what have you got to lose --

[slightlyoffchilt]

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.

Comments

[larker]

See this? This is what others would refer to as divine providence, or Fate as it may be. Gabriel doesn't mind dogs, small ones that don't have a penchant for eating people. It just so happens that this route is the shortcut to the coffee shop. And so he's minding his own business, ducking the odd Frisbee here and there before he spots Chilton. Oh, oh wow it's him. It's really him! Chilton in the flesh! No way can Gabriel resist this, already snatching a nearby Frisbee out of the air to fling in Chilton's direction.

"Hey Doc, catch!"

[slightlyoffchilt]

The Frisbee hit Chilton in the throat. He wheezed and hacked out a cough, doubling over in an overly dramatic fashion -- yes, Gabriel had rendered him breathless, but it wasn't as if permanent damage had been done. Clutching one hand to his left knee and the other hand to his throat, the psychiatrist hisses out until his airways are functional once more -- and then he darts up, spine straight, to glower.

"Why."

His first, in-the-flesh word to the angel.

[larker]

Gabriel really should have seen it coming, he really should have. He's not even surprised as he watches the Frisbee slowly fly towards Chilton, smacking the guy a good one in the throat. Welp, that would probably leave a mark. And talk about drama! Gabriel thought he had the dramatics down well, but Chilton was almost outclassing him.

At least it's an amused Gabriel that saunters over, hands in his pockets and not at all looking concerned.

"I said catch, as in with your hands not your neck. Those things attached to the end of your arms." And just for good measure, Gabriel will raise his own hands, wriggling the fingers. See? Hands.

[slightlyoffchilt]

"You threw that at me!" Chilton rubbed at his throat again, keeping a careful rhythm to soothe it; after all, as a psychiatrist, he greatly depended upon his throat -- and tongue, as it were. Something that escaped neither Hannibal nor Abel.

"You practically assaulted me with it, I wasn't even looking your way."

Indignation brought back the usual pitch to his soft voice. The drama didn't stop with a brutal Frisbee battle, it seemed: there was plenty of stage for a martyr.

"Goodness -- you're Gabriel." After the wash of adrenaline subsided, Chilton was able to focus on his companion the details therein. "I suppose I should have been expecting a trumpet, rather than a Frisbee."

A dog-chewed Frisbee at that.

[larker]

Wow, is Chilton for real? Gabriel can't even tell if the guy is pulling his leg or not with the accusatory tone, watching as the psychiatrist rubs at his throat like it's helping any. The tone of voice should be reserved for things such as families being murdered, or brutal attacks, not idiot moments with a Frisbee.

"Yeah, that's what people do. They throw Frisbee at each other, catch them, and throw them back. Guess you missed that memo."

Seriously, Gabriel doesn't know if he should be amused or exasperated, settling for a mix of both when the mention of a trumpet comes out. "Yep. In the flesh. And for the record, it's a horn. That's what I'm meant to blow when it's the end of the world, or Dad's return, depending on whichever faith you fall under. The more you know, huh?"

[slightlyoffchilt]

"Not the memos I typically receive," he said, while clearing his throat. "But then -- I suppose you didn't get the memo about polite exchanges upon those impressionable first meetings. "

Shots fired. He smirked upon recovery, eying Gabriel cheekily. Rudeness was a cardinal sin, where he came from -- assuming one accepted the Ripper as the self-proclaimed god he desperately wanted to be. As far as Chilton was concerned, however, that sort of godhood was saddled with a complex following. Briefly, he wondered if Gabriel had met Hannibal, and what the angel might thing of the individual.

Individual. As if even Chilton wouldn't consider him merely a man.

"Ah, yes, a horn. Do you often practice, blowing your own horn?"

This was asked with the most innocent of tones.

[larker]

"That memo doesn't exist, it's a myth. And I don't think it gets any more impressionable that a Frisbee to the throat."

The smirk gets one in reply, Gabriel giving an easy shrug. Chilton can eye him all he wants, it's not as if Gabriel will suddenly sprout feathers and a halo before flying off. Those are things always there but never seen, humans just don't have that level of perception. A shame, the Archangel does like to show off on occasion. And should he ever meet Hannibal.....well, Gabriel wouldn't think much. Just another human, ho hum.

"For the record, I don't blow other people's horns. Off the record? Your innuendo is bad and you should feel bad. It's like you're trying to teach your grandmother to suck eggs."

[slightlyoffchilt]

Chilton blinked, and then tilted his head in halfway agreement -- Gabriel has a point there: Frisbee-to-throat action is highly impressionable. He grinned at little at the angel's response to the innuendo (but how could he resist?), casually mirroring Gabriel's own shrug. If the similarity in motions, the symmetry, was intentional, it was not something Chilton was bound to remark upon.

"Were my grandmother still alive, either of them, and here -- well, egg sucking likely wouldn't be on the itinerary."

It was unfair of Chilton, responding so dourly after he was speaking in sauce just moments before.

"But your record of blowing only your own horn is duly noted." He glanced around, once more disdainful of their setting. "What brings you here, anyway? It's not what I would call holy ground."

[larker]

It sure was a dour reply, but Gabriel gives a slight laugh at it nonetheless. It's not what Chilton said, but more how he felt the urge to say it. Chilton is definitely one of the stranger human beings Gabriel has met, and he's seen quite a lot of them.

"Only when I can reach."

There's so much that Gabriel can tease Chilton with right now, and he's already going over in his mind what to do. It's been ages since he's even spoken with the guy, so maybe this time he'll give him a free pass, jamming his hands back into pockets and looking around with practised ease. Sure is a dog park.... "How would you know it's not holy ground? You don't know what was here before it became a park. Anyway I was just on my way to the coffee shop, I intend on sitting down, not moving for the day, and drinking copious amounts of coffee. What're you sneaking around for?"

[slightlyoffchilt]

The nonchalance of Gabriel's answer provoked a quirk of eyebrows from Chilton -- would it be much of a reach, he wondered. A quick calculation concluded his down-drift of a gaze; he stopped himself from pondering on the conundrum for too long. He hadn't any proof that anatomically correct angels were even sincere in their innuendo.

"You're right about that," he concluded, nodding in Gabe's direction. "I wouldn't know if it was indeed anything remotely related to some holiness." Lapsed Catholic. "But -- clearly you've been moved to a higher calling."

Chilton jerked his head to the side, indicating his wish to walk.

"Do you need company? I'm in no rush, just on my way to lunch, and I won't protest a cup of coffee," he said. A tinge of memory ionized -- "I'll buy."

[larker]

Gabriel is already finding it difficult not to laugh when he spots that downwards look. Chilton is just precious, and the archangel will say nothing on it; let the good doctor wonder for the rest of his life about it. Better than spoiling the fun at any rate.

"That's okay, it isn't holy. I'm just pulling your leg." In Gabriel's opinion, coffee is definitely - and righteously - a higher calling. Sure, one could argue that the amount of chocolate and syrups added take away from the coffee, but that's not Gabriel's problem. An archangel on copious amounts of caffeine though, that could one day be everyone's problem.

"I wasn't out looking for company, but if you're headed the same way then fine. And that has nothing to do with the fact you're paying." Okay, so that's a blatant lie, and Gabriel knows Chilton will know it too. At least he doesn't seem concerned about who he's walking to coffee with, already headed off in that direction with all the confidence in the universe.

[slightlyoffchilt]

It was worth whatever the brew's price tag, just to know what an angel might favor by way of coffee. If he was anything like Godot (though, to be fair, no one was quite like Godot), then the choice in beverage would provide ample material to analyze. Everything had its price -- there was no such deal as a completely free coffee, after all.

Chilton surge forward and then kept pace with a smile, his eyes routinely flicking over Gabe's face.

"Do you have a busy schedule, otherwise?"

What might have been an amicable, even ambling quest for smalltalk had its nefarious purpose: the most immediate tools that Chilton had available for Gabriel's analysis was that of inquiry. The most questions he asked, the more likely his company was bound to answer a few (if the good humor kept as equal pace as Gabriel and his feet). The more pieces to place together in this psychiatric puzzle.

First question stood stealthy between the lines. What were Gabe's daily habits?

blaljxghf sorry it's late

[larker]

If Chilton likes to look, there will only be a few things to pick up from the casual body language Gabriel has on display. Hands in his pockets, gait easygoing, there's no rush to get his morning coffee. The archangel seems at complete ease with the world around him, even if it isn't his own. Nope, there's no issues, and it even looks good when the crosswalk light goes green just as Gabriel reaches the crossing. That wasn't him though, that was just fate.

"Nope, no schedule. I just do what I want. I always make sure to start out with a cup of joe, though." Gabriel smirks, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he merely stands in the queue full of other caffeine seekers. "Being unemployed has it's perks, I do what I want and when I want, and even the Government doesn't bother to intervene on that front. Why, you trying to book me in or something?"

you're fine!

[slightlyoffchilt]

Confidence comes in many kinds of pallor -- but Gabriel's appeared composed and clean, something effortless and hardly put-upon. It was interesting, as very few personality types managed that minimal anxiety. The angel appeared confident, but flexible; it was as if he trusted in some greater logic at hand, some unseen force that would balance out the equation.

Of course, thought Chilton, perhaps that was because the angel had an undying connection to a celestial, ordered being. God, presumably, as Gabe had referenced his Father on occasion. Chilton considered how interesting it might be, to measure the confidence levels of highly religious and spiritual people versus atheists.

"I'm only starting conversation, in anticipation of our coffee," lied Chilton. Only wasn't the word that proved accurate. "Besides, can't I be interested in your daily affairs? One wonders what an unemployed angel, sans horn to blow, does by way of duty. Or purpose."

He lingered a look.