[Something that sounds like an exhale wrapped up in exasperation, subtle as it might be. With the flowers neatly encircling his wrist now, he takes his hand back, and reaches out to pluck a wilting leaf from Nier's hair.
He shows it to him, clenched between forefinger and thumb, the damning evidence that it is.]
[ absently, his eyes flicker up. the bags underneath his eyes are somehow accentuated by this movement — or maybe it's look on his face, sullen with the exhaustion of being alive. ]
Whether or not I live doesn't matter. I've already fulfilled my purpose. It's okay.
[He can't hide the downward tug of his frown, growing even deeper at the wording he's chosen. Purpose. Ringing poignant in his own head, a term that he's turned over and over again, both to himself and declared to others.]
That's something a machine should say -- not a human. [He's quick to correct, if only because there's something off-putting about how easily Nier can admit to that.] What purpose was it that you think defines you so prevalently?
[His sister. Via habit, Connor’s eyes track downwards to the fine contour of Nier’s weapon, thinking the gesture a strange correlation between what’s being said and what is being shown. But perhaps, if he leans on assumption, it’s not as large of a leap as he thinks. Protecting someone and the imagery of a finely-edged blade could go hand-in-hand, though it makes Connor want to question the circumstances.
It’s obvious how he takes a moment to formulate a response, one that will both cast a wide net for information, as well as quietly persuade him. The way he figuratively side-steps around the latter part is just as plain.]
Not that I can understand your own circumstances based on so little information, but wouldn’t your sister want for you to be in good health? “Regular human” or otherwise.
[ he blinks. for a moment, he wants to laugh — it's funny, and terribly pure, but ultimately futile. it reminds him of himself. of the innocence he'll never know again.
he does not laugh. instead he stares, blankly, lips furling into an incredibly small smile, like the blooming bud of a flower. ]
She doesn't remember who I am. She doesn't even know that I exist.
[ something ebbs in the sea of his eyes. a quiet, deep sorrow. ]
You're a very kind person, Connor. Thank you. For trying.
[He shakes his head.] I simply want to do what I can to help. To facilitate the success of this group overall.
[Sadness in his eyes, Connor notes. A flicker of something so small that it might have been missed by someone less observant.]
I'm... sorry to hear about your sister, though. If you don't wish to talk about it, that's fine. [Propriety overrides curiosity in this case, though the option is purposefully left open.] But would you be willing to take the wishes of others into consideration?
[ he doesn't perceive it as an opening — it's best to avert the prospect of burdening someone else. he runs his fingers through his own hair for a moment. ]
...Maybe.
[ he knows where he's going with this. it's difficult to repress a smile. ]
[Connor's lips press thin. For someone less willing to be helpful, that's being sequestered into a corner quite quickly, a promise to think of himself in a way that he simply isn't used to considering.
But some part of Connor, maybe a section of his programming that's hard for him to pin down, finds he can make this promise if it means Nier's going to be less stubborn about all of this. The man needs his rest. Connor owes him a debt, and this is part of how he intends to fulfill it -- to make sure that he recovers if he really is getting sick.]
I think that's a fair compromise. Besides, I doubt I'm the only one here who would be making this request of you, if they knew.
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and his boots are notably off and placed near the front door, as if to not track dirt into the room. maybe. ]
It's rude to have someone over and not offer them something.
[ he doesn't answer the question, naturally. ]
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That isn’t what I asked. [-he says, exasperation hanging off his words.]
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...It doesn't matter...?
[ he coughs.
an excellent retort. ]
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[Something that sounds like an exhale wrapped up in exasperation, subtle as it might be. With the flowers neatly encircling his wrist now, he takes his hand back, and reaches out to pluck a wilting leaf from Nier's hair.
He shows it to him, clenched between forefinger and thumb, the damning evidence that it is.]
Why are you so eager to neglect your own health?
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[ absently, his eyes flicker up. the bags underneath his eyes are somehow accentuated by this movement — or maybe it's look on his face, sullen with the exhaustion of being alive. ]
Whether or not I live doesn't matter. I've already fulfilled my purpose. It's okay.
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That's something a machine should say -- not a human. [He's quick to correct, if only because there's something off-putting about how easily Nier can admit to that.] What purpose was it that you think defines you so prevalently?
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[ idly, he reaches for his blade — his fingers delicately run along its sheath. ]
I'm not a machine, but I'm not what you would consider a regular human either. So you don't need to worry about me.
[ there's a beat. ]
...Not that it matters. You decide your purpose. No one else. Whether you're a man or a machine has nothing to do with it.
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It’s obvious how he takes a moment to formulate a response, one that will both cast a wide net for information, as well as quietly persuade him. The way he figuratively side-steps around the latter part is just as plain.]
Not that I can understand your own circumstances based on so little information, but wouldn’t your sister want for you to be in good health? “Regular human” or otherwise.
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he does not laugh. instead he stares, blankly, lips furling into an incredibly small smile, like the blooming bud of a flower. ]
She doesn't remember who I am. She doesn't even know that I exist.
[ something ebbs in the sea of his eyes. a quiet, deep sorrow. ]
You're a very kind person, Connor. Thank you. For trying.
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[Sadness in his eyes, Connor notes. A flicker of something so small that it might have been missed by someone less observant.]
I'm... sorry to hear about your sister, though. If you don't wish to talk about it, that's fine. [Propriety overrides curiosity in this case, though the option is purposefully left open.] But would you be willing to take the wishes of others into consideration?
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[ he doesn't perceive it as an opening — it's best to avert the prospect of burdening someone else. he runs his fingers through his own hair for a moment. ]
...Maybe.
[ he knows where he's going with this. it's difficult to repress a smile. ]
Only if they promise to think of themselves too.
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But some part of Connor, maybe a section of his programming that's hard for him to pin down, finds he can make this promise if it means Nier's going to be less stubborn about all of this. The man needs his rest. Connor owes him a debt, and this is part of how he intends to fulfill it -- to make sure that he recovers if he really is getting sick.]
I think that's a fair compromise. Besides, I doubt I'm the only one here who would be making this request of you, if they knew.