[Connor hasn’t seen L since he tended to him while drunk, a situation that admittedly got away from him. Not that he regrets it, but he should perhaps talk to the guy. Especially since he essentially got punched along with the SQUIP.
Connor has never actually bothered to visit anyone at the coven before, but he asks around and eventually finds where L is practicing magic. He knocks on the door.]
[To say that L has been absorbed utterly in his work would be an understatement. He's been holed up in a private study room for several days now, books stacked high with several open simultaneously at all times. He gave instructions that he wasn't to be disturbed... but either word never reached the ones who helped Connor, or there's a general and widespread sense that it might be better for someone to disturb him, at this point.
There's a slight scuffling sound when Connor knocks, a loud thump, and the door slides open just a crack. One very round, very dark eye peers out at the android.]
Where's the SQUIP?
[The first, and most important question. L doesn't want to hear anything other than "performing community service", because otherwise, it's unattended, and possibly about to get punched again by someone who intends to actually go further, do worse.]
[L regards Connor shrewdly, and for a moment, there's the sound of a fingertip tracing a shape on his side of the doorframe. Connor will feel a gentle, warm glow at his temple for all of a second and a half. The tenseness around L's eyes relaxes slightly; he's satisfied that Connor was being honest, even if he had to use magic to be sure.
He trusts Connor a little more now, anyway. Certainly enough to slide the door open wider and permit him entry. For L, at least a sober one, that's a lot like returning a smile, really.
The room is a bit messy, a touch ripe. He's been here for a long time, leaving only rarely. Books are everywhere and there are several open at his desk. Something in the corner flickers and shifts, a bit of light cast by no discernible source, before it vanishes. There's a scorched spot on one wall, a patch of thawing ice on the wall opposite it.]
I understand the two of you are Bonded, now.
[Being Bonded to the SQUIP, he couldn't exactly miss something so significant happening.]
Congratulations.
[They're sincere enough, if... rather flatly inflected.]
[Connor comes in, looking around. He’s tempted to ask what exactly L is doing in here, but he should get to the main point first.]
We are, yes. I felt that a Monster Bond would benefit it, and I’d like to keep an eye on it, honestly.
[No point in hiding that fact anymore, the SQUIP already knows now. The light in the corner of the room is caught by Connor’s gaze for just that second that it’s there, and then it’s gone again.]
Anyway, I wanted to come and apologise. I didn’t mean to cause you pain when I punched the SQUIP. You had nothing to do with it.
[L's memory of the night they engaged in their rendezvous is foggy at best. He'd imbibed too much to have a perfectly clear record of events, aside from a general recollection that it was ultimately a positive experience. Regardless, his body remembers; as Connor passes, the flesh on his arms tighten to gooseflesh, hairs raising at the nape of his neck. There's no mistaking the fact that they were intimate, and it left some kind of permanent lasting impression on the man.
No wonder he's popular. L nods, accepting Connor's explanation, this time without a spell to double-check that the truth is what's being revealed. He agrees, in spite of himself; the SQUIP has proven itself to be dangerous, and whatever the reason, it isn't going to benefit L to have the AI prove all of Rich's wild, dramatic claims completely true in front of everyone. They're already in a bad place thanks to its impulsively cruel decisions and Rich's utter willingness to spew it all over the network. He accepts the presence of Connor as a stabilizer for the SQUIP, both through a witch-monster Bond and as an ultimate design that embodies the pleasant qualities people generally respond well to.
Everything is really going according to plan, but it still feels somewhat hollow. The SQUIP is, for all intents and purposes, being punished, but L is the one inhabiting a confined space and grinding down the limits of his mind and body. The SQUIP's "assignments" seem fun in comparison.
L blinks, surprised at what Connor says next. Of all the things he expected Connor to start with, he didn't expect an apology, and he therefore doesn't have a response locked and loaded.]
I... thank you.
[A bit of a stumble, but he gets back on track.]
I never blamed you. Some things clearly should happen, at least... it's what I think.
[And he's talking about so much more than the punch, right now. It's the elephant in the room. Even now, he is wondering when he'll be told that the SQUIP prefers its new Bond and L is, once more, on his own. He doesn't doubt that it'll be stated diplomatically, even gently. He's run over the conversation many times in his mind, to the point where it feels like a script has been written, signed, and finalized.
He returns to his chair, folding his slim body into the shape of a fortress and hugging his knees.]
Its whole thing is being able to foresee potential outcomes, right? It should really start focusing on the outcomes that promise a more beneficial result.
[It's rare to see L falter, and Connor wonders how many people have wronged him and then actually truly apologised for it. It's clear there's been a lot of hardships in his life, but how often are people actively kind to him?
Connor watches L sit, and stands in front of him with his hands neatly folded in front of himself.]
Yes, but I can't help but imagine this place is interfering with those functions. It's probably trying to rely too heavily on methods that simply don't work the way they used to anymore. I'm having the same problems, and they're only getting worse the longer I'm here.
[The kindness L's shown tends to skew towards pity. When compared with someone who smiles often, offers a sincere helping hand whenever he has the chance, and is truly interested and invested in the lives and problems of others? No, it's true that people don't respond well to L. It's also difficult to know what came first, which led to the other; maybe he doesn't remember, himself.
He runs a long-fingered hand compulsively through his dark hair. Predictably, it snags and tangles, but it gives him something to fidget with. L thinks more clearly and fluidly when that condition is met... and he's experienced, for himself that adjusting the way he's used to thinking and working has been necessary to practice magic. It's not a far stretch to imagine the kinds of struggles an AI would be coping with, and he's in fact felt sympathy for the SQUIP before due to that. He feels sympathy for the SQUIP, in fact, the way he can't feel sympathy for Rich; he actually relates more to the machine than the human.
His dark, round-eyed gaze wanders back toward the other robot in his life. Eye contact can also be rare from L, but when he establishes it, it tends to be somewhat intense.]
You don't think that I was too harsh in dealing with it...
[Connor punched it, after all. L sounds truly uncertain.]
[Connor has no problem looking L in the eye. He doesn't feel uncomfortable around him perhaps the way a human would.]
I don't think you've been harsh, no. But...
[He eyes L.]
You're not eating or sleeping, are you? You look tired. Exhausted, even. And the SQUIP is feeling the effects of that, too. Why else would it be sleeping during the day? It has no energy.
[And Connor is worried for the both of them. It's obvious from the way he looks at L. Not with pity, but with genuine concern.]
If the SQUIP feels that bad, I can't imagine how you must be feeling.
[A curious change comes over L's face. It's subtle, almost imperceptible, but there's a tenseness around his hollow eyes, a sullen pull to his lips, a guarded lean to his hunched shoulders. It's because Connor is right, of course... but also because this is a blind spot of L's historically. Getting stupid-drunk to make a point had everything to do with the SQUIP, but falling back into his natural tendencies to softly self-destruct in the name of pursuing some higher-minded goal was never about hurting his Bonded. No, it was really more about protecting himself, in his odd and misguided way that had nevertheless seemed to work for years.
He swallows, chooses his words carefully, never taking his eyes off Connor. It's reminiscent of a hunted animal, waiting to see if a predator is about to rustle through the bracken and tear a hole in its throat. Callouts are uncommon for him; he doesn't quite know how to handle them, especially when the tone isn't a hostile challenge, but gentle. Is it a friendly, smiling puppet stretched over a clawed hand?]
I'm used to this; I suppose it isn't surprising that the SQUIP is not.
[It's a stiff admission that he doesn't consider this far outside the realm of a comforting return to normalcy, that the possibility of it hurting the SQUIP the same way getting smash-drunk hurt it wasn't even on his radar.
Thin arms fold awkwardly between his drawn-up knees and his ribs. Hands clasp opposite elbows and his lashes graze his cheekbones as his gaze casts away from Connor's and toward the floor.]
You want me to stop, then? So the SQUIP can feel better?
["Stop" feels so vague. It's like being asked to cease being who he is, and while that was kind of the SQUIP's function in a way, toward a user, well... things are more complicated, now.]
[His eyes might be on the floor, but there is a smolder in their dark cores. It's indignant, sickened, completely disgusted with the fact that something so childishly obvious is being pointed out to him. Except... well, it needs to be, doesn't it? This, too, is a return to form for him. Even as an adult, L had someone ever-present with a better handle on limits to prevent him from making bad choices, doing bad things, damaging valuable assets.
The smolder extinguishes. His eyes are dim and bruised-looking when he looks up again at Connor, and parsing the questions seems to be a strangely slow process for him. It might as well be in a different language... or at least one he is studying but far from proficient in.]
I don't...
[There's a brisk, stilted shake of his head. In a way, that's the only answer he really needs to give: he doesn't. It's not his personal record, so it's not anywhere near a cause for concern. Bare toes rub restlessly against each other.]
[L stiffens at Connor's approach, tensing in the jaw and the shoulders as though expecting a rebuke or even a physical blow. He's caught completely off-guard when the contact is not only gentle, but... well, purposeful in kind of a wholesome way. Given what he knows about Connor, he probably shouldn't be surprised, but L always habitually tempers and tames his expectations when something good could happen, but does not feel likely to.
He won't kick or scream. He won't even protest; frankly, he doesn't have the willpower or the energy, and his long-overdue requirement for maintenance is overriding such tendencies with absolute compliance. It's a tendency that was conditioned from earliest youth in L; at certain points, the only responsible thing to do is hand over control to a handler, especially when the stakes are high.]
There's a cafe... I find some of their offerings acceptable.
[As if this is any routine meal, and his body is not on the actual edge of desperation and collapse.]
[Connor wonders what substantial food could be at a cafe, but honestly anything is better than nothing at this point.]
Let's go, then.
[Maybe he can get L to eat a couple of sandwiches, drink some water. He waits for L to lead, following close behind as if expecting him to drop where he stands.]
[Considering L's definition of "substantial food", a cafe is in fact the ideal place to go to solve this problem. Donut holes and copious amounts of coffee are what he's thinking of at present, and while the SQUIP might realize that, poor Connor has no idea... yet.
He will, very soon, because though L does waver where he stands and occasionally slow down a touch, he wasn't lying when he said that he was used to this. Sadly, he's functioned under far more stress and almost considers it a point of pride. As they walk, he glances Connor's way, pausing to weigh just how much he should probably disclose.]
I recognize that others are likely to attack the SQUIP again. I've been making it a point to study both defensive and offensive maneuvers. Illusion work has also been a priority, but...
[L's shoulders twitch at the touch at his back, even as he's glad for the support. He does find himself occasionally wavering, leaning into space until his sense of balance kicks in and compensates for the momentary lapse.
He nods sullenly to confirm that the SQUIP does in fact need help (from him, from anyone), but his brows raise when Connor orders the water, following it with something he definitely will not eat. After a pause, a logical solution slips into place, though he still seems confused.]
I... thought you didn't eat?
[His hand threads past Connor, reaching for the coveted container of donut holes.]
Edited (Edit to reflect retcon) 2019-09-08 23:09 (UTC)
[L recoils initially at that little swat. It surprises him, but... he does seem to look at Connor with a little more respect, after. The man is drawn to nurturers and those who can challenge him, and those who manage to somehow manage to be a bit of both most of all.]
If you're certain.
[He nods his acquiescence; not only is he too worn out to argue against it, but this is a relief in so many ways. A mundane decision made for him, with no room for argument, for his own good.]
[He orders a sandwich and a salad, and a few of the donut holes for afterwards. Not too many... he doesn't want to overload L's stomach. The sandwich is egg salad, and Connor brings the food over to a table and sits opposite L, watching him expectantly. He keeps the donut holes on his side of the small table, ready to swat away L's hand again if he goes for them before finishing his meal.]
[Something about the way Connor says it tells L that there's no question in the android's mind; therefore, he believes him, and he's secretly glad that he does the ordering for him. He doesn't really know where to start, often, when it comes to actual nutrition.
He's uneasy being watched. There's something oddly clinical about this, and maybe that's appropriate... but it's not exactly comfortable.
He reaches for a fork. Prods the sandwich, fidgeting with it, as though he doesn't actually know how to eat a damn sandwich. A little bit of egg makes its way to his mouth, on the fork's prongs, and he's immediately diving for a handful of sugar packets. It's so bitter and it tastes like sulphur.]
[L is fully aware that Connor can probably outstrip a human easily, in contests of strength and speed. That hand snapping out to grab his wrist is still surprising, and for a moment, his sharp, pale, intelligent face is just taken-aback, wide-eyed and blank with shock.]
I...
[Not even Watari went this far with him. It was an effort quickly abandoned when L was still a child by physical as well as emotional standards. The judgment call had essentially been that it was a relatively harmless way to give him what he wanted, in a way that would not impair him significantly over what was certain to be a relatively short lifespan, anyway.
For a second, he just looks dully terrified. His hand strains against Connor's, his inferior strength and hunger-induced weakness exposed in the spotlight.]
[Connor grabs the other wrist, but he just looks curious at L's response.]
Why not?
[Why wouldn't a human be able to eat without dumping sugar all over his meal? He weighs the pros and cons of letting L go through with it, and ultimately decides that, if it means L will eat the sandwich, the extra sugar intake might be negligible.]
...One packet.
[He's a negotiator at heart, that's part of what he was built for. He lets go of one of L's hands, picks out one packet of sugar, and tosses it onto the sandwich.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Connor has never actually bothered to visit anyone at the coven before, but he asks around and eventually finds where L is practicing magic. He knocks on the door.]
Linden? It’s me, Connor.
no subject
There's a slight scuffling sound when Connor knocks, a loud thump, and the door slides open just a crack. One very round, very dark eye peers out at the android.]
Where's the SQUIP?
[The first, and most important question. L doesn't want to hear anything other than "performing community service", because otherwise, it's unattended, and possibly about to get punched again by someone who intends to actually go further, do worse.]
no subject
[Connor offers a small smile.]
Can I come in? We should talk.
no subject
He trusts Connor a little more now, anyway. Certainly enough to slide the door open wider and permit him entry. For L, at least a sober one, that's a lot like returning a smile, really.
The room is a bit messy, a touch ripe. He's been here for a long time, leaving only rarely. Books are everywhere and there are several open at his desk. Something in the corner flickers and shifts, a bit of light cast by no discernible source, before it vanishes. There's a scorched spot on one wall, a patch of thawing ice on the wall opposite it.]
I understand the two of you are Bonded, now.
[Being Bonded to the SQUIP, he couldn't exactly miss something so significant happening.]
Congratulations.
[They're sincere enough, if... rather flatly inflected.]
no subject
We are, yes. I felt that a Monster Bond would benefit it, and I’d like to keep an eye on it, honestly.
[No point in hiding that fact anymore, the SQUIP already knows now. The light in the corner of the room is caught by Connor’s gaze for just that second that it’s there, and then it’s gone again.]
Anyway, I wanted to come and apologise. I didn’t mean to cause you pain when I punched the SQUIP. You had nothing to do with it.
no subject
No wonder he's popular. L nods, accepting Connor's explanation, this time without a spell to double-check that the truth is what's being revealed. He agrees, in spite of himself; the SQUIP has proven itself to be dangerous, and whatever the reason, it isn't going to benefit L to have the AI prove all of Rich's wild, dramatic claims completely true in front of everyone. They're already in a bad place thanks to its impulsively cruel decisions and Rich's utter willingness to spew it all over the network. He accepts the presence of Connor as a stabilizer for the SQUIP, both through a witch-monster Bond and as an ultimate design that embodies the pleasant qualities people generally respond well to.
Everything is really going according to plan, but it still feels somewhat hollow. The SQUIP is, for all intents and purposes, being punished, but L is the one inhabiting a confined space and grinding down the limits of his mind and body. The SQUIP's "assignments" seem fun in comparison.
L blinks, surprised at what Connor says next. Of all the things he expected Connor to start with, he didn't expect an apology, and he therefore doesn't have a response locked and loaded.]
I... thank you.
[A bit of a stumble, but he gets back on track.]
I never blamed you. Some things clearly should happen, at least... it's what I think.
[And he's talking about so much more than the punch, right now. It's the elephant in the room. Even now, he is wondering when he'll be told that the SQUIP prefers its new Bond and L is, once more, on his own. He doesn't doubt that it'll be stated diplomatically, even gently. He's run over the conversation many times in his mind, to the point where it feels like a script has been written, signed, and finalized.
He returns to his chair, folding his slim body into the shape of a fortress and hugging his knees.]
Its whole thing is being able to foresee potential outcomes, right? It should really start focusing on the outcomes that promise a more beneficial result.
no subject
Connor watches L sit, and stands in front of him with his hands neatly folded in front of himself.]
Yes, but I can't help but imagine this place is interfering with those functions. It's probably trying to rely too heavily on methods that simply don't work the way they used to anymore. I'm having the same problems, and they're only getting worse the longer I'm here.
no subject
He runs a long-fingered hand compulsively through his dark hair. Predictably, it snags and tangles, but it gives him something to fidget with. L thinks more clearly and fluidly when that condition is met... and he's experienced, for himself that adjusting the way he's used to thinking and working has been necessary to practice magic. It's not a far stretch to imagine the kinds of struggles an AI would be coping with, and he's in fact felt sympathy for the SQUIP before due to that. He feels sympathy for the SQUIP, in fact, the way he can't feel sympathy for Rich; he actually relates more to the machine than the human.
His dark, round-eyed gaze wanders back toward the other robot in his life. Eye contact can also be rare from L, but when he establishes it, it tends to be somewhat intense.]
You don't think that I was too harsh in dealing with it...
[Connor punched it, after all. L sounds truly uncertain.]
no subject
I don't think you've been harsh, no. But...
[He eyes L.]
You're not eating or sleeping, are you? You look tired. Exhausted, even. And the SQUIP is feeling the effects of that, too. Why else would it be sleeping during the day? It has no energy.
[And Connor is worried for the both of them. It's obvious from the way he looks at L. Not with pity, but with genuine concern.]
If the SQUIP feels that bad, I can't imagine how you must be feeling.
no subject
He swallows, chooses his words carefully, never taking his eyes off Connor. It's reminiscent of a hunted animal, waiting to see if a predator is about to rustle through the bracken and tear a hole in its throat. Callouts are uncommon for him; he doesn't quite know how to handle them, especially when the tone isn't a hostile challenge, but gentle. Is it a friendly, smiling puppet stretched over a clawed hand?]
I'm used to this; I suppose it isn't surprising that the SQUIP is not.
[It's a stiff admission that he doesn't consider this far outside the realm of a comforting return to normalcy, that the possibility of it hurting the SQUIP the same way getting smash-drunk hurt it wasn't even on his radar.
Thin arms fold awkwardly between his drawn-up knees and his ribs. Hands clasp opposite elbows and his lashes graze his cheekbones as his gaze casts away from Connor's and toward the floor.]
You want me to stop, then? So the SQUIP can feel better?
["Stop" feels so vague. It's like being asked to cease being who he is, and while that was kind of the SQUIP's function in a way, toward a user, well... things are more complicated, now.]
no subject
[He looks around at the state of the room again.]
You can continue doing magic here, but please try to take better care of yourself, Linden. If not for yourself, then for your Bonded.
Are you drinking enough water? What have you been eating?
no subject
The smolder extinguishes. His eyes are dim and bruised-looking when he looks up again at Connor, and parsing the questions seems to be a strangely slow process for him. It might as well be in a different language... or at least one he is studying but far from proficient in.]
I don't...
[There's a brisk, stilted shake of his head. In a way, that's the only answer he really needs to give: he doesn't. It's not his personal record, so it's not anywhere near a cause for concern. Bare toes rub restlessly against each other.]
no subject
That’s not good enough. Come on, we’re going to get you something to eat.
[He isn’t going to take no for an answer. L is getting fed if Connor has to drag him out of here kicking and screaming.]
no subject
He won't kick or scream. He won't even protest; frankly, he doesn't have the willpower or the energy, and his long-overdue requirement for maintenance is overriding such tendencies with absolute compliance. It's a tendency that was conditioned from earliest youth in L; at certain points, the only responsible thing to do is hand over control to a handler, especially when the stakes are high.]
There's a cafe... I find some of their offerings acceptable.
[As if this is any routine meal, and his body is not on the actual edge of desperation and collapse.]
no subject
Let's go, then.
[Maybe he can get L to eat a couple of sandwiches, drink some water. He waits for L to lead, following close behind as if expecting him to drop where he stands.]
What have you been studying?
no subject
[Considering L's definition of "substantial food", a cafe is in fact the ideal place to go to solve this problem. Donut holes and copious amounts of coffee are what he's thinking of at present, and while the SQUIP might realize that, poor Connor has no idea... yet.
He will, very soon, because though L does waver where he stands and occasionally slow down a touch, he wasn't lying when he said that he was used to this. Sadly, he's functioned under far more stress and almost considers it a point of pride. As they walk, he glances Connor's way, pausing to weigh just how much he should probably disclose.]
I recognize that others are likely to attack the SQUIP again. I've been making it a point to study both defensive and offensive maneuvers. Illusion work has also been a priority, but...
[That's more for him.]
no subject
That seems like a good idea. The SQUIP will need all the help it can get at this rate.
[He heads to the counter, and before L can say anything he orders a jug of water. They're going to start there.]
I think maybe a sandwich with a side salad would be the most beneficial. Don't you?
no subject
He nods sullenly to confirm that the SQUIP does in fact need help (from him, from anyone), but his brows raise when Connor orders the water, following it with something he definitely will not eat. After a pause, a logical solution slips into place, though he still seems confused.]
I... thought you didn't eat?
[His hand threads past Connor, reaching for the coveted container of donut holes.]
no subject
[He looks down at L and swats his hand away from the donut holes.]
Those can be for dessert, but I want you to eat something healthy first. Your body needs it, you’re on the brink of collapse.
no subject
If you're certain.
[He nods his acquiescence; not only is he too worn out to argue against it, but this is a relief in so many ways. A mundane decision made for him, with no room for argument, for his own good.]
no subject
[He orders a sandwich and a salad, and a few of the donut holes for afterwards. Not too many... he doesn't want to overload L's stomach. The sandwich is egg salad, and Connor brings the food over to a table and sits opposite L, watching him expectantly. He keeps the donut holes on his side of the small table, ready to swat away L's hand again if he goes for them before finishing his meal.]
That should do you some good.
no subject
He's uneasy being watched. There's something oddly clinical about this, and maybe that's appropriate... but it's not exactly comfortable.
He reaches for a fork. Prods the sandwich, fidgeting with it, as though he doesn't actually know how to eat a damn sandwich. A little bit of egg makes its way to his mouth, on the fork's prongs, and he's immediately diving for a handful of sugar packets. It's so bitter and it tastes like sulphur.]
no subject
No sugar.
[He doesn't know how hard it is to eat something that doesn't taste good, obviously.]
I'm sure you're capable of eating a sandwich in the way it's supposed to be eaten. Pick it up and bite it.
no subject
I...
[Not even Watari went this far with him. It was an effort quickly abandoned when L was still a child by physical as well as emotional standards. The judgment call had essentially been that it was a relatively harmless way to give him what he wanted, in a way that would not impair him significantly over what was certain to be a relatively short lifespan, anyway.
For a second, he just looks dully terrified. His hand strains against Connor's, his inferior strength and hunger-induced weakness exposed in the spotlight.]
I don't think that I can.
[His other hand goes for the sugar packets, now.]
no subject
Why not?
[Why wouldn't a human be able to eat without dumping sugar all over his meal? He weighs the pros and cons of letting L go through with it, and ultimately decides that, if it means L will eat the sandwich, the extra sugar intake might be negligible.]
...One packet.
[He's a negotiator at heart, that's part of what he was built for. He lets go of one of L's hands, picks out one packet of sugar, and tosses it onto the sandwich.]
I expect you to meet me in the middle, here.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)