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maskormenace2017-02-02 07:31 pm
infomodder) wrote in maskormenace2017-02-02 07:31 pm
Entry tags:
- † april ludgate | janet snakehole,
- † daryl dixon | the angel,
- † frederick chilton | chief of staff!!,
- † hartley rathaway | the pied piper,
- † jacob taylor | the protector,
- † john watson | n/a,
- † mick rory | heat wave,
- † rincewind | n/a,
- † sasha blouse | n/a,
- † theon greyjoy | turncloak,
- † will graham | wolf trap
009 | religieuse | video
[The video opens on Will, in his usual plaid, with a stupid fishing hat (REEL WOMEN FISH) sat atop his head. It's old and worn enough to show he favors it, wrapped about his head with a fishing hook tucked along the bill. He's propped against a stool with a line of fake bait and various fish-y bits and bobs behind him...and a sign that says NOW HIRING INQUIRE WITHIN hung just so it's easy to see from the window outside and inside as well.]
It's been brought to my attention some of you might've been getting unasked for messages. About fish, or the ocean...anything alone those lines. [ha ha ha like fishing lines o man] Should be fixed by now. If it keeps up, just...give it a few days and it should stop.
[He makes a "what can you do" face and then looks to the sign like he forgot it was there. A nudge of his elbow makes it a more prominent focus.]
Getting ready to retire. I'll still own the shop, but I won't be working here any more. Looking for some people who need a steady paycheck and don't mind bugs. ImPorts get priority. If you want something from time to time, that's doable, too. Just let me know.
[As he goes to sign off, a furry head comes into view and gives the screen a big, tongues-out smile. Fantastic.]
It's been brought to my attention some of you might've been getting unasked for messages. About fish, or the ocean...anything alone those lines. [ha ha ha like fishing lines o man] Should be fixed by now. If it keeps up, just...give it a few days and it should stop.
[He makes a "what can you do" face and then looks to the sign like he forgot it was there. A nudge of his elbow makes it a more prominent focus.]
Getting ready to retire. I'll still own the shop, but I won't be working here any more. Looking for some people who need a steady paycheck and don't mind bugs. ImPorts get priority. If you want something from time to time, that's doable, too. Just let me know.
[As he goes to sign off, a furry head comes into view and gives the screen a big, tongues-out smile. Fantastic.]
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[Spoken with just enough surprise and interest to seem an actual, earnest question; totally not taking the piss here or anything, no siree bob.]
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[A beat.]
Before I forgot, I have something to give you.
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Do I need to come pick whatever it is up?
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[Chilton says it almost flippantly, as if it isn't something that is bound to crush Will Graham's heart.]
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I look forward to seeing it.
[His tone is Polite For Politeness' Sake; that can't be changed.]
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I'm not one to judge on interior design. [Gestures at a house with dog knick knacks, at swan oral sex over the table.] I'll see you this evening, then.
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Yet.
[A slight giggle, followed by a clearing of sinuses.] See you then.
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But...well, what's the worst that could happen? At least he'll have a chance to tell April. He isn't heading off without anyone knowing, where no one can find him. Surely, if anything, this is a cover for a needed conversation. Maybe not an easy one, but that's usually the sort of conversations Will Graham is needed for.
He has the decency to wash up a bit at the end of the day, and to drop Gunther off at home. He doubts Chilton wants Will with dog in tow. So it's just him, in something wholly predictable, jacket tossed over his arm. His movements are somewhat jerky; they might not even register or be taken as usual jitters by any staff, but to Chilton, the minute signs are likely the same as gallons of blood spreading through water. His breathing, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curl and uncurl, how still he goes...poor ol' Will. Poor ol' Will waiting, doing his best to play it cool and neutral, feeling the nearly-overwhelming desire to dart for the door.
But it'll be fine.
No one brought him here, so no one can be leaving here. He will walk out whenever he wants to. He won't be a patient. He's just a visitor. A guest. Requested, even, and not because of murder!
How strange. Even more reason to not want to be here.]
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[Commentary about Will's wardrobe? Oh, Chilton absolutely delivers. He's ready to greet his Baltimorean pal in the front lobby, easily bypassing security with a drifting wave of his hand. Smirk on his mouth, brightness in his eyes -- he is eager to make an exhibition of his sparkling, unsullied hospital. The glass walls, the luminescent lights above, the sanitized smell.
In his pocket, he had a gift for Will.]
Feeling all right?
[How does this make you feel?]
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Uhm. [Wrong octave; he feels Too Much and is desperately gathering himself together. Uhm, he says, lower than his usual tone. Eloquent in its brevity.] Little tired. Long day.
[Will Graham is a fucking liar, but his pants aren't on fire.]
You had something for me.
[Right to business.]
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[Chilton considered his jocular tone to be friendly enough, but considering the contextual environment, sterile and much too bright, his tonal intention might not have carried correctly. As Will seized onto the point of his presence, Chilton nodded. His hand in his pocket, he pulled out a small black and velvet box.]
I thought you would want this.
[He said, handing it over to Will.]
Abigail's earring. The unused one. I gave its mate to her, the last time she was here -- you know. Because. [He touched his earlobe.] Because of her condition.
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He stood there, the famously empathetic Will Graham, struck absolutely silent. His mouth hung open just a tad to complete the picture. If not for the knowledge he held something very very precious, his hands may have dropped the box. Whether he wanted to laugh, cry, or scream was anyone's guess in the first several, long moments afterwards, staring at Chilton. He looked down at the earring. Recognition. He knew its mate. He smiled. A sad, pitiful smile, ugly enough to bring a dark storm cloud into the too bright world around them.
He turned his attention back to Chilton. That smile only became more of a cracked, wretched thing as a couple of tears framed its edges, dams around his heart crumbling faster than he could rebuild them. One, two, three, four—finally, Will snapped out of it, looked around like he was just realizing they were in...well, not public. Something worse than public, really. He put a hand to his face while the other shut the box and stuffed it inside his shirt pocket.]
Thank you, Frederick. [Thick, wiping his eyes once more. Allergy season! Such a bitch.] Have you been keeping it all this time?
[Was this a scheduled thing, planned, an ace Chilton had kept up his sleeve...or had he simply stumbled over the additional earring recently and formulated his gift then? They were two different things. Two different levels of friendship.]
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[The reaction was remarkable. Chilton would have been lying to himself, and anyone within earshot, if he had claimed that he wasn't looking for an emotionally reactive knee-jerk -- but mouth agape Will Graham? Hurricane in a bottle Will Graham? Unprecedented.]
Are you...?
[He had witnessed those tears.]
... Going to be all right, Will?
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Always am. [Thick, again. His words are tired, too, missing any expected bitterness. This won't kill him or put him at the brink of death. He'll be all right.] I will put it with its mate and the necklace you gave her.
[Uh, wait, what? Chilton might wonder. But that isn't bluffing, that isn't pulled out of his ass. It's said as genuinely as Will Graham can be because yes, yes he does have a sort-of Abigail Hobbs shrine and that is not unhealthy or anything, he will be All Right.]
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You still have those?
[Pity clouds his voice. The typically crisp syllables suffer a tenuous dip, his tongue presses against the back of his teeth.]
Is that healthy, Will?
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Had her room blocked off since she was last here. Everything's about the same as she left it. [He shrugs. It's not the casual sort, too world-weary (multiworld-weary?) to be flippant.] Would it be healthier to donate her things to charity? Burn them? I don't know. I don't know if there is any healthy option given the situation we're in.
[A rare moment, Will sincerely admitting there are things he just does not know.]
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[But didn't they all? Wasn't that Baltimore?]
Regardless -- you seem to be. Coping.
[Not necessarily well, no, not in Chilton's professional opinion. But Will was surviving. The eternal thrust of this universe's whimsy had not stripped him naked of his humanity.]
Maybe I just should have mailed it?
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No. Mail loses things sometimes. Wouldn't want that. [He pats his pocket.] You couldn't see my reaction if you mailed it, either.
[Will raised an eyebrow in return, knowing but not upset. The mail was significantly less dramatic. Better to see to things in person.]
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I suppose so. Then I should say: good of you to come all this way.
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