[It’s a voice he recognizes — and will always recognize — almost immediately. He has a hold of the trapped man, arms hooked beneath his shoulders, heel of his shoes dug into the ground, and he turns his head to look at Arenvald’s approach.]
Arenvald! Hurry! I’m not strong enough to keep hold of him for much longer—
[Verbal confirmation of what his friend was thinking, and the visual comes next: The vines jerk forward without preamble, causing Connor to lose his balance and land hard on his back. He lets out a grunt, and a vine curls itself around his foot, trying to claim two instead of one.
[ He can’t just start hacking away for fear of taking the man’s feet off at the ankles, so it’s only when he finds a section of the vine that isn’t coiled around anything that he starts in with his sword, the sharp edge biting into the plant.
Of course in that time, Connor loses his footing, another vine slithering past Arenvald’s armored boot to coil around Connor’s foot. ]
Oi! Look here, you son of a morbol, you’re not going anywhere with them!
[ With a final swing, the vine keeping the local tied up is severed. The portion around his legs goes slack, allowing him to crawl free and dash away. The plant doesn’t much like that, a vine snapping out to grab hold of Arenvald’s sword arm.
What a time not to be able to scorch these plants away. ]
[When the offending vine is severed, allowing the local to skitter away (which Connor can hardly blame him for; there’s nothing much else to be done here but attempt to get away when the situation allows it), it means he has one less variable to account for. Data realigns accordingly, working furiously to adjust to the situation. Himself and Arenvald, the priority now a matter of extracting themselves from the situation much like the citizen they saved.
They’re ill-equipped, he realizes, when the vine reaches towards Arenvald, wrapping around his arm. But Connor doesn’t come completely unprepared, and finds time to scuffle to his feet, vine wound tight around his ankle.
He still has enough leeway to unsheath the knife at his hip (given to him by Cayde; perhaps Arenvald might recall seeing it before now), and he has just enough time to plant it right into the vine assailing his friend. Not much more time than that, though, the one around his leg tugging again, and he has to reach out with a free hand to steady himself against Arenvald himself.
The knife stays embedded in the vine, which flails for a few seconds, uncoiling.]
[ Arenvald spares a precious moment to watch the local make his escape, but an inkling at the back of his mind bids him to refocus his attention at the matter at hand. He jerks his shield arm up just in time to deflect another vine, snapping his way like a whip. It bounces off the surface of his small buckler, unable to find purchase to coil around him.
Well, there's the question of his Echo answered, then.
He's half a second away from switching his sword to his off-hand when Connor takes care of the issue for him, a familiar-looking knife flashing through the air to impale the vine trying to squeeze his sword arm despite the armor. ]
I've got you!
[ His now-free sword comes down in a quick arc to sever the vine around Connor, while his shield arm curls about his friend's waist to keep him upright. Now dead, the offending bit of plant goes slack, releasing him. Arenvald is quick to usher them away from the remaining vines, easing them back a few paces. ]
[Connor's quick enough to make a reach for the knife in the flailing vine, wrenching it out by its handle. It oozes something viscous and questionable when freed, and though the android could've done without it, there's something telling in wanting to retrieve an item from a friend no longer present. Representing an organization he's not sure they'll ever see again: Astoria's Circle.
But of course, this much goes unsaid. When he's practically ushered away at a distance, an actuator moves across his jawline, and he nods, fingers gripped around the knife and turning it over idly in his hands, a slightly anxious gesture.]
I- yes. [Then he looks up at Arenvald, gaze serious but thankful. He nods.]
Yes, I'm fine. Though I can't say I would've been if you hadn't been nearby. You're not hurt, are you?
[There’s nothing to be said about her appearance — or rather, nothing that Connor deigns to say. He’s polite, as always, though sharply observant. And a blunt tongue can sometimes be a failing for this android, but it doesn’t seem to rear its ugly head in this strange moment. Not yet at least.
So he just grins in the lurid pink lighting, nodding faintly. The tentacle hat bobbles accordingly.]
All right. Given that I’m designed to read people exceptionally well, I’d like to try my hand at being player 2. Though admittedly, my “mileage” might vary dependent upon how many tells you give me. So the saying goes.
( All those hats going around would be the death of her; they're so cute!! But she'd never wear one herself, really. A bit of a shame. She's enjoying them on others at least.
The way he phrases it, however, has her tipping her head with that same easy smile. )
Designed, is it? Well, I'll try to contain myself.
( And so her hand touches the panel, and once he does the same, the first set of questions appears:
It's as he vaguely admitted, despite his rather assured confidence otherwise. These snap-judgment guesses are based upon cold readings at best, and even then those reveal very little in the way of what her favorite food might be. Even Connor, the detective android, made to surpass a human counterpart's observational prowess, can only do so much when given very little to work with.
( Forgive her immediate laugh when he's scanned her over and answers aloud. )
Don't say it out loud! Or I'll know what you're—
( BZZT. WRONG...? She's tipping her head, because no, if it was some sort of food question, he probably had it correct. What could it think she likes more than pasta?? A good alfredo is all she needs in life. )
—being asked...? Wait, what was the question?
( The attendants are singsonging "No cheating~!" from behind the door, and she just looks frustrated. Geez!! )
[The name-greeting is given a little more jovially as compared to meeting a stranger. Connor’s eyes light up with recognition and the line of his shoulders eases slightly, and the tentacle bobs comically as he speaks.]
It’s Connor, and sure, why not?
[There’s probably other things to converse about, such as their shared assumption that this is likely not Astoria’s doing, but in the moment— well, they’re already in the booth, aren’t they? Connor likes to do things in order, organized and precise as he is, and he presses his hand flatter against the panel.]
Though you do have the advantage of knowing me ahead of time, so expect skewed results.
[It’s said without any criticism, though, light and earnest. The question pops up, which expect Prompto to guess at what one of Connor’s hobbies is:
[ They'll have plenty of time to catch up on their world-hopping theories in a breakout sesh later — that is, assuming the city doesn't get attacked by a giant vine plant-monster. But what are the odds of that? ]
I think you mean awesome results, 'cause I'm gonna nail this! [ — but the words die in his throat when that first question flashes across the screen, his brows drawing together in a hard line. Wait...one of these is a hobby of Connor's?
Granted, they don't talk hobbies a lot, but that's sorta because he figured that Connor didn't, uh, really have a lot of them. Shows him not to assume! ]
[He's curious to see if Prompto really is going to "nail" it, made prominent by the lift of a brow, but he schools his face to something default and amicable a second later.
A plain look at his question, and the reply comes easy.]
I don't think asking for help is in the rules. Are you already giving up?
[Where'd that confidence go! If Connor shows microchanges in expression revealing amusement, surely Prompto can't see it in this lurid lighting.]
[ Um, wow. Wow. Was that a callout? Is he being called out right now, by Connor?
Prompto's expression lights up, eyebrows flying into his hair, caught somewhere between being amused and being offended — of course he isn't giving up! It's been, like, one question. And the rules are rules. If hints are off limits, then so be it! ]
Nah, no way, man! If I gotta guess, I'll guess! How'd you think I made it through high school?
[ That is not terribly reassuring. Taking his bottom lip in between his teeth, he leans intently towards the screen once more, fingers drumming and dancing, before he selects—
BALLROOM DANCING.
He just really wants this to be the right answer, honestly. ]
[And while that would be an amazing answer, equally hilarious if it were true, reality is not so kind. The buzzer, cartoonishly loud, sounds and the booth flashes red.]
I’m sure you made it through high school with better informed guesses than that, then.
[A hand raises to fix his tie, a little self-satisfied but goodnatured all the same. Connor has something of a competitive streak, even if it is a friendly game of silly compatibility.]
Though you never observed me using my quarter when we were in the Circle, so honestly, any guess was as valid as the other. It was a decent attempt.
[Which sounds like a confidently bold assumption for someone wearing a stupid octopus hat. Normally, at least — but Connor would have to be blind to not notice the policeman’s uniform, even if he doesn’t recognize the name of the department. The answer is quick—]
You work with the police.
[—and studded with curiosity.]
The giveaway is obviously how you’re dressed. [A grin.] If the roles were reversed, the same answer would apply to myself. Though my uniform isn’t exactly as blatant as yours.
[He’s lost the top half of his android uniform, the jacket with his model number and “ANDROID” emblazoned across it, leaving him in just a white dress shirt, a skinny tie, and nice, dark jeans.
[ he glances down at his own outfit, before shaking his head a bit at the absurdity of the question. well... it wasn't a given that his chosen occupation was his favorite, but all the same. ]
You're a cop too? [ that earns him a curious glance. ] Not a street cop by the looks of it. Detective?
[Well, it's mostly right. And the conversation seems to be enough to derail Connor's interest in the game itself; he has a far more overriding interest in police work and all that it entails, after all. It's what he was practically (and literally) designed for.]
...Well. In a general sense. I suppose I should be more forthcoming and tell you that I'm colloquially been described as an android detective, and though I do work with the police in an official capacity, I hold no official ranking with the Detroit Police Department.
[ give him a second to process that. "android detective"? is he supposed to understand what that means? is it some kind of special detective? they definitely didn't cover that at the police academy... he just kind of looks away sheepishly, trying to do his best to cover up the fact that he has 0 idea how to react to that information. ]
So you're from Detroit. [ that, at least, he understand. ] I'm from Raccoon City myself.
I’ve never heard of Raccoon City. I imagine this is another example of “alternate universes” and the differences that exist between my world and yours. Such as, for example, the term—
[Connor, ever observant, and definitely not the first he’s met who doesn’t understand the term ‘android’, much less coupled with ‘detective’, makes an assumption based on Leon’s reaction which he follows through with.]
—‘android’, I assume?
[He reaches up to tilt his stupid octopus hat at an angle, revealing his temple. A blue LED light, circular and glowing steadily.]
For clarification purposes, I’m not human. I’m wholly synthetic — maybe a more apt term would be “robot”, though it doesn’t encompass completely what I am.
No, don’t— Listen, don’t be sorry. [Brows knit together tightly, focusing his gaze on the other. It’s impossible to ignore the vines, especially when they lash so close to his face, but Connor is equal parts determined and stubborn. He continues speaking, trying to keep the thread of calm taut.]
It isn’t your fault. All of this is unpredictable. If you can just grab my hand, I can pull you out. You don’t have to dismiss all of your… shielding. It might help deter the vines.
[A crack as a vine hits said shielding, but Connor only presses a hand forward.]
Come on, it’ll be all right.
[If allowed, he’ll reach forward to grab his hand when the barrier’s gone down enough.]
[ Takato and trusting people is something he's still trying to figure out. He knows Connor means well and, hell, he's trying to help him but even so...he pauses for a brief second his one lone eye conferring all the uncertainty and fear he currently has is very apparent. But he'll swallow thickly and nod silently as he reaches to take the others hand.
The barrier is still up around them so the vines can't attack them while Connor is helping him. ]
[He doesn’t hesitate on his end. Connor reaches in and pulls, knowing that time is of the essence and the sooner they’re out of here, the better.]
Come on—
[The vines whip and lash around the barrier, a few even crack against Connor’s arm. But he feels no pain, registers only the force and deems it negligible. With one more great lift, he frees the stranger from the largest entanglement, opening up space for him to flee.]
[ The barrier still remains even as Takato is pulled upward. He'll nod and try to keep said barrier stable enough to protect them both. But a vine might lash dangerously close to Takato and he'll just let out a small yelp before flinching and dropping the barrier entirely. Oh no. He...didn't meant to do that.
Those vines are just going to try and grab and latch onto anything they can. ] Ah! R-Run!
[Sending a blade. Connor processes the meaning quick-fire fast, already turning his head to look in the man’s direction, while keeping a tight hold of the citizen still wrapped tight in the vines. Ignis is all impressive dexterity, a laughable sight compared to the android now knocked to the ground, but it’s something to be appreciated later — right now, that dagger embeds itself in a vine itself, making it twist and writhe. Connor reaches out quickly, deft fingers curling around its haft, yanking it free and then swiping at the ones assaulting him.
It cuts cleanly, leaking an ooze with each laceration. Despite the chaos, Connor is careful to avoid it, even as he works to free the citizen next. Moments pass, his LED blinks a mad yellow, and he hopes that Ignis can hold off the vines just a little longer— just a little—
The cut vines give way, the citizen latches onto he android, heaving with fear. Connor is quick to rise them both to their feet, swiping at any vines that get too close.]
[A little longer, just a little longer, Ignis deflects and slices at each vine that comes lunging his way. A strange sort of gooey liquid seems to seep out of the cuts and open gashes he leaves behind, and he keeps his distance not to touch it. He's not sure how much longer he can keep at this defense all his own; he might be quick on his feet and a formidable enough foe fighting solo, but Ignis only has a limited amount of resources at hand. Were one of the others here, he'd have a better chance at fighting this thing into submission.
A far larger vine comes swiping down at him and Ignis blocks with his javelin, his shoes skidding against the ground. It's as he hears the voice call out from the back that he knows that the two have been freed and can make it to safety.]
A moment?! [He yells out as he gives a hasty shove, juts his javelin into the ground and uses it to propel him up into the air in order to send a dagger soaring into that last vine, sticking into it with a squelch. A splash of sticky sap lands against his cheek but causes him to not even flinch. Twisting mid-air, Ignis lands on his feet, and the weapons disappear in light before he turns and rushes to catch up with the other two in order to escape. He's done all he can, he can't defeat these vines on his own. Retreat is the only option here.]
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FOR ARENVALD;
[It’s a voice he recognizes — and will always recognize — almost immediately. He has a hold of the trapped man, arms hooked beneath his shoulders, heel of his shoes dug into the ground, and he turns his head to look at Arenvald’s approach.]
Arenvald! Hurry! I’m not strong enough to keep hold of him for much longer—
[Verbal confirmation of what his friend was thinking, and the visual comes next: The vines jerk forward without preamble, causing Connor to lose his balance and land hard on his back. He lets out a grunt, and a vine curls itself around his foot, trying to claim two instead of one.
help he’s a disaster]
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Of course in that time, Connor loses his footing, another vine slithering past Arenvald’s armored boot to coil around Connor’s foot. ]
Oi! Look here, you son of a morbol, you’re not going anywhere with them!
[ With a final swing, the vine keeping the local tied up is severed. The portion around his legs goes slack, allowing him to crawl free and dash away. The plant doesn’t much like that, a vine snapping out to grab hold of Arenvald’s sword arm.
What a time not to be able to scorch these plants away. ]
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They’re ill-equipped, he realizes, when the vine reaches towards Arenvald, wrapping around his arm. But Connor doesn’t come completely unprepared, and finds time to scuffle to his feet, vine wound tight around his ankle.
He still has enough leeway to unsheath the knife at his hip (given to him by Cayde; perhaps Arenvald might recall seeing it before now), and he has just enough time to plant it right into the vine assailing his friend. Not much more time than that, though, the one around his leg tugging again, and he has to reach out with a free hand to steady himself against Arenvald himself.
The knife stays embedded in the vine, which flails for a few seconds, uncoiling.]
The one around my leg—!
[you know in case he didn’t already notice]
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Well, there's the question of his Echo answered, then.
He's half a second away from switching his sword to his off-hand when Connor takes care of the issue for him, a familiar-looking knife flashing through the air to impale the vine trying to squeeze his sword arm despite the armor. ]
I've got you!
[ His now-free sword comes down in a quick arc to sever the vine around Connor, while his shield arm curls about his friend's waist to keep him upright. Now dead, the offending bit of plant goes slack, releasing him. Arenvald is quick to usher them away from the remaining vines, easing them back a few paces. ]
Are you alright?
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But of course, this much goes unsaid. When he's practically ushered away at a distance, an actuator moves across his jawline, and he nods, fingers gripped around the knife and turning it over idly in his hands, a slightly anxious gesture.]
I- yes. [Then he looks up at Arenvald, gaze serious but thankful. He nods.]
Yes, I'm fine. Though I can't say I would've been if you hadn't been nearby. You're not hurt, are you?
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FOR ANGELA;
[There’s nothing to be said about her appearance — or rather, nothing that Connor deigns to say. He’s polite, as always, though sharply observant. And a blunt tongue can sometimes be a failing for this android, but it doesn’t seem to rear its ugly head in this strange moment. Not yet at least.
So he just grins in the lurid pink lighting, nodding faintly. The tentacle hat bobbles accordingly.]
All right. Given that I’m designed to read people exceptionally well, I’d like to try my hand at being player 2. Though admittedly, my “mileage” might vary dependent upon how many tells you give me. So the saying goes.
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The way he phrases it, however, has her tipping her head with that same easy smile. )
Designed, is it? Well, I'll try to contain myself.
( And so her hand touches the panel, and once he does the same, the first set of questions appears:
FAVORITE FOOD:
Pasta
Curry
Steak
Good luck and godspeed, Connor. )
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It's as he vaguely admitted, despite his rather assured confidence otherwise. These snap-judgment guesses are based upon cold readings at best, and even then those reveal very little in the way of what her favorite food might be. Even Connor, the detective android, made to surpass a human counterpart's observational prowess, can only do so much when given very little to work with.
His eyes sweep across her form briefly, then-]
...Pasta.
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Don't say it out loud! Or I'll know what you're—
( BZZT. WRONG...? She's tipping her head, because no, if it was some sort of food question, he probably had it correct. What could it think she likes more than pasta?? A good alfredo is all she needs in life. )
—being asked...? Wait, what was the question?
( The attendants are singsonging "No cheating~!" from behind the door, and she just looks frustrated. Geez!! )
FOR PROMPTO;
Prompto.
[The name-greeting is given a little more jovially as compared to meeting a stranger. Connor’s eyes light up with recognition and the line of his shoulders eases slightly, and the tentacle bobs comically as he speaks.]
It’s Connor, and sure, why not?
[There’s probably other things to converse about, such as their shared assumption that this is likely not Astoria’s doing, but in the moment— well, they’re already in the booth, aren’t they? Connor likes to do things in order, organized and precise as he is, and he presses his hand flatter against the panel.]
Though you do have the advantage of knowing me ahead of time, so expect skewed results.
[It’s said without any criticism, though, light and earnest. The question pops up, which expect Prompto to guess at what one of Connor’s hobbies is:
-COOKING
-COIN TRICKS
-BALLROOM DANCING]
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I think you mean awesome results, 'cause I'm gonna nail this! [ — but the words die in his throat when that first question flashes across the screen, his brows drawing together in a hard line. Wait...one of these is a hobby of Connor's?
Granted, they don't talk hobbies a lot, but that's sorta because he figured that Connor didn't, uh, really have a lot of them. Shows him not to assume! ]
Can I...phone a friend?
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A plain look at his question, and the reply comes easy.]
I don't think asking for help is in the rules. Are you already giving up?
[Where'd that confidence go! If Connor shows microchanges in expression revealing amusement, surely Prompto can't see it in this lurid lighting.]
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Prompto's expression lights up, eyebrows flying into his hair, caught somewhere between being amused and being offended — of course he isn't giving up! It's been, like, one question. And the rules are rules. If hints are off limits, then so be it! ]
Nah, no way, man! If I gotta guess, I'll guess! How'd you think I made it through high school?
[ That is not terribly reassuring. Taking his bottom lip in between his teeth, he leans intently towards the screen once more, fingers drumming and dancing, before he selects—
BALLROOM DANCING.
He just really wants this to be the right answer, honestly. ]
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I’m sure you made it through high school with better informed guesses than that, then.
[A hand raises to fix his tie, a little self-satisfied but goodnatured all the same. Connor has something of a competitive streak, even if it is a friendly game of silly compatibility.]
Though you never observed me using my quarter when we were in the Circle, so honestly, any guess was as valid as the other. It was a decent attempt.
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FOR LEON;
Starting easy, I think.
[Which sounds like a confidently bold assumption for someone wearing a stupid octopus hat. Normally, at least — but Connor would have to be blind to not notice the policeman’s uniform, even if he doesn’t recognize the name of the department. The answer is quick—]
You work with the police.
[—and studded with curiosity.]
The giveaway is obviously how you’re dressed. [A grin.] If the roles were reversed, the same answer would apply to myself. Though my uniform isn’t exactly as blatant as yours.
[He’s lost the top half of his android uniform, the jacket with his model number and “ANDROID” emblazoned across it, leaving him in just a white dress shirt, a skinny tie, and nice, dark jeans.
And a dumb hat.]
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[ he glances down at his own outfit, before shaking his head a bit at the absurdity of the question. well... it wasn't a given that his chosen occupation was his favorite, but all the same. ]
You're a cop too? [ that earns him a curious glance. ] Not a street cop by the looks of it. Detective?
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[Well, it's mostly right. And the conversation seems to be enough to derail Connor's interest in the game itself; he has a far more overriding interest in police work and all that it entails, after all. It's what he was practically (and literally) designed for.]
...Well. In a general sense. I suppose I should be more forthcoming and tell you that I'm colloquially been described as an android detective, and though I do work with the police in an official capacity, I hold no official ranking with the Detroit Police Department.
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[ give him a second to process that. "android detective"? is he supposed to understand what that means? is it some kind of special detective? they definitely didn't cover that at the police academy... he just kind of looks away sheepishly, trying to do his best to cover up the fact that he has 0 idea how to react to that information. ]
So you're from Detroit. [ that, at least, he understand. ] I'm from Raccoon City myself.
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[Connor, ever observant, and definitely not the first he’s met who doesn’t understand the term ‘android’, much less coupled with ‘detective’, makes an assumption based on Leon’s reaction which he follows through with.]
—‘android’, I assume?
[He reaches up to tilt his stupid octopus hat at an angle, revealing his temple. A blue LED light, circular and glowing steadily.]
For clarification purposes, I’m not human. I’m wholly synthetic — maybe a more apt term would be “robot”, though it doesn’t encompass completely what I am.
FOR TAKATO;
No, don’t— Listen, don’t be sorry. [Brows knit together tightly, focusing his gaze on the other. It’s impossible to ignore the vines, especially when they lash so close to his face, but Connor is equal parts determined and stubborn. He continues speaking, trying to keep the thread of calm taut.]
It isn’t your fault. All of this is unpredictable. If you can just grab my hand, I can pull you out. You don’t have to dismiss all of your… shielding. It might help deter the vines.
[A crack as a vine hits said shielding, but Connor only presses a hand forward.]
Come on, it’ll be all right.
[If allowed, he’ll reach forward to grab his hand when the barrier’s gone down enough.]
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The barrier is still up around them so the vines can't attack them while Connor is helping him. ]
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Come on—
[The vines whip and lash around the barrier, a few even crack against Connor’s arm. But he feels no pain, registers only the force and deems it negligible. With one more great lift, he frees the stranger from the largest entanglement, opening up space for him to flee.]
All right, let’s go!
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Those vines are just going to try and grab and latch onto anything they can. ] Ah! R-Run!
[ He's so sorry, he hadn't meant to do that! ]
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FOR IGNIS;
[Sending a blade. Connor processes the meaning quick-fire fast, already turning his head to look in the man’s direction, while keeping a tight hold of the citizen still wrapped tight in the vines. Ignis is all impressive dexterity, a laughable sight compared to the android now knocked to the ground, but it’s something to be appreciated later — right now, that dagger embeds itself in a vine itself, making it twist and writhe. Connor reaches out quickly, deft fingers curling around its haft, yanking it free and then swiping at the ones assaulting him.
It cuts cleanly, leaking an ooze with each laceration. Despite the chaos, Connor is careful to avoid it, even as he works to free the citizen next. Moments pass, his LED blinks a mad yellow, and he hopes that Ignis can hold off the vines just a little longer— just a little—
The cut vines give way, the citizen latches onto he android, heaving with fear. Connor is quick to rise them both to their feet, swiping at any vines that get too close.]
Come on! Let’s go!
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A far larger vine comes swiping down at him and Ignis blocks with his javelin, his shoes skidding against the ground. It's as he hears the voice call out from the back that he knows that the two have been freed and can make it to safety.]
A moment?! [He yells out as he gives a hasty shove, juts his javelin into the ground and uses it to propel him up into the air in order to send a dagger soaring into that last vine, sticking into it with a squelch. A splash of sticky sap lands against his cheek but causes him to not even flinch. Twisting mid-air, Ignis lands on his feet, and the weapons disappear in light before he turns and rushes to catch up with the other two in order to escape. He's done all he can, he can't defeat these vines on his own. Retreat is the only option here.]