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meadowlarklogs2018-10-21 12:39 am
larkers) wrote in meadowlarklogs2018-10-21 12:39 am
EVENT LOG 002
WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: July 27
WHAT: New Amsterdam experiences a wave of unusual violence.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Violence, injury, death. Further notes at end of log.
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: July 27
WHAT: New Amsterdam experiences a wave of unusual violence.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Violence, injury, death. Further notes at end of log.
| > EVENT LOG #002 |
Flu season doesn't tend to hit during New Amsterdam's high summer, but the symptoms that sweep over numerous citizens over the city are similar enough to make people worry. Thanks to the high level of medical care and immunizations, sweeps of sickness like the one takes hold of the city on the morning of July 27th are uncommon. The occurrences are incidental, however – nothing to write home about, and nothing to go to the hospital for, not that the people in question are willing. Any suggestion that there may be something wrong could be easily taken as a slight – as if one wrong word could set them off. The first reports of the chaos begin come in waves around midday. Police blotters update to describe unusual acts of violence at all corners of the city. These stories begin with the bizarre. One man holds up a drug store with a haphazard set of weapons because the storekeepers offered him poor customer service. An arrest occurs in the financial district because a high-end gourmet commodities manager splashes a hot drink on her customer's face after they tap their foot impatiently. These incidents escalate before long – hovercars crash into one another in shocking displays of road rage, the vice president of sales at a Giles Bell pharmaceutical subsidiary demands that security shut down all exits to the building, insisting that everyone must remain inside to be searched. The cause for this search is unknown. Once again caught unaware by the wave of violence sweeping over the city, NAPD officers hit the streets to try to stymie the frequent occurrences. However, they're ill-prepared for what lies ahead of them. The offenders are difficult to identify ahead of time, prowling through the streets as if they're hunting their victims. Various businesses end up surrounded by teams of NAPD officers, trying to find a way to break through security to help the innocent people held inside. With how massive and overpopulated that New Amsterdam is, there aren't enough officers to stem the violence. |
| > THE SAFEHOUSE |
As the day stretches on, local news reports advise all New Amsterdam citizens to return home or to somewhere they know to be safe. They have very little information about the cause for these events, and reporters are hesitant to draw any conclusions. Each reporter, however, offers a common refrain: it's a month to the day of the strange creature's attack on the city, and this bizarre onslaught is hitting it when it is at its weakest. They advise anyone to send tips to the NAPD about why this outbreak of violence has occurred, as well as any information on any incidents or offenders. Gaby had the day off when the news reports began to come in, and was nowhere near the safehouse when she got the call to come in. Getting to the safehouse is difficult, wearying, and she looks worse for wear when she gets inside. She has a gun holstered under a jacket, hidden away, and infrequently used. Anyone who comes in will be checked, passed over with a metal detector. No one gets in with a weapon. Everything is secure, because the safehouse is small, tight. Even if it's just the player characters living there now, it's likely less of a haven and more of a place that could present a number of risks. Gaby knows this, but like anyone in this – she's caught in a bit of a bind. For anyone who's present, she'll take stock of how they're doing. Without knowledge of the early symptoms being common knowledge, it will be difficult to pick any out. There is room for someone to lie about someone's behavior – Gaby has no way of knowing, no way of "curing" anyone to check if they're telling the truth. That's not to say she won't be on edge or prepared for any attacks to occur inside the safehouse. She will be ready to step in and restrain anyone who exhibit violent behavior against another person. Besides, anyone smart probably wouldn't come back to a limited, closed space with multiple other strangers. The safehouse isn't looking all that safe right now. |
| > THE CURE |
How it first happens may be coincidence. A desperate grab to stop a fist making impact, or an attempt to restrain someone. Either way, skin to skin contact is made, and the effect is immediate: a burning sensation at the point of contact, and the now familiar blue glow. What it indicates isn't clear. The affected person shows no change in behavior, not to start. But as the burning gets worse, they seem to slowly calm. Eventually a sense of peace falls on both of you, one that flows into a deep, terrible wave of sadness, gone as soon as it came. The offender looks at you with clear eyes, clear-headed. They don't know what came over them, why they did what they did. They were so angry, so sure what they were doing was justified. But in the aftermath, all that's left is confusion and guilt. You look at your hands and realize you have the means to prevent more of them from doing anything terrible. But it could be at great risk to yourself – physically, and in being seen, being caught and found out to not be of this world. The reports of the attacks continue on the news, more hostage incidents where the NAPD are unable to reason with the hostage takers, attacks on the streets leaving people critically wounded, or worse. Is risking yourself worth it to try saving this city? |
| > FINAL OOC NOTES |
Please refer to the OOC EVENT POST for this event for all OOC info, including suggestions for directions on how to engage with the event and the questions thread for any questions regarding this event. Affected characters must have entered the burning building during our guided log earlier in the month, though it isn't necessary for you to have responded to the log to say your character did so! Any characters who did not enter the building will be unaffected, including all newcomers from the last arrival. The incidents will continue until July 30, IC time. An aftermath wrap up post will be made on October 26 which will detail the resolution and fallout of the event. As a reminder, there is one power level up available for this event. This will be granted for a thread of at least 5 action/log comments containing your character "curing" either another player character or an NPC. They will need to reach the 5 comments required by November 20 to be eligible. Submission will be handled on the wrap up post. |
| > NAVIGATION |
belatedly slams into this 1 / wildcard
as a rule, people are taller than fitz or of his height. the proportion of giant tree people to normal individuals is tipped in favour of the former, among the universal interlopers that crashed in new amsterdam together. the population of new amsterdam, too, skews a touch taller than him, including the individual who slips fingers around his wrist. he recognises connor from the safehouse, small as their initial group was. a fellow anomaly.
fitz shoots a widened look to his side, surprised at both the interference and sudden contact. no burning cuts through the bond, only a fragile calm and prickling unease. empathy transfer, not rehabilitation. fortunately, his potential opponent is caught off guard as well, and fitz reacts quicker. ]
— darling, there you are. [ to explain their bizarre wrist-touching — that he promptly upgrades to a hand-hold™ ] Sorry again about bumping into you. [ directed to the other man. ] Bit distracted while I was looking for this one.
[ he may not be affected, but it's apparent someone in this conversation is, so.]
SWEPT OFF HIS FEET SO SUDDENLY
thankfully this "altercation" is easy enough to spot — the air-filled chest, the raised chin, squaring up and making himself a danger to one of his people standing downwind from him — and he wastes no time interjecting before it escalates into something unmanageable.
he's never been more thankful for the connection that springs up between fitz' wrist and his hand, having fell in line beside him with a battered face and body, obviously expecting the worst. when he looks like he's just been fed to a meat grinder and spat back out, no one can blame him for his outlook erring a little grim. but there's no pain — that's shared across their bond like a warm reassurance that permeates through fitz' unease —, just a firm will to resolve this quickly and maybe go get a fucking drink.
easier said than done. at least connor has the height advantage.)
My mind wanders, I'm just stupid enough to follow it. Sorry, (a low apology shared between lovers and one that's easy for connor to emulate with a gentle squeeze from his bandaged hand,) I know I should be taking it easy.
(the man, unfortunately, doesn't find apologies to be exactly what he's looking for. their auto-translators strain to provide them with a close approximation to the string of curses spat at them, raising the android's eyebrows. well, excusing themselves isn't going to work. this one's mad and they're the only wall standing between him and the rest of the population hellbent on making this a normal day. connor checks on fitz, then their friend.)
Listen, you're understandably upset, but as far as I can tell, sir, this was an accident. There's a beat cop just down the street there, though, (there isn't, but getting him to turn to check his six is a pretty effective way to get the jump on someone,) who could mediate if you'd like to sort this out civilly.
we found love in a hopeless place
[ or "we're in this together now," as it might translate. connor's calm smoothes the edges of fitz's near-constant thrum of anxiety. few people seem to use the bond to their advantage, if they use it all, but fitz and daisy have been trading emotions for some time. testing boundaries and offering kindnesses, too. empathy has its uses, like anything else.
it serves them well now.
even with a fight brewing on the darkened face of the man before him, fitz's focus lingers on connor. smarting bruises, fresh cuts, and swollen skin worry him. i'm not that kind of doctor is a catchphrase, at this point, despite his insistence on offering first-aid. for the majority of the day, fitz has opted for provocation over de-escalation, using fighting as a means to instigate physical contact. he bears but a few marks of this — a bruise along his jawline and redness hidden under his collar. now, fitz runs scenarios, searching for one that avoids further damage to his rescuer. he does a quick mental calculation, then, checking whether he'd be strong enough to yank connor back, despite their disparity in height. ultimately, fitz reckons he could manage it.
only connor already has a plan of his own (sir is nice touch, by the by, very disarming), and fitz cottons on in time to brush his thumb across the back of connor's hand (i get it. i'm following you) before he loosens his grip. going hand-to-hand would be inadvisable, even with the element of surprise. instead, he considers what bobbi trained him to do, the second time he attempted his field test.
when their target turns his head, widening his stance to do so, fitz drops lower and swings out his leg out, connecting right at the ankle. just like that, their would-be troublemaker tips forward with another round of swears, hands scrambling to break the fall. ]
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being an android, having these capabilities. he wouldn't have gotten injured. he wouldn't need to stress about taking one civilian down. it all would've been made easy. humans really are amazing, aren't they?
releasing fitz the moment he feels the man's adrenaline spike, connor watches the first strike followthrough before stepping into his reaction. there's only a small window of time they have before the toppled man scrapes his hands on the sidewalk and springs back up with a renewed sense of purpose for his anger, so this happens quick — the android activates his ability to stifle any oncoming pain as a result of getting rough and jarring his injuries, fisting up the scruff of the infected's shirt collar. with a surprisingly effective throw of his own weight down against him, a face meets the ground and is pinned there with a stiff arm.)
Unfortunately I've only got the one hand to work with. (connor says, sounding quite level despite the pressure being applied to a would-be aching collarbone — he even manages to keep his manners.) Would you get his wrists, please? That should be enough to start us off.
(how long the curing takes is still a hazy detail to connor... it was difficult to tell when noctis took care of him. they'll stay until the problem's fixed, though. that's their responsibility now, with clear minds and the capability to help.)
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[ yet again, fitz finds himself impressed by his newfound partner. the reaction time and method suggests an experienced fighter, familiar with methods for neutralising a threat. must have hurt, though, even if it doesn't show (a consideration for later, when he has a pint in hand). for now, fitz does as instructed, positioning himself beside connor and grabbing their target's wrists, using both hands to lock them at an uncomfortable angle. better a little ache now than the pain of a continued fight. it provides the opportunity for skin-to-skin contact, too.
and the relative ease of his partnership with connor makes for the perfect opportunity to record data. fitz blinks and sets a timer on the neural implant.]
The approximate window clocks in at over three minutes and under seven. [ offered matter-of-factly. gathered from his prior observations, tainted by late starts and broken contact. the burning sensation sparks across his skin, marking the beginning of the cure. after a beat his tone turns dry, even as he winces. ] Then, there will be pints — [ a sideways glance at connor. ] — and a spot of TLC.
[ you fucking terminator. ]
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do the effects double, if they both lay hands on the man? worth a shot, really, if they can share the hurt. connor chokes up on his grip by releasing the back of the shirt he scraped up and clamps his hand down against a feverish neck. he's begun to thrash against their holds, an inevitability, but he's following through with a drop of his knee onto the centre of an arching spine. that's a fruitless attempt, even if they're gathering onlookers; men, women, and children gawking at the assault, many too fearful to linger for long in the area.
few have the decency to call the police and the ones that do don't reach anyone — they're dealing with mass breakouts of this epidemic all over the damn city, so there's not one cop in the world coming to this guy's "rescue". connor doesn't pay the throngs any attention, grunting through the occasional upheaval that makes him shove their target's face further into the asphalt.
gentility was never his strong suit.)
... I've never drunk a pint before. (musing aloud, checking on fitz while ignoring the voice in his head telling him that this curing should be his responsibility alone.) I hadn't planned on trying one, but it's beginning to sound very appealing. I hope beer's better than tequila.
(talking is obviously a preferred distraction for him, more so now that the pain is crawling up his arm like a third degree burn setting his nerves on fire. go figure.)
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what sort of prick gives an android tequila before beer? he doubts connor is the type to sneak liquor from dad's cabinet and dilute it with water or the like, even if the sharp push against their target suggests he has an edge. more likely that one of their resident disasters supplied him with shots. ]
Fortunately, I'm the sort of boyfriend who pays for drinks. [ a grunt as fitz barely keeps their man's wrists from breaking free, and brings his knees down to pin the jerking legs. ] So you'll have your hopes confirmed.
[ don't think the attempt at sharing the burden or punishing himself in some way goes unnoticed, however (it's a leo fitz patented move, to be honest). his instincts are to read and catalog others, a shade too clinical for his comfort, but it provides insight nonetheless. quibbling over the privilege of suffering through the cure may be a waste of his time, but he makes a note to question the action later. did they share the pain? was it less, for either of them? ]
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he chokes on a weak laugh and regrets it. fuck.) If you say so.
(fitz struggles to pin legs and connor wonders if he's doing alright, jokes aside. he's got a broader mind than the normalcy of their conversation suggests (and maybe that's abnormal in itself, shooting the shit over a guy hissing and spitting slowly dying threats at them against the sidewalk), having felt his concentration and vague impressions of a very familiar way of breaking situations down into their constituents. withstanding this kind of agony is another thing entirely, especially for human beings where pain brings fear and fear brings instincts of fight or flight.
he seems keen on the fight, hell, he's cracking wise while they're bringing aid to someone who needs it. that may not be enough to stop connor from worrying, but it's enough to impress him. thanks will be in order, later. and a lot of fussing.)
Sorry, I — don't know your name yet. (a realization that makes him squeeze down hard, fingertips, at this point, running rosette bruises up the column of the man's neck. it certainly keeps him still for the moment he needs to introduce himself. in the middle of this fucking disaster. always the gentleman.) I'm Connor.
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if fitz weren't currently experiencing the telltale spike of pain as the cure crests into despair, he might make more of connor's choked laugh. as it stands, there are too many potent factors in play, with his humour least among them. for him, the sadness is worse than the burning, a threat to his precarious equilibrium. and the only antidote is time — or a diversion, something to pursue beyond the pull downward.
a persistent conversation is just the thing for it, particularly as their mark loses his fighting spirit, swallowed by the same ache. fitz's grip remains firm. ]
Fitz. [ ah. ] Well, Leo — but Fitz. [ he doesn't make the mistake of introducing himself as leopold again, not after loki took to calling him that instead of fitz. the name should have died with the person who preferred it. ] We're both from the first wave, yeah?
[ his eyes dart from the man's neck to connor, keenly aware of the delicacy with which the neck should be handled. amateur fighters ought not aim for it, lest they cause permanent damage with the amount or length of pressure applied. it's the same tactic he opted for earlier. imagine that. ]
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amateur fighters ought not, but connor is anything but — pressure points and how best to turn them against a target is something of a speciality, as well as every other method used to subdue perpetrators available on the market in 2038. he's programmed to know, to play his advantages and their weaknesses, use their body weight against them and his own deflective strikes to create openings for heavy hits.
he's a good fighter. it's too bad the pain he feels overrides that, finding himself far more efficient when he couldn't feel a goddamn thing.)
Y-Yeah, that drop-off was debatably the worst of the ones we've encountered. I didn't think the resulting firefight would... become such a prominent memory. (there are no grainy impressions of footage from that night, not like there'd usually be. just a clear remembrance of every little detail down to the panic he felt at compulsory statements made by fellow victims.
it was terrifying. it keeps him awake, most nights.
breathes through his mouth in a lengthy exhale.) We're nearly there, Fitz, he's stopped resisting. Just a moment longer and it'll be alright. (there's no telling who he's addressing the latter two comments to, bowing over the civilian who's taken to gulping at air beneath them with the last vestiges of his affliction leaking out of sagging limbs.)
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fitz lifts a hand to grasp connor's shoulder, squeeze firm and reassuring.
observation of connor on the network and conversations with markus suggest they aren't like the person (the android, the goddamn murder robot, fitz) that he knew, but these familiar echoes across the multiverse still hold his attention. ]
Yeah, it's alright. You did good. [ and that's for connor, paired with one corner of his mouth hooking upward. not quite a smile, after all that pain, but he's mustering a warmer bedside manner, for all their sakes. ] We're all good.
[ then, directed to the civilian. ] I'm going to hire you a car, okay. Home or hospital, your choice. [ his timer clicks on, bypassing five minutes and thirty seconds without a blip, and the sadness recedes, a slow fade. ] We'll send you off. And there'll be some bruising from today. Coughing and wheezing, too, but you're not in any immediate danger. Just bumps and scrapes. Promise.
[ like webmd but reassuring!! fitz eases off the dazed (and cured) individual, who manages a weak nod. it's a quick clean-up job here, and then he can get a better look at connor's sorry state. ]
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connor relinquishes his cradling hold on the back of the man's neck the moment fitz's hand slaps onto his shoulder. it seems to lift him from a fugue, caught obsessing over how wrong this all still feels. to think one touch would be enough to anchor him to the moment, to keep him from drifting. he has a lot of people he owes, now — that should stir some doubt, but the trusting android only ever feels thankful.
you did good.
fitz is a reliable man, the opinion he's gleaned from this one session spent gritting their teeth against the same pain. and as the sadness that breeds doubt in him lifts like any other fog, he watches a new friend interact with a shaken citizen with as much pride as he can muster.)
Sorry about that, I was rougher than I meant to be. I tend to... overcorrect. (connor casts an awkward look elsewhere when the man goes from wringing a wrist to rubbing the back of a sore neck, managing to find his sea legs and immediately excuse himself from their sides to skirt the curb. it takes a few tries, throwing his arm up at passing cars — one of these is bound to be a cab and placing a call when something could hum by at any moment is a waste of time better spent doing other things.
his implant gets flagged by the onboard computer of on oncoming vehicle that slows at his prompting.)
Here's one now. I'd like to cover the cost, (aimed at fitz, who's already volunteered for the beers... tit for tat,) it's the least I can do.
(sure enough he's busying himself leaning in the window of one of the self-driving cabs, searching for a way to pre-pay this fare. jfc)
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the lad knows he was rougher than necessary, and that's what matters. ]
[ flapping a hand. ] Yeah, yeah, alright. [ he may be fussy about a lot of things — but not this. if connor wants to handle something (take control of it, pay for it, apologise), it's fine by him. you only get so many cards to play, and fitz knows that people rarely accept two in one round: he's pushing to examine connor's injuries (and buy him a beer for the pain); that's his card, used. cab fare's up for grabs.
there's a moment, then, where he doesn't know what the etiquette is for saying goodbye to someone who picked a fight with you under the influence of a rage toxin and suffered for his choice in targets. he settles for a cringy half-wave. fan-fucking-tastic. ]
C'mon, Connor. [ he jerks his head to the side, indicating where to head. ] There's a pub near here where I know the bartender. [ beer! as promised! ] Bit dodgy, but I reckon he'll sub me a first-aid kit.
[ a sharper scan of Connor's person, now that he's standing upright and within the line of Fitz's gaze. ]
You aren't too wobbly now, are you?
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connor spots the wave, drawn to its finality, and walks right past the guy with a self-conscious pat-down of a perpetually lopsided tie, two ends of a very unreliable spectrum of social gracelessness. he just can't seem to fix this damn thing with one hand.)
I'm dizzier than I expected to be, but I can still walk in a straight line. Don't worry about me. (the last thing he wants is first-aid, but he can wait to break that news when they've gotten a table.)
You must frequent this place to have built a rapport with their bartender. Do you have a "usual" yet? (while it sounds judgemental to the ear, it's anything but — connor likes to probe into the daily lives of others finding their footing in new amsterdam and he's more than a bit curious about fitz's.)
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the corners of his mouth quirk. ]
Got one of my PhDs in worrying, I'm afraid. [ so it's a no on that front, even if he allows connor to push forward on his own, falling into step beside him. he rolls his hand in a sort of nebulous gesture, as if to say yeah, sure, i'm a regular and wave off any significance to it. now that he isn't occupied with a potential threat, his energy buzzes out into little movements like this. not one for stillness, leopold fitz. ]
It's a pint of whatever's on tap or whisky, [ tipping his head this way and that. ] depending on whether I've had a brush with death that day. [ spot of dry humour for you, though it's not untrue. ] Can try the whisky, too, if you want, but I'm nearly certain you'd hate it.
[ most people do, and he's a sweet android new to the world of booze. ]
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How many PhDs do you have, exactly? (because that's what stood out to him in that admission, the brain on him instead of the worry he's unintentionally shirking.) If you're able to use one or all of them here, then I won't feel as discomfited with your decision to buy me my drinks.
(a whole pint of beer or a glass of whiskey? connor concerned himself over hank's drinking habits, but that was excessive. this doesn't sound all that bad. one of anything can't hurt, right?
walks along, occasionally slowing to fuss at a darkly bruised eye the wind is hellbent on making sting, relying on frequent checks on fitz to tell him he's keeping an alright pace.)
I have a feeling I'll prefer the beer, to start. Hopefully there are no outbreaks of the virus at the pub, but I suppose if there is we'll be in the right place at the right time. Have you been out around the chaos long?
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Just the two. Engineering and Technology. [ he could go more specific, except no one cares that much. moving past the remark about being treated to a drink as discomfiting (oh dear), fitz claps a hand on connor's shoulder, equal parts friendly and calculating, assessing just how off-balance his partner is and providing a means to act as a steadying force. ]
One of my fellow lab techs went off her trolley 'round eleven — been out and about since then. [ work days tend to get cut short when a coworker attempts assault. ] You, however, look like you've been at it all week. [ pointing at his face with his free hand (with his smattering of minor injuries and the bruise on his jaw, where a punch glanced off him) — in reference to the evident damage on connor's own. ] Is that due to a localised incident or a series of encounters?
[ regardless, there's something indefatigable about connor. fitz will give him that. ]
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(connor cares. A Lot. as a man built by the hands of engineers, meeting one he can actually talk to is fascinating and it shows blatantly on his face as fitz makes him wobble unnaturally on his feet. walking was a delicate process, but he's quick to recover with a chin raised and his spine ramrod straight.
humans have to guess at their own equilibrium and adjust accordingly, an inconvenience. he clears his throat.)
I hope she didn't hurt you, Fitz. Or herself. (he's strangely genuine, eyes following fitz's point to injuries that might've pained him once and might still — any amount of pain, connor thinks, is too much. especially when dealt by a friend or colleague.) Two encounters left me like this. Deserved, at the time. I... lost control of myself.
(well, it sticks in his throat. markus and noctis are still an open wound.)
Everything but my collarbone is tolerable. This sling prevents all manner of movement. (admires the narrowing path they're taking through new amsterdam's concrete jungle, lips a firm line.) ... I don't like it.
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but, oh dear, connor's interested in his work and concerned for his wellbeing and unsettled over the events of the day... it's enough to endear him to fitz already, who feels a spike of guilt over his little test. while fitz was unaffected by the rage toxin (or whatever it may be), he knows what it's like to be out of control and hurt the people you care for most. dead rotten, to be sure. he thinks to say that — or something simpler. "it happens to the best of us," maybe, but he doubts any words would reach connor so soon after the traumatic event. ]
First time on the mend, is it? [ he drags a hand across his jaw, a tad sheepish. then, quickly. ] I, erm, I've read your posts on the network — [ so he knows connor's an android and perhaps unfamiliar with the inconveniences of being human. ] — I'm aware of your unique situation, I mean. [ that is to say, he suspects connor never broke his arm at the play park or sprained his ankle on a cobblestone path, what with being made of tougher stuff. putting some cards on the table so he feels like less of a dick, mm-hmm, yes. ] So, dislocated, fractured, or broken?
[ smashed it. ]
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his head tilts at fitz's myriad quirks, deciding he's anxious, unconventional, both. these are the nervous habits of someone who's too smart for their own good and the androids well aware of the sort. fidgeting is something of a habit and he misses the absence of the quarter coin that helps him calibrate, focus, and sharpen himself for whatever's ahead. maybe it's like that. maybe fitz is calibrating.)
Oh, it's broken. Two to four weeks' recovery time, the doctor said, barring any unfortunate delays. (it's flippant, adopting a blasé expression — he doesn't want to bother others with the fact that he's bothered.) My "unique situation" of being an android in a human body opens the door to many more life experiences.
(the unnecessary explanation is a hint in itself: connor doesn't mind talking about it and is probably the most objective between him and markus. markus tends to err on the side of defensive, while he is used to the occasionally ham-handed approaches to the topic.)
I remind myself of that daily.
—Have you ever broken any bones, Fitz? (asked with an abrupt turn to face him the moment they've skirted the next corner.) If you have any tips or personal accounts on what to expect from the healing process, I'd be very interested.
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then connor's question startles a laugh out of him. ]
Sorry, it's not you, I just — [ he stifles the sound with a hand. ] Yes, yeah, I absolutely have. Broke an arm, fractured my hand, cracked my ribs. [ acute hypoxia, a gunshot to the gut... fitz being whole is a miracle of sinew and bones. ]
Expect sub-acute pain for the first few weeks. Shooting, most often. Chronic, duller pain afterward. [ a sideways glance, gaze sharp despite the amused crinkle at the corners of his eyes. ] Listen to your doctor, even if you don't like all the fuss.
[ and that's a read despite being couched in teasing. connor seems unconcerned for his own wellbeing.
luckily, a glowing sign tells them INERTIA is open, with the door swinging automatically as it registers their implants. it’s high-tech in a self-made and crafty way, with all its fixtures designed by individuals rather than the big corporations (take the fans, for instance, spinning above them with parts stripped from vehicles and recycling transports). a few patrons glint in the light, cybernetics poking out from collars and under sleeves. it would seem that others have found trouble today, injuries visible here and there, even as they play holo games and enjoy drinks at mismatched tables — still, the bar remains boisterous. if you start a fight here, you’ll be tossed out on your arse.
as soon as they cross the threshold, connor’s assumption that fitz is a regular is proven to be true. they haven’t even reached the bar when someone offers a quick quip. “about time someone roughed up that baby face,” and earns another laugh from fitz, among others nearby. bit dodgy, as promised, but not unfriendly. ]
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which is good, because the second their ids check out and they're allowed inside the bar, connor's sticking very close to him. nearly shoulder to shoulder, not out of concern for their well-being but an instinct to follow the human into the human establishment — bars and pubs were almost always hanging signs on the windows and doors banning androids. it's ingrained now, even if he wasn't the most rule-yielding machine.
looking from the bartender to fitz to the patrons, he stays quiet while they carry on. he feels like he's with the lieutenant at the station or trawling jimmy's bar or being greeted amicably at the doors of crime scenes. save for being with markus, this is the closest he's felt to home.
so, naturally, he does what he'd do if he was there:)
Hello, my name is Connor. I like your pub. (standing proudly under the scrutiny of the eventually acceptant faces, he gets nods, quirks of brows, and a "haven't heard a lie like that in years, sit wherever you like."
looks down at fitz with a motion towards the busy eating area. you heard the man.)
Wherever you like.
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he starts forward, heading towards a table flush against the far wall. ]
Just put the usual on my tab, [ quipped for connor’s amusement alone, as he passes a known staff member, nodding in greeting. ] plus one for my new friend.
[ unsurprisingly, fitz doesn't bring along unfamiliar faces (it's his fellow hi-jacks or kylo ren, in this particular circle), so "new friend" answers any questions. given the day that everyone has had (and the disheveled state of both fitz and connor), it's easy to accept connections formed in the chaos.
he picks the chair at the middle of the table rather than one of the two across from each other, putting connor easily within his reach. the blood in his hair's been a concern since he surprised fitz in the park — worth pushing to check, as soon as they've drinks in their hands. ]
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Are we? (a question blurted out before a five second filter keeps him from it.) Friends?
(that's two people now who've decided to, with loki as a bit of a coin toss. he's never had this many and he suppresses a childish urge to text markus to notify him that he is, indeed, getting along with their fellow trafficking victims. maybe that's off-colour, so soon. at any rate, connor looks like he's been blessed by the new fact, craning his neck to look at one of the waitresses arriving at his shoulder with the drinks.
thanks her quietly and allows her to place his coaster and glass, admiring the foamy head on the pint and the way it sits just above the rim. surface tension.)
The novelty of it won't wear off. In a way, this place has allowed for some of the greatest discoveries, while simultaneously being a frustrating waste of time. We're not making any headway in our investigations, but my personal relationships have been developing.
(honest to a fault, really, pulling his beer off of the table in a shallow tilt towards fitz.)
I'd be happy to call you that.
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for all his cleverness, it takes fitz a moment to follow connor's line of thought. the novelty of what? having friends? despite being a bit of a sad sack, fitz has never wanted for friends. he always had jemma at his side and then the team. even here, his longtime friends hold him together.
propping his elbows up on the table, he regards connor with open curiosity. it's too easy for fitz to listen with rapt attention and sip his drink as connor articulates an unfamiliar feeling. he watches for his reaction to the beer, too, hoping connor doesn't hate it. distantly, he recognises himself as more disarmed than he ought to be — not only as an agent of SHIELD but also as an engineer now intimately familiar with how this ends badly for all involved. only he's been on guard, even with those closest to him, for months now, knowing exactly when they spy something changed about him.
fresh eyes, a new friend — one happy to call him that — makes him soften. it could be good for the both of them. ]
A fair evaluation.
[ frustrating is certainly the word for their investigative efforts. a beat. ]
Only friends let friends fuss. [ said mildly. ] Just a bit. [ he holds up one finger. ] So if you'll let me check over your head wounds, then we're definitely friends. Full stop.
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good to wrap up or end here!!