['Good is subjective,' oh how Whale knows so much about that. He ruined a girl's happiness, blatantly helped in manipulating her so that he could get what he wanted and then later made that girl, now a woman, suffer even more in an attempt to get back home and fix his mistakes. Will wanted to lecture him, wanted to lecture the man who wanted to cure death that good was subjective? It was almost pathetic.
But then, as the details start to flow, as Will starts to mention more and more about his life, as he mentions cannibalism for God's sake, that haughty pride in Whale's mind slowly morphs to confusion, fear, and a not-so-small dose of abject horror.]
Monster to monster, [he mutters, back to himself, trying to steel the idea in his head that this man, this seemingly normal man who had two dogs and was a bit awkward at times and tried to instill in his head the idea that Alana Bloom needed respect, this man was going to an asylum for killing a doctor, killing someone who Whale couldn't help but see the similarities of his current position in but, more importantly, killing young women. That was supposed to be the same man who he drunkenly rambled about music with?
Like hell it was.
He refused to believe it. Possibly because he wasn't a psychiatrist, possibly because he only knew the bare minimum about Will's home, possibly because he had seen monsters himself, he was a monster himself and Will Graham, he was no monster.]
If you think that this is going to turn me off from being your doctor, you're wrong. [he calmly said, looking at Will. Truth be told, part of him is scared, part of him is worried, part of him is telling him that he should cut loose and run now because what if he is wrong about Will and what if he dies, what if he fails again, as always, another time. But he's trying his damndest to push that feeling down and keep up the cocky, devil-may-care, egotistical facade that he always has.] You're sick. You're sick, I'm a doctor, I can help fix things, I'll help cure you.
[There's the tiniest pause while Whale goes through his thoughts in his mind, trying to figure out what to say and how to say it.] You've told me why I might not want you as a patient, it's only fitting that I tell you why you might not want me as a doctor. I'm not...I'm not from this world, from anything remotely resembling Asgard or Storybrooke. The technology is practically ancient compared to the stuff back in your world, and the only reason I know modern surgery is because of a magic curse. [Which was absolutely messed up, now that he fully thought about it.]
Back in my proper world, I was working on bringing the dead back to life. I did some terrible things in the process and a lot of people got hurt during my work--some of them even got killed. Talk with Regina Mills if you don't believe me, I guarantee you she'll have plenty of negative things to say about me. [said with a small little dark chuckle because if anybody had any right to wish him dead, it was Regina.] You're talking to Victor Frankenstein himself about things that aren't savory, and you think that something you said was blamed on you, not things that you said you did yourself, you think that's enough to drive me away.
no subject
But then, as the details start to flow, as Will starts to mention more and more about his life, as he mentions cannibalism for God's sake, that haughty pride in Whale's mind slowly morphs to confusion, fear, and a not-so-small dose of abject horror.]
Monster to monster, [he mutters, back to himself, trying to steel the idea in his head that this man, this seemingly normal man who had two dogs and was a bit awkward at times and tried to instill in his head the idea that Alana Bloom needed respect, this man was going to an asylum for killing a doctor, killing someone who Whale couldn't help but see the similarities of his current position in but, more importantly, killing young women. That was supposed to be the same man who he drunkenly rambled about music with?
Like hell it was.
He refused to believe it. Possibly because he wasn't a psychiatrist, possibly because he only knew the bare minimum about Will's home, possibly because he had seen monsters himself, he was a monster himself and Will Graham, he was no monster.]
If you think that this is going to turn me off from being your doctor, you're wrong. [he calmly said, looking at Will. Truth be told, part of him is scared, part of him is worried, part of him is telling him that he should cut loose and run now because what if he is wrong about Will and what if he dies, what if he fails again, as always, another time. But he's trying his damndest to push that feeling down and keep up the cocky, devil-may-care, egotistical facade that he always has.] You're sick. You're sick, I'm a doctor, I can help fix things, I'll help cure you.
[There's the tiniest pause while Whale goes through his thoughts in his mind, trying to figure out what to say and how to say it.] You've told me why I might not want you as a patient, it's only fitting that I tell you why you might not want me as a doctor. I'm not...I'm not from this world, from anything remotely resembling Asgard or Storybrooke. The technology is practically ancient compared to the stuff back in your world, and the only reason I know modern surgery is because of a magic curse. [Which was absolutely messed up, now that he fully thought about it.]
Back in my proper world, I was working on bringing the dead back to life. I did some terrible things in the process and a lot of people got hurt during my work--some of them even got killed. Talk with Regina Mills if you don't believe me, I guarantee you she'll have plenty of negative things to say about me. [said with a small little dark chuckle because if anybody had any right to wish him dead, it was Regina.] You're talking to Victor Frankenstein himself about things that aren't savory, and you think that something you said was blamed on you, not things that you said you did yourself, you think that's enough to drive me away.