She's satisfied, at least, that he's able to keep it down. He needs something to keep him going besides cigarettes and nightmares, and if there's anything that can bring some kind of light into his life right now, she's glad for it.
His joke is surprising, welcome, though a lot of things about him are surprising. She gives him a smile, munching on another piece. "Used to?"
"There was a blackout in 2022 that wiped out most of the digital data in the world - including cultural contributions like music and movies, but some survived, and there were physical copies then. VHS tapes, records, film reels," K explains, perhaps unwittingly also explaining why he likes listening to music from 1966 and Joi displayed a lot of retro clothing in the memory. It doesn't occur to him as odd, personally. "I liked watching them but they had a lot of food in them I'd never seen and we could never have reproduced anyway. Olivier salad, spaghetti with meatballs, charlotte russe, milkshakes, boiled eggs, cannolis, sole meunière, bologna, steak and frites."
She's seen the memory, she knows where that last one comes from anyway. He takes another bite of banana bread and takes his time chewing it, too, before he speaks again. "But then I came here and I realized there's no point in having a list. There's so much I've never even heard of, let alone thought to want to try."
She listens curiously, toying with the piece of tin foil in her lap, imagining a world where whole pieces of history, culture were just... lost. Removed in chunks, along with the taste of food and drink.
"Some of that stuff I don't even think I've had," she concedes. What the hell even goes in a charlotte russe? But with all the conveniences of her own world - delivery, melting pots of culture, fast food, convenience stores - she can't imagine a world where you could conjure up a food you'd want to try and not be able to go out and get it.
"You can still have a list. Make sure you've tried the stuff you've always wanted to, on top of everything else." She chews thoughtfully a moment. "What were your favorites? From the movies you watched?
"I just don't want to get too focused on a list when there's... Toast with jelly, and corn on the cob, and cranberry juice." All things that rate five stars in K's book, things that are easy to focus on now that there's someone else here to talk with him about it rather than focusing on the menace still lurking in the back of his thoughts.
He actually leans forward a bit toward her, relaxing into the conversation, his answer ready to that question.
"Turkish delight," he answers immediately. "Or couscous. But I always thought a candy good enough to distract you from finding your family must be particularly delicious, so. Turkish delight. Have you ever had it?"
"God, you really do like all of it, don't you?" she chuckles. Cranberry juice was only ever good with vodka, in her opinion, but she's not here to judge. "There's so much more, though. Pizza, my god. Tell me you've had pizza."
She reaches out to brush a crumb of banana bread off the front of his shirt, brow furrowing as she remembers the flash of blood there - the bullet she'd buried into his chest - before she blinks it away, glancing back up at him.
"From the Narnia movie? God, I forgot about those." She chuckles, shaking her head. "I've had it a few times in Istanbul. It's good. Sweet, chewy. I like the ones with chopped nuts in them the best."
"I haven't had pizza," he regrets to inform her - and it is a regret if she's saying that's her critical food for him to have had. He's still while she reaches towards him, glancing down, but he doesn't stop her or pull away.
He does nod to confirm - "The book," though - before getting distracted by her answer.
Disbelief flickers across her features - God, he hasn't lived until he's had a bite of pizza - and she gets to her feet immediately, grabbing her phone where she left it by the nightstand and tapping away at it to put in an order.
"I know it's a book," she chuckles, eyes trained on her phone a moment before she returns her attention to him. "Yeah. International assassin, remember?" Another few clicks and she tucks her phone back into her pocket. "The League was based up in the Himalayas, but I got sent all over the place."
K watches her get up, at first concerned that he said something, but she hasn't changed significantly that he can tell. She doesn't collect more of her things to leave, so he relaxes again.
And shakes his head.
"You never said international," just so they're clear. But more importantly: "I rarely left Los Angeles, let alone California. Never what used to be the United States. What was it like?"
It's a push and pull between them - tension and release, still learning the triggers, the things that set them both off, cause them to withdraw or open up at the drop of a hat.
She doesn't go far, at least, reclaiming her spot next to him at the edge of the bed, shifting a little further towards the middle to try and get comfortable.
"Oh. I guess I don't like to talk about it much." It's the understatement of the century, but he's seen it first hand now. Not much use in hiding it. "It's beautiful. Colorful, bright. Really busy, but that's true of any major city. It's right on the peninsula, so there's water all around." She leans back on both her hands. "Where have you been, besides LA? You ever go up north?"
The look he gives her is empathetic; he understands and he doesn't want to push, not when it doesn't matter right now so much as it's new information.
He tries to imagine what she's telling him and smiles faintly, an expression that vanishes when he thinks of California.
"For cases. There are protein farms a few hours flight outside the biome, but not much else. People can't live outside the megapolises anymore so it's a popular place for rogue replicants to hide."
That's how easy the push and pull is. A smile one moment, a flicker of darkness another. But that's the nature of who they are, it seems. Shrouded in that darkness and trying, stubbornly to find the light. Even if neither of them believe they deserve it.
Her brow furrows, trying to imagine it. "I grew up there. Starling City, up near San Francisco. Least that land is good for something, I guess."
Right now he especially doesn't believe in his own worth. Caught between lacking purpose and the accusations pressed into his mind by the nightmare, he doesn't believe he deserves much of anything good.
But he can talk with hera while anyway. She came all this way.
"San Francisco is gone. The ocean swallowed up most of it and the rest burned up under the sun. Los Angeles covers the southern half of the state and nearly pushed into Nevada. It's one of six megapolises left on the planet, each built around a space port."
It's been years since Sara's felt like she's deserved anything good. She doesn't need a nightmare to reinforce that much. Their doppelgangers had just reminded her of what she already knew. That feeling amplified ten fold, targeting the people close to her to show her she couldn't even take care of them.
She's good at pushing it down, though. Burying it all, putting on a smile, cracking a joke as a cherry on top. She chews at the inside of her lip, frowning at the idea of a world where her home was just... gone.
"Is there anything good about where you're from? Because honestly, everything you've ever told me about it sounds horrible."
He would never argue that his planet is... good. It's literally a dead world, the corpse of the earth that once supported life now drifting in space while its inhabitants fight to get free of it like fleas. It's actively killing those that are left, and will take billions with it in the end. Takes millions every day.
But it's still home. It's still his city, they're still his people. He presses his lips together and resists the urge to shrug.
And indeed he thinks immediately of Joi, of her simple pleasure to see him at the end of the day or whenever he turned up, her worry over his moods, the way she fussed when he was hurt or stuck on a case.
He talked over so many cases with her. Perhaps that was his secret after all.
"Joi," he says, delicately, a bit hollow. He remembers her, too, blinking out of thin air forever. "Flying my cruiser. Working concert security. The holo clubs, and patrol reports, the ones I could do anything about."
She's glad he had someone, at least. To get him through it. Even if she was assigned, like some kind of holographic emotional support to keep him company.
She watches him closely, the way his features change when he thinks about her. "Patrol reports made you happy?" she says it with a playful tease.
K pushes back on the bed until he can press his shoulders into the wall, lean his head back a bit to try and give his aching neck a rest.
"Patrol reports are easier than blade running, and I wasn't burned out like the regular street officers. I could help people sometimes. Missing persons, property damage, safety concerns. They liked it. So did I."
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no subject
His joke is surprising, welcome, though a lot of things about him are surprising. She gives him a smile, munching on another piece. "Used to?"
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She's seen the memory, she knows where that last one comes from anyway. He takes another bite of banana bread and takes his time chewing it, too, before he speaks again. "But then I came here and I realized there's no point in having a list. There's so much I've never even heard of, let alone thought to want to try."
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"Some of that stuff I don't even think I've had," she concedes. What the hell even goes in a charlotte russe? But with all the conveniences of her own world - delivery, melting pots of culture, fast food, convenience stores - she can't imagine a world where you could conjure up a food you'd want to try and not be able to go out and get it.
"You can still have a list. Make sure you've tried the stuff you've always wanted to, on top of everything else." She chews thoughtfully a moment. "What were your favorites? From the movies you watched?
no subject
He actually leans forward a bit toward her, relaxing into the conversation, his answer ready to that question.
"Turkish delight," he answers immediately. "Or couscous. But I always thought a candy good enough to distract you from finding your family must be particularly delicious, so.
Turkish delight. Have you ever had it?"
no subject
She reaches out to brush a crumb of banana bread off the front of his shirt, brow furrowing as she remembers the flash of blood there - the bullet she'd buried into his chest - before she blinks it away, glancing back up at him.
"From the Narnia movie? God, I forgot about those." She chuckles, shaking her head. "I've had it a few times in Istanbul. It's good. Sweet, chewy. I like the ones with chopped nuts in them the best."
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He does nod to confirm - "The book," though - before getting distracted by her answer.
"You've been to Istanbul?"
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"I know it's a book," she chuckles, eyes trained on her phone a moment before she returns her attention to him. "Yeah. International assassin, remember?" Another few clicks and she tucks her phone back into her pocket. "The League was based up in the Himalayas, but I got sent all over the place."
no subject
And shakes his head.
"You never said international," just so they're clear. But more importantly: "I rarely left Los Angeles, let alone California. Never what used to be the United States. What was it like?"
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She doesn't go far, at least, reclaiming her spot next to him at the edge of the bed, shifting a little further towards the middle to try and get comfortable.
"Oh. I guess I don't like to talk about it much." It's the understatement of the century, but he's seen it first hand now. Not much use in hiding it. "It's beautiful. Colorful, bright. Really busy, but that's true of any major city. It's right on the peninsula, so there's water all around." She leans back on both her hands. "Where have you been, besides LA? You ever go up north?"
no subject
He tries to imagine what she's telling him and smiles faintly, an expression that vanishes when he thinks of California.
"For cases. There are protein farms a few hours flight outside the biome, but not much else. People can't live outside the megapolises anymore so it's a popular place for rogue replicants to hide."
no subject
Her brow furrows, trying to imagine it. "I grew up there. Starling City, up near San Francisco. Least that land is good for something, I guess."
no subject
But he can talk with hera while anyway. She came all this way.
"San Francisco is gone. The ocean swallowed up most of it and the rest burned up under the sun. Los Angeles covers the southern half of the state and nearly pushed into Nevada. It's one of six megapolises left on the planet, each built around a space port."
no subject
She's good at pushing it down, though. Burying it all, putting on a smile, cracking a joke as a cherry on top. She chews at the inside of her lip, frowning at the idea of a world where her home was just... gone.
"Is there anything good about where you're from? Because honestly, everything you've ever told me about it sounds horrible."
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But it's still home. It's still his city, they're still his people. He presses his lips together and resists the urge to shrug.
"You're from a better planet. I'm not surprised."
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"What were the things that made you happy? Back home?" Joi, likely. She's seen the way he changed around her. The ease in his demeanor.
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He talked over so many cases with her. Perhaps that was his secret after all.
"Joi," he says, delicately, a bit hollow. He remembers her, too, blinking out of thin air forever. "Flying my cruiser. Working concert security. The holo clubs, and patrol reports, the ones I could do anything about."
no subject
She watches him closely, the way his features change when he thinks about her. "Patrol reports made you happy?" she says it with a playful tease.
no subject
"Patrol reports are easier than blade running, and I wasn't burned out like the regular street officers. I could help people sometimes. Missing persons, property damage, safety concerns. They liked it. So did I."
no subject
Smiling a little, she glances down at her hands again.
"You're a good person, K. You should know that."