infomodder | ic contact 2 mask or menace

How long have you been hungover?

[He inquired with light curiosity, but not without judgement.]

I have never know you to -- how shall we phrase it? -- allow subconscious free flow into the mental link capability of the communicator.

[Hands wrap around the edge of Chilton's desk. One set of fingers lightly taps, the other gripping it solidly.]

Today is the first day I haven't had a drink in... [Tap, tap, tap, he lifts his eyes and shrugs a shoulder.] ...since she left.

[A glance at his watch.]

Almost been twenty-four hours now.

[He knew better than to show up compromised. Knew better than to make things easy on Chilton. Knew that Chilton had liquor about if worse came to worse.]

Were you not captured in the dreaming? [Persuasive as the dreamscape had been, any wounds sustained or alcohol consumed was purely a mind trick.] I would have reached out to you sooner, mind. But I was... Detained by good Samaritans.

[And hell was paved with good intentions, but he wasn't about to say that to MK.]

Would you prefer to talk about April?

[A tilt of the head, lift of an eyebrow, twitch of his lips — the sort of you know what I meant gesture reserved for friends and closer, born from a desire to rib back instead of actually jab, to land any real wound. But that changes at one word, and Will's focus narrows. Shifts from his more personal, cutting woes to...]

Detained.

[It lingers in the air between them, thick and overcooked. Like being served meat with charred edges, uncertain if it's meant to be consumed or cut off, or if it's just an insult. He knows what it is. Recognizes the truth of it. But why? For what reason? What does he do with this?]

Were you abducted? [His eyes narrow further; his voice sounds like he wanted to ask something blunter, potentially ruder, were you fucking abducted watered down but still present.] Again?

[why does this keep happening to them]

You say that as if it happens all the time. [A beat.] Instead of only now and again. The difference is distinct, Will.

[The difference was not distinct.]

A couple of my employees took concern over my personal safety. There were murmurings in the waking world, you know. People who had... Remembered that whole business with Lucifer.

Most people go their entire lives without being held against their will even once. Between you and I...

[He lifts a hand to gesture at them both, then gives a hoarse laugh, running that hand through his hair. Chilton and Graham would ruin the statistics of any given population they were in when the survey was "how many times have you been taken against your will for purposes other than surprise parties?"]

I don't think you ever gave me the full story about that whole business with Lucifer.

[He straightens up. Crosses his legs, knee over knee. Interlaces his fingers and sits them atop his knee. Primly and properly ready to listen. A sight Hannibal would absolutely draw, though probably without all the clothes. The one bonus to this bird-like perch on Chilton's desk is that he's super fucking easy to shove off it.]

He used me. Unwillingly, I might add. Jeff and Raina both took him at his offer. [Morally Superior Frederick Chilton sniffed.] What more is there to say?

[Touchy, touchy subject: more than one devil has used Chilton before. An exaggerated roll of his eyes indicated that Chilton wasn't interested in delving into the details; that was all in the past.

So much of their respective trauma was in the past.]

You are deflecting.

Edited 2017-04-25 01:31 (UTC)

So are you. [Quickly said, though his voice isn't at all mean-spirited.] We are deflecting.

[They are both in a similar boat now, the one that wants to avoid anything Raw and Real. That wants to give very simple, vague summaries and end it finally with What more is there to say? It's a Goddamn filthy cycle that will continue until the end of the world and beyond if none of them budge. With the past month taken into account, yes, it's about time Will budged.]

April vanished right out from under me. The Porter does that, she's, she's been doing that all along. Every time April or I up and poof, uh, we know. We're preoccupied with each other. [TMI? Maybe, for someone else. Chilton's had Will under his roof long enough it doesn't feel like actual TMI unless he goes into explicit detail...and even then, probably not.] After Hannibal gets here. Right? Right. That's when...that's when the one person I rely on most, that's when she's. Gone.

[He's growing more expressive, finally standing so he can walk around, gesticulate.]

Came across this guy. Months ago. I was a poodle. [of course] I've never, never been part of a B&E that I didn't know about beforehand. He pet me, picked me up, took me into this house...had no idea what was going on. Run off first chance I can. Kid posts to the Network about it. Course I don't say anything, but—now I'm saying something. You're the only other person here now who knows.

[An honor? Maybe. Will tosses out that little bit of information with the same growing bitter tone he has been carrying all along. Chilton asks and asks, and he is rewarded with a river of salt.]

So that guy, he breaks into my house. Takes up in the attic. We share beer, talk about life. He needs a place to stay. So I let him. Fall asleep for a week? Vividly experiencing a life where all I wanna do is kill people to eat them and... [For once, Will seems confused about the words flying out of his mouth.] ...fuck Jorah. And Frank.

[He stops behind a chair, hands gripping the back of it so firmly his knuckles turn white and the chair squeaks.]

Do you have whiskey?

[Yep.]

Edited 2017-04-25 03:53 (UTC)

[ While Will murders himself with laughter, Sylar finishes his current beer, and lists sideways just enough to toss it into the waste basket (considerate) before resettling. He is about as comfortable and relaxed as he's been in a long time, perhaps since he cuddled a poodle in the woods and slipped into semi-conscious powernapping, which is unexpected. Potentially dangerous. He cannot bring himself to give a fuck.

So he opens a second beer and smiles just slightly to himself as Will recovers, a smile that flattens out and disappears at news of his misery-company having fancy good friends.

Plot twist.

He raises an eyebrow, not breaking from his contemplative stare of the opposite wall. It's time for him to laugh, now, with the same kind of disuse. Rusty, baritone in his chest, understated and quiet. Then-- ]

Yeah.

[ He brings beer up to drink from. He isn't being that ironic when he says; ]

Let's be friends.

[The pact is sealed. Goodness gracious, what does this mean?

First, it means Will smiles, then that vanishes, and he finishes off his beer in one go. Sylar's new biggest fan has fallen asleep beneath his strong murder hand with her jaws half-open. She looks drugged. Will looks like he's getting there. Relaxed, silent, though his eyes are glossed over in that Thinking Too Damn Much way.]

Getting close shouldn't be an issue. [Quieter:] I'm already dead.

[Definitely how it works. Well, worth a try, anyway. Time for another beer.]

[We are deflecting. Together, communal. Like brothers.]

I do, do you mind taking it neat?

[Chilton preferred it neat, and he hadn't refilled the rarely used fancy ice ball casts for serving otherwise. He inclined his head, waiting only a beat for a reply -- the question was mostly rhetorical. What struck him as fascinating wasn't the sexual proclivity hinted at or the hungering acknowledgment that April was gone and Hannibal had arrived, or even the bizarre stray hobo tale -- it was what Will had said last.

The dreamlike impulse to murder and cannibalize. The visceral hatred for Jorah and whoever this Frank was.]

What happened? With those two men? When you were entrapped?

[He set a crystal glass before Will, pouring a shot. His hand was steady, but his eyes were not on the glass.

They remained on Will.]

Edited 2017-04-27 06:24 (UTC)

[Rhetorical or not, he received a nod in return. Will would drink just about anything put in front of him at this point. The beard was a dead giveaway of a Man In True Distress, okay, he'd take whiskey neat as a whistle or filthy as the sewers. Just get it in his gut.

He took it with a quiet thank you, carefully dropping his eyes after as though that would, by any means, alleviate the way he could just feel Chilton's boring into him.]

We were all on the same side. Frank has nice hands. [Does Chilton want context because that's all he's getting. Right now, anyway.] Jorah was...he had some thing with Rincewind. I think.

[Will moves to a chair, finally sitting like an actual human being with manners.]

They were looking out for each other. I didn't. Have anyone. I tried to seduce him. Jorah. [This is a conversation that is happening for sure; Will takes half that whiskey in a single sip.] M'not really good at that, even in my dreams.

[Glass cradled between his knees, Will raised his eyebrows and inclined his head. Quid pro quo maybe??]

[Chilton's left hand had clenched when Will mentioned that thing Jorah had with Rincewind -- he tried to distract from the twitch with a sharp swing of drink. Lips burning from the whiskey, Chilton released a measured exhale.]

Seduce him? Really. Now I regret having missed your sleepover adventure.

[His next sip was slower, more genteel. More controlled.]

What did he do about that?

[Chilton wasn't done interrogating; there was still the comment about this Frank and his nice hands to dissect.]

[ They're friends, now, so Sylar ought not to roll his eyes at proclamations about being dead already. It's mostly hidden by virtue of the fact they aren't facing one another, and he sips his beer.

He asks, looking down at the dog; ]

What's your dog's name?

[ And then, looking at Will Graham; ]

And your friend's?

[He doesn't mean it in an emo way, excuse you very much, new bestie. Where's the fun killing an already dead guy? Who's died again? Oh - well, that woman had spoken to the Network and...might not matter. Some friends were like that, but hey. Worth a try.]

Her original owner called her Little Fluffy Shithead. I've, uh, been calling her Princess. She answers to both. [Indeed, an ear has twitched at both names. She recognizes that she is a topic. As it should be, really, what a grand doggie she is. A good distraction from the eventual admission, eyes stuck on Princess Shithead...] Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Can't really miss him. He stands out.

[he ain't got no eyebrows lt dan]

[His nose wrinkles. He isn't too keen on the idea of dream exhibitionism. Even if it's in the name of science, or whatever. Or maybe he's just happy he has it, lifting one hand to run along it.]

He broke my nose.

[He lets that sit in the air briefly, smiling, before taking another sip of that whiskey. He wasn't kidding about being bad at seduction, apparently.]

[ Sylar's brow winches into an offended crinkle at the dog's behalf, but smooths again at 'Princess'. Stupid, but better. His fingers scratch beneath the fold of the little dog's arms, ears pricked for the next part.

Name tucked away into memory, like a business card. ]

Like, personally, or is it the corpse sculptures that tend to attract attention?

[ skrtch skrtch pat dog ]

I just left them there, you know. I didn't even try to hide what I did.

[He laughs, short, more of a snort than anything else. How rude.]

Both.

[Dog is so happy. And Will, stretching out a bit further, seems ready to follow suit and fall asleep, too. Sylar does not need to rub his tummy, though. Unless he really wants to.

Jeez, there's quite a few reactions that filter through his mind. Some more serious than others, all of them running down different paths. Some he is curious about. Some he wants to avoid. Some he just doesn't think would do either of them any good. Eventually, he settles on...]

Honesty's a rare quality. Usually considered one of the good ones.

[except for if it applies to murder, probably, but who keeps track any more]

Traditionally masculine, isn't he?

[Chilton clearly didn't mean it as a compliment. But Jorah wasn't the focus of this conversation; Will Graham was, and Chilton regarded his guest thoughtfully.]

Will you be avoiding him? Now that we are all returned to our more authentic reality?

No. [Immediate, confident, complete with wrinkled face and shake of head. That is a legitimately honest no, yessirree.] Every time I try to avoid anyone, we run into each other at a, at the least opportune moment.

[Or they're brought back together by something truly unfortunate. Waah waah, Baltimore luck is not great.]

How do you know him?

[Curious, his wonder a friendly thing. He's not looking for dirty details, he's just. Interested. In Chilton's life. Like a pal should be.]

He works for Ambassador Baelish -- or had, at least.

[The answer came with a dismissive wave of his hand. Chilton was privy to some conversations with Littlefinger; he had long ago earned that right. A fact that he would not necessarily elaborate upon.]

I met him, once or twice. [Amidst torturing a spy. A spy unwittingly sent by Rincewind.] Wasn't impressed.

[Up goes an eyebrow. At the last; nothing else seems to interest him much.]

Do you know what he can do? With his...

[Will lifts a hand of wiggling fingers. The bear power is not necessarily something that needs warning about. Because bears are terrible, for sure, but they can be ran from or hurt. Having powers screwed up and turning into a naked man in the middle of an alley with pizza still waiting? That earns warning, and since Chilton is so open and honest at the moment, well! One good turn deserves another.]

With his... Fingering?

[Chilton's hesitance betrayed a far nastier mental image.]

[Pause. Will tilted his head, hand closing, turning, like it held an invisible key, or was twisting something.]

His hands. He lays hands on you, he can turn off your powers.

Ah -- the negation.

[Yes. He knew that because of the spy torturing.]

You sure he had to touch you?

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