He took the parcel carefully, well attuned to the gravity of Kanaya's walk, her movements. It was evident that this was emotionally momentous for her, and he -- as her psychiatrist -- knew precisely the role he was meant to play. Kanaya was expressing this not for his benefit, but for her own; this was a truth that usually irked him, that psychiatrists were meant to play the sounding boards. Usually. It was the major thrust of why he pursued criminal psychiatry, because aside from the inherent fame (or infamy) and glamour, there was the reassurance that Chilton was unpuzzling his adversaries (as patients).
The role he played now was to listen, to guide when necessary, to shed a varied perspective onto the evidence that Kanaya was already aware of; he had less issue playing this part with imPort patients, of course, because of their unique positions. But they alone were the exceptions to his egotistical rule.
A quick, quizzical look shot her way, and Chilton gently uncovered those staves that Kanaya has so carefully wrapped. There was a certain ceremony to the movement, to the whole situation. There was an unspoken ritual about to be born, and Chilton was here to witness it, to enact within it.
He didn't know to whom each stave was for. He didn't know their personalities, what they had meant to Kanaya; he had not met most of these people. As he laid each piece in an even row along his desk, he looked up to watch her sitting there, observing this. Chilton took a deep breath -- the engraving indicated the purpose of what Kanaya had painstakingly worked upon. He didn't know if every stave referred to only imPorts or not, even if that was the pertaining assumption. Befriending the mundane locals was not high on his priorities, though those were the breed that couldn't resurrect after death.
But Chilton had seen how people reacted, when fellow imPorts returned home. It was a kind of death.
"Is memory sufficient? To keep them, with you?"
He asked it gently, which was contrary in tone to the words he spoke.
no subject
The role he played now was to listen, to guide when necessary, to shed a varied perspective onto the evidence that Kanaya was already aware of; he had less issue playing this part with imPort patients, of course, because of their unique positions. But they alone were the exceptions to his egotistical rule.
A quick, quizzical look shot her way, and Chilton gently uncovered those staves that Kanaya has so carefully wrapped. There was a certain ceremony to the movement, to the whole situation. There was an unspoken ritual about to be born, and Chilton was here to witness it, to enact within it.
He didn't know to whom each stave was for. He didn't know their personalities, what they had meant to Kanaya; he had not met most of these people. As he laid each piece in an even row along his desk, he looked up to watch her sitting there, observing this. Chilton took a deep breath -- the engraving indicated the purpose of what Kanaya had painstakingly worked upon. He didn't know if every stave referred to only imPorts or not, even if that was the pertaining assumption. Befriending the mundane locals was not high on his priorities, though those were the breed that couldn't resurrect after death.
But Chilton had seen how people reacted, when fellow imPorts returned home. It was a kind of death.
"Is memory sufficient? To keep them, with you?"
He asked it gently, which was contrary in tone to the words he spoke.