[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.]
[For a moment, the two of them are locked in the world's strangest, most apprehensive and awkward tango. With Connor's hands locked around L's sugar-grasping wrists across the table, a couple other people in the cafeteria can't help but stare, and of course that does nothing to alleviate the discomfort L feels with the situation.
It's still not enough to make him want to eat the egg salad sandwich, however. The very thought of it turns his stomach and makes him gag. He watches the packet of sugar drop onto the sandwich, swallowing the dry, bitter taste in his mouth.
He feels like he's already met Connor in the middle, and then some, just by coming here with him. But on paper, he suppose it isn't really like that. The indignity alone of all this is mortifying, but rather than ending it sooner, by just taking a bite, L is recoiling at the thought.
He reaches down with his free hand, snatching away the sugar and moving it closer to his person as though worried it's going to be snatched back. Satisfied, he reaches down, takes a swift and sickening bite of the disgusting sandwich and forces it down with a generous drink of water, tearing open the sugar packet as what essentially amounts to a chaser.
[Connor can manage a pretty impressive sharp glare when he wants to. And he does it towards one of the tables staring, and they quickly return to their meals (though whilst muttering between themselves).
And that expression quickly relaxes into something pleasant again as L takes a frantic bite of the sandwich. Note to self: next time, the fillings need to change. This is a big ordeal just over a sandwich.]
[It's always an adventure being out in public with someone like L, that's for sure. There was a reason he preferred to spend most of his time cloistered away in hotel rooms in his own world. The curious glances are hastily averted when Connor glances sharply their way, but they're definitely still listening as they mutter.
Something odd happens after L takes a bite of the sandwich, however. Another follows, then another two in rapid succession. It's as if something has broken down and a desperate body has overridden whatever neuroses are clamping down their control on him. It tastes disgusting to him, and the sugar shockingly doesn't help much... but some kind of survival instinct has kicked in.
He gets half of the sandwich down, looking miserable the whole time, and downright green when he's done.
[Though the ultimate result will be beneficial and invigorating, it's exhausted L in the moment. He wilts forward onto his elbows, nudging the plate away from him with his fingertips. It's possible, even likely, that he is full after going so long without eating substantial amounts of actual food.]
I don't even want dessert. Just don't make me finish it.
[He's genuinely worried about losing the half he's already put away, and he worked so hard.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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?
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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.]
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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?
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[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?
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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.
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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.]
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[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.]
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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.
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It's still not enough to make him want to eat the egg salad sandwich, however. The very thought of it turns his stomach and makes him gag. He watches the packet of sugar drop onto the sandwich, swallowing the dry, bitter taste in his mouth.
He feels like he's already met Connor in the middle, and then some, just by coming here with him. But on paper, he suppose it isn't really like that. The indignity alone of all this is mortifying, but rather than ending it sooner, by just taking a bite, L is recoiling at the thought.
He reaches down with his free hand, snatching away the sugar and moving it closer to his person as though worried it's going to be snatched back. Satisfied, he reaches down, takes a swift and sickening bite of the disgusting sandwich and forces it down with a generous drink of water, tearing open the sugar packet as what essentially amounts to a chaser.
One bite down. Barely.]
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And that expression quickly relaxes into something pleasant again as L takes a frantic bite of the sandwich. Note to self: next time, the fillings need to change. This is a big ordeal just over a sandwich.]
Good. You can do it.
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Something odd happens after L takes a bite of the sandwich, however. Another follows, then another two in rapid succession. It's as if something has broken down and a desperate body has overridden whatever neuroses are clamping down their control on him. It tastes disgusting to him, and the sugar shockingly doesn't help much... but some kind of survival instinct has kicked in.
He gets half of the sandwich down, looking miserable the whole time, and downright green when he's done.
But he did it.]
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See? Now the other half... and then you can have your dessert.
[He knows this is hard for L just from how sick he looks, but he needs some goodness in his body.]
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I don't even want dessert. Just don't make me finish it.
[He's genuinely worried about losing the half he's already put away, and he worked so hard.]