- IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

[slightlyoffchilt]

"Hello.

You've reached the direct line of Doctor Frederick Chilton. As I am not available at the moment, you might assume I'm quite busy with something pressing. State your name and business, and I will return your call."

Comments

[infomodder]

I know enough of him to know what you're referring to.

[That's all Will has to say. He doesn't intend to get into any details about having a deal with the demon, about figuring out his influence in De Chima. He's definitely not going to get into that whole kitchen fight with Mike and Elsa, where Will had settled it with a round of shadow stag leaping out of the ground. And he's certainly not going to mention he taught their demonic mutual acquaintance how to do his laundry. That tells way, way too much. Will isn't out to absorb Chilton's Matthews.]

It's nothing too exciting, I assure you. The focus is meant to be on you gaining the skills and confidence you need in case something less than savory happens. [So.] Five good for you? You can drive this time.

[Because any car April and Will share needs a thorough cleaning unless Chilton just wants to go home with bits of raccoon fluff still stuck to him. Which is just fine with Will, since it gives him more reason to attempt steering this particular change while sitting in the passenger seat with Chilton literally in control of the wheel.]

[slightlyoffchilt]

What a passably paternal instruction.

[In usual Chilton fashion, he spoke with a cynical drawl. His observation of Will Graham's behavior was only the surface cut; of course the psychiatrist would dedicate hours to analyzing Will's motivations, his tone, his word choice -- all for Chilton's own satisfaction, at the very least. All for his sense of security.

And of course, all for the echo of smugness that would follow in the knowledge that Will Graham favored his company, protective undertone notwithstanding.]

I will pick you up at five, in accordance.

[infomodder]

[The cut doesn't land—more accurately, Will doesn't change his tone to make it obvious how it's landed. His voice goes in the exact opposite direction, an unusual amount of excitement threatening to bubble over, warm and pleased. Why wouldn't he be? This is exactly what he'd hoped for. If Chilton can't put his enemies down completely, at least he should have another method of getting them on the ground. Perhaps until someone arrives who has no issues with disposal. Someone like Will, who could tear the scene apart quite literally and rebuild it into something that no one would ever point back to Chilton, wouldn't believe he'd get his hands so dirty, so filthy, so physically blood red while showing off how fractured and wicked his mind truly was. Few would expect that from Will, but just a few.

It was nice when a design pulled together.]

Great. Looking forward to it. [Bold in his sincerity, what sounds like shameless honesty. (Gross.)] Have a good rest of your week, Frederick.

[slightlyoffchilt]

[This offer was the sort of thing that Chilton had to doubletake over; the sincerity, the earnest logistics, the obvious investment that Will was willing to partake in was a tonic that Chilton had long craved, but often considered others to be the primary benefactors of Will Graham's generosity. The fact of Chilton's exclusive companionship when isolated in Heropa was certainly an advantage -- one thoroughly analyzed -- but Chilton nevertheless dug in his heels at the hint of hope.

He had so hoped for a firm interpersonal relationship. One that came trusted and true. And now appeared to be that very opportunity.]

And you, as well.

[Would you like to log a shooting session, handwave, or thread it out here?]

[infomodder]

[Will, on the other hand, doesn't spend much time analyzing it, if only because he's had time beforehand to work it all out in his head. The most he ends up analyzing is what to wear, which isn't exactly normal for him. It's a shooting range, no one should be going in their Sunday clothes, but he hardly wants Chilton to spot him and think Will's not taking this particular investment seriously. In Will Graham's world, solid colors are dressier—or perhaps that's just with people like him, who are so prone to plaid, checkered shirts, patterns made up of fractured parts.

So he's out in the yard just before five in dark slacks and a deep green shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he takes note of their dogwood tree. Standing on the corner doing nothing makes him feel like that one kid who couldn't avoid summer school, who couldn't even afford a packed lunch. Busying himself with something else while he waits it is, though he keeps an ear and eye out for any telltale signs of his ride pulling up. And as soon as he does, there's a quick smile plastered across his face in greeting, the yard is forgotten, and rather than shuffle or show any signs that he's dreading getting into a compact space with Frederick Chilton, he performs that half-jog sort of quick walk to get to the passenger door before he has much time to really stop. There are eyes looking out the front window, Will is sure of it. Fuzzy bandit eyes watching, making notes of departure time.]

Good afternoon. [Polite and cordial, Will sliding into the seat without hesitation or any show that he's expecting this to be A Trial. In fact, he clicks the seat belt in place, slips his glasses on, and settles like he's been in this particular car a hundred times before, perfectly at ease. Though a hundred times isn't enough to prevent Will from glancing around the interior blatantly, assuming that Chilton may enjoy his surroundings being appraised and found quality, even from someone unused to wrapping himself up in wealth, in being wrapped in the wealth of others.] Change my mind. We should take your car every time. Mine's...

[It smells like dog, raccoon, cat, salt, sand, sea, mud, it's battered and used and reflects Will on both the outside and the in. He can't catch a whiff of any of that in here, and finally looks at Chilton straight on, half shrugging and pulling a face.]

...just what you'd expect.

[There are a few ways he's absolutely predictable; let him delight in that, for God's sake.]

[slightlyoffchilt]

You make it sound so appetizing.

[Dry, almost deadened humor. Will isn't alone in his dread, the loose leave trepidation swirling now between them. It was somewhat surreal, and Chilton assumed that they both could appreciate that. Shooting lessons, under the kindly guidance of Will Graham. Chilton would rarely subject himself to anyone else's authority, but there were always exceptions to the rule; and when the rule was bend towards the psychiatrist's self preservation, that exception seemed less exceptional.

Red pain job, tan leather interior. Of course it was a nice car -- not his Jaguar from Baltimore, no, and it was leased. Chilton had some patience, at least.]

You are looking well.

[It seemed like an appropriate thing to say, as Chilton shifted uneasily.]

I hope you don't mind playing navigator. This will be your terrain, after all.

[What was Will's style? Lecturer? Disciplinarian? Mentor? Fascinating analysis to unfold, no doubt.]

[infomodder]

[Appetizing, huh? Chilton gets the barest of smiles, amused rather than rueful, but he's not about to comment on that statement being anything else. Same with the "appropriate" comment. Will knows he tends to shift between looking fine and looking like hell, he doesn't read this as Chilton holding back on something more, something borderline rude. You are looking well for once, who knew? There is enough of a struggle going on here, has to be, Will doesn't need to add onto it.]

Don't mind at all. [Fingers lace together over his stomach as he slumps in the seat, propping one foot up on the floorboard and letting his other leg hang loose, resting against the middle. If he looks comfortable perhaps he'll feel it, too, and if he puts off the image that this is really no big deal, just the two of them hanging out, perhaps Chilton can feed off of that. No power play going on if they're both at ease and treat it like a normal, necessary adventure.] It's outside town on the north side...near the gas station with the big waving trucker mascot, drive for that.

[Will will give further directions if it's necessary, gentle nudges to take a left or a right or whatever else. But Chilton can see the bigger picture about a lot, Will knows, so starting broad it is. Chilton might take different streets than Will would, but as long as they reach their end goal, that's really all that matters.]

We were glad you stopped in at Abigail's birthday party, by the way. Never got around to sending out thank you cards... [Because the Crane nation attacked. Because Chilton left town with Raina. Because far ruder things happened than not sending out polite cards, damn it.] ...I gave her a necklace last Christmas myself.

[Except Will's gift hadn't been the same sort of dick move, of course it hadn't. But even so, Will doesn't growl this, doesn't tense, doesn't give off the air he's bringing it up to scold Chilton's pointed gift. It's just conversation, not threats, not displeasure. He sounds so far from displeased one might assume he found Chilton's present delightful instead of the opposite.]