Dr. Frederick Chilton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
slightlyoffchilt) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2014-07-12 03:34 pm
slightlyoffchilt) wrote in maskormenacelogs2014-07-12 03:34 pm
I don't need you or your brand new Benz --
WHO: Karla Sofen and Frederick Chilton.
WHERE: Karla’s annexed office.
WHEN: July 12th, 2014. Afternoon.
WHAT: Chilton and Karla’s professional relationship culminates in a splash of the titans, so to speak.
WARNINGS: Two jerks. One jerk gets manhandled.
For the first time since their mandated sessions had begun, Chilton felt confident upon entry. More than confident, he enjoyed a swelling smugness rising from his abdomen. His stride to Karla's office was more of a swagger; here he was, armed with the informational loaded pistol that he had bargained with Norman Osborn for. The price was, predictably, steep -- but far from impossible, and the factoids gained were deeply valuable.
She was located in one of the annexes associated with the hospital facility, and it would take Chilton ten minutes from his office, assuming he took the scenic route around the hospital's light blue tiles and through the palm tree prone courtyard. Along the way, he licked at his teeth, as if tasting the words he had calculated for impact.
Karla killed her psychiatrist.
As salacious as that notion was, the concept itself wasn't his bullet. It was the context, the implication: he had navigated through her network and took this information from her past. He had invaded her history, her privacy, her conceptual space. Chilton grinned a little to himself, closing his eyes to enjoy the submersion of sunlight storming earthward. He felt he understood the glow of those photons, in that second, even if he envied their slanted immortality. Photons moved at the speed of light, were defined by it, and time was stock still from that perspective -- if a photon held consciousness, it would know itself to be timeless. This was not a fate Chilton enjoyed, and it was made all too apparent some hours before, when Hannibal Lecter had returned to the scene of Heropa.
His Hannibal Lecter, this time around.
It took an hour of repression, of scheming, to compose himself for this shining moment -- Chilton found it nauseatingly coincidental, how Hannibal Lecter could ruin even the most removed of things for Chilton. History had a fondness for rhyming.
Hannibal the cannibal. Chilton closed his eyes, regretting the metaphor that born that rhythmic association. Not now, he chastised. Not when I have her.
He knocked on her office door, his timing impeccable.
WHERE: Karla’s annexed office.
WHEN: July 12th, 2014. Afternoon.
WHAT: Chilton and Karla’s professional relationship culminates in a splash of the titans, so to speak.
WARNINGS: Two jerks. One jerk gets manhandled.
For the first time since their mandated sessions had begun, Chilton felt confident upon entry. More than confident, he enjoyed a swelling smugness rising from his abdomen. His stride to Karla's office was more of a swagger; here he was, armed with the informational loaded pistol that he had bargained with Norman Osborn for. The price was, predictably, steep -- but far from impossible, and the factoids gained were deeply valuable.
She was located in one of the annexes associated with the hospital facility, and it would take Chilton ten minutes from his office, assuming he took the scenic route around the hospital's light blue tiles and through the palm tree prone courtyard. Along the way, he licked at his teeth, as if tasting the words he had calculated for impact.
Karla killed her psychiatrist.
As salacious as that notion was, the concept itself wasn't his bullet. It was the context, the implication: he had navigated through her network and took this information from her past. He had invaded her history, her privacy, her conceptual space. Chilton grinned a little to himself, closing his eyes to enjoy the submersion of sunlight storming earthward. He felt he understood the glow of those photons, in that second, even if he envied their slanted immortality. Photons moved at the speed of light, were defined by it, and time was stock still from that perspective -- if a photon held consciousness, it would know itself to be timeless. This was not a fate Chilton enjoyed, and it was made all too apparent some hours before, when Hannibal Lecter had returned to the scene of Heropa.
His Hannibal Lecter, this time around.
It took an hour of repression, of scheming, to compose himself for this shining moment -- Chilton found it nauseatingly coincidental, how Hannibal Lecter could ruin even the most removed of things for Chilton. History had a fondness for rhyming.
Hannibal the cannibal. Chilton closed his eyes, regretting the metaphor that born that rhythmic association. Not now, he chastised. Not when I have her.
He knocked on her office door, his timing impeccable.