maskormenace | 009 | religieuse

Entry tags:

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.]

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Long day? For the soon-to-be-minted retiree?

[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.

[Will didn't question why he was being given what appeared to be a romantic present. He simply took it, trusting whatever was inside to be something he wasn't meant to wear. Intriguing. Perhaps someone had left Chilton a surprise, and he needed Will to ... He'd popped open the box as soon as that name hit his ears. Heavy focus on the plural there, as Will's eyes darted up to Chilton's.

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.]

I had forgotten about it, actually. But since the move, I happened upon it again. [His eyes were steadfast on Will.] Curious, how things seem to find you again.

[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?

[Tired, that was the look Chilton first received for his question. There was little point in getting all tight-jawed now. Eyes still wet, it wouldn't be a good look, any mix of anger and vulnerability. So. Tired it was. Pitifully tired, certain cannibals might think, might want to drape a blanket around him and wait for the next seizure to properly give him a reason to be pitiful and tired.]

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.]

[At last, he looks away. The mercy inherent to his deflect glance may have been late-blooming, but it was present. It was sincere. Frederick Chilton was indeed capable of both shame and compassion.]

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?

[Violence is a means of influence Will understand intimately, but with that, he's come to have some grasp of the opposite. Of mercy, and compassion, even if they are not given in the purest sense. Pity, he could do without, but wrapped up with more than just pity, it made a formidable marinade indeed. One that demanded something honest, still, something vulnerable.]

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.]

Burning is quite the escalation from donation. [He said, with one eyebrow raised. The hum of the glowing lights above spared no twitch; every facial nuance was illuminated.] You have a flair for the dramatic, sometimes.

[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?

[Baltimore, and a bit of Pawnee. April was the one who had suggested burning things, way back when. Who put a set time limit on these matters. Abigail was the only one who had been able to escape that particular fate.]

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.]

Well, I... [Chilton trailed off. He couldn't deny his desire to see Will's face in that moment -- Will had already called him on it. So, instead, he shrugged. As if a shrug was gentlemanly enough an answer.]

I suppose so. Then I should say: good of you to come all this way.

[A shrug was better than nothing, better than argument otherwise. He'd take it without complaint. He felt far more at ease now, as though some small floodgate had been opened between them. Paranoid worries of staying here were just paranoia. He felt better about that now. Felt more firm on his feet. Reminders of Abigail hurt. Hurt could, after the fact, make whatever was impacted all the stronger.]

Good of you to invite me. [Dryly returned, though his smile was quite warm.] Am I getting the tour today?

[Where is his room? Ha-ha-ha.]

Oh, certainly. The inpatient wing is limited, you must understand -- while the structural building has been completed, the Containment Centers are... A work in progress.

[Not that Baelish and the man in black weren't interested in their final construction.]

You would probably prefer the outpatient wing. You are not used to that sort of lodging, after all, are you?

[He meant it to be a light reflection on their prior relationship; the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane didn't have outpatient rooms. Those were all indefinite sentences.]

... Maybe you would prefer to begin with Rincewind's office?

[Chilton receives shifting eyes and the tiniest hint of a smile at his reflection. Nicely played. So bold, though Will expected nothing less from that feisty feisty tongue.]

I would. [Follow the leader, he can be good at that when he wants to.] How long has he had it? He's, ah. He has a very personal sense of decoration.

[What he means is Rincewind does extremely weird shit with his things and space. Not in a bad way, thank fuck, but uniquely enough Will takes notice. If ever a man made of Glitter is horribly murdered and drained of his glitter blood, that will be the only time Will Graham suspects Rincewind of doing someone a frighten.]

Since we opened the outpatient wing, back in November. We had to work outwards, you know -- my office, the lobby, to accommodate my current imPort patients, then the outpatient wing for the locals, then the inpatient... Well.

[Everything came back to those little glass rooms.]

I think Rincewind is quite proud of it. He is the Pharmaceutical Administrator Assistant. [A beat.] You do not need a degree to hand them to people.

[But you needed a degree to write the papers that allowed them, that was his point. Even in this microcosm, manual labor was beneath Chilton.]

[He's quiet as he follows, clearly listening even when he looks around at the facilities. His eyes are nowhere near Chilton when what sounds, almost, like justification hits his ears and has him turning to look at Chilton, eyebrow raised.]

Right. Plenty of jobs in the medical field can be done without degrees. [Matthew Brown had a BA in Adoring Murderers.] Who else is on your staff?

[That Will might know, he means. From their little superpowered population.]

Oh, you know -- Reggie, Doctor Quinzel, Hemali. I try to staff with imPorts, but much of the nursing and therapist roles are local citizens.

[The way he says therapist indicates that they possess only a Masters.]

Why? Looking for a new job? A change in career?

[A bitter, short laugh escapes. Good one, pal.]

You do not want me as an employee. [Any more than Will does not want his blood brother bff as a boss, he doesn't add, won't add, won't risk that rejection cutting too deeply.] Especially not...here.

[A moment's vulnerability covered up by wrinkling nose. Thanks but no thanks, good buddy.]

Nice, though.

[better lit compared to the baltimore hospital]

I do not?

[He looked Will over, his expression clearly not void of appreciation for Will's thing. His empathetic skill set. But Chilton was not Jack Crawford, and he wouldn't corner his friend into a proposition. He wouldn't run his empire like a man with nothing to lose.]

You likely have your own plans, I'm sure, for your retirement. With April.

[He had considered momentarily "forgetting" her name -- for effect -- but even Chilton had a limit regarding pettiness.]

I plan to support her continuing career. Have dinner ready when she gets home, laundry done, fix leaks. All that.

[Very enthralling plans of being the stay-at-home racoon dad. Hannibal Lecter's obsession just wanted to get away from the world and hang out with his dogs around the house, big shock there. The look on Will's face is all but daring Chilton to remark on it. Domesticated, tamed, whatever, anything.

Sure would be shame if anything cannibal-shaped came in and ruined everything.]

Supportive of you.

[The usual cattiness that would accompany that statement was absent. It was what Will wanted to do, what he found stability in performing: support. Better that he help another than scald in the limelight himself.]

I imagine you will find yourself quite pleased with the daily routine.

[Absofreakinglutely. To hell with that limelight, others who wanted it, who craved it, could bask in it and he'd be more than content in the shadows.

Retirement and shadows meant lots of downtime. Lots of downtime meant plenty of opportunity for new interests. It also meant plenty of time in case people other than April needed support, in advance or on the fly. Mounted elk heads are tricky fuckers like that.]

I imagine you're right. [Ah, the cool jolly breeze of "you're right" wafting out ever so casually.] Don't have a real daily routine just yet, though.

[He gestures forward, finally resolving himself to letting Chilton keep him however long he wants, for a full blown tour or just ten minutes, or a mix, or tea, or coffee...by your leave, Doctor.]

[Chilton offered a smile -- cautious, yet sincere, as he still has lingering frets regarding how he stands with Will Graham -- and inclined his head out of the office and towards the hallway.

A tour of the outpatient area, then coffee. The promise of a quiet, uneventful day.]

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009 | religieuse | video

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