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)
maskormenacelogs2014-07-20 03:41 pm
slightlyoffchilt) wrote in maskormenacelogs2014-07-20 03:41 pm
Entry tags:
what have you got to lose --
WHO: Chilton and OPEN!
WHERE: All Around Heropa.
WHEN: July 8th to July 30th -- just indicate what day in the header please!
WHAT: This thus includes: psychiatric sessions, dinner reservations, coffee gallivanting, whimsical meetings of any any sort.
WARNINGS: Will update if necessary.
The sweltered gasps of summer whispered heavily onto his cotton button-ups and tailored blazers. Inspiring as the warmth and light might be (what better way to flesh out the contours of darkness?), Chilton struggled with his composure in the heat. And the heat flickered in more than mere temperatured conception; there was the metaphorical heat of sparring individuals, his own psychiatrist's history of violence and Borderline Personality Disorder, the cannibalistic ghouls of his past (and future) swaying back into his (endangered?) life. The stress was remarkable, plastering itself in the crooks of his neck, in the curve of his spine. There were fleeting fantasies, when he wondered if Christine had the right idea: escape Heropa for something more remote, something more brisk. But of course, that proposition was contrary to everything he had worked for -- Frederick Chilton was now an Attending Psychiatrist at his hospital, with a fascinating flow of imPort minds to analyze. This was a system he had wanted, the structure he craved. The brief hiatus from work he had taken lasted only three days, and even that was wholly in response to Karla Sofen's physical aggression (and consequential revelation). A minor setback. But with newer patients like Billy Kaplan (General Anxiety), Tommy Shepard (Anti-Social Personality Disorder), Erwin and Levi (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder), and now Godot (... in which the jury's still out), there was a cemented allure to remaining within Heropa's embrace. Not to mention his longer-standing patients, the individuals who suffered the verge of identity crises (his favorite crisis), like Doctor Connors and Kanaya. Not to mention his project with Danger, a situation that sparked new height of unethical relations. And certainly, his promised patients, the ones he was only starting to sink his fingers into their synapses...
There was no true impulse to abandon any of that. He savored every atom of that foundation.
The sun implored blistering antics against his back, and he weathered the heat graciously.
WHERE: All Around Heropa.
WHEN: July 8th to July 30th -- just indicate what day in the header please!
WHAT: This thus includes: psychiatric sessions, dinner reservations, coffee gallivanting, whimsical meetings of any any sort.
WARNINGS: Will update if necessary.
The sweltered gasps of summer whispered heavily onto his cotton button-ups and tailored blazers. Inspiring as the warmth and light might be (what better way to flesh out the contours of darkness?), Chilton struggled with his composure in the heat. And the heat flickered in more than mere temperatured conception; there was the metaphorical heat of sparring individuals, his own psychiatrist's history of violence and Borderline Personality Disorder, the cannibalistic ghouls of his past (and future) swaying back into his (endangered?) life. The stress was remarkable, plastering itself in the crooks of his neck, in the curve of his spine. There were fleeting fantasies, when he wondered if Christine had the right idea: escape Heropa for something more remote, something more brisk. But of course, that proposition was contrary to everything he had worked for -- Frederick Chilton was now an Attending Psychiatrist at his hospital, with a fascinating flow of imPort minds to analyze. This was a system he had wanted, the structure he craved. The brief hiatus from work he had taken lasted only three days, and even that was wholly in response to Karla Sofen's physical aggression (and consequential revelation). A minor setback. But with newer patients like Billy Kaplan (General Anxiety), Tommy Shepard (Anti-Social Personality Disorder), Erwin and Levi (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder), and now Godot (... in which the jury's still out), there was a cemented allure to remaining within Heropa's embrace. Not to mention his longer-standing patients, the individuals who suffered the verge of identity crises (his favorite crisis), like Doctor Connors and Kanaya. Not to mention his project with Danger, a situation that sparked new height of unethical relations. And certainly, his promised patients, the ones he was only starting to sink his fingers into their synapses...
There was no true impulse to abandon any of that. He savored every atom of that foundation.
The sun implored blistering antics against his back, and he weathered the heat graciously.
no subject
"One would think that being a man of your intellect would be more careful with his electronics when fraternizing with an artificial being of my level." Her tone may or may not have been slightly condescending. "Her blue-lit eyes visibly followed his hands as they retracted and curled into tight fists at his sides until his words, their pointed emphasis, drew her attention upward, towards his face. These were words that only had some detached meaning for her: private, guest, polite. Manners were a tool she used to coax humans to cooperate with her, something to smooth over their interactions-- not something that she utilized as a matter of propriety. Perhaps if her father had thought to teach her manners. "Perhaps you have become too relaxed, Doctor."
Nevertheless, she seemed content with the threat of accessing his secrets. The man was uncomfortable, nearly negotiating with her now. That was enough, for the moment. She shut the box and closed the latch. He could have his little device back-- but this was something else for her to pay attention to.
no subject
"And, to be quite honest, I hardly expected your interference with my personal belongings. We rarely engage in my housing unit -- yours is, for some reason, more palatable to your tastes." Chilton turned away, forcing himself to look out the bedroom window, keeping his shoulders trained to an even composure. He wanted to sublimate his emotions.
"Are you satisfied now? Having sent your metaphorical tendrils into the crevices of my privacy. Have I anything left without your touch, now?"
no subject
Her response came in that same clinical, slightly clipped tone of voice-- the one that suggested she had little patience for his protests. The man could be so verbose when he was feeling defensive or petulant. But as a machine, she was highly focused and a capable multitasker. Even as she gave him the weight of her stare, she had not ceased to analyze the room. So many security flaws, so little time.
Finally, she picked up the latched box, moving to the closet to set it back into its place.
"I am hardly satisfied with your residence will require so many adjustments to meet any semblance of acceptable security standards, but your attempt to appear diplomatic just now was briefly amusing." There, that monotonous robotic drone of hers again. "Inquiry: Is that a complaint that we do not engage at your residence often enough for your liking?"
no subject
"I understand your interest in the environment, of course. You have an inclination towards control." He eased into his aloof, clinical voice, one that Danger would undoubtedly identify as the sort of tone seasoned for patients. Particularly his violent patients. "Given how volatile this environment can be, in of itself. What with your father -- or some version of him -- and his apparent boyfriend coming to roost. What with Gideon's own assailant leaving Baltimore to haunt us all. There's nothing you can do about how this imPort community shifts, is there?"
Chilton offered a slimy sympathetic smile.
"So you'll double the investment of control in what you can dominate."