It's of my own selection. [Said Chilton, his gaze armed with a glower. The psychiatrist was already making the motions to help himself to his now-dearly-required glass of bourbon.] Besides, you and I both know I don't need that degree of subtlety when drugging you.
[Well, if Walt was going to be playful. Chilton watched Walt wander, knowing full well that he knew how this gnawed along Chilton's bones. His office (toned in blues, golds, and deep browns) proved the opposite of his minimalistic design down in the basement. This was style over function, with framed antiqued maps in between those certificates and Roman busts pocketed within the rows of heavily bound books, and weighted dark drapes.
Chilton sipped on his bourbon, practically biting back the query on his tongue: what are you doing here, what do you want, who do you think you--
And thud went the money. It sounded beautiful when smacked against strong wood.
Oh.]
I don't -- [Chilton's raised eyebrows pinched downwards the second he processed that caveat.] What mess?
[It was a hell of a gambit, whatever series of moves Walt was making here; and Chilton identified this as a series, rather than something only singular. Walter White was meticulous and cunning, but he could also be highly spontaneous, he could be unpredictable. He was as combustible as any chemical, and this here was a spill as alarming to any EPA agent as it was to Chilton.
Chilton thought himself right to identity something of Will Graham in the man.]
Walter, if you subject yourself to me, to my treatment, what does that get you? This isn't topping from the bottom, you know, and -- and where did you get this kind of money?
no subject
[Well, if Walt was going to be playful. Chilton watched Walt wander, knowing full well that he knew how this gnawed along Chilton's bones. His office (toned in blues, golds, and deep browns) proved the opposite of his minimalistic design down in the basement. This was style over function, with framed antiqued maps in between those certificates and Roman busts pocketed within the rows of heavily bound books, and weighted dark drapes.
Chilton sipped on his bourbon, practically biting back the query on his tongue: what are you doing here, what do you want, who do you think you--
And thud went the money. It sounded beautiful when smacked against strong wood.
Oh.]
I don't -- [Chilton's raised eyebrows pinched downwards the second he processed that caveat.] What mess?
[It was a hell of a gambit, whatever series of moves Walt was making here; and Chilton identified this as a series, rather than something only singular. Walter White was meticulous and cunning, but he could also be highly spontaneous, he could be unpredictable. He was as combustible as any chemical, and this here was a spill as alarming to any EPA agent as it was to Chilton.
Chilton thought himself right to identity something of Will Graham in the man.]
Walter, if you subject yourself to me, to my treatment, what does that get you? This isn't topping from the bottom, you know, and -- and where did you get this kind of money?