slightlyoffchilt | - IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

What?

[It was a hissed whisper, soaked in a quick panic. That name destabilized him, as intricately tied as it was to his fear of exposure, of consequence.

Abel's murder had been an accident.

Gideon's death had been an accident.]

Is this why you've called me so late?

[In the vulnerable darkness.]

Are we bonding over tightly wound whispers?

If that's what you want.

[It was odd, how gentle Crane's inflection on that word was. There's no fear in his voice about what he's been prodding at. No pity. Though he was holding the choice over Chilton's head like the sword of Damacles - a warning of living in a constant state of fear.]

Though all humans are bonded under the umbrella of the collective unconscious. Wouldn't want to rob you of the choice, though. That would be cruel.

[There's a sharp intake of breath -- he can tell Crane is enjoying this. He knows the streamlined power of maintained perfect composure while your subject squirms under your whims. He knows how lovely that feels.

The issue of choice in this context was absurd.]

What do I owe you? For Will's confidential conversation?

A generous sum.

Components cost money, you know.

[He phrases it like a request. He honestly doesn't hold the intent to commit blackmail - and would simply neutralize anyone who tried to turn it against him. Everything he did, in this sense, was for his curiosity. He gives a thoughtful lick of his lips.]

Components -- what a vague term. Another man might consider chemical contributions. That would be the most logical assumption, yes? Or at least the most common.

But I prefer to test one's patients.

[Chilton was fond of puns for numerous reasons.]

[A pause, and Crane's expression falls. Puns.

He's going to completely shun that failure of a joke. Chilton's testing his patients, all right.]

Having access to a chemical laboratory has many advantages. Though I'm afraid my latest batch of medication came out a little white.

[Chilton. White. Crane. What did Crane know about Walt? Had he gone there on purpose, having observed the other psychiatrist's fascination? The implication was hidden under a powdery surface, easily blown away - and underneath it was explicit.

And oh. Was he going to keep quiet about that.]

Edited 2015-03-24 05:10 (UTC)

Fifteen minutes. I'm in damn De Chima right there, so it'll take me a bit to get there. [ but god almighty, he is getting there to Chilton's office as soon as humanly possible. ]

I'll be waiting for you, Dorian.

[INSTANT ACTION?]

[ BANG BANG BANG guess who's pretty much knocking like he wants to bang the door down ]

That door is mahogany.

[It wasn't really, or it wouldn't have sounded so hollow. But Chilton was nevertheless miffed at Dorian's audible intrusion, if only because it reminded Chilton how impulsive Dorian's qualities could be.]

Please -- just a moment.

[He let in his patient, closing the door and locking it behind him.]

Bill me, [ Dorian casually remarked, with the flippancy of someone who's used to having a lot of money and someone who also thinks that really, is this the right time to be talking about the door, especially when he's either haunted or going insane? Spoilers Chilton, it isn't.

Dorian looks like he's dressed for a night out on the town, just with the added problem of a pale face, clammy hands, looking like he had (literally) seen a ghost. He's obviously not in the best place right now, and is more skittish than anything else. If Lunatic was back, locking the door wouldn't work to begin with. ]

He can pass through solid walls, you know. [ Wait, explanation time. ] Lunatic could. So if you want to protect yourself from Yuri, I'm afraid you'll need to do much more than that.

Yuri is not here, Dorian.

[He walked towards his patient, his shoulders relaxed. When he spoke, it was in those softer, clinical tones. He stretched out a hand, as if implicitly asking for permission to comfort Dorian.]

He died. He has perished and he did not return. He is no longer connected to the Network.

You are indeed safe.

Well then, explain how I just saw what was obviously his flames. [ He scowls at Chilton, but...doesn't really say no to the outstretched hand. ]

It's either his ghost or he's somehow returned and is just...I don't know, not connected to the Network. [ but as he says it, he knows that's obviously not true ] I am not seeing things.

Because of someone's illusory powers. Because you were hallucinating. Because you have repressed guilt.

[Granted, he was kidding with that third option.]

Needless to say, Dorian, it isn't convincing to discount seeing things off the bat.

[Chilton's hand smoothed over Dorian's shoulder, to the crux of his neck.]

Do you need something to calm you down?

[ Well yes, those were valid solutions, but it looked real, it sounded real, it was Yuri Petrov: back from the grave, and Dorian was kind of wigging out

He doesn't really notice Chilton's hand on his neck. He's used to physical touch as intimacy and comfort and he doesn't connect the dots that a psychiatrist shouldn't really be doing that. ]

God yes. I'm sure that once I get less...frantic about this, a solution will present itself. [ a solution that's not 'Yuri Petrov is totally a motherfucking ghost.' ]

Shush now. It's all right.

[And as he presses his fingertips to the back of Dorian's neck, his manicured nails scrapping ever so gently against that immortalized flesh, Chilton consciously releases his sedative. He configures an anxiolytic, which doubles as an anti-anxiety medication, and presses it lightly into Dorian's bloodstream.]

If Yuri did come back -- if ever returned, Dorian. [Whispered the psychiatrist, his voice like the bubbles of a sun-reflected creek.] You have to kill him. You have to kill. Anyone. Who stands. In your way.

Understood?

[ It's a testament to how terrified Dorian is and how fast the sedative works that Dorian only briefly realizes wait a moment, killing Yuri, that's really odd advice. He's right, though. If Yuri tried to come back, that was the only option. ]

I already did that though, [ Dorian murmured, closing his eyes, obviously relaxing a bit more, too wrapped up in the fact that he was feeling better, the fact that he didn't have to worry, the fact that Chilton understood him, to realize just what exactly he was confessing. ] What, do you want me to kill him again?

Dr. Chilton, my name's Hank Schrader. I'm thinking we should meet up and talk, specifically about some business involving you and Walter White. Pretty sure there's been a misunderstanding.
When you've got the time. Thanks.

[Oh. My. So this is Hank -- Walt's Hank. Chilton waits nearly fifteen minutes before responding, well aware that if Walt had discussed the details of their last disagreement with this man, then confrontation wouldn't come in a polite text.]

Mr. Schrader. Do you have a preference of when/where?

Best shot's going be finding me at the Heropa precinct during the day, but there's a coffee shop nearby. Your call, it shouldn't take much of your time.

Would Wednesday suit you? 4:00?

Sounds good. See you then.

Lovely.

[Though that might have been more of an ironic observation than an accurate one; Chilton considered this to be potentially problematic.

Would you like to log this out, or actionthread here?]

[Woah, WHAT? Chilton parted his lips in surprise, devouring the tidbit that Dorian just dropped. He missed only that singular beat, however; soon more manipulative instinct kicked him.]

I want you to kill anyone who threatens what you truly are, Dorian. Anyone who dares to smudge your magnificence, anyone who won't comply with your demands.

[Dorian Gray's narcissism was JUST classified as "severely malignant and open to psychopathic comorbidity" in Chilton's books.]

[ Who the honest fuck says lovely? Is this guy British? He hopes that's the one, not that he judges or anything. He's pretty sure most of Marie's decorating comes from the gay designers off the TV, so.

Hank will be waiting in uniform outside near the steps by four, not wanting to have the guy actually come in and ask for him (seriously, cops talk, get the fuck out). He'll already have a couple coffees on hand, but there's never any excusing precinct coffee. That's what the coffee house is for if he wants to be snooty about it, Hank couldn't care less. He just hopes this can happen in a civil manner and Walt won't start getting paranoid. The poor fuck has enough problems. ]

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LET'S DO THIS BITCH

AW YEAH

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