The Man in Black (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blackhat) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2017-08-19 02:12 am
blackhat) wrote in maskormenacelogs2017-08-19 02:12 am
i'm crazy
WHO: Frederick Chilton and The Man in Black
WHERE: Maurtia Falls Psychiatric Hospital for Abnormal Conditions
WHEN: August
WHAT: The man in black turns up during operating hours.
WARNINGS: Insensitivity.
[ It was part of the deal, originally, when William went in with Chilton as a business partner, he’d also enter into his services as patient. Never given in writing, but after months of reschedules and "day of" cancellations (with all requisite fees paid in full), the man in black gets around to making a session. Maybe he’s having a low day. Maybe there’s another meeting he wanted to miss even more than this one. He looks tired, for someone with an eye for that kind of thing.
We may never know for sure.
He’s on the sedan because who has time for this shit and he has a skinny old ass -- slouched low with his knees wide apart, like he’s in detention.
The clock’s running and he hasn’t had anything to say, past a grunt to acknowledge whatever initial greeting; a steady vrrr, vrrr, vrrr from his pocket is ignored until it stops. Once it has, he draws his phone out to see who he missed.
Then he opens up a text message.
Rude. ]
Seen any good lunatics lately?
WHERE: Maurtia Falls Psychiatric Hospital for Abnormal Conditions
WHEN: August
WHAT: The man in black turns up during operating hours.
WARNINGS: Insensitivity.
[ It was part of the deal, originally, when William went in with Chilton as a business partner, he’d also enter into his services as patient. Never given in writing, but after months of reschedules and "day of" cancellations (with all requisite fees paid in full), the man in black gets around to making a session. Maybe he’s having a low day. Maybe there’s another meeting he wanted to miss even more than this one. He looks tired, for someone with an eye for that kind of thing.
We may never know for sure.
He’s on the sedan because who has time for this shit and he has a skinny old ass -- slouched low with his knees wide apart, like he’s in detention.
The clock’s running and he hasn’t had anything to say, past a grunt to acknowledge whatever initial greeting; a steady vrrr, vrrr, vrrr from his pocket is ignored until it stops. Once it has, he draws his phone out to see who he missed.
Then he opens up a text message.
Rude. ]
Seen any good lunatics lately?
no subject
[And with a sharp little smile, Chilton leaned over with an elegant finger extended to buzz the desk-bound intercom. Reggie Mantle, his receptionist out front in the lobby, was on the receiving end.]
Reggie, please inform me when my second appointment arrives.
[Leaning back in his thronelike chair, satisfied with his punchline, Chilton tented the tips of his fingers against each other as he stared a mild glance at William.]
Although we might disagree on the definition of good. I had not expected you to come, Mr. Walker, and I do not doubt that you hear that often.
no subject
[ Billy’s still texting while he says so, with a span of silence allowed for the distraction in between. Send. He tucks the phone away, and now Chilton has the full of his attention, slanted and grey as a bent steel rail, one arm hooked over the back of the couch.
His eye contact is a little too dead on to read as impressed. ]
You practice this shit in front of a mirror?
no subject
[Noncommittal either way, Chilton had enough experience side-stepping patient deflections to take William into a waltz. The texting didn't bother him; distractions were nothing new, nothing skin-biting. He was a seasoned psychiatrist who specialized in highly inconvenienced people with violent tendencies.
The very fact of William's showy disinterest meant Chilton had an opportunity to prick at nerves.]
Why are you here? After all this time?
no subject
Why does anyone ever turn up here?
The fact that he’s dressed for the office doesn’t lend much in the way of any clues. It’s too early for lunch. Prime time for any number of mid-morning meetings or events he’d rather have his brain picked over than attend. ]
You know anything about a fella in De Chima who dresses up as a bat?
no subject
[Chilton raised a skeptical eyebrow, as if to suggest he thought William was above this breed of tomfoolery. He paced a moment with a deliberate, suffering breath inhaled.]
You have met the fallen Doctor Crane, I presume? Let's just say there is a bit of mirrored imagery going on in that relationship.
-- Are you courting him?
no subject
Took my gun, a while back. [ he explains, without much feeling. ] Had to order another one.
[ He’d like to blow up his car, is what he’s saying, in the tone of voice generally reserved for people who borrow pens and don’t bring them back. ]
no subject
[Gossip glistened too easily on his tongue. That was the problem with silver, it didn't soak in secrets well.]
Can't help you with the Batman. [Low, dulcet tones took a grave step left.] He isn't mine to play with.
no subject
Wouldn’t be the first time Chilton tried to steer him out into the path of an 18 wheeler on legs since he got here. ]
Met your fiance, [ is what he comes back with, after sufficient pause to signal a change in subject matter. He hooks his thumb back to scuff at an itch under his chin, casual disregard between the bony recline of his shoulders and the wide angle of his knees. ]
I don't think she likes me.
no subject
[Chilton stood, turning to the bookshelf that lined his immediate background, and reached for the decanter. One glass, and then some hesitation.
Two glasses.
He shot William a dissatisfied look as he poured. Rye whiskey, one of the usual contenders gracing his bookshelf's crystal decanter. Chilton pushed William's glass close to the edge of his desk, unwilling as he was to stand and walk it over.]
I told her not to engage you, that you would want to see her angry. You find people more interesting when they are emotionally ignited. [He flicked his liberated hand upwards, the other holding his drink, and rolled his eyes.] As if that makes them more real to you. Emotional intensity. And arguably, nothing is more intense than anger and sorrow. They both feed into hate, to grief, into suffering.
[He took a sip, his gaze back on William.]
You, with your impeccable composure and dusty, tumbleweed dignity. You, who would never be humiliated, abused, scorned -- you love to see it in others.
That is weird.
no subject
And the rest is history. ]
Answered her questions. Reassured her I hadn’t seen you naked.
[ More truth. The truth about the truth. So double truth.
With the whiskey poured and waiting, he makes no move to lean or stand for it, but there’s some indistinct impression that he’s bound to before long. A barometric drop in pressure in his attention. He’s less tuned into Frederick with liquor on the radar, even if he waits where he’s sat like a skinny old naked cat -- pretending he’s not interested. ]
I find interesting people interesting, [ is all he’ll yield for more complex accusation, ] and here we’re limited by time.
Hard to truly know a person just from what they’re -- willing to tell you.
[ Something he expects Chilton already knows, if his look across the desk is any indication. ]
no subject
Knowing a person. That's just another method of possession.
[Without irony, he embraced the accusation for himself. A shrug to indicate that he knew he stabbed his own hand with that dagger.]
Possession, control. [Chilton shook his head.] You accept loss perhaps too easily, it isn't fear -- what you do, your motivation, it isn't based in fear. Is it... You are unfulfilled? Hard to truly know a person, you said. You are people-oriented, William, that's your compass.
It's existential. Your problem.
no subject
[ Longsuffering tolerance keeps the question level. He’s been on plenty of couches like this one. Frederick has the distinction of surviving more attempted murders than any therapist he’s ever met, but the process is familiar.
Without grunting or groaning for the effort, he levers himself forward up off the couch, and crosses the step or two over to collect the glass on offer. ]
I spent a lot of time and a lot of money making the world I’m from a better place.
[ He probably ought to sit back down. Instead he sips his whiskey at the edge of Chilton's desk. ]
You know what it really did for people?
no subject
[Wielding a halfway smirk and sharp incisors, Chilton almost succumbed to a wink. It was a fun game, having William sit across from him as he threw little worded darts in an attempt to prick at that calloused skin.
But then William shifted, claimed his glass. Chilton raised his chin in acknowledgement of the next question.]
Made them complacent? Allowed them to be cruel? Well, crueler.
[Pessimism leaked through the cracks in his smirk.]
Did you think people were like stories, William? That they all have a rational arc, or advancement in plot. That they had compelling reasons for their monstrosities?
no subject
[ That’s all. ]
Like veal.
[ His voice snags on the word with burred edges, contempt corroded through to his core. It’s turned inward, black in the furnace of his gut as as it is through the boreholes of his eyes. Twitches of smirks and sharp teeth are taken in with a tar pit lack of feedback, closed over without giving back.
The William who leans to half a sit on the edge of Chilton’s desk doesn’t look like he’s had fun a day in his life. ]
You think I'm disillusioned? [ He doesn't wait for an answer. ] This may come as some surprise to you, Frederick, but I’ve never been much of a people person.
no subject
He knew the dangers of unmasked moments while in William Walker's company.]
I'm shocked.
[A mouth like aspen bark, dry and stark and rooted deeply. He match his eyes to that gaze again, staring back into the void.]
So then, what is it? You find real people too messy, too inconsistent for your tastes? You prefer the stories. The satisfying conclusions.
[The closure. Chilton hovered on that thought.]
Can you recall the last person you tried to impress? For the sake of this session, give it a try.
no subject
He waits for Chilton to find him again to drink, unspoken threat in the pin of his eyes.
He’s gonna figure out whatever the hell that was about.
Somehow, someday.
For now, he’s already been prompted with the task of remembering who he last tried to impress, which is proving to be a challenge. ] Person? [ He has to clarify, as much of a stall as it is a serious question. A last swallow fills out the rest of the delay, and he squares his empty glass on Chilton’s desk like it belongs there. ]
no subject
[Which did not specify a human, necessarily. Half of his serious romantic relationships in this strange universe had been with beings quite removed from humanity -- at least, in its genetic form. Chilton had no qualms considering anything that met a self-awareness to satisfy the question of personhood. And perhaps because of that bias, he did not press thumb to vein on William's meaning.
Chilton tapped his gold pen against his desk, the wooden beats in rapid succession.]
So no, your horse would not count.
[A quick smirk cut across his face, its angle like a dagger's slice. William didn't like the foreplay, so Chilton decided to penetrate the point.]
Your social circle is limited. I admit, I was somewhat surprised when you took the invitation to Stark's soiree. Not that I doubt you fit in. [A tilt of his head.] But that was a healthy decision on your part, to expand your interactions. Better than enacting a solo western in the dark, isn't it?
no subject
[ He plots a wide path back towards the couch, but doesn’t take a seat. Restless, maybe, now that the questions have started. Allergic to the structure of couch and chair and desk and bookshelves and gold pens. The only glint of finery about William’s person is the gold band at his knuckle, wealth subdued in somber colors and sleek tailoring. ]
I needed information she had, [ he says. ] Same as I need the expertise of one or two of your friends in the supervillain business.
[ Did Chilton think his attendance was ever about expanding his social circle? The man in black sizes him up across the desk, shady with suspicion.
And maybe just a little sour at the suggestion. ]
Stark's a timebomb.
no subject
[The judgement on Chilton's face spoke volumes enough to read the rest of the day. He was almost relieved when conversation shifted to the topic of Tony Stark.]
Of course he is. Why else do you think I invited you along?
[As counterweight.]
And -- supervillain business? Bit dramatic. [He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.] Our outfit is no shadier than any given corporate setting. The goal is simply to influence.
[But on a global scale.]
What do you plan to do about Stark?
[Abrupt circle around.]
no subject
Ask me how many times someone showed up to a meeting wearing robotic tentacles.
[ The answer is zero.
How many times has someone lit up a cigarette in Chilton’s office? That answer is about to be greater than zero, as William slips a case from his jacket and flips it open. ]
Capitalize, [ he says, rough out the side of his mouth as he slips a cigarette out into his fingers. Plain as anything, nearly a scoff. What’d he expect? ]
no subject
[Because Chilton was willing to wager he could count that number on his non-tentacled hand -- but he would be able to count it nonetheless. At the sight of the exposed cigarette, Chilton flared his nostrils. His shoulders stiffened, he stood up and walked over to the still-standing William, encircling his quarry. Height difference notwithstanding, Chilton searched for an opportunity.]
Seems like a limited plan. Too simple for even your tastes.
[Behind William now, his voice bearing down as icy as hail. Chilton examined for a bare patch of skin, a bit of neck, a slice of cheek. Anything he could touch and sedate -- if only to make a point.
He'd take abuse outside his hospital, he'd suffer a lot of it. But never while within.]
no subject
So it is a better question. All the more reason for him not to dignify it with a response. ]
Guess we’ll have to wait and see, [ is what he says instead, just above a mutter on the subject of simple plans. Dismissive.
But he hasn’t touched lighter to cigarette just yet, given pause by a prickle at the back of his neck. Something in the chill of Chilton’s voice, like the rattle of a snake at his back.
His height advantage isn’t all it seems up close and vulnerable -- hardly an inch, if that. The difference between one cat and another, hard to even distinguish at a glance. William holds himself like the bigger man, even with caution pricking adrenaline at the ends of his nerves. Buzzing under his tie.
The scruff of his neck is bare at his collar. Easy to reach.
He flicks the lighter open in his hand, and strikes the flint. ]
no subject
Not a heavy one, no. Just enough to make William feel a little weak in the knees, a little light-headed. Just enough to impose the whisper of a threat behind a set of smiling teeth.]
I suggest you might want to sit down, Mr. Walker.
[Said Chilton, even while the request was contrary to William's very name.]
You might be feeling just a touch. Woozy.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XajYqrPwQkw
He sinks into an off-center sit, brow puckered. Dizzy.
Cigarette unlit.
It takes him a moment to draw himself together enough to look impressed. And a few seconds past that to flip the lighter shut with his thumb. It sounds a sharp click. ]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qaI8K02nDyE
[A soft bedside breed of voice. Chilton had made his point, he witnessed that flicker of recognition. He felt a swell of pride with the next breath inhaled. He drew back out some of that sedative, just enough to ensure William's mobility -- only some of it, as he would physically absorb the effects. Chilton was not immune to his own serum.]
You would have figured it out sooner or later.
[William always seemed to figure it out. The risk of exposing his ability had already been calculated.]
Are we done with the dick measuring? I could try a different kind, you know, some of them are quite nice. My sedatives aren't limited to some singular generic brand.
no subject
[ No they are not done with the dick measuring.
Sluggish as it is, and softened by an affectionate crook at the corner of his mouth, William’s riposte has all the markings of a promise. There’s also a certain chihuahua-baiting awareness to it. Tempting fate.
He still has his cigarette in his mouth. ]
no subject
[Eyes on that cigarette in William's mouth, and anyone could have been forgiven for thinking Chilton was watching the bits of flesh wrapped around it.]
So when you threaten me again, be sure to clarify your intent.
no subject
[ Billy’s mouth is as hard and worn out as the rest of him, full of teeth and the arrow tip of his tongue, when he finally picks up a hand to pull the cigarette aside. He holds it like he intends to ash it on the floor, with no ash to flick, and no ember to make ash. Force of habit.
Also he’s sleepy.
Unfortunately there’s still a slug grey sheen to the look he turns up at Chilton over his shoulder, nasty life in there, glistening, twisting over itself.
A horse dumps itself into the office with them like a dead raccoon prodded down out of an invisible flue, in a great, choking churn of black soot and smoke. Sparks snare through the smog under its hooves, and chase a sweep of its tail. A flash of heat fills the space, warm on their faces.
The horse is big and dark and familiar, dressed in full tack. Ready to go. ]
This my session or yours?
no subject
[It wasn't, not really, because the DSM was a diagnostic manual and not a book of trickery. But that was beside the point, and the details wouldn't fit his theme.]
And, in fact -- [An abrupt interruption. The manifested horse, sudden in its realization, startled Chilton enough to guillotine his sentence. He stared at it, uneasily shifting weight from one foot to the other.
He kept staring at it.]
I did not. Invite. Such a thing into my office.
[A fire hazard of a man, and his smoking gun of a horse.]
Need I give you another fingering?