infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

[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.]

[Crane's reaction is equally normal; he is just an awkward but polite doctor Will sees on a daily basis. Sometimes a little brusque when his time gets wasted, but such behaviour isn't strange for him. He looks and sounds pleasant enough. He's unremarkable, too - he doesn't dress to attract and impress, and his suit doesn't show any hint of colour or personality. In fact, with his glasses and his threadbare sweater, he seems as bookish as he is elegant with his posture.

He tilts his head slightly at Will's show of respect. He knows the man is wanting to say something, but he needs more time in his company to pinpoint what he's after. Just a few more minutes - though the topic they're discussing right now is a good clue.

Will and Frederick have a relationship, though he isn't privy to the inner workings of it. He can't quite put his finger on what feels wrong about the path this conversation is heading down, and he isn't afraid to throw out a match to burn all the weeds that have taken root.]

Only as much as the two of you, Will.

[That gets a reaction, however minute it might be. He tilts his head back, eyebrows coming together, a mix of confusion and what could be seen as him taking offense. How presumptuous! But Will is fully aware things go on behind the scenes he is not privy to; it's always been that way. Conversations have happened that he won't ever have the full transcript for, like with Clark and Chilton. Perhaps Chilton and Crane had discussed Will, too, and Crane's assessment now comes from that, not the desire to bait. To goad. To press and push and see what works, what shatters, what heals...temporarily.]

Is that what he's told you? [A direct request to counter his defenses being up, his current guarded nature. Always good to keep 'em on their toes.] Or you just assume a criminal profiler and an administrator at a home for the criminally insane have nothing more to discuss, when they do get around to talking to each other at all?

[They do have a relationship, and the inner workings of can't ever be shared fully. At least, one aspect can't. Will knows full well that Chilton has dropped a few select mentions of him around the Network, and he can't be bothered by it too much. He also knows that the unfortunate demise of Abel Gideon (again) is one that could tarnish them both, and can't be shared. One of the most telling parts of them is a secret neither can afford to part with, isn't that how it always goes? Here, Will isn't ready to part with much on the depth of their relationship. Sure, they talk. Sure, they meet face-to-face. Don't many others from the same world? If Crane is looking for Will to give him cues, give him a look inside to reveal that he and Frederick Chilton are more than just people who have come from the same world and shared some similar events, if he's looking for a hint that there is some stronger bond...Will isn't on board with it. He'll shut it down, if only to figure out what this whole gossip is about.

Which might be telling in and of itself, but Will's not the most open person in the first place, and he is going to bank on that until the cows come home. He's guarded about his relationship with Chilton, so fucking what? He's guarded about what he does outside of work aside from fishing, how surprising he'd be unwilling to divulge details of something personal. Not Will Graham.]

[Crane wants to see everything Will suspects, but he also needs to see him squirm, just like everybody else. Any attempts made would heal, but they'd be stored in subconscious memory, and that he knows can be the cause of so much psychological pain.

Frederick suffered from a severe case; and because Crane was curious, and just wanted to add a little chaos to his order and generate new ideas and theories, he was compelled to cast his stone in the lake. Though it would be more of a depth charge. Let's stun those fish and bring them all to the surface, Will. Yours and Chilton's.]

Well, I can assume the two if you discuss many things. Abel Gideon, perhaps.

[Shitbird knows Frederick's dirty secret.]

[Wait, what? Of all names to bring up...

Can they just talk about Hannibal? He's easier. He's not here, and his exit didn't involve anything criminal. Unintentional or otherwise.]

We used to. Doctor Gideon was how we initially met. [Crane might be throwing names in the dark to see what sticks, Will thinks. He can deal with that.] But as he's not around and there are more pressing issues going on, we don't have a need to discuss him.

[His mirror. Or, perhaps, he's Abel's mirror. Not a comfortable topic. It feels like, no matter what "world" they're in, the last time Will gets a glimpse of poor Abel Gideon is going to be when he's really, really, really dead. Oh well.]

[Crane steeples his fingers. He taps them together a few times, thinking up new ideas in his head. Will's deflecting the conversation away from Abel - thus he's turning it from Frederick Chilton, too.]

Really? But the fact is he was around, at one time.

[He keeps a very calm face, watching carefully for any reaction Will cares to make. He's clinical and curious; from the professionalism of his expression to the softly-spoken voice that comes from his lips.]

Frederick seems to have taken his disappearance to heart. He seemed quite nauseous, last time we spoke. [What a friendly, gentle shitbird he is!] Shame is a soul-eating emotion, you know.

[Will doesn't like this much at all, and part of him thinks that it's so easy for Crane to wrap the straitjacket around him as tightly as he has because of Chilton. Because of Chilton opening his big mouth. He understands the desire to want to discuss aspects of one's life, to relate, to find others who can understand, he certainly does. But this is turning on Will, now, and although he knows better than to pass on the full blame to Frederick Chilton and his Goddamn gossipy mouth, there is a part of him that stings, burns, itches with the want to call him up and give him a nice tongue-lashing. A gentle tongue bath, dog to dog.

He backed him into a corner with Walter White. Fine. He at least got a Thai dinner out of that. Being backed into a corner with Crane, his coworker? That was bordering on unacceptable. That was rude, and while Will wasn't one to turn his back on another for such things, he didn't like it.]

Don't you have work to do? Because I do, and I'm already running a little behind.

[So what's to be done in this situation? Shut it down, and Crane has given him the best way to do that by ringing him up at work. What a kind shitbird he is, that earns a question void of condescension or judgment and Will going so far as to put them on some sort of equal footing. Because that's what those superior types love, being on equal ground with fashion disasters and uncultured messes like Will Graham.]

Edited 2015-05-14 21:13 (UTC)

[It's a reaction Crane's planned for.

If Will's trying to talk him into a corner, then he'll just demolish the walls. He genuinely enjoys this small game they have created, when he realizes Will isn't about to roll over and take it. There is a part of him that's overjoyed to see the other man isn't a coward. That is fascinating, and it's perhaps exactly what Will's after. It's a fantastic way to paint a target on his back; appealing to his curiosity.

The problem is Crane is a wantonly selfish man. There is no love more sincere for him than the love of knowledge. But he isn't contented with just having what someone said he ought to have. He doesn't want to eat one or two pieces of it. He wants to devour it all.

Maybe he should call Frederick later. Or maybe not. Will Graham might do that, now.]

Of course. Goodbye, Will. We'll talk later.

[You know exactly what he'll be after, dog.]

IC contact [Mask or Menace]

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