosy and poke around in an android’s home.]

But to answer your question, yes. I’d be honest with you, Loki, even if you assaulted me with a hundred personal questions. I’d do my best to be, anyway.

[He gestures vaguely with open arms, indicating himself.]

Here’s your chance now, if you want. Otherwise I have something in here I need to pick up, and I can see you out after I do.

[…..leave…..]

[selfimage]

[ it's a very fancy excuse to poke around his home, but Loki has put enough thought into it make it kinda fancy, and then talk his way around it. it might not just be the closet diving that he's satisfied with it, but being caught and playing to the challenge. it's ambiguous what he wants out of something.

maybe it's just a sign that he likes him, and he's finding new ways of pushing boundaries before Markus pushes him back into place. ]

All right, all right—no need to be that rash. [ he cocks a dark brow up at him and shrugs off the jacket. neatly, he folds it over his arm and hands it back. ] Really, I get the hint.

[ he huffs and puts a hand on his hip and looks him over with his arms spread and the jacket offered back out to him. ]

No more invasions of privacy.

[saviorexe]

[Despite his words, which have nearly taken the shape of a parent gently scolding a child, something amused still lives in Markus' eyes. A keenness that betrays how much he actually minds having Loki rummage through his personal possessions.

Still, lines must be drawn in the sand, especially if the god is just going to kick at the them with the heel of a toe. Draw none at all, and the results would be far more disastrous from the start.

And so Markus takes the jacket with an utterance of thanks, and stepping past Loki, he opens his closet door again and slips inside to put it back on its hanger. It'll be easy enough to view this, at least, especially when the android lingers, standing up on his toes and reaching up to feel for something that's tucked away near the back of the top line of shelving.]

Rash? I thought you'd appreciate the offer of honesty.