connor scans the counter again, looking for familiar saint bernard hairs on the seats. he comes across nothing of interest. no scuffs in the shape of hank’s shoe-print, no “jimmy’s bar” matches, no contact in his phone with the name of his partner. he doesn’t know why he ended up in here again, in a dingy bar in the middle of the night, looking for answers he knew he would never find. he feels like he knows nothing now. the only thing he can do to remedy the situation is learn. observe. wait. he scanned the faces over and over, waiting for a familiar match to ping in his hud, with nothing came. the android flexes his toes against the bar stool and puts his hands together in his lap, watchful eyes gazing into the small inebriated crowd.
“hey bub, you can’t just sit there creepin’ people out all night. dead-eyed n’ shit. buy something or get out.”
connor blinks a few times at a bulky bartender leaning over the wood. it yanks him out of his thoughts, and a glance at his running programs tells him that he’s been sitting here for 42 minutes and 28 seconds. ❝ i’m sorry, ❞ he begins, giving the softest nod of apologies. ❝ i don’t drink. ❞
the man quirks a brow at him, but before he can offer alternatives or challenge the android’s presence, connor’s scanning the nearly-empty glass of the person sitting next to him and ordering another one of their preferred beverage. the drink hastily finds it’s place on the table and connor scoots to the edge of his seat, gently pushing it over to the stranger. ❝ here, ❞ he states lightly as he initiates a social protocol. ❝ another round on me. ❞
@onelichtwolich