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infomodder) wrote2016-04-14 08:35 pm
infomodder) wrote2016-04-14 08:35 pm
Entry tags:
IC contact [Mask or Menace]
"Gone fishing."
[ so don't leave messages to ruin the after fishing glow !!!
your one stop shop for not leaving him alone ]
no subject
[He had reason to fear Will Graham's actions, certainly, but not for the surface-level implications, not from the point in time when Will knew him. It felt like simultaneously a half a year ago or just a couples of weeks prior was the era when Chilton would have leapt away from any therapy containment center that held the man he spoke to. Bars were only so thin, after all.
But now? He didn't fear the assumption of Will as some reaper, no. He feared the more informative scythe the man could use against him: the truth of what he had done to Abel Gideon.
Even here, his unethical practice haunted Chilton. Even a universe away.]
I doubt your encephalitis will taunt you much longer. Who could you possibly hurt?
[It was a purposeful exoneration. Without committing to it in so many words, Chilton dodged considering Will Graham the Chesapeake Ripper any longer.]
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[Ripped out Cassie Boyle's lungs while she used them and mounted her on a stag head. I impaled Marissa Schurr. I nearly decapitated my neurosurgeon's head at the jaw. I burned Georgia Madchen alive. I slaughtered Abigail Hobbs and ate at least part of her. would be the end to that if he could bring himself to say it out loud. That's what he was accused of, and there would be more, wouldn't there. What had happened to Cassie's lungs if he was so stuck in the mindset of a cannibal? What had happened to Abigail's body after she'd told Will, Hannibal, and Alana that her father would have used their bones for putty and...
But it's all cut off by a short laugh, because he gets it now. Or, he thinks he gets it. Either Chilton's gotten some amazing powers here that make what Will is accused of (was accused of?) doing look like child's play, or Will's innocent. He's innocent, just like he thought. Innocent legally, or just in Chilton's eyes? Did he convince him, if no one else?]
Didn't do it. Wasn't me. You know I didn't do it. You know. [What a strange thing if that's the case, to have his "caretaker" believe him when the ones he considered close couldn't look past evidence and...] This is— [Great news? The best news. Almost the best news. "Abigail Hobbs was found alive and missing an ear, but she's alive," would be great news, but that's a stupid hope. His innocence is the most he can hope for at this point in time, it feels like. For as little as he's saying, were a word count stacked up, he's saying a lot in his tone. He's happy, happier than he's sounded in a long time, certainly the happiest he's ever sounded around Chilton that he can remember.] —feel like I owe you a dinner.
[It's all fish cooked in beets.
Dishing dirt on what he did to Gideon isn't going to happen. He let Nicholas Boyle's death go without any real sort of justice to keep Abigail's innocence intact. He's not exactly the most morally upright of people in the first place. This news is a bit more important to him than going to whoever Chilton's superior might be and talking about what he did to one patient out of the many he's got under lock and key.
(See? Rational! Chilton could have plenty of success cases, what does Will know, right? He just met one, the rest of them could be totally rehabilitated and upstanding citizens at this point. He'll go with that.)
Everyone makes mistakes, don't they. Surely keeping hush on Gideon's mistreatment isn't a mistake that will carry over to anything bigger in the City. Surely.]
no subject
[The skepticism rings like tin, hollow and somewhat flimsy. It isn't that he doubts Will's prowess to conjure a meal, especially one involving high quality fish -- it's the context. Oh, sure, the man was definitely not the Chesapeake Ripper, definitely not a willing cannibal.
But they, presumably, had all been unwilling parties to cannibalism, and Chilton couldn't easily shake that nausea. It was almost an ironic blessing now, that he couldn't consume much protein -- there was no reason to feel that Hannibal had manipulated his acquired tastes.
It was severe enough that Abel Gideon had wielded such power over the psychiatrist.]
Perhaps a coffee would do. It would be suitable for us to catch up -- once you're assuredly better, mind. I won't be keen to interfere. [CHILTON wouldn't be keen to interfere? Red flag.]
Don't you agree?
[Of course, "catch up" is a phrase entirely edited by Chilton's own whims of what Will should and should not know; while the urgent fear of Hannibal pounded in his heart, cognitively Chilton realized the benefit of lording information over Will. His own unethical depth was... Resounding.
Will himself had told Chilton to confess.
Chilton refused.
It would be much, much easier for the former Chief of Staff to engage on his version of history, lest Will recant his promise given variables yet revealed.]
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—red flag he wasn't expecting.
Something was wrong, so wrong, but he couldn't pinpoint it. Understanding whatever it was might be too much effort or stress on someone with a brain as inflamed as his. Chilton might have known as much and decided it better to let Will get himself back together before they went further over...whatever it was that had happened. There was no real time to think about it before he was asked a question, and his answer came quickly.]
Yes. [What else was there to say, really? They'd had an agreement, Chilton hadn't lied, Will got the help he needed. He wouldn't open his mouth against him without just cause, and with Gideon as he was, if a string of Ripper murders sprang up out of nowhere—who truly knew them better than Will himself? It served no one to say anything about influence. Yet.] I've got a small coffee place near the shop that's. Good. [Horribly insulting by Lecter standards. Fine by Will standards. Possibly somewhere in between for Chilton, depending on how he lived in his own home (did his wealth extend to his every bite of food, or did he take delight in the occasional crappy meal he simply had to stick in the microwave for a few minutes and it was done, even if something was too hard or a little cold, so what, he hadn't had to put any real effort into it?). They could find out.] Second week of June, maybe. If nothing happens before. [Like his office being splattered with blood.] Good with you?
[It's not that Will needs that long to get himself together, and he would clarify if that was implied.
No, no. Something more mundane than that; red snapper fishing season opened soon. He'd be really, really busy.]
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[A fairly pompous response, something verging on the poetic (but not quite committed); it was so often that Chilton hide in his pomposity. When he felt inadequate, when his ego shackled him to the conceit of proving himself. Quite frequently he mistook haughtiness as a shield.
But in this extent, his anxiety wasn't one born from a thrusting social hierarchy. In this moment, his Byronic words flowed from the uneasiness that manifested from truth kept quiet. Some part of him knew Will Graham would figure it all out, and that he only had dwindling time -- that's what mounted the wariness, the tension. Chilton had yet to experience the all-loss bleakness (and consequential liberation from his own anxiety) that he would know, intimately, when he sat across Alana Bloom in a slate-hued interrogation room. He had yet to appreciate the irony of being torn from one cage into another; but at least the latter wouldn't be the teeth caving from his own personality disorders.
In Heropa, he was still mired in fear of full exposure.]
At least it's unlikely anyone would overhear us. Or want to.
[While more a comment on Will's knack for seclusion than his taste in dingy eateries, both sentiments could apply.]
no subject
Psychopaths helping each other out, or two men who have a loose grasp on ethics coming to an agreement?]
If we get there and you don't think it's isolated enough, my shop's a block away. [My. It's his. He's going to hold onto it as long as he possibly can.] Back room's spacey. Cameras only pick up video. Coffee to go. Dog'll leave you alone if I tell him to. It's safe.
[More or less.
The idea of Chilton pissy because he's got dog hair all over one of his suits, how dare Will let that slobbering beast come near him—it's amusing. He keeps a lint brush if it ever happened. He's not that cruel.]
Anything else on your mind?
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[Any impulse to reconsider his decision, to invoke an alliance with Will Graham while simultaneously denying the man crucial information, is disregarded upon conception. Chilton is steadfast in his commitment -- to himself. His priority is guarding his own interest.
But as fleeting as his loyalty may be, that doesn't completely obviate a sense of camaraderie. Deserved or not, Chilton feels somewhat connected to Will; trauma truly did bring people closer together.
He worked with gray, that Doctor Chilton. There was no inherent argument about what he was doing to Will (however passive it may be), and what he expected from Will.]
Duly noted, about your shop. I'll bear it in mind. Until then.
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He hasn't exactly always made healthy choices for himself. He's doing that now in the way that he's choosing not to ask. To press. To beg.
There is a worry that one day it might all come out in a way that's far more hurtful than it needs to be. If he's had enough time to get his head back together physically...he can handle it.
Maybe.]
Until then, Doctor Chilton.
[Chilton might hear himself in those two words. Will Graham's voice, but not his cadence, his timber, not the way Will would say those words. No, it's all Chilton. It's a little mocking, but it's all he's got to say.
Actually, he has plenty to say. He just doesn't think it's wise to say what's on his mind.
That's always gotten him in trouble.]