maskormenacelogs | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

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.

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?

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?"

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.

what have you got to lose --

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blaljxghf sorry it's late

you're fine!