slightlyoffchilt | - IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

[ There it was. The look Walt wanted to see. Although he could feel what was happening beneath his touch, seeing it present itself on Chilton's face? That was the turn on. The way he had one final burst of defiance before he succumbed made it all the better.

It was only after Chilton rode out the last of the rippling tide of waves that Walt pulled back, finally reprieving the man from his touch. And after a moment, he studied that hand before he brought it into his mouth -- finger by finger popped past his lips and cleaned. It was an act of possession as much as it was taunting. Look at the mess YOU'VE made indeed. ]

It was perfect. Everything I thought it would be.

[ He smirked and then pushed Chilton's mostly untouched glass in his direction. A gesture that said 'drink up, you deserve it.' ]

Now, you were saying something about making me do something? Do you honestly believe you're in the position to make such empty threats any longer? What we just did was me staking my claim on you. You belong to me.

[He watched, astounded, as Walt cleaned off his own fingers. Consumption. Wasn't that a running theme in Chilton's nightmares? Cannibalism was a form of domination, he had once said of Hannibal -- and that remained true, here, even if Walt wasn't quite as literal in his destruction. But Chilton felt cannibalized, just as much as he felt exposed and weakened.

He swallowed, glanced towards his lap, and tended to buckling back his belt.]

You've surprised me, Walt.

[Chilton was in shock -- and yes, awe -- over that stated fact. He thought he had Walter White all figured out up to this point, with a name to every string he'd pull. Chilton reached over and fumbled for his glass, lifting it to his lips. His hand shook until he swallowed.]

I am so rarely surprised by my. Company.

[Almost used the word patients right there. Almost.]

[ Walt knew what that brief pause would have been if Chilton hadn't caught himself. And he supposed he could have taken offense -- that even now, Chilton still viewed him as a patient. But the pause to Walt meant that Chilton was respecting him. Finally. At least enough to choose his words carefully. And that solidified this method of attack was a success. ]

You underestimated me. Clearly. But then again, I think you've been doing that from the beginning. Remember that time you pistol whipped me?

[ He finished off his glass and gestured the bartender for a refill. Then his attention returned to Chilton once more. ]

I don't remember a lot of that night, but I do remember that. How far we've come. Or rather...how far you've come.

[ Walt grimaced. The innuendo felt disgusting to say, and he regretted saying it immediately. That was more something that would have come out of Jesse's mouth. Not his. But instead of dwelling on it, his expression became curious. ]

How are you feeling? Right now?

How am I feeling?

[Chilton scoffed, harshly, into the remainder of his whiskey. It was a cruel turn of phrase, knowing that Walt let that syllabic boomerang fly with polished intent. The afterglow of Walt's force simmered in his mind, perhaps mitigating the brunt of his exasperated rhetoric. This wasn't the place, he reasoned, nor the time to engage verbal warfare.]

I'm feeling somewhat used, Walt.

[The sort of honesty that came with a darkly humored smile only after innuendo-soaked barbs had been flung. How far he's come, indeed.]

Of course, I am of the impression that you hadn't any audience when you had Pinkman.

[The psychiatrist gestured only with his eyes, scouring about this very public watering hole. How close they came to discovery: that was the tension in Chilton's shoulders, the width to his wide-eyed gaze.]

Your impression would be accurate, but it makes the situation no less humiliating.

[ The age difference. The age difference was what was killing him the most. But once Walt got his drink, he wrapped his hands around it, staring into the contents as he addressed Chilton's prior comment. ]

But used? That's a start. Do you, perhaps, feel as though the control has been taken from you? As though the roles have changed? Do you feel betrayed in some way? Are you angry that you didn't have enough willpower to resist? Did the guilt turn you on so much it was impossible to stop?

[ Walt shifted himself a bit. They called them guilty pleasures for a reason, and what he had just done to Chilton? Well, that came with its own interesting side-effects. Walt was mostly able to push his own feelings on the matter to the side in favor of reminding himself this was a necessary evil. It put him and Chilton on the same level. But damned if he wasn't turned on from it. ]

Edited 2015-08-14 19:17 (UTC)

You're looking to invoke my motivation.

[Quietly spoken, this revelation. It meant a lot to Chilton, who had invested much of his life into motivations, that this was Walt's newly minted tactic. A seizure of control (expected) but in a manner that pertained specifically to Chilton's forte. That was the most offensive quality to Walt's detected patronizing; he was simply being like Chilton to Chilton.]

If I am yours, then you are equally mine. I won't fight you, Walt -- I enable you. I want to help you flourish.

[Something that was no secret.]

You have to reassert some semblance of dominance, especially after what Pinkman did to you. For you. What he did because of you.

I understand that.

[ The look Walt gave Chilton was one of pure exasperation. Of course the man would dodge his questions. Of course he would turn this around on him. Walt wanted Chilton at a level where he could relate to him -- where he could crack open Chilton's head and see the thoughts on display. He wanted to ask a question and not have the evasive tactics. He wanted honesty. He wanted to know Chilton inside and out.

All part and parcel of owning him. ]

Do you understand it?

[ His brow raised skeptically. ]

Do you even understand me anymore? I don't think you do. I don't think either of us do.

I'm your creator, Walt. Something you've already admitted. Of course I understand you.

[Perhaps just as Doctor Frankenstein understood his monster.]

And I know that succumbing to you is the last thing our... Partnership requires. Your whole identity was fleshed upon trial and tribulation, why would I interfere with that learned behavior you've so cleanly adapted?

[Walt could expose parts of Chilton by force, but only parts. It was a sacrifice the doctor was evidently willing to make, however reluctant his initial approach might have been.]

You're not going to own me. And that friction is what will inspire you to greater magnificence, Heisenberg.

Trust me when I say I will do my part for both our agendas, whether or not you agree about the itinerary.

Edited 2015-08-15 03:51 (UTC)

Who are you trying to convince right now, Frederick?

[ Walt didn't typically use Chilton's first name. He had a few times, mostly in mocking. But he tended to stick to a strict surname basis. No Doctor. No Frederick. Just plain Chilton. So this was yet another form of attack. Another way to become familiar. Another way to rebel against the title of 'patient.' ]

Because what just happened between us was you succumbing to me -- so what if my attentions promised an even greater reward? Something more stimulating? You can't deny that you love it when I touch you.

[ His hands moved upward to brush Chilton's cheek, chillingly affectionate. ]

And my theory is that you secretly love this loss of control. It's as thrilling as it is frustrating. And you're so willing to ride it out just for the chance to one day take back what you think should belong to you. Because it doesn't matter how many losses you face, how many unexpected outcomes -- if you're the ultimate victor, it will all be worth it, won't it?

It will all be worth it, Walt. Every -- stunt you pull, every denigration I suffer at your hand. I will welcome my triumph all the more.

[It was unusual, for Chilton to speak with such thermal conviction, his aspirations in absolute parallel to his emotions on the matter. Chilton did not jerk away, nor did he flinch, when Walt touched him. He took it, like he had taken everything else this evening, with the cold comfort of Walter White's propelled arc. Submission would feed into Walt's ego, his submission specifically. Didn't that justify his sudden cowardice? Didn't that amplified any afterthought strategy behind his enjoyment of Walt's aggression?]

Did you used to think about me this much? Considering my psychological profile, goodness. [He didn't respond to that earlier provocation: something more stimulating. The words alone were enough to make one blush.] How long will you be thinking of this after we leave? Do memories still haunt you, memories of loved ones you've screwed, do those still whisper doubts in your mind? Or do I overshadow them now? Is anger that much easier for you?

[Chilton thought it was.]

You don't get a triumph. Not the way you're imagining one.

[ Walt planned to die. To rid himself of this world and his problems once and for all. Chilton would never get the satisfaction of having Walt.

His hand slipped down to Chilton's throat, thumb pressing lightly against his Adam's apple, feeling the vibration of Chilton's voice against his touch. He remained calm -- completely cold and calm as Chilton unleashed his verbal attack, tearing into Walter's motivations, picking apart his psychology while simultaneously reminding him of the family back home that hated him.

And it was just as calmly that Walt's hand removed itself from Chilton's neck. It raised and swiftly came down to backhand the psychiatrist unless he had enough foresight to either hinder its progression or get out of the way. ]

You still have so much fight in you. And I wouldn't have it any other way. That will make tearing you down into nothing just that much more enjoyable, Chilton.

[Chilton did not have the foresight to determine Walt's handful of aggression. The backhanded smack landed loudly against his cheek, and his entire head moved with the force. The throat grabbing, the feeling of how he spoke, that had been unnerving but hardly worth the interruption -- Chilton had considered it but another of Walt's dominating demonstrations. But that explicit engagement of violence, that drew eyes. And as Chilton moved his fingertips to touch his jaw, to feel the corner of his lip that had just barely split, he sensed the startled gazes glancing over himself and his company.

This was not the sort of impression that Chilton sought to impose, and Walt damn well knew that. In terms of public image, one of them had a long, dreary spiral downwards. One of them had a preposterous amount to lose.]

Of course, Walt. Of course.

[He wouldn't strike back now, he couldn't. He closed, his eyes and nodded, his tongue flicking out to taste the sliver on blood eking from his split lip.]

As you might imagine, it heartens me to hear this from you. You're coming along so nicely.

[Chilton raised his empty glass to the man sitting next to him, his motion imbued with sincerity.]

[ Walter let out a sound that was half irritation and half amused. Chilton sweeping in the take the credit, accepting the blow as though it was all part of the carefully preened mental damage he was doing to him. As though this result was anticipated. Chilton had started the madness, but Walt wasn't following his guidance. ]

Does it? It must make my father so proud.

[ He mocked and looked at the marks he left behind on Chilton's cheek and jaw. His palm went out to cup his face once more, and Walt unleashed chemicals to get the healing process started as well as accelerate it. No questionable evidence left behind for anyone to find. Guess who didn't care about any of the watchful eyes? ]

You can take credit for the idea, Chilton. The concept. I'll give credit where credit is due. If it wasn't for you, I would be wandering around aimlessly in the dark. But now I have a solid plan, an escape from this world. I'm alive and awake. And not even Jesse will mourn me when I'm gone. I think the only one who will, will be you. And not for any reason other than missing your life's work -- your perfect creation. The one time you actually got it right.

[Hiding the evidence. So Walt didn't care much about the local quality taking notice of his haranguing, but he wasn't too keen to let Chilton answer any inevitable imPort's queries about the now-healing facial bruises and cuts? Or did Walt not want to examine what he had done? What he was doing? Would he look upon his own works, and despair?]

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare -- I hadn't taken you to be a fan of poetry, Walt, and yet you sent that letter to me. That little postcard. Mocking me, even while you escaped and eluded my people.

[His people. Will Graham and Lucifer.]

I have already accepted the destruction you'll cause. I welcome it, in fact.

[It wasn't just the man that Chilton was after, but the myth as well. If he had to sacrifice the former for the latter, he could do that. He would have his book on the kingpin, he would collar that memory and leash that story.

But all of that relied on the flesh and bones of the subject first. And therein rested his tension.]

Why won't you let us work together?

[ He was about to comment about being very well-versed in English literature, but then Chilton made a confession -- or what he perceived as one. Walt raised a brow and his expression became one of disgust. ]

So you did align yourself with Lucifer. I fucking knew it. Can't wait for that to blow up in your face. It's only a matter of time before one of your demons turns on you.

[ Didn't Chilton even take into consideration that Abduxel was working alongside Crane? Didn't he stop to think for a moment about what Lucifer was and how he deceived? For a smart guy, he sure was an idiot. ]

And that is also exactly why we can't work together. You're not a trustworthy man and those you align yourself with are even less so. I don't know what game you're playing with me, Chilton, but you should be grateful I'm even wasting my breath talking to you. You should feel honored that I even agreed to meet with you on Friday evenings once more. But I told you already, didn't I? Everything about this is on my terms.

[ He reached down, lifting the watch bearing wrist into Chilton's line of view -- making him look at it. ]

You don't get say. You don't get power. You only get to give advice when I ask for it. You can be a passenger on my journey -- my gift to you for your enlightenment. You can belong to me. But you're never going to be my equal. And you certainly don't get any say in what I choose to do. You either accept it the way you accepted my hand in your pants, or you reject the notion and lose me -- getting to go back to your twisted harem of demons. Are you fucking them, too?

[ Too. As though to imply he and Walt were intimately engaged in some way beyond Walt pretty much forcing himself upon Chilton. ]

I didn't say I was aligned with Lucifer, Walt. [Not yet.] I implied I got him to do my bidding, which provides for possession -- as in, he felt beholden to me. To me. A tactic I have little doubt he's already caught onto. [Chilton's tone took the same as Walt's: for a smart guy, Walt was an idiot, too. A match made for each other.] You're not listening.

[Which served Chilton's purpose far better, whether or not his ego liked it -- what if Walt had listened? Would he have heard the restraint? The cautionary cadence? Would he question what -- or, more accurately, who -- persuaded Chilton to deliberate on dealings with the devil? Raina remained safe, this way. Walt might be able to identify her on the front page of a local tabloid, but he didn't know how much influence she truly had over Chilton.

And that was all put at risk, when Chilton sneered and scorned.]

Don't touch me.

[The hiss came when Walt took his wrist (and that gifted wristwatch) in hand. But Chilton only used his tongue, he made no effort to remove himself from Walt's grasp.]

Don't touch me without my permission. [An amendment, or perhaps a challenge. It wasn't always easy to decipher with Chilton.] I am the only one consistently attempting to help you, Walt. But I'm not about to be frightened off by your antics -- I identified your behavioral pattern. [I'm not like the others.] And I won't roll over and let you make such insinuations!

[Too. Now wasn't the time to comment upon that... But later, yes. Such a reference point could not be ignored.]

My personal life is, quite obviously, none of your business. That's a line you will not cross, understand? Whether or not you recognize me as an equal, you will respect that much.

[Now that surely was a challenge.]

[ Walt laughed in Chilton's face when he suddenly had the audacity to talk back to him, to establish ground rules of his own. He really didn't understand how this worked, did he? The hand removed itself from Chilton's wrist, and for a second, it seemed as though he was going to listen. That was, until, his hand went to the back of Chilton's head, grabbed a handful of hair and yanked it back -- forcing the psychiatrist to look up at him. Walt, then, leaned in -- hovering over him. ]

How cute you are, drawing lines in the sand -- even though the wind, or in this case your hot air, will cause it to waft away. I'm sorry, but did you try to imply you helped me? That you are helping me? Do I look like I'm on the path to sanity? Do I look like I won't just kill you right here and be done with you for the few days it takes for you to revive?

[ The words were murmured, low enough for their ears only. While the actions are viewable and drawing eyes, Walt was careful not to let their conversation be heard. ]

You can't shut out anything to me, Chilton. That's not how this works. So you better reevaluate your position and make the appropriate changes. And you better do it damn quick, otherwise I walk out that door and I take my legacy with me. And you? The only thing you get to do is pine after what could have been yours -- what will be another psychiatrist's. Remember, I still do have that disk -- bear that in mind when you make your decision about how much is my business and WHAT I have permission to do.

[Some people didn't deserve sanity, he wanted to say. Some people deserved something greater. But Walt didn't appreciate the perspective Chilton offered -- Walt still viewed himself as something damaged, someone who would destroy until detonated. As Chilton watched his company speak at him, as he suffered sensing the stares of those around him and felt the needled pain from his hair in Walt's grip, he couldn't help but appreciate how far Walt had come. No longer would the man weep on the Network in his underwear -- that personality was good as dead.

Heisenberg now took the reins.]

You don't have to use blackmail to control me, Walter. [That's what Chilton examined: the control. He was confident that Walt wouldn't kill him, because Walt needed him -- or, at least, felt as though he did to some degree. That was enough to inspire confidence.]

I don't want to do this here. In the open.

[He felt those eyes on them.]

Do you?

Why not? Didn't it work out so fantastically for you?

[ Walt snarled in response, tightening his grip on Chilton. He let him suffer under the humiliating attention for a little while more -- people seeing Chilton in a compromising situation, people seeing him weak. Really, Chilton was the only one who had something to lose here because Walt simply didn't care. So he wasn't in any real hurry to let him go. ]

Afraid to let your mask slip, Chilton? Afraid to let people see what an asshole you truly are?

Am I the exposed asshole here?

[He had to speak between clenched teeth, and his eyes were blinking rapidly. Walt's yanking had wrestled a few pain receptions so that tears began to unwillingly well in the corners of his gaze.]

Stop, stop before someone stops you. This -- qualifies as assault.

[Perhaps he needed to make Walt feel the investment between them, perhaps he had to harp on Walt's only discernible goal.]

A night in jail is only going to delay your death wish.

[ He glared at Chilton and then after a few moments more, he complied -- releasing him. ]

Lover's quarrel. Sometimes he just doesn't know when to bite his tongue.

[ Walt explained, straightening his jacket. He reached into his pocket and dropped a few bills far larger than what their measly few drinks would have cost. And with that, he headed to the door rather abruptly -- leaving it up to Chilton whether he trailed behind or not. ]

It isn't -- it wasn't a lover's quarrel. [Insisted Chilton, his knees pressed together as if in prayer while Walt walked away.] He's -- that man is my patient. Isn't it obvious? I'm not...

[Glancing around the bar room, Chilton swallowed, quickly forming the itinerary of action in his mind. He'd slip away, stall in the bathroom (examine the damage and clean up if necessary), then... Wait. Wait until Walt was gone for sure, then call a cab.

Then come home to Raina, to what he hoped would include a night of no questions asked.]

- IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

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