slightlyoffchilt | - IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

[Up goes one eyebrow. Ah. Unintentional flattery; at least it wasn't unintentional rudeness. Not what he'd want to pair with his invasion.]

They'll have to go through me, in that case.

[Predatory and possessive, Will spits it out immediately, as though he hadn't thought it through, didn't need to think it through. He was more than comfortable with certain parties being involved, but this was his project. Finding Freddie's killer was, at the end of the day, his duty. She'd expect it of him as he expects it of himself. He owes her that much.]

They realize that's part of the boundary, don't they?

[He doesn't need to know if Frederick Chilton went to bat for him in the way he called him friend, or considered the massive emotional impact Freddie-not-Freddie could have had on his stability, or touting his skills. He just needed to know if he'd have to seek out this Chimera (which meant he'd be asking Chilton, nicely and deferential, for how to get in contact with them) or if his good doctor already made that clear. Were they on the same page with this, at least, if nothing else?]

I did mention you, yes. I made it clear that you were the only investigator to be trusted with this matter.

[It was a point of pride, that Baltimore business should be kept within their circle -- a point of pride that didn't account for how prone to osmosis that circle truly was. But aside from emotional sentiment, Chilton had more to fear: the thought of exposure weighed on his mind. While Sherlock might be the other competent investigator, as according to Chilton, it was Will who had the ability and the rationale necessary to protect Chilton's own interest. It wasn't much of a dilemma.]

If you thought it necessary to involve other professional parties, I would submit to that decision. As long as you're involved in the process nevertheless. [As long as you're watching my back. Chilton shifted, uncomfortable in his excessively comfortable chair, and leaned forward.] Chimera recommended Sherlock Holmes.

I informed Clark Kent of what happened to Freddie, considering their...friendship. [Still strange to Will that someone who seemed to take reporting as a serious means to do good would befriend the likes of Freddie, but Baltimore and their circle was one of predators, scavengers, and prey alike. They needed types from all over in that osmosis. Better to absorb through osmosis than consumption.] He. Suggested someone, asked if he could pass the word along. Got a call from the Batman a little while later.

[Did Chilton already know this? Will couldn't be sure. He was aware of the conversation Chilton had with Clark to some extent, had been the sole reason poor Clark got a taste of Will's memories. But he's making an earnest attempt to be honest and open here with the idea that it might be returned.]

Do you want me to reach out to Holmes?

[Or have you done that yourself? Chilton talks about submitting to a decision and Will tries his hardest to prove that he doesn't want it while hoping it doesn't come across as something else. He wants them to work together, as a team (even if there will be an unbalance to it). He misses Jack Crawford. He misses the stability, but Chilton is not his boss. Oddly enough, he can be trusted with a bit more information that Jack Crawford, at one time, could not. Or so Will thought. In the spot of Chilton's patient, hands relaxed around the armrest, he watches carefully, no part of him ready to bite, a cannibal who would take his fingers (ring included) if he dared to show him either kindness or mercy with an extended hand.

He needs a friend as much as he needs someone to look to as a final authority (provided Will doesn't find the ultimate decision a poor one, mind; he'll always be his own dog once he's out of sight of a master he doesn't quite agree with), but Chilton isn't exactly the best sort of handler for Will Graham, is he? Still, he defers. He listens. He'll protect Chilton's interests as much as he'll protect the man himself if he can. He is a good boy, when he's been treated. Treat him right.]

[Reaching out to Holmes. Chilton shifted in his chair, frowning. His proximity to Will made his discomfort something of a shared experience, and there was no wisdom in obscuring it.]

I can't say I'm comfortable with the idea. He seems like a man who won't stop at the obvious answer, if you catch my drift.

[What if Sherlock scented more than the murder mystery at hand? Chilton's body language was in direct contrast to Will's relaxed composure in this moment, as his mind stormed over the hypothetical catastrophes.]

But. If you're on top of him, then it's as good as leashing the man isn't it? And surely he can appreciate your authority over the matter. This your case, after all. Your territory.

[Your people.]

Then I'll keep him in mind.

[What did this Chimera know, anyway? It was entirely possible that a suggestion of Sherlock Holmes wasn't one meant for good, for something they could benefit from. The two of them couldn't know for certain why he was offered. Better for his people (and him) if he showed more interest in their concerns and voice than he showed to a complete stranger. What message would it send Frederick if Will immediately jumped on board that ship instead of his? Especially when he wasn't beating around the bush about his discomfort, when he was laying it out there that no, it wasn't exactly his favored outcome. Unless that was his design, to build up both resistance and loyalty in one go. He was doing a smashing fine job of it. Will didn't like leashes when there was no need for the leash in the first place. He could, however, operate pretty well when he was wearing one himself. He tried. He was trying now.]

Have you thought— [He frowns, pauses, hesitates. It's not the most unique thought, but it's one that Will has trouble voicing. One that's run through his mind a hundred times and he pushes it away, if only for how miserable an ending to this it would be. But he can't deny the possibility, and the discomfort on his end is meant to show as much, not that he believes Frederick Chilton truly has not considered this yet.] —whoever did this to her might. Be gone? What do we do then?

If they're gone, then what's to stop them from returning?

[Pessimist logic. It wasn't the lack of closure that haunted Chilton, it was that the killer would sneak back to ensure urban closure. What if she was but the first of Baltimore to fall? What if there was a grittier design?]

It would do good to investigate regardless of any promised justice. [Chilton didn't believe in justice. He believed in crime and punishment.] But for our own sake. For your sake.

[Chilton tilted his had to the side with that emphasis.]

[And there goes any comfort, shoulders tensing. More immediately noticeable is the look on his face, having heard something he doesn't like at all. Biting down on his tongue from saying what comes to him first, but oh, it's quite obvious Will still doesn't like when he's told what's good (however debatable it being "good" is) for him. For his sake.]

I won't let Freddie's case go until there is a clear end. [Firm, because Will needs to hear it himself as much as he needs it to be heard. To be known, without a shadow of a doubt, between the two of them that even if it does get a little bad for his sake, he's not going to simply wash his hands of it. If it ended with nothing or if it ended with justice, punishment...there would be an end, somehow, and only then would it be enough for Will.] And if I ever tell you otherwise, you'll know you aren't talking to me.

[Ah, such a displeased frown that is.]

Maybe we need some code, if this Chimera's so invested.

Edited 2015-05-01 03:05 (UTC)

A code?

[It was an intriguing idea, and one iron wrought with caution. Chilton broke away from their shared proximity, the humidity of closeness finally forcing him to lean back deeply into his chair.]

A code isn't a bad idea.

[High praise.]

Have you a suggestion in mind? Something this individual couldn't have gleaned from Freddie, obviously. Perhaps an... Experience that Ms. Lounds had no access to.

[He smiled at Will, wondering if it was too daring to suggest Will's conversations with Hannibal at BSHCI.]

[Conversations with Hannibal, conversations with Abel Gideon, the one between Gideon and Chilton himself while Will sat in his cell...he's yet to make that last desperate stop at Will Graham's house. Keeping everything contained is, most likely, the best course of action. Chilton leans back in his chair, ruler supreme, and all Will does in return is interlace his fingers over a certain section of his stomach while biting his lip in thought. No reaction to the praise; he doesn't have a tail to wag.]

Does Freddie know you had Matthew Brown wire the mics at Baltimore State? [Curious, void of any judgment.] Which let him conveniently unwire them so we could have our private discussion about who killed the bailiff at my trial without...any evidence?

[Was that even true, though? Did Chilton have a hidden file featuring that (and more), had he seen Matthew opening the cage and allowing Will a few steps in freedom? Will would like to imagine that particular bit of his life was between Matthew and him, no doubt about it. But when it came to being autocratic, Chilton did well, and he didn't think it entirely impossible there was some back up plan in place in case Matthew proved a bit of a turncoat.]

[Chilton frowned at that -- Matthew Brown's betrayal had been surprising. Chilton once believed he trained that boy to a strict regimen that would have pleased even B.F. Skinner, but apparently Brown's lust for a mirror image broke free any responsible tethers. It was still a point of distaste.]

Freddie would not have known that. For obvious reasons, I did not release the details of my audio compliance with anyone.

[Audio compliance. A sterilized trick of the tongue.]

She wouldn't have known the details of that.

[Nor had Chilton, honestly, but when Brown was exposed he had gone through his audio recording. Even when no one was speaking, you would hear the sounds of the living: breathing, shifting, groaning. But not on one day, not for five minutes.]

What of it.

[His shoulders go up, hands turning out, pulling a face as he mulls over how to say it exactly. Or if he should say anything at all, should let it all speak for itself. However bitter a taste Matthew Brown left for both of them, he was probably better for Will Graham than Hannibal Lecter and better for Frederick Chilton than Abel Gideon. A fine, murderous middle ground, one person he hadn't talked about much with anyone else. Not directly.]

Seems like the parts of Matthew Brown's story you won't find in the news could be our trump card, to me.

[Except for how he failed as a trump card when Will needed him most. Talking about him and what had (or had not) happened because of him couldn't end up just as poorly, could it? He'd asked for suggestions, this was Will's. He could take it or leave it.

But if Matthew ever showed his face, Will totally didn't pass along that he'd straight out told him how he got around the recording issues. Not he, said the dog.]

How rather green of you -- recycling poor Mr. Brown like that.

[Snide, perhaps, and with a sandpaper delivery. But Chilton couldn't help his hackles rise; Will took that pawn from him. It wasn't like Brown could be useful, after his failed murder attempt.]

But it is cautious. Safe. [He would concede to that.] You knew the Privacy Room was tapped, of course.

[poor Mr. Brown gets nothing from Will. He's rather just there until that last bit of information hits him. While he hadn't thought it at all beyond Chilton to go for illegal means at that level, that calls back one particular conversation between the two of them, Will in his cage after having a breath in freedom for the worst possible reasons, and he doesn't stop the displeased look that crosses his face.]

I had a feeling. [Had Chilton been angling for some of those more personal conversations, letting the loves of killers go to waste, Alana Bloom's strangely successful hypnotism? No sir.] Suppose that doesn't matter now unless—you're not recording this, are you?

[Which isn't to say that Will minds it so much as, now, he'd like to be given a head's up on the matter. No need to go discussing matters that would put them both at risk if there's going to be the potential for evidence left behind, even if a file can be deleted.]

[Chilton glanced up at Will, once that question had been asked. Yes, of course he was recording this -- he recorded every single one of the sessions held in his office. The raw exception would boil down to Walt, at the moment, since that was quite a different case altogether. And while it irked Chilton to lose that breath of control (the conversations for posterity and reference), he would rather sacrifice that than risk another bout of ricin poisoning.]

No one knows about it. [As much of a confession as Will was going to get.] I have complete control over the historical evidence.

[As much as a confession as he'd ever ask for, Will immediately looks up at the nearest corner of the room, eyebrow lifting. He can't see them, of course. He never could in the first place, unless they were set up to be obvious. He checks anyway, for what it's worth, reminded of a conversation he had with Abigail about not spilling the beans to Doctor Chilton that talking things out had worked. A request with no bite; she had eventually come around to liking the not-at-all-a-jerk, in her own way. So rather than show his ass by blurting out the name of Abel Gideon or something else meant to stay in the shadows, he swims into:]

Just in your office, or do you... [From one corner to the other, like his request isn't telling, doesn't take effort for him to put on the table.] ...have any recordings with Abigail under that complete control?

[Had Chilton assumed that Will looked over their texts and listened to what conversations he had with Abigail Hobbs on an obsessively frequent basis that took time to shake, completely aware it wasn't healthy but unable to stop, he'd be 100% right. If there's new material to look over, Will is on board with falling back into that habit.]

[The accusation took Chilton by surprise: his office was his kingdom, his fiefdom, the small yet highly regulated grounding the son of a hedge knight might acquire. And while Chilton sought more (always hungry, starving), his influence remained politely in the areas he already controlled.

The shared or private rooms of his housing unit had never been one of those areas.]

I never connected any recording devices to whatever area she might have touched, unless she frequently sought engagement in my personal bedroom. [Which sounded weird to say.] You'll have to remember it was Danger who invaded House Nine in Heropa.

[... Or, perhaps he had never illuminated that to Will? Well, you know, Danger had always been meticulous with her stalking.]

[No, he hadn't, and that is reflected on his face. But since they're not snapping at each other like hungry dogs in battle over the last bit of chow, it's easier to let confusion, terror, concern out in a more muted manner. She hadn't thrown him into the ocean, but this is all still new and still somewhat horrifying. And not just because he can think of that invasion from Chilton's point in view; in general, that's not a cakewalk.]

Right. [The slow agreement of someone who didn't know, doesn't know what else to say or do other than nod and move along. Oh yeah, the Danger invasion, right.] I'll just keep that in mind while we're in here and [another glance at the corner, a hint of a smile] keep it to myself.

[He's such a good boy, isn't he? He can remove all evidence anyone was at what could be considered a crime scene and he can keep less grave secrets! Who wouldn't want a Will Graham of their own?]

It isn't an... Issue, any longer. Quite obviously. [The unease of his confession swelled, like groundwater gurgling up from a well. Perhaps he shouldn't be so cavalier with his love life, especially considering how Will had already been acquainted with Raina, as Chilton had been the one to originally bring her up. Wouldn't want an FBI bloodhound drawing comparisons, would he?] I just. It isn't me you had to worry about.

[Even without the full thrust of his nearing fate, Chilton distilled a certain distaste for framing jobs.]

-- Not that I think you do, mind. I know we're all friends here.

[He said to Will, referring to himself. We're all friends here spoken to a nearly empty room.]

Speaking of. How are your other connections? Your friends, I suppose.

[He's already started drawing comparisons—worrying, mostly. He's not sure if Chilton would like to believe that Will doesn't worry or if he truly believes it, but he does worry, and the uncomfortable shifting in his seat that ends with him crossing his legs in a very not Will Graham manner should give it away. He's doing everything he can to keep from saying it out loud, short of reaching and taking his coffee back. He can't help it, especially not after what had apparently gone on without him ever being aware of it. Chilton talked of ensuring they were kept safe, which was fine and all, but it worked to light a fire under Will's ass about how he'd clearly been negligent in his duties and needed to remedy that.]

Fine. [Said in a voice that didn't sound believable at all, but what could he use, within his connections, to spur interest? And therefore keep it away from others...like Sasha. Only one way to go.] I've been acting as a probation officer for Ken Kaneki. He's done very well with it, too. The government...

[provides bodies for him so he can consume flesh without having to find it on his own...that's too wordy, and doesn't get at the meat of it directly. The reason Will was on board with Ken, more than just their former status as housemates. He looks off at that room full of friends as his voice falls short, and steels himself by gripping the armrests again before he looks back at Chilton, nothing hidden, and cuts to the cahse:]

He's a cannibal. His biology makes it necessary.

[Chilton looked right at Will. He looked away, towards his left shoulder. Silently. Then he looked right at Will again.]

He's. A. Cannibal?

[The following reasoning for Ken's cannibalism did not resonate. Chilton kept staring at Will, his head slowly -- almost imperceptibly -- moving side to side. A tectonic motion of oh no.]

Will, no. Why would you ever humor this -- behavioral defect? I mean, for god's sake, a cannibal! Are you but a magnet to them? How does this continuously happen!

[Will has the common decency (and the common sense God gave a lemming) to look away, look down, frown, show something that could be taken as a form of shame, the dog realizes his chewing the couch is bad behavior. Rub his nose in it some more, let him sneeze out cotton stuffing for days.]

Somebody had to do it, Frederick. We'd been housemates before, and better me than someone who—

[He doesn't finish that thought, but perhaps Chilton can follow it well enough, having seen his reactions to Hannibal Lecter up close and personal: better me than someone who could take advantage, take an interest in him that wasn't good. He bites it back, though, and abruptly shifts gears on the tail end of a broken thought, keeping it still just as personal, voice dropping, low and matter of fact instead of bitter.]

You say that like I'm not a cannibal, too.

[Not that he's told Ken yet, but he plans to. That he keeps his eyes on the edge of the desk has nothing to do with any kind of shame this time around—he's chosen his words carefully. I'm instead of we're. Will went to a different level altogether with the whole cannibalism than Chilton ever did, and even though he's not sure about discussing certain events after Jack Crawford showed up to his house and chased his former psychiatrist through the snow...well, maybe his phrasing is enough to give away that more happened so that Will no longer considers the two of them in the same category of cannibalism.

Or just doesn't find it a topic Chilton might be keen to openly speak on and Will's trying to think of his feelings—however he wants to take it.]

I know, I know. [Chilton has the bridge of his nose between his index and thumb, rubbing away at his sinuses. Will's excuse, his logic, is sound -- regardless of how Chilton personally feels about the context, Will remains rational.]

I won't deny that. You bring up fair points.

[Who better to understand Ken's point of view, without bias? Who else had Will's instinctual ability, his trained perception? Who else could possibility have empathized in the least destructive way?

If this Ken could ever become a problem, only Will Graham could defuse the situation.]

You aren't. A cannibal. I know. This is just -- it's distressful, Will. Given what we have both come from.

[You aren't—he looks back up at that, hands relaxing without even thinking about, tension drained, transferred. He wasn't analyzing him, but it was very clear that Will's entire point of focus at this moment was Frederick Chilton and no one else. Perhaps an unnerving effect to have just the same. Had he brought coffee that was surely losing its heat by now? He couldn't know or care, so narrowed in on Chilton as he was. The center of the universe sat behind the desk right across from Will Graham.]

I meant what I said. [Quiet, stern, calm—Chilton could tell him down, bad, good, or say no as much as he wanted, talk about what was good or bad for him, healthy or unhealthy, fine. When that began to infringe on you don't know who and what you are? Enough. A gentle correction wasn't unfair, the dog simply standing his ground instead of barking or moving to bite.] You don't want to talk about it, either, do you? What he was feeding all of us.

Will... [Chilton shifted -- more accurately, he squirmed -- in his chair when Will Graham cut his own questions. Chilton didn't detect malice. This, he determined (reluctantly) was only another fair line of logic poised before Chilton. Offered to him. And given the source... It was almost sacred, this invitation.

He couldn't deny it. Chilton couldn't negate that sensation of obligation to Will. Oh, that emotional affinity wouldn't eradicate his habit of poking and prodding the other man; Will Graham would always remain a fascinating psychological study. Always. But Chilton had since evolved from that first face-to-face meeting, with Jack Crawford as their chaperone. Will Graham had been so useful, so crucial, in his survival in Baltimore, in Heropa. He was consistently Chilton's friend, when the psychiatrist so often lacked that empathetic foundation.]

No, I don't.

[It was a surrender whispered.]

But I was never as close to him as you were.

[Will didn't leash his dogs unless he had absolutely had to. They ran the breadth his property without anything to hinder them, other than a whistle or called name if they went too far. None of them would be left out in the cold, or heat, or even a fair day if they didn't want to be. He'd always open the door as soon as he heard a scratch or bark, even if he'd just sat down to do something else entirely. This invitation is much the same. He thinks Chilton is aware of it. If not...he looks off, lifts his eyebrows, fingers stretching for a moment, giving off the appearance of someone about to say Well, if you ever change your mind—a failed business venture ended and an exchange of cards just in case. But he won't leave. Chilton's shutting down the conversation can't be returned by Will shutting him off from anything else, and he can't respond by something cutting about what sort of company Chilton may or may not be keeping, either. He doesn't want him to think that his guards are going to go up harsher and taller than ever until Chilton finally indulges the topic, certainly not. It isn't in Will's design to make Chilton squirm on a constant basis.]

As far as I know, everyone else is doing well enough. [For this place, he means, where close associates can go missing in the blink of an eye or disaster spreads like wildfire just as quickly, flares of tragedy and upset coming and going. His hands go back to rest over the same spot on his stomach again, fingers loosely tangled together.] I have a few people outside of April I talk to on a regular basis, the rest...more of an as needed or checking up basis, on both sides.

[That isn't quite a smile, but Will being Will, its easy to take that way. As needed to see how one of them is doing after a mishap, or if they'll be in town, or where Will wants his birthday cake delivered, or if one of them has seen someone lately, or if he has the time to talk about what to do in the wake of an elk head sending Abel Gideon off...normal friendship with a dog-fighting fishman who avoids socialization things.]

- IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

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