maskormenacelogs | take up my message from the veins --

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take up my message from the veins --

WHO: Frederick Chilton & various imPorts! Possibly you!!
WHERE: Maurtia Falls mostly, and a single De Chima.
WHEN: Throughout June.
WHAT: Therapy & conflict!
WARNINGS: Psychic driving techniques as per the Kavinsky inpatient thread.

01 MAURTIA FALLS PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL FOR ABNORMAL CONDITIONS - CHILTON'S OFFICE, FOR OUTPATIENT APPOINTMENTS AND ANY CONFERENCES

Bela Talbot. Klarion Bleak. Elena Fisher. Newer patients, some willing and some... Mandated. But Chilton had an open office for all, to include older patients and relapsed patients, and he was more than willing to treat his fellow imPorts. Bela and Elena both merited careful, kind care -- the sort that Chilton built his professional reputation upon. Klarion would be a fine candidate for a Project, much like Kavinsky was, but his powers were truly horrifying. Whatever sociopathic tendencies the young man had, they needed to be redirected in the most healthy way possible.

Chilton sat in his high-backed leather chair, contemplating his next session. His office, painted in a light blue, maintained a heavier resonance with its gold and black accents. A decanter filled with finely aged whiskey sat behind him, nestled within his fully stocked bookshelf. Greco-Roman paintings and busts and trinkets littered his office, and gold pens glinted from his desk. Two seating arrangements sat before his, parallel to each other: one soft, light blue sedan and one hard, uncomfortable wooden chair.

He gave all his patients the same choice.

02 MAURTIA FALLS PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL FOR ABNORMAL CONDITIONS - STAFF AREAS, OPEN TO ALL BREEDS OF MINGLING INCLUDING STAFF INTERACTIONS

The boon of William Walker's recompense donation, which Chilton had summarily demanded after Walker's battle with Jack had destroyed Rincewind's office, was excessive and intended for excess. The hospital's exterior was afforded a facade change, a later Georgian design, and the basement imPort Containment Centers had been updated with three power nullifiers, one for each center, officially leased from the US Federal government. These prisons ensure that once an imPort is locked within the nearly 200 sq foot reinforced glass cylinder holding, they will not be able to escape. The main lobby, which typically contained some incarnation of Reggie Mantle, was accessible to all -- staff, patients, or otherwise. The staff lounge continued to maintain a modernize, even pompous, self-important sleekness, and brimmed with the necessities required for staff consumption. All vending machines had since been removed, thanks to the Rincewind Incident. Chilton had made the cause of this consequences very clear.

Each office associated with a staff member is decorated in accordance to the staff member's taste. While Chilton won't control the design, he'll certainly watch it -- every room in this hospital is recorded. Even the ones that aren't legally supposed to be recorded.

Staff are free to bring visitors during the day, but they must be armed with a Visitor's Pass.

When he does not hold meetings in his own office, which is indeed rather rare, Chilton will host them in a welcoming reception room on the first floor.

03 MAURTIA FALLS PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL FOR ABNORMAL CONDITIONS - INPATIENT WING, CLOSED TO KAVINSKY

"Now, Kavinsky," he said, his gaze determinedly fixed on the young man before him. "Are you ready to have a little conversation?"

They were on the second floor, the inpatient wing. The lights above glowed impossible bright, ethereally white. Everything was white on the inpatient wing, to include the hallways, with the rare pop of color amplified for shock value. Distorting, dissociating, stark and brutal. Kavinsky's own room was one of many lined along, with bullet-proof plexiglass guarding his enclosure as it fit towards the hallway. Inside his apartment, as Chilton called it, was a high-tech monitoring bed, a lamp, and a table -- all bolted to the ground. The chairs that they sat in were not attached to the floor, but they also were not allowed to remain in the room while Chilton was gone.

He had security remove them after the session.

"I brought you something," he said, softly, his gaze never breaking. From his double-breasted suit he pulled out a small book. A poetry book. Howl, Allan Ginsberg.

04 THE EAR WYRM, VINYL RECORD STORE, MAURTIA FALLS

He scoured for a sound that Raina would like. The gift he sought didn't come with a purpose, this was for no anniversary nor special occasion. There was a shadow soaking his subconscious, a primal fear reverberating into his behavior. This was because of Persephone, this was because of her song. She had sung especially to him, she had composed for him a song of betrayal and isolation and disdain, and while he knew that logically his loved ones wouldn't throw him into the trash, Chilton couldn't quite shake that terror. There was a tremor in his soul, because of Persephone.

So here he was, at The Ear Wyrm, looking for an unannounced present for Raina. To delay the thought of her leaving him.

05 LOUNGE BAR, THE HOTEL CASTILE, MAURTIA FALLS

Didn't a Sally once work here? He was fairly certain, reasoning that he had a memory of a sharp-edged woman named Sally once haunting James Patrick March's hotel. Or was that a fabrication, a deterioration in the mind? Chilton stared into his single malt scotch, repressing a shudder. Last month had been something of a collapse for him, he had suffered a psychosis that he had never before experienced: hallucination. Gore dripping from the ceiling onto the carpet, shadows turning into demons. In this hotel, beneath March's care, he had hallucinated more than once. Chilton hadn't discussed it, of course, he didn't want anyone to think he might be crazy. He wouldn't even associate the episodes with this hotel, this environment, if only to indulge the inexplicably darkness pulling at his marrow, sitting him here at this bar.

But he was lonely, sitting here. Isolated. Staring into his whiskey, ignoring the distant screaming he seemed to hear only in this place.

"Buy you a drink?"

Desperation in his voice.

06 WILLIAM WALKER'S OFFICE, SWEET IRON COMMUNICATIONS, DE CHIMA, CLOSED TO THE MAN IN BLACK

He threw open the door to Walker's office, unannounced and unrepentant. The receptionist knew he hadn't an appointment, and Chilton reveled in the minor revolution of it all. His stride was quick, determined, and sharp enough to outpace any interference from any secretary fearing for their job; he wanted to see William Walker. And he would.

"Well!" Chilton threw his hands upwards, smiling with a smug triumph unique to his mouth. "Your check had cleared! Renovation is now scheduled."

07 PLAYER'S CHOICE, OTHER, CHOOSE YOUR POISON

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[A quick, dry smirk -- Riesling on his lips, sparking before his teeth. He tapped the book's corner on the table, tap, tap, tap, watching Kavinsky all the while.]

No. [Chilton corrected gently, coaxing rather than chastising. While it sounded like a response in echo, Chilton had in fact ignored Kavinsky's question entirely. He sought to fix the first statement: I don't read.] No. People like a well-read man. They project their own intellectual aspirations onto him. They feel that his engagement reduces their own ignorance.

Take it.

[A command, harsher in his mouth. He held out the thin book.]

You need to be thematic. Who cannot take inspiration from poetry, Mr. Kavinsky?

I prefer, [kavinsky says, his voice is bright as acid, but not as problematic as a murder attempt,] that martial arts guy you got for me. [he puts his thumb in the next page of the book anyway, his eyes dropping to the page again, finding the word Holy repeating a dozen times down the left margin of the page, other words spanning out to the right.

Holy

Holy

Holy. alan ginsberg ran into much that was holy; joseph kavinsky can't think of one thing. not yet, anyway.] And not the priest.

So that's the order. MMA, priest, poetry. You maybe oughtta be writing this down, Doc. [but he hasn't looked up since he turned the page, his dark eyes scaling down the lines lazily, his eyelids hooded.] P.S. Highlighting the little bit of a contradiction, in the fine gifts you given me. [I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys. this line makes him smile .for the wrong reasons, but it does.]

Edited (switched disciplines, figured chilton wouldnt think invincible-boy should be much concerned with self-defense) 2017-06-13 04:35 (UTC)

You are already a contradiction, Mr. Kavinsky. [Chilton had insisted on addressing him in such a manner -- it was dignified, poised. Mister Kavinsky, as if to instill an upper crust enamel. One could be vulgar and elegant simultaneously; it was every Roguish Gentleman type of trope.] Might as well be a seductive one.

[Might as well make the people want your knife's edge. It was a dark, wry, angry allure he instilled, and he did it blithely. Hannibal Lecter had hunted people beneath the guise of amicability. Chilton would ensure that Kavinsky's theme was more honest.

Midnight amber honey trap.]

Have you been thinking about your friends? Your companions?

[Chilton hadn't disallowed visitors. He wanted Kavinsky to lick at those breezes of freedom, wafting in and out as they please.]

[there's a reptile flicker behind kavinsky's eyes, even though he manages to pretend more interest in the open book. it'd be a mistake to think kavinsky was being protective, alarmed that his doctor-captor-mentor had his hooks near the rest of the boy band. but maybe

something.] I don't got friends, [he says, which isn't actually him being cruel and cagey. he thinks it's true. by the measure of most people, and how most people treat their friends, he doesn't have 'friends.'] I produced and directed their shitty fucking reality TV show. You probably saw some ads. [he throws the book in the air, a half-foot. catches it.] And it probably violated your sense of aesthetics. If we was gonna film one in here, it'd be about drawing cocks all over your walls.

[a smile hitches the corners of kavinsky's face.]

I kidnapped Lynch's little brother cuz he wouldn't fuck me. I ever tell you about that? I told him. Last month.

You lash out. [A statement, and one absent of judgement.] Because you care about what they think of you, how they engage you. And sexual rejection is important to you.

[He kept his hands to himself -- Kavinsky wasn't under sedative, he couldn't grab that chin in his palm, he couldn't force hazy eyes to stare into his own before sleep parted them.

So he used his voice to caress instead: soft, luring, understanding.]

That alone does not make you a bad person, Joseph. You are not a bad person. You crave intimacy, like everyone else does, and your friends -- [a hard emphasis.] Should understand that.

[Should. As if the burden of empathy rested upon their shoulders, as if Chilton absolved his patient of sin. And that was precisely the implication.]

[the book thump!s back into kavinsky's hand, and he doesn't throw it again. he holds it between his palms and stares at chilton. the voice is enough. the words do the trick. the dream thief is surprised and paying some actual attention. a rabbit with his neck in the snare, a roach that wandered onto the glue. a boy with a new idea that he is decidedly

incredulous about. runs his fingers along the edge of the cover, pinching the slender volume shut. he could be shitty. he could be stupid. he's eighteen-years-old; kids in his demographic often are. but instead, he says,]

If you wanted me to care about people, why do you make me watch those fucking videos?

[it's tempting to get sucked into the use of terminology— 'friends,' bullshit-- but this is probably a little more relevant.]

Because they served you as an outlet. [Not quite true -- an outlet implied a discreet release. A beginning to an end, from which one unplugs. Chilton had always been enabling Kavinksy with visions of violence and blood and temptation, a freely charging battery pack.] And I would not encourage you to care for all people -- emotionally exhausting as that is. A burden you shouldn't have to bear, not at your age.

[A pardon of responsibility.]

I want you to care about the ones who care about you. Others -- they make mistakes, like you have. They are all forgiven painlessly, without struggle and without meaning.

[A curious tilt of his head.]

Why are you treated differently? And why should you care about those who treat you differently?

[these arguments are unsettling. kavinsky's eyes shift across the older man's face, waiting for the catch. the if but. the way the argument turns in on itself like ouroborous eating its tail. the point at which kavinsky himself becomes the snake being eaten from his tail.

or if he's just the snake digesting something new and interesting that'll build him up nice and strong when he gets older. but he can't look too interested. he's an eighteen-year-old criminal.]

You know--

[other times, he doesn't mind getting et. there's this whole pervy shitty teenage boy interpretation of those words that he's actually entirely comfortable with.] —if you wanna fuck me, that's cool. I don't got starched suits and crow's feet-- no offense, [kavinsky taps himself under the eye with the corner of the paperback,] but I'm kinda old-fashioned that way.

[He doesn't react -- he knows that's what Kavinsky wants, a reaction. A distraction. Deflecting the brunt of their conversation with flirtatious retort. Kavinsky was glib, possessed a need for constant stimulation, manipulative, apparently remorseless, impulsive, and enacted a shallow affect.

It was the grandiose sense of self-worth that Chilton found lacking. That was essential to work on.]

Do you think it appropriate for me to engage in sexual relations with my patients?

[Not that Chilton thought it was inappropriate, but that was well beside the point -- extraneous information that wouldn't play into this specific gambit. He leaned forward, hands folded together and elbows on the pristine metal table they share.]

Regardless -- [his voice dropped to a whisper.] Of how charming they are?

[As if he could consider it, as if it was a temptation.]

Edited 2017-07-02 01:52 (UTC)

[awwwwww oh no chilton you are making him smile. a tiny teeny li'l baby ghost of a tug at the corners of kavinsky's mouth. the charmer (no) because the charmed (actually). a hint of incredulity around his big hollow eyes. feels a little like old man flirting. but something about being stuck here, in this context, makes kavinsky less willing to point that right out, less willing to be obnoxious about it in the usual way.

there's a trap in here somewhere. he knows it. he's not as stupid as he acts like. he put down a tripwire and chilton stepped over it, which gave him to dig a what. pit with spikes at the bottom. some poison dart shit.]

I didn't know you gave so many fucks about being appropriate, [he says instead.] considering my cock gets to wear a little sci-fi Jew hat every day. [another page of the poetry book makes gentle crinkly sounds as kavinsky turns it with his tattooed finger. not even looking down.] Actually I'm pretty sure you give zero fucks about appropriate. And you're just fucking with my little born again gay virginity, like a asshole.

[still smiling. it is funny. (no.)]

We prefer the term unorthodox.

[Prim words for such a daring concept -- inappropriate now sanitized, made clinical, academic. A moral perversion, that was what Chilton offered with the insinuation of his intellectual cabal.

Inappropriate could be excused, if clever enough.]

Is that what you are looking for, Joseph? In this doctor-patient relationship.

[The hyphen qualification intended to create distance.]

I am interested in knowing about what you think of us, of our professional interpersonal interaction.

[nice, with the skirting everything that was in fact— inappropriate about kavinsky's accusations. his eyes flicker, but he's amused mostly. he has a lot of pride. easier to talk him into believing himself to believing he's had small wins than let him acknowledge the full extent of a sordid loss.]

Some of it's useful. Some of it's interesting. Some of it's trying to snap the mouse's spine, and I dunno if I'm the mouse, or the cheese, or the house, you're trying to clean the fuck up. Or the fire that burns it down in ten years anyway. [he lifts his chin slightly, his eyes drifting across chilton's face. baby shark groping around with his razor mouth, his most inoffensive effort to try to check out what this is he's dealing with.] Sometimes I think about how you and Heisenberg palled around, and I wonder which one he was too. And you.

[he smiles. shows teeth.]

I'm the house, Joseph.

[And the house always wins -- even if he loses a gamble here or there, he sees it as an investment. A way to draw in the addicts, the lost souls, he was willing to take a hit now and again. But only because the house always won.

Chilton flicked his wrist, as if dealing a new hand.]

I won't be keeping you here forever. The day is coming, when you will be out and about once more. Liberated and libertine. And when that day comes at last, what do you plan to do?

[way to hijack his metaphor, dr. c. kavinsky looks minutely impressed about this verbal parry! his worst nightmare is when somebody won't talk to him, so it stands to reason that he rather enjoys himself an elegantly thought-out response. it means that someone's thinking about him.

dr. chilton definitely left all the best components of kavinsky's personality in place.

kavinsky's turn to think now. his eyes go hooded and rather blank, like whatever force had animated his skinny stack of parts has suddenly deserted it, along with the book in his lap. and then, with a sudden blink of his eyes, it's back. he's back.] I'm going to take the world in my hand like it's a fucking apple, [he says, his little creepy baby face unwontedly serious,] and cram it in my mouth, and eat it.

Visceral. [He said, nodding his approval. Kavinsky was on the right track, his poetic priorities aptly adjusted. Metaphor and man could meld so easily together.]

You should get your agenda in order. [Both advisement and command. Chilton didn't want his Project flooded the streets aimlessly. Ambition, after all, was foundational.] With time to consider it properly, of course.

[How many more weeks? Two, a month? Chilton needed to revisit the schedule; the more he talked with Kavinsky, the more he was convinced of the young man's transformation. Maybe two weeks would slim down to merely one.]

That will be all for today, I think.

[Chilton smiled, standing to his feet, nearing the door.]

You have much to consider in the meanwhile.

[there's a thin smile on kavinsky's face at that, at being told that his metaphor passes muster. it's just aesthetic. he was always starving for something or other, it just used to be he'd say it was cock instead of compressing it into an apple. he flips the book in his hand and watches the psychiatrist start to walk away. by now, it's a familiar sound.

the click of chilton's heels.

the click of chilton's heels.

the squeak of the door as it swings shut.

after all, it wouldn't do for dr. chilton to give him more than a bite at a time.]

I know who turned me in, [he tells the doctor's back, framed in the sharp white rectangle of the doorway.] Feels like the way the ancient Romans used to gut animals to strengthen their relationship with their gods. You and her. [raina.] What you two got, there a metaphor for too? Did I get it right? [he lifts his chin slightly, settling back in his chair, the picture of relaxed.]

[He paused, one foot already over the threshold, and Chilton glanced back at Kavinsky. He knew it was a last ditch attempt to capture his attention, he knew he was rewarding the young man for this naughty behavior -- but he couldn't resist. His eyes narrowed, his mouth flatlined.]

She is not part of this.

[It came out like a hiss, low and serpentine.]

You and I, Joseph, we are something else altogether.

[

jk he's smiling.]

That's the kind of shit people say when they don't got the words for what the something else is.

[it's a little bit of a challenge. and a little bit just pawing for attention. more than a little bit of a desire to be contained by some flattering concept, some word or five. to know what he is. to chilton, especially. it's a bonus, to know he won it off poking around the doctor's personal life.]

That's it, Joseph. Push boundaries, that is exactly it.

[Chilton offered the cooing praise, as if he not only anticipated Kavinsky's acting out, but actively encouraged it. As if this was all part of his machinations, every cog and bolt screwing Kavinsky into place.

His smile, unwavering, only sharpened.]

But be more precise next time. Aim for the jugular. [A tilt of his head, and he walked over the door way, turning to close the door behind him. Watching Kavinsky all the while.]

Make them bleed.

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take up my message from the veins --

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rl screaming chilton no

chilton yes >)

cw sexual vulgarity

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cw anti-semitism

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