infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

[No he wouldn't. He is a good dog. Capable of being a good dog, that is. And he still doesn't know a Goddamn thing about what happened, other than, apparently, Chilton wants him to stay away from Crane. Only he doesn't, he wants him to be his typical atypical self.

So good dog behavior has been bumped up a little more than usual.]

No problem. [His tone is genuine; Will isn't doing anything right now that is more important than this phone call. No distractions, he's not humoring Crane. Sorry doesn't belong here, aren't they friends?] What's the question?

[Toast is people.]

[He wants to understand. So he's decided to show he loves man's best friend, and speaks with polite kindness.]

I am really curious if the name Alana means anything to Dr. Chilton. He revealed it to me in passing. [Gassing. Ha, what is wordplay?] I suppose I'm just being a little nosy, but I would like to know our mutual friend a little better.

[His people-suit is nice and clean. Don't get fur all over it.

Here, have a steak instead.]

[Oh...........................................................

Not what he'd expected at all, though it makes him wonder about the whole conversation with Chilton earlier. Bad night at the cultured dinner table?]

Doctor Alana Bloom is a psychiatrist back in our Baltimore. [And she was on her back last Will saw her. What is wordplay indeed.] One of her specialties is family trauma. She gave lectures in my stead when I couldn't be in my classroom. I'm positive a good portion of my students preferred those days.

[The name Alana means something to Fred, sure thing. But that name also means something to Will. There's no keeping that at bay, in his words or his voice—he could not at all blame any student for preferring Alana to him. This isn't bitterness, or dislike. He's fond and familiar and warm. It's faint, of course, but he's doing none of that bland tone, isn't taking on the tone of simply regurgitating facts. Whoops.]

[Crane would assure Will there was no trauma in this little family. But that would be lying. Betrayal had such a devastating effect on the mind. Chilton wasn't wholly fascinating to him, but the impact of both their choices - to reveal the mask and attend the showing - was intriguing. In the way somebody had a posh French starter before the main course.

Or maybe that starter was Japanese.]

I see. It sounds like Alana was beloved, by most people. Because of the ethical facet of her character, perhaps?

[A comment made to himself, but loud enough for the dog to hear.

Now. Frederick Chilton, though? Had he liked Alana? The pitch of his voice is revealing, much like Frederick's had been.

There's a warm pause. What's conversation between friends?]

You sound like you long for those days too, Will. [A gentle comment, formed from curiosity and habit.]

[There would always be trauma in any family that contained Will Graham; assurances otherwise would be immediately known, at least to him, as complete bullshit. Not that he'd say it to someone who couldn't really be in the know, but still...

...Japanese starters reserved for times of loss. Have they lost something, Jonathan?]

Oh, I...abandoned teaching a while ago, actually. Don't really long to go back to the classroom. [Yeah buddy he heard that, and bringing up ethics when this name came from the lips of Chilton is just asking for trouble. So Will goes with the latter, the gentle—perhaps revealing a bit more about Alana (and her abilities as far as Will was concerned) in the process, quieting his own tone to something one could call gentle.] I miss having coworkers I'm more familiar with, but—don't you?

[Which is, of course, not at all meant as offensive to the ones he has now (like Crane). When someone works well with a certain team of people and suddenly they're completely on their own, no matter how great the new crowd is, they're bound to run a hand over their face and wish they could hear that voice chiming in, because they know that voice would have the perfect answer. For people who form bonds with others, who can empathize in some way, that is.]

[Chilton would think he's completely lost his grip on reality, then repeat his observation to friends like you, Will. But Chilton's standards are irrelevant to him; he doesn't consider himself insane. And it's not like those from Baltimore are unfamilar with an intelligent lunatic with a severe case of narcissism, right?

Intelligent lunatics make for dangerous bedfellows, don't they?]

No. [He doesn't miss his co-workers at all. Actually, he regrets that he hasn't had the opportunity to gas them where they work and hear them scream. But he's considered it, when they tried getting him into the Christmas spirit. He'd almost become the life and soul of the part, but his work as chief of staff had required restraint.

And, well, he's abandoned his life as Arkham's chief of staff, actually. It's too restrictive - like being straitjacketed, fancy that.]

So. Were Alana and Chilton good friends, then? Sharing the same profession and all... [Sharing the same ethics, perhaps? Which seems unlikely given Chilton's... approach to psychiatry.]

Edited 2015-05-04 15:47 (UTC)

[omg please stick your fearboner in someone else's ear, Jonathan, Will's ruined in that regard. It wouldn't even be fun, just be gone.

Empathy problems or just shitty coworkers? Hm, it's up in the air.]

Nmm. [Eloquent grunting, as one always expects from a shaggy loser like Will Graham. He feels a bit like he's in a straitjacket right now, fancy that.] I don't know, [lies] they never really talked about each other to me [NOT LIES] so I...can't say for certain. [MORE LIES] And I don't like to gossip anyway.

[Chilton's all like PEOPLE TALK ABOUT US WILL YOU NAIVE SUMMER CHILD and Will's like so what Dr. Crane is a man of edumacation he surely knows better than to listen to gossip lmao???? TIME TO FIND OUT (maybe).]

[This bird does what he wants, Will.

First, he's silent for a while. It takes some time to process what's been given and what needs tossing in the air. Second, he feels like he's being given a little routine of airs and few graces, because Chilton and Will had to know each other intimately. That was the impression he'd been given. So they obviously knew plenty about each other, although they may not share their life stories. So some of this is true, he thinks, and some of it's false.]

Funny. Frederick does. He's constantly dropping little hints all over the network. [Not gossip. The words are straight from the horse's mouth. What lovely imagery. HE'S ONTO YOU.] Since you're such good friends, I thought you might have warned him about that.

[Here's the thing: Frederick Chilton is the only person from home Will has left. All the worry for Freddie's safety and the stability she provided, their secrets, are now gone. Every ounce of paternal instinct in him to protect, nourish, and love Abigail Hobbs has been ripped away (again). The constant uncertainty about where he stood (so to speak) with Abel Gideon, mirror or not, vanished from where he sat, stuck to a wheelchair by an elk's antlers. Hannibal has come and gone, tipping scales both times.

All of that has to go somewhere, doesn't it? He can't just have his support torn away so quickly without it transferring. Sure, he has other people here he's concerned with, but he's already gone to illegal measures to secure Frederick's safety. He's turned conversations to himself (which he dislikes greatly) to get them off Chilton.

He dislikes even more that Crane has worked this conversation to be about both of them, which makes the whole straitjacket feeling tighter. Suffocating.]

What Doctor Chilton [Titles, Jonathan, tsk tsk. Dropping little hints, too?] does or does not do is not a reflection of me. And vice versa. [Birds of a feather isn't always the case—birds can have similar habits and patterns while also having extremely different plumage. But still, you gotta keep 'em separated.] He's an adult. I won't be so discourteous as to imply he doesn't know what he's doing. What are you doing?

[Just going to abruptly throw that brick, no big deal.]

[Crane doesn't even care that heavy brick's been dropped into this conversation. It disrupts his placid surface only for a moment - then it's sinking into the depths, displacing the water as it drops deeper, forcing Crane's emotions higher and higher, till they're trickling through Crane's natural boundaries.

His eyes are staring at Will like he's prey. In the way he'd stared at Falcone. There's no killing intent. You cannot terrify somebody if they're dead and hung on your wall. Crane makes his monuments out of panic and terror, thanks.

He breaks his gaze the same way as he'd ended his stare with Falcone - he removes his glasses and glances aside for a moment. It keeps them in that terrifying boundary. Clearly he's thinking happy thoughts. Right?]

I'm learning. That's why I've been asking you questions, isn't it? Or should I inquire with the man himself again?

[What sucks about trying to protect people, even if he can't protect them from themselves? Is how easy it is for others to subvert that. Like hell does he want Crane going back to talk to Chilton, and like the ninth circle of hell does he want to go back to him using Will Graham sent me here. Hopefully, Chilton would know better, but...

God. If only Will was wearing his glasses, he could do the dramatic removal, too. As it is, he's left to draw his eyebrows down slightly, tasting his words before his tone evens out and he becomes that quiet, unassuming fellow again.]

Why? [It's an honest question; finally, something completely honest in this mess.] Doctor Bloom isn't here. She is a variable in another equation on a completely different math test. [Which isn't to say Alana or her impact are meaningless, not at all. But she isn't here, she's a world away, and if Jonathan Crane is all up in science's business, learned little shit that he is, perhaps using math is a good way to make a point and communicate on a level he might find of some merit. Perhaps he can invite more interest in him than in Chilton, and that's step one of the horrible kitchen nightmare program.] Anything you learn about her's going to have bias because of that—what's the point?

[He does not expect honest answers in return. Another Tuesday.]

[Crane tilts his head right - horizontally without inclination - much like his path of thought. Mathematics is both logical and abstract; he can appreciate its language. But he doesn't think vertically. What Will tries to make him think is a variable in a completely different test? It doesn't shake Crane's particular brand of logic.

It doesn't remove the fact that, for Crane, Alana's presence resonates with Chilton's though they are time and space apart.

Will Graham, you're not talking his language.]

Fleshing out.

Are you sure you don't wish to choose the meat, Will? I expect I'll start putting some meat on the bones anytime soon. But I'm not really an artist. Your insight will be invaluable. I just want to add some detail to my understand of the kind of man Frederick Chilton is.

[Is there a very subtle dig at the fact Chilton had some meat taken off him? Yes. Yes there is.]

[Oh, Jonathan. Will may not be talking his language right here and now, but those digs? Flesh, meat? Those are right up Will's alley. It shows, crawls beneath his skin, makes his blood boil, a fever both familiar and terrifying—how many times had he advised Jack to not let the Ripper rile him up? How many times had that worked? That hadn't gone so well for anyone in the end, so Will takes a moment.

His lips twist like he's just realized he put a very tart candy in his mouth before this all started, and he looks off, breathing out through flared nostrils as he makes a noise somewhere between another grunt and a tsk.]

So he's told you about Hannibal, too, huh?

[Dig enough, hit jackpot. However Frederick Chilton might speak of this mysterious Hannibal Lecter, there is something off about how easily Will brings it up. Not the same fondness he had for Alana, not at all, but there is a strange comfort with that name coming out of his mouth, tart face the end of Will's bitterness. He can't really be surprised. But he can hope that whatever's been said about him (something must have, mustn't it? That's so specific, flesh and meat) has been enough to spark curiosity.

Will Graham has spent a slew of time back home barking at every Tom, Dick, Harry, and Anne about Hannibal Lecter, he's still prepared to changed the topic right back. If it gets them off Frederick Chilton and Alana Bloom and ethics, it's worth it. It's worth it to throw another lit match on a pool of gasoline by invoking that name.

He's not here, after all. There will be no recompense for him for this. Safe as it gets.]

Of course. We're friends, Will. Frederick and I shared our secrets so that we may be understood. Our work begets loneliness. It's rare for humans to make true friends. Those who can completely understand you are few and far between.

[It's safe to say this. Frederick must have spoken to Will by now about what he's done. There's something about everything, though, that's like being in the twilight zone.

Crane doesn't consider himself lonely. He welcomes solitude. He drove Walter White into Chilton's arms to keep his peace and to watch what would happen. But he's only interested in Hannibal, right now, as a means to get deeper into talking about Chilton.]

[Rare, huh. Rare. Will almost smiles at that, lips twitching. He's not sure how much has been shared about Hannibal Lecter, but if Crane's going from flesh and meat to rare, well...he must know at least one vital thing, perhaps? Or just be capable of rhyming and assuming, either way.]

Friendship is so often misunderstood. [He's not necessarily directing that at Crane, no way. These are the words of someone who is just really not pleased with how screwed up a relationship can be and someone still hides it behind friendship.] Used too frequently, where it doesn't fit—it's rare to find someone who actually knows what they're saying with that.

[That's more directed to Crane. Sir, you are full of shit. And you know that, don't you?]

[Speaking honestly, Crane thinks friendship is a load of croc. It's there in others to be manipulated and used. Friends use each other when they can be useful. Allies band together against a stronger enemy. Packmates divide the hunt. People fear being alone, and so he makes himself useful; a doctor who can help them. Give them the direction they need. He gives a pleasant smile at that.

He tilts his head slightly, juggling it all into place in his mind. Making it fit. Oh Will. He knows you know he knows. Have his best friendly smile.]

Yes. "Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find." Fortunately, I know the direction my breeze is blowing. [Have some cultured psychological quoting.]

[Hannibal is about a bunch of adults who have a weird understanding of friendship and the unfortunate teenager who had to deal with them all, so yeah, friendship is a dirty word. It's terrible. It's worse than a volcano erupting in the back yard or the yard sale full of nice clothes getting rained on and everything in the world that is awful. He wrinkles his nose, but that's the extent of anything telling, and even that can be blamed on something physical. Pollen season is upon them, after all.]

Good that you feel you have clarity. [How does he combat cultured? Well, with Hannibal, he'd know exactly what to say, but no one is quite like Hannibal and his relationship with Crane isn't anywhere near that. Will would be doing everyone a grave disservice to pretend otherwise, so in the face of class and elegance, he goes the opposite direction, a dog taken to a well-kept, well-lit, amazingly funded dog park who immediately finds the one muddy patch from the last heavy rain and rolls in it.] I've always preferred something more simple about the breeze..."don't piss in the wind."

[And don't piss on his leg and call it rain, either. He knows, sort of. He doesn't know everything, but he knows a bit. Knows that a doctor has definitely heard worse words before and if Crane gets all pissy over a little piss, Will's profile of him may gain a few clearer edges. Clarity for everyone!]

[Crane stares.

How do you combat uncouth imagery? You drop the subject. You change it, and if it can't be changed then you adapt. And if there's one other thing Crane's known for, besides his intelligence, it's his malleability. Batman recognizes it, after all. That one special person towards whom he has a weird idea of. Well, it isn't friendship. It's more complicated than that.]

Oh, you don't have to worry about me doing that. [Fight shit with gentle humor. Then treat the air with his toxin.] I'm a very understanding individual.

[He understood your point well enough, Will. But that doesn't mean people like him will listen, does it?]

[Slap a line of tape on the floor so nobody pees on you again, too.]

I wouldn't imagine you'd be in the line of work you are if you weren't an understanding individual, Doctor Crane. [Hannibal understood. Chilton understood. Bloom understood. All various levels and different aspects of understanding, for sure, but they had that much in common. Painters could all have a similar understanding of how colors worked and which paints to use, but that didn't mean they were all on the same wavelength. It was how that understanding was put into practice, and by God were there some ugly, horrific paintings out there that understood the theory, even if they didn't choose to use it for beauty.] But everyone has misconceptions from time to time—you could say that's what I do, work at being wrong until I find the truth. And I have a rather good track record of finding it, one way or another.

[He is also an understanding individual, Jonathan; would you like to come clean now? It's your chance. You can show off that mask, we're all friends who don't understand friendship here.]

[There's a short period of silence. Was Will trying to scare him? No, that wasn't it. His colleague has the experience to know scare tactics won't work on... his sort. Was he digging in his garden, then? But he had never had green thumbs. There wasn't even a garden to dig.

One could say he kept his secrets close to his chest - or close to his heart.

That same person could also say Will's searching for a mask under a face, when he should be looking for a face under a mask.]

Good for you. [There's less of a patronizing tone, since Will knew enough to afford him his title - and thus some respect. But it's still there, and at least he's being honest about showing it?] You'd be out of a job, otherwise. Though I guess in this instance you're barking up the wrong tree. We're colleagues, right? What is there to fear here?

[Apart from Frederick rolling around screaming on the floor.]

[But what happens when a worm gets around to that heart, Jonathan? Sees all those secrets and starts wriggling, demanding room for itself by kicking them out? As that mask and face become one, as they crack and blend and meld and eventually the madness within is laid out for all to see like a buffet filled with flies, and maggots, and disease?

Scarecrows are only left out standing in their fields for so long, after all. Clothes warp, stuffing falls, crows tear, and as everything rips and rends and unravels, what's left for the world to see other than the crippled decay of madness?]

You don't have much experience with dogs, do you? [That is Will's refuge, nonjudgmental instead of condescending—he could strike for Crane's propensity to discuss fear, but he's sure it's been done before. Probably by people who didn't know any better to not aim for that particular blow, and thus, perhaps, proved themselves almost worthless in Crane's mind. He's been advised to put distance between himself and Crane, those words are constantly running through his mind, but he can't go about it in the same way others might. No, no, he has to remain his typical atypical self.] Dogs bark out of fear, sure. They also bark thanks to boredom, loneliness, in greeting. Because they're happy. You'll find compulsive barkers, probably dealing with anxiety over being isolated for too long. And then you've got those dogs that only bark because they're territorial, protective, sense threats. The ones in the neighborhood you want to take note of, because if they're barking? Something serious is going on.

[Like Frederick rolling around screaming on the floor.]

You can guess I'm barking up the wrong tree all you want, Doctor Crane, but if your guess about why the dog's barking in the first place is off the mark? Your conclusion's the same.

[Look at this polite, respectful, long-winded, dog-loving, near-smiling method for Will to basically say: Close but no cigar, dickhead.]

[Dogs are something Crane looks down on. They're said to be man's best friend - and friendship is a system of social bonding in order to defend against a very real fear. Pack mentality. That wasn't to say he was fond, necessarily, of the animal some had come to associate him with. Crows. He can't think of them in the same light others might. They had been with him all his life in a most intimate way, which he could now, literally, visit on other people.

The thought made him lose himself for a moment. Will had basically said he was full of nonsense, a gigantic stink that his bloodhound nature had a nose for. What Will wasn't sniffing was that, were he a hound who followed his own nose - oh, he'd seen that about him - then Crane was that crow sitting above him in the tree branches. He wanted him to "drop his shit"? Fine. He would do it from a great height and land some on Frederick too.

Yes, he saw that attempt to swing the conversation back around. Good try - and he doesn't often compliment people.]

Well, that dog [Frederick Chilton.] should have never stuck his nose under the fence. Who knows what monster lurks on the other side? Ah, but that doesn't account for if that same beast knows what he's seeking in the first place, does it?

[Buyer beware. Chilton had gone searching for a monster. Could Crane be blamed for Chilton's decisions? The good doctor had found exactly what he had been looking for.]

[It creeps, slow and only in his head, the shadow of Hannibal Lecter stretching out over him. The roundabout discussion, monsters lurking...he wonders who Chilton found. Or, perhaps, who found Chilton to keep him out of contact. To keep him away from a session with Will Graham.

Because Crane is a who, not a what. They all are, no matter how much they try to be otherwise. In the end, they're all just people. Regardless of how badly that might piss them off to be considered the same, similar, to common folks.]

Monster? [He scratches at his neck like this entire conversation is very normal, nothing out of place going on right now. Just two coworkers chatting!] That's another loaded word—what monster are we talking about?

[Uhm yes he totally could. Monsters who are people are still accountable for their actions, same as people who aren't monsters. Get with the program.]

[The program is a collection of imperfect standards decided by a terrified society. Crane didn't think standards applied to him; that's why he actively creates his own. When people defend themselves with bravado, he opens their eyes and makes them accept their fear. It's also for the heart thumping, back bracing, skin sweating thrill. He enjoys watching people be affected by his work.

He knows he's not insane. He doesn't fear whatever prison keeps him. He doesn't fear facing down the barrel of a gun. The anticipation of solitary confinement doesn't give him a cold sweat, and he's not afraid to just be himself.]

That depends on Chilton's vision of a monster, doesn't it? What he sees in that term, and what I see, are two different creatures. But like they say, the worst kind of monster is man.

[Just two work colleagues talking shop, right?]

[His lips thin out—not a frown, but very close to one. Granted, people who knew Will on a daily basis could see it as his default "at rest" position. He rarely looks particularly enthused to begin with.]

Doctor Chilton [there's that respect again, if only away from Frederick, away from him and not around the rest of Baltimore] and I have different opinions on quite a lot; that might be one of them.

[Talking shop indeed; Will says it the same way he might when talking about someone who has a different opinion on, say, a painting. A movie. Nothing of importance, nothing that can lead lives to either greatness or complete and utter ruin.]

Do you and he...talk about monsters often?

[Because Will's been instructed to put distance, no, no, to keep at being his usual self. So asking outright "did he call you a monster?" is, in fact, what he wants to do. But he can't, not yet. He can't so obviously give away that he has some inkling about what might have happened, but it's there just the same.]

IC contact [Mask or Menace]

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