slightlyoffchilt | - IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

Try to watch your mouth, when you make your way here. I hope that isn't asking too much.

Whatever that means -- yeah, I think I'll be fine.

[ It'll be about fifteen more minutes, but Reggie will show up rather than ditching the "appointment" -- that probably would seem more telling than not, Reggie doesn't think it'd be worth it. So, after standing outside Chilton's office door for several long moments still trying not to talk himself out of it, he knocks. ]

Reggie.

[Chilton was quick to open the door, having long expected his intern.]

Please, come in. Take a seat.

[ Reggie hesitated momentarily, but then ventured into the room to sit down as instructed, the expression on his face a blank but dour one. ]

I don't really know about this. [ But as a bottled up burden of many, it's either now on his own terms or later, on accident and with anyone; a far less safe or controlled scenario. ] How's this even supposed to work?

Take a seat.

[He gestured to the blue sedan, and then the hard wooden chair. The dilemma he posed to every patient.]

First, do you trust me, Reggie? Say it. And say why you do.

[Why you do. The answer was already presumed.]

[ The question earned a silent, dead-eyed stare from Reggie; did he trust him? Reggie hardly trusted anybody here, and Chilton to him didn't seem like someone for whom loyalty meant much of anything. It was more that he felt somewhat more comfortable with Chilton than most anyone else here -- he could be trusted for certain things more so than other people.

He sighed. ]

You mean do I trust you not to talk about this? Or not to blackmail me? [ His eyebrow rose upward. ] Look, I don't know why -- I guess maybe 'cause I don't expect you'd judge me the way someone else would. Counts for somethin'.

Why wouldn't you expect me to judge you? Or, rather, why do you expect everyone else to judge you, Reggie?

[His voice, soft and soothing, implied sympathy -- though such sympathy was not overtly displayed.]

You seem to judge yourself harshly, given that you have only presumption to work off of with regards to everyone else, collectively.

[ Sitting back and slouching, Reggie tilted his head forward so that his bangs fell a bit in his face, and to shift his gaze lower so as to look away. After another moment he shrugged slowly. ]

It's not presumption... I just know. And it doesn't matter why, besides the fact you don't get hung up on crap the same way everyone else does.

[ But that's as far as he was ready to elaborate. ]

And you'd at least know what I could do about it -- like maybe there's something I could take for it, 'cause I just wanna stop having sleeping problems and thinkin' about death all the time. That's all.

And the best way to address your insomnia -- which is, quite evidently, inspired by your emotional disengagement and psychological turmoil -- is to discuss the details of your plight.

[Chilton was quite direct in his, his chin dipping towards his chest to better open his gaze towards Reggie. Wide, deceptively earnest eyes.]

Isn't that so?

[ Reggie looked back up at Chilton, his expression almost momentarily fearful before he shook his head and glanced away again, still quick to raise up his defenses. ]

There's no plight, I just-- I-- I don't know what's doing it, but it's probably harder not to think about death when we're surrounded with as many psychos as we got here. Guess it's just finally eating at me.

So you have been thinking about mortality a lot, and that's been disrupting your usual cognitive processes.

[Chilton took a few quick notes, pausing only momentarily for another question.]

What reoccurring thoughts do you recognize most?

[ Sighing slowly, Reggie nodded and ran a hand through his hair -- now was the time to commit to having this conversation once and for all, because it wasn't like he was revealing everything and it also wasn't like he had committed to doing this on the regular. Or like he wasn't going to bend the truth a little, as needed. It was... it would be fine.

Probably. ]

Well-- [ He paused to consider how to continue. ] I just got it in my head that I'm supposed to die young... or something, so I see it everywhere. Except I also don't really give a damn about it the way I used to, either -- I dunno. It's nothin' dramatic.

What gave you that impression?

[Dying young. He was more used to the youth considering itself immortal.]

Or who gave you that impression? Surely it couldn't have been an event here? Given our... Collective propensity to return from death. Or do you mean you think that you're fated to die early in your original universe?

It's just a feeling.

[ He stated it quickly, still without newly fostering eye contact. Reggie glowered toward the ground, at his shoes, his hands, before he raised his gaze slightly. ]

I mean... yeah, the whole "coming back from the dead" thing here definitely makes it easier not to care. At home everything's... normal. [ He paused again, frowning. ] But still, stuff like that happens all the time in small towns.

A feeling that clearly impacts you, significantly, and in a psychosomatic manner.

[But he didn't pursue the argument; Reggie needed to process that emotion on his own manner. Chilton had simply needed to set seed to counterargument.]

Have you always lived in a small town? This must be something of a culture shock -- beyond the obvious manner, I mean.

I'm not normally, like, superstitious or anything, but... it's just hard to shake, I guess.

[ He sighed, then shrugged slowly and put a hand over his face for a long moment, fingers pressing at either temples. Then he nodded, lowering his hand again. ]

Yeah, pretty much grew up there, but I always wanted to live in a city. And I like here okay and all, it's a hundred times better than home. [ A beat. ] Can I get like, sleeping pills or something?

In due time, perhaps, but I want to discuss the nature of your anxiety.

[Chilton exhaled, frowning, and interwove his own fingers together as he stared over them at Reggie.]

There had to be a catalyst. Something, or a sequence of something, that created this circumstantial anxiety. [But Reggie wasn't about to tell him, that much was clear.]

What was your childhood like, Reggie? In this small town of yours.

[ Sitting up more, Reggie made a low noise of frustration. ]

It's probably just insomnia, Dr. Chilton -- nothin' that pills can't solve. My childhood's got nothing to do with it. It wasn't even anything out of the ordinary; middle class, both parents, yadda yadda.

[ His head tilted so as to hide his eyes somewhat behind his bangs. ]

Anyway, I've always been gettin' myself into trouble, but the stakes are just different... now. You know, with all the demons and cannibals and witches around.

And your relationship with both parents?

[Chilton was clearly ignoring the direction that Reggie wished to take -- very little was psychologically healthy amidst the rank of a middle class small town. In terms of a personality disorder spectrum, Reggie could easily be Hitchcocked.]

Did they acknowledge your troublesome habits?

Yeah. Not like it's any kind of secret.

[ Reggie's shoulders slumped more -- he really didn't want to talk about or think about his parents. ]

I dunno -- normal I guess, hands-off at the best of times. [ A beat. ] I don't want to talk about them, all right?

Then we can talk about your social circle. [From the frying pan into the fire.] Your peers. They must have had some impact on your life -- is that fair to suggest? How would you define your role among them?

[And Chilton watched, carefully, knowing that whatever Reggie said might be nothing more than a half-truth -- but how he said it? That was key.]

That-- none of this--

[ Reggie's reaction was to bristle, defensive enough that he almost stood up right then. ]

This has nothin' to do with anything. I don't care about any of those people, I just want to relax for once. [ A pause. ] And sleep.

No, Reggie. No, that isn't the face value of what you crave. You want a bandage of solution.

[His voice took a sharper edge, as if cut with granite.]

You want an easy solution, because a thorough examination causes you anxiety. But why would that be, I wonder? What are you afraid of?

What, bandages are supposed to be bad now? Last I checked they're still pretty important. People need them to "heal."

[ For emphasis, Reggie did the air-quotes with his fingers, exhaling heavily. Almost defeated, but not quite. ]

Are you gonna make me answer that before you'll help me?

I'm going to make you attend a session, yes, before I consider writing any prescription up for you. But quite obviously, you are not yet at that point of conversation.

[Better to establish boundaries and structure now, he figured, than allow Reggie to reign an early, teenaged terror.]

Consider yourself dismissed, for right now. Figure out your schedule and get back to me on when you're ready to act like a communicative adult, won't you?

Shut the door on your way out.

- IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

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