A/N: Thank you for reading this far. Comments/reviews are especially loved, they let me know people are interested in more!

The Art of Oseram Negotiation

"Is that necessary?"

"No self-respecting Oseram will turn down a direct challenge by flagon," Gildun whispers back under his breath as they wind their way back to the market. "And it's gotta be me because of your unique condition; don't worry, Ol' Gildun can handle this, believe you me!"'

Now he doesn't typically look for a fight. Just doesn't have that itch or even slightest inclination toward it, hence why he always preferred his current profession than that of, say, a Freebooter. Sure he has a bow and a hammer but for the most part, he's made it a point to avoid as much combat as possible because it gets in the way of a good delve and that isn't even going to the part where he could, you know, get hurt…which, incidentally, also gets in the way of said delve. Nevermind how the thought of it gets his heart racing and every nerve on fire, hot as stoked coals! Connor had insisted that was just "adrenaline" and the body's natural response to "unexpected conflict scenarios", as was his way, and Gildun had smiled, gulped (wondering why his mouth felt so dry) and swore up and down He Was Completely And Utterly Fine (as is his way).

Gildun isn't feeling terribly fine. But Connor doesn't need to know, because Connor will worry - or, as he puts it, "precalculate possible scenarios".

It sounds almost like worrying if you ask him…not that he's an expert on androids or anything.

Together they stop at the edge of the market where the majority of the metalsmiths and tinkerers set up shop. People stream past, chatting, talking about latest barters and trades and casting occasionally curious glances at the sight of an Oseram delver and a Banuk hunter leaning toward each other and whispering, close enough to bump shoulders. Thankfully they don't linger.

"That Oseram will do," the RK800 android lifts a finger, Banuk jury-rigged gauntlet looking almost like a claw as he points. "Please be advised that challenging - and winning - doesn't guarantee success regarding repairs. There's a high chance this will only result in a crippling hangover on your part."

"Oh, it most certainly will!"

"Then why subject yourself to such unproductive discomfort?"

The delver only levels a look at Connor. Squares his shoulders. Better get on with this before the coals in his feet turn cold.

Obviously Gildun has partaken in his share of Scrappersap but his actual experience on the challenging end is admittedly…lacking. There hadn't been much of an occasion to issue or be issued a challenge. And of course Connor had to pick an Oseram considerably bigger than him, with big - emphasis on very impressively big - broad shoulders, burly biceps and barrel chest and ruddy nose and Gildun finds himself swallowing nervously all over again. Can he even win? Sneaking a glance at the marvelous android next to him, almost inhumanly patient and yet curious about anything and everything, and Gildun finds himself thinking maybe I can't, but it's worth a shot.

"Well," Connor doesn't sigh, exactly. "If there's no talking you out of it, then I'll make sure you're at least hydrated."

Gildun doesn't know how he does it, but the android somehow manages to locate Enjuk in the middle of all of Meridian's bustle and hustle. Maybe it's an android thing or maybe it's a Connor thing, but either way, they turn a corner and suddenly bump into the Shaman. Quite literally, in fact, because Enjuk steps backward with a surprised little "oh!", one hand raised slightly, and Connor looks entirely unsurprised as he turns to the Banuk and immediately tattles about Gildun's "questionable" idea to challenge another Oseram. Of course he edits out the details of why it's happening, why it's so critical that the Scrapper brains are repaired and to exactingly unknown standards.

Enjuk listens politely, one hand on his hip, the other idly flapping at the hot still air as if that'll help. He doesn't say anything until the "IT Admin" finishes, his eyes glittering from the meager shade provided by his Shaman's metal headdress.

"Connor, I don't see what the problem is," Enjuk says. "A challenge is a challenge."

"An unnecessary one."

"Not to him?"

"But with the probability of success being so low…"

"The choice is still his. This isn't your challenge, is it?"

"Not…directly, no."

"Then surely it's settled."

Gildun's already nodding along, biting his tongue before the spillage of words can overflow the way it usually does. He's always been like that: something of a talker filling the oppressive silences, only he's slowly begun to realize that it doesn't always help…especially when Connor's inhuman patience and equally uncanny ability to outlast a human is involved. For once Gildun is happy to stand there with his hands shoved in his pockets, keep quiet, and see how this turns out.

It appears the RK800 isn't going down without a fight. Not literally of course, because his handsome face is still mostly neutral with a hint of open, almost boyish confusion even as his lips slightly purse together into a line and his head cants a fraction to the left.

"Is something similar customary to the Banuk?"

"Now that you mention it…" Enjuk pauses and then nods, the Shaman's dark hand still flapping away at the hot air. "I haven't heard of a challenge over Scrapper brains or involving fire water, but there've been other challenges issued before in the Cut."

Connor's quiet for a moment as he processes.

"I see."

Now Gildun doesn't know exactly what the insides of Connor's head looks like. Does it look vastly different from the Scrapper brains he lugged around today? Is it rectangular metal chips and wires and strange globes? Regardless he imagines it's doing its version of weighing pros and cons and churning through thoughts that may or may not be particularly helpful. After a pregnant pause the android dips his head, still speaking to Enjuk but with his eyes sliding over to "his" human.

"As Gildun's friend," Connor almost seems to lace more emphasis on that last word, "what would you do in this scenario?"

Enjuk's caught off guard, stuttering a little. "Well, I would support his challenge any way I could."

"But you wouldn't stop him?"

A shake of Enjuk's armored headdress.

"I see," Connor repeats slowly and then swings back to Gildun, his arms folded over his chest in a gesture that could've been taken as confrontational even though his scar-less face is neutral and utterly inoffensive. "So 'it's still on'?"

"Y-yeah," Gildun stammers, somehow startled the conversation is suddenly swinging back to him. "Of course it is!"

Another pause and then Connor's head swivels back to Enjuk, the gesture almost uncannily smooth, that of a well-oiled gear. "If your Meridian schedule is free, can you assist in making sure that Gildun isn't…" the android does that thing again where he's searching through an invisible list of words, "indisposed for tomorrow?"

Now it's Enjuk who's got off guard.

"Well, I could certainly try - "

"Enjuk, your assistance would be appreciated," Connor sweeps in. "Thank you."

And somehow that's that.

How Connor can talk humans into doing what a machine wants is beyond Gildun's understanding; all he knows is that his new partner has this somewhat disarming way of getting his way despite a habit of fading into the background. The end result is that when Gildun strolls up to the tavern's entrance well past dusk - and there are several taverns, and only a few suitable for a real Oseram challenge - Enjuk and Connor are both waiting for him. The Banuk stands there, outwardly an outlander in his rigid bearing, but the glitter of his eyes taking on a worried look that has Gildun almost worrying too. In contrast the android's sitting…but he isn't unequipped and Gildun can't help but notice that he's acquired a satchel of sloshing canteens, his arms still crossed over his chest even as he gazes up at Gildun and dips his chin in a polite nod.

Gildun steps into the tavern and lets his eyes adjust to the shift in lighting. It's Oseram make, naturally. From the sturdy wood beams reinforced with thick steel bands, the glint of copper and iron in tables and benches and armor of the other Oseram already inside, the heady scents of meat and onions and stinging coal and Gildun…well, he wouldn't say he's homesick, but he kind of is at the same time.

The Oseram he challenged is right where he said he'd be. Known as Agaf Steelforger, the metalsmith in question practically eats up the booth with his sheer imposing bulk, glowering around the tavern until his flint-sharp eyes happen to glide over Gildun. For all his dour glares, twitching corners of his scarred mouth, and the way he'd muttered about "Fool Banuk's wasting his time", Agaf's bearded face suddenly breaks into a grin that's equal parts impressive and terrifying as he spots Gildun.

"By the forge, you're here!"

Before Gildun gets a chance to say anything, the other Oseram lurches up from the table, grabs his gloved hand and pumps it so hard it feels like it'll be wrung right off his shoulder.

"Gotta respect you stepping up for your, uh, buddy," and now the bearded metalsmith glances at the two Banuk who've followed Gildun in, his gaze lingering on the weird, lanky, pasty one that had been shoving Scrapper brains in his face earlier today as if they were worth a chestful of shards. "Not that it's any of my business but any reason he isn't the one doing the drinking?"

Connor replies before Gildun can intercept the machine.

"Apparently this is what friends do for each other, Mr. Steelforger."

"That's the way it is, huh?"

Gildun nods, mouth dry.

"Then who am I to get in between that? " And Agaf's massive chest heaves with a hearty laugh as he plunks himself down at the table, bench quaking under his massive frame, and he holds out a well-callused hand at the opposing bench; its wood riddled with cracks in the grain and reinforced (several times) with Oseram metalforging as if to say this isn't the first and most certainly won't be the last foolhardy challenge it'll witness. "Ha! I trust your friends'll help you back to your bed!"

Connor is of course aware that humans historically like to play games involving the ingestion of alcoholic beverages: often to their regret within the next few hours depending on amount ingested, if they were properly hydrated and/or did so on an empty stomach. That doesn't stop them from engaging in such activities for purposes of entertainment, social interactions, boredom, and, in cases such as this, to barter one's own health for some sort of favor, immediately tangible or not.

Searching for allies to put a stop to this unproductive challenge has been…well.

Mr. Agaf Steelforger is absolutely no help: he tosses back flagon after flagon, peering at Gildun the whole time, and his eyes glint with amusement as the smaller Oseram manages to finish each one. Every time he finally does, Mr. Steelforger roars with laughter, chooses someone to slap heartly on the back (first it was Gildun, then it was a startled Enjuk and, following that pattern, Connor believes he'll be the next targeted and therefore preemptively braces himself for impact).

Enjuk the Banuk Shaman is also of no help: he watches with interest and what Connor's emotion logging software IDs as "reluctantly impressed fascination" at the sheer amount of Scrappersap being poured. Difficult to tell underneath his headdress, but he believes Enjuk's eyebrows are crawling higher and higher in surprise as his head swivels between Gildun and Agaf as if he's watching a live tennis match.

Between Banuk and RK800 android, they manage together to ensure Gildun is hydrated as well as he can be in a scenario like this. Agaf's gracious in that he sits back whenever there's a water break, brawny arms crossed over his chest, an amused grin creasing his scarred face and he, thankfully, doesn't point out that the other Oseram's already forfeited as soon as he drank his first sip of water.

From there things take a turn.

For all his advanced software designed to work with, for, and around humans and their constantly shifting emotional states, Connor can't tell if things are progressing well or they've veered off course.

Perhaps this is a scenario that had a software update he never received?

Predictably Gildun has become flushed especially in the cheeks, eyes bright, movements loosening. Conversation flows; somehow Gildun starts chattering about some of his past delves down to the tiniest rambling detail. To an android it doesn't seem long before the delver has lost his resigned hunched over posture, his braced shoulders, and sooner than later, suddenly both Oseram are lurching up from the table, holding their sloshing flagons up high and half singing, half yelling what he assumes is an off-tune rendition of a song popular in the Claim. When singing doesn't do it for them, they wander together away from the table, link arms, and then start half stomping, half dancing, and still singing at the top of their lungs.

For the first time in Connor's memory he feels the need to emit an almost human-like sigh.

It's a few hours later when Gildun runs out of steam in the figurative sense, the human sagging heavily as Banuk and android each take a heavy arm and sling it over their shoulders. Agaf clearly has won by outlasting Gildun and yet as the trio head to the door, the winning Oseram turns to Connor and says, not without a slur of his own in his raspy voice:

"Drop b'my stall t'morrow. Fer well earned con-condo-lences."

And then Agaf Steelforger wheels away, throwing himself back into the hustle and bustle of the tavern with his half-full flagon swaying like a triumphant flag. The heavy wooden door swings shut, cutting off his second solo into what, apparently, is supposed to be a romantically rousing ballad.

That leaves one Banuk, android, and drunken Oseram in the street.

Enjuk has to do a little awkward wriggle of his hips and shoulders, grunting, as he shifts Gildun's dead weight before he slips off. "By the Blue Light, Gildun's heavier than he looks!"

"I can handle the majority of it, if you could focus on guiding us back to our lodgings."

"Alright."

It's a slow, clumsy process.

Connor is distinctly aware that this isn't the first time he assisted in taking an inebriated human "home". Thinking on it further starts producing smaller errors that may cascade into more critical ones. So Connor…doesn't. Pursuing those memories for details certainly won't help him right now regarding the [NEW OBJECTIVES] [1] Get GILDUN To Bed and [2] Tuck GILDUN Into Bed. The android focuses on placing one foot in front of another, careful of how Gildun's head lolls as he mumbles to himself and remaining vigilant for any signs that the Oseram will be ill and require an immediate detour to, say, one of the decorative planters lining the walkway.

Fortunately it doesn't come to that.

They reach the inn. Two men guiding a barely-staggering third doesn't seem to be out of the ordinary and so they arrive at the private room, lower Gildun into the lumpy straw mattress, and Connor carefully draws the coarsely woven blanket so that it's neatly nestled over his shoulder. With Enjuk sliding a bucket within arm's reach by the head of the bed, several sloshing canteens of lukewarm water within reach as well, and Connor feels that Gildun has been sorted as well as he can with the limited remedies of this regressed "modern" age.

"Well," Connor says after a moment. "That went as well as expected."

Enjuk seats himself at the table, the cloth strips of his headdress whispering as he glances first at Gildun, then at the other "human" in the room.

"With the way it ended, it may have gone better than expected," Enjuk replies. "Agaf seemed to enjoy Gildun's company."

"He seemed to be primarily amused at his inability to keep up."

"Connor, I think we're seeing it differently."

Enjuk motions for Connor to join him. With his Temporary Authorized User out of commission but also where he can monitor his health in realtime, the android decides it's acceptable to obey by pulling out the chair by its back and sitting in it in one smooth motion and finishing up by lacing his fingers before him on the scuffed tabletop. For a moment Enjuk studies him from underneath the shadows cast by his metal headdress, head slightly tilted.

"You're worried about him."

"I wouldn't be a suitable partner if I didn't concern myself with his health."

"Of course," Enjuk falls silent for a thoughtful moment. "I haven't known Gildun as long as you probably have, but he's…" the Banuk Shaman seems to search for words, "...he's a good man. He worries about you, you know."

"What makes you say that?"

Given that these new humans are multiple generations past the ones Connor was programmed to operate around, it's helpful to recalibrate his outdated sociability software by engaging in frequent conversations and, more importantly, by also utilizing the tactic of "the probing question" to guide such conversations. From his initial assessment of Enjuk, the human rates particularly high on traits such as Empathy and Curiosity.

"Well, he seemed dead-set on going through with this," says the Banuk. "And he kept looking at you even before we met Agaf: more so after."

"I told him this challenge could be more trouble than it's worth."

"You did, yes."

"And that the reward scenario still might not be worth it even if victory was achieved. I even advised Gildun that he was putting himself through unnecessary discomfort for just a chance ."

Enjuk makes a soft sound between a snort and a chuckle.

"That's…certainly one way of putting it, Connor."

"I thought it was straightforward. Clearly it didn't change Gildun's mind as intended."

The Shaman shakes his head with a rattle of metal and beads and cloth. "I think you'll find Gildun's more stubborn than he looks, especially if he wants to help."

"Maybe I underestimated that trait of his," Connor's head turns as he glances over his shoulder at the human in question. After a moment to assess that he's still resting and so far shows no imminent signs of biological distress such as stomach discharge, the RK800 faces Enjuk once more.

"Did you have any success with Envoy Cantarah?"

Enjuk sighs, flapping his hand in a gesture that still resembles the "kinda-sorta" one in Connor's database.

"No news on cow sightings…but I mentioned 'zoo' to her and she had a lead!"

Enjuk, Connor has realized by now, doesn't quite vibrate with barely contained quivering excitement the way that Gildun does, the kind that has him shifting weight from one boot to the other as if he wants to burst into action. And yet his sociability software registers an undeniable spike as Enjuk speaks, from the inflection of his voice on certain syllables to how he sits up straighter and one hand unconsciously drums fingers on his thigh, still hidden by the table.

"Is that so?" Connor's visible "emotions" are emulated of course, as any proper android would be, and yet despite knowing that there's a momentary prompt of [EXHIBIT SURPRISE] crossing his HUD right before it translates to his synthetic face.

"Yes! I was shocked too!" Enjuk pauses, suddenly realizing he might wake their resident Oseram delver, and hurriedly lowers his voice. "Now I don't want to get any of our hopes up," and from the way the Banuk speaks, he's still going to do it, "but Envoy Cantarah said she'd heard whispers of the Forbidden West. Past the Carja, even! Beyond the outlands!"

"It sounds far," Connor says carefully, aware that informing Enjuk that this "Forbidden West" may refer to crossing several state lines, some of which he's flagged as potentially useful in terms of visiting, might only raise more questions. "What else did she say?"

"That there's something called a 'No Man's Land' and that once we're past that…well, we'd be on our own. That there are other tribes out there called the Utaru and the Tenakth," Enjuk doesn't sound too worried. "But she also spoke of crawling spires of metal rising from endless water where the sun sets and wide winding stretches of what the Oseram call 'False Stone': wider even than the pathways in Meridian! Supposedly there just might be something like a zoo if we follow a False Stone path."

It takes a moment for the android to piece it together.

Crawling metal spires could indicate ruined skyscrapers. Long stretches of this False Stone could indicate asphalt or concrete: highways or freeways? Finding the remains of one would assist his limited navigational abilities when paired with other markers he surveys in the landscape around him, alien and changed such as the Jewel's humid jungle. Endless water to the west strikes Connor as likely being the Pacific Ocean. So San Francisco, Los Angeles, Long Beach and San Diego may be viable locations to check for any surviving CyberLife facilities while they're conveniently on the hunt for Enjuk's zoo.

It seems straightforward and it would be…if they weren't relegated to traveling entirely on foot.

It'd also help if the landscape wasn't populated with deviant machines.

The next morning Gildun predictably nurses a hangover.

Ensuring that Gildun ate enough and hydrated enough must've had a positive effect in that the Oseram is capable of making it to the market even as he shades his eyes against the light, winces, and wilts underneath the sun's unforgiving glare. Of course Connor offers sufficient water, combined with a greasy pastry consisting of a generous filling of pork and assorted salted greens Enjuk picked out, as he understands that greasy savory foods may help in situations like this. Gildun manages to nibble away at the pastry underneath the watchful eyes of both Banuk and machine, exactly halfway through it when they arrive for a third time at Meridian's sprawling metal market.

"And there's Agaf," Gildun mutters and then adds, sounding surprised and not surprised at the same time, "Why, he looks the same as he did before the challenge!"

Connor gazes across the aisles of merchants and milling humans and voices raised in haggling and tilts his head as he scans Agaf.

It now seems appropriate to the conversation to clap an encouraging hand on Gildun's shoulder.

"Given that you had him singing and dancing last night and - given slight changes in his body posture today - I'd say you challenged him plenty."

"...Thanks, Connor."

"You're welcome."

"He's spotted us," Enjuk says. "Oh! He's waving!"

And Agaf's even grinning; despite the corners of his eyes crinkling, the metalsmith can't hide his own little flinching wince when he leans too far out from the relativity safety of his stall's shade and the sun hits him full in the face. Just like Connor's analysis software predicted Agaf didn't escape the Oseram negotiation unscathed and so, therefore, Gildun can take a small measure of pride in holding more ground than he expected.

"There you all are!" Agaf slaps Gildun on the back with considerably less force than last night. "Here. Part of the condolence prize for last night."

A sloshing mug gets promptly shoved into Gildun's direction.

"Not more Scrappersap. Or water," Agaf chuckles as he glances at Enjuk and Connor, "seeing as these Banuk are still trying to drown you with the stuff. This is my special pick-me-up recipe: sip it while we talk shop."

And talk shop it is. Connor sits down on a rickety stool singed and charred, Enjuk half-perchs against the section of counter Agaf clears with an easy sweep of a burly arm, and Gildun's herded into the apparent place of honor: an actual chair with an old tattered cushion that's hurriedly dusted off. With a sigh the bigger Oseram settles himself across from Gildun and suddenly holds out his hand palm-up.

"Well?"

Gildun blinks, caught off guard, "Well what?"

"Show me what you thought was worth a flagon challenge…before I change my mind."

Gildun glances at Enjuk and Connor for support, his gaze lingering on the android balanced on the wobbly stool too short for his lanky legs, and then reaches out for the bag of Scrapper brains Connor holds out. Agaf lumps it down onto the counter, opens it and picks out several of the brains so that they can sit there in a row on the counter. Each one gets a thorough but gentle poking by the metalsmith's finger.

"Can't imagine why anyone would care so much about scrap like this. Is it a Banuk thing?"

"No, it-it's something of a…personal project," Gildun glances at Connor over his cup's rim.

The android nods. "Gildun's correct. Can you fix it?"

Agaf squints at the "man", unaware that he's as machine as the inert and unimpressive chunks of metal and plastic currently sitting on his counter. "I could give it a shot," a meaty finger shoots up, "One shot, 'cause this is a freebie for Gildun since he's got some mighty fine pipes on him. So no fussin' or backseat tinkerin'."

"Understood, Mr. Steelforger."

The three look on as Agaf gets to work. He does what he does best by turning the Scrapper brain in his hands, pulling a box of tools toward him and carefully opening it up with a deliberate, delicate touch that somehow seems out of place with his huge frame and scarred face and big calloused fingers. True to his word, Connor keeps quiet. From the walkthrough yesterday he'd identified Agaf Steelforger as the most skilled Oseram metalsmith in Meridian's commercial district - at least of those present over the last two days, and without being able to verify through online testimony the way he would've before his incomplete reactivation - and so far that assessment seems accurate.

Mr. Steelforger has the delicate touch of a true craftsman dedicated to his trade, the concentration and level of care. If he'd been born centuries ago, surely he would've had potential to be CyberLife-certified.

And yet Connor knows even before the Oseram sets his tools down that he's still lacking the crucial training necessary to repair an android.

Outwardly the central processor Agaf hands to him appears fully refurbished. Wires have been painstakingly restored, slivers of replacement metal thin as paper inserted to replace those damaged in the hunt. Connor holds it in his palm, head tilted down, and to the outside observer he seems to be merely staring down at the Scrapper "brain". At his touch a flickering red light, feeble and barely pulsing, struggles on for a few brief seconds in ruby pinpoint at the bottom of the Scrapper's outer shell.

The leather glove covering Connor's hand conceals how his synthetic skin peels back to reveal the pearly-white chassis hiding underneath, standardized for all CyberLife androids during an interface attempt. The interface attempt proves to be a failure. While Agaf has done a commendable job in repairing the exterior, and Connor has done what he could by diverting some of his own power supply, the Scrapper's central processor remains…inert. Unresponsive.

As far as Connor can tell in his attempt to reboot and interface with this unknown machine, it's "dead as a doornail", as humans have been known to say.

The process takes a second. Two at most before the RK800 lifts his eyes, aware of three humans staring at him with varying looks of interest, confusion, and circling back to reluctant interest in Agaf's case. The weak red light fades the moment Connor cuts connection to the Scrapper's non-functional central processor.

"Unfortunately it doesn't seem as if the unit can be fully repaired" Connor almost says here, catches Agaf's stare and makes sure to add, evaluating there's a high probability a human ego may need to be immediately soothed, "The fact it turns on at all is a testament to your skill."

Agaf folds his impressive arms over his equally impressive chest. "Is that so."

Connor's head cocks. "Yes. Why wouldn't it be?"

The big Oseram only makes a snort under his breath, gives a shake of his head, and his flinty gaze fixes on Gildun.

"Strange company you keep, Gildun," Agaf grunts.

A/N: Reviews and comments are appreciated, they let me know if people are reading and if they're interested in more. Comments help keep me motivated and are loved!