maskormenacelogs | what have you got to lose --

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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.

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Chilton looked Ivy-League, with that blazer, but he could only smile, and cup a hand over his eyes. "Some days, you just want to go it alone, you know?" he asked, but there was the hint of an edge, the implication there. He'd prefer some company on his jetski, after all.

Who wouldn't? "I try to find myself out here occasionally, do you come here often?"

He shouldn't be surprised, really. Chilton was the sort, and his smile said it all -- it was nice to find someone who enjoyed certain pursuits that he didn't want to tear his hair out after talking with. "Nice boat, by the way."

"She is a smooth sailing vessel," he replied. She, he called the boat, quick to move on the pretension associated with nautical tradition. Chilton did enjoy the prestige of course, but more than the image he enjoyed his newly utilized Heropa-inspired power. His ability extended to all vehicles, included seaborn ones -- much to his delight. "I find these currents to be rather pleasant. Currently."

And it was a nice reprieve from the growing collection of stressors back on land.

"It's a bit of a weekend engagement for me," he replied. "Otherwise, the work week has be at the office -- the psychiatric hospital, downtown. Actually --" Chilton stared down at Tony. "You know Karla Sofen. She works in the annexed building to mine."

The half-smile said it all, really. Oh, he knew Karla Sofen, alright. He also didn't kiss and tell, but it wasn't like they'd kept things a secret, either. Just...not as advertised as they could be -- which was saying a lot, considering how little they worked to conceal...anything.

"She's a fine woman, and from the same world as me," he added, but his tone was a touch conspiratorial, but his eyes said that he expected Chilton to know that, just going through the motions. He wouldn't bring her up otherwise.

"I'm in the same...boat, though. Figuratively speaking, it's odd being tied to work so much, after the freedom I had in the City."

Chilton cleared his throat. A fine woman, was that a courting statement? Chilton knew that the public interactions between Karla and Tony were unsubtle, he knew that Karla was momentarily defensive of Stark having made psychiatric inquiries (-- of which Chilton wouldn't compromise to, but nevertheless), and he knew Tony Stark to be something of a womanizer.

Chilton wondered how that combination would affect someone borderline.

"She wears... Shoes quite nicely," he said, looking out over the sparkling Floridian waves. The code was, he hoped, quite evident. "Don't you agree?"

His smile said it all, still straddling the jetski, he adjusted his sunglasses, and the hint of a laugh in his voice said it all. He almost, almost added 'among other things' to that, but he kept his comments to himself. A great burden he had to bear, obviously.

"That she does. She's always been pretty impressive, and a brilliant doctor," he added. He didn't, however, add that she was also a dangerous doctor. He was well aware of who she was, after all, and knew to be cautious.

"Good working relationship, then?" he asked focus shifting from the water to the doctor.

"We have reached an understanding with each other," replied Chilton. It was a suggestive statement -- and not an inaccurate one, as long as it was contextually psychological (or even emotional). The suggestion of sexuality would have been something (wholly) unintended on Chilton's part; or, at least, that was exactly the sort of indignation he could play, if Tony happened to call him on the matter.

Instead, Chilton shrugged, watching the other man for any reaction. It would be telling in of itself, how Tony chose to interpret that information.

"I hadn't known she was an acquaintance of Norman Osborn, as well," he continued, making smalltalk. "But I suppose that most everyone in your world is."

An understanding, he said. There were very few ways to actually understand Karla Sofen, and the way his eyebrow quirked said it all. He was too polite to say otherwise, but the momentary sharpness cum curiosity was present. Enough that it probably said it more clearly than Mr. Stark would like it to. After all, they were more than free to see other people.

He shook his head, at the second. Oh, Norman Osborn was always an unpleasant topic.

"Yeah, I suppose everyone does. He...gets around," he paused, and made a face. He had a feeling, no matter what he did, Chilton was going to take that the wrong way. May as well just skip right past it. "More than he should, really."

Chilton was not up so high on his lofty yacht that he couldn't catch the quick quirk of Tony's eyebrow. He froze his smile, his consciousness now cautious over the control of his facial expression. Something was up.

"He -- ah, he seems very. Involved," replied Chilton, with regards to Norman Osborn. While the man had proven himself psychopathic and convenient to tar when Chilton was in certain company, there seemed like little need to brashly badmouth his former employer. Tony Stark, like Norman Osborn, was a moneyed innovator. That breed worked in two ways with each other: they were either thick as thieves, or cutthroat ones. Chilton, sensing some disturbance with regards to Tony's emotional output, kept playing it safe.

"Though I must give you credit, as well, for networking with what appears to be your entire universe!"

Tony Stark was smart, very smart. He knew better than to ruin the reputation of someone he couldn't prove, especially when someone like Norman Osborn would take the opportunity to lambaste him publicly if he did so. Especially if he could get an advantage from it. It's a miracle much of his history hadn't come out with some of the people from his universe. Some of it, the subtler, more Machiavellian moves. He looked at Chilton, and offered him a shrug, as if to say 'what can you do?'

"Well, I'm very well known in certain circles, particularly the superhuman ones, I've been quite active in that community for years -- and I run a business, which leaves me in a bit of a unique situation," he smiled, a touch wolfish.

After all, there were ways to suggest things, and test the waters. "I wouldn't say Mr. Osborn and I have networked, exactly. We've been at odds more often than not -- in business, of course."

"In business. Of course."

It was one of those jarring corrections that often spoke of implicit other meanings, but Chilton (being a man conscious of image) didn't pursue it. No one who was that wealthy and that active in superhero antics could have discouraged interacting with Norman Osborn before the reformation. If not for ethical reasoning, it would have been ideal PR to incite conflicts with Osborn, assuming the latter had already been outed.

Or, so Chilton assumed.

"Karla Sofen was a superhero."

Chilton thrust into that line of conversation, as if it were natural discourse. It wasn't, and it betrayed his unusual interest in the woman. Unlikely to divulge his precise reasoning for his interest, Chilton's fixation was nevertheless visible.

"Or is that being too generous to her? I've been told a lot of different things."

Chilton did want to focus on Karla. It was interesting, because his first instinct -- oddly enough -- was to cut off the line, like a man staking a claim. It was a momentary impulse that he promptly tossed out. They were just friends, after all. Friends with good benefits, yes, but still just friends.

He leaned against the handlebars of his jetski, a hip jutting out, a sign of casualness.

"As far as I know, it's both. I like to think she's leaning toward hero these days, which is honestly what I would prefer. It's a shame to see all that talent go to waste, otherwise."

Chilton glanced towards the jutting hip, judging it from his lofty position. It was a sharp jut, the sort that cut nonlinear lines into the unsuspecting air. It was the jut of a man convincing himself of something.

The face he made was one of decreasing and highly pursed lips.

"She'll do whatever she pleases," he responded. "I anticipate that any external influence advocating one direction has a halfway chance of provoking the other direction."

He rolled his eyes a little, as if his familiarity with her could afford him such expression. It was the sort of casual ownership that Chilton often did, without thinking twice about the implications.

"That's true enough," he admitted, looking at Chilton with the sort of curiosity that said that he was starting to pick things up. Chilton had a distinct interest in Karla Sofen, whether it was romantic or not that's what remained to be seen.

Not that he minded, of course. He and Karla weren't exclusive, after all. He smiled up at him, as if it weren't something to bother him -- the question. After all, he was just commenting idly, wasn't he? Gossip about a mutual acquaintance.

"She likes to choose her own path, and who could blame her?" although, if he had his way, he would say that there were ways of influencing things, too. He hoped to influence her toward a better position, if just because he knew -- inherently -- that it was possible. With most people, it was. They could do something greater than they expected.

"Hopefully, nobody thinks to outright push her, huh?"

"Why? Do you want to give the first shove in?"

What the question lacked in subtlety simply amplified in aggression, but specifically a curious aggression. Chilton found himself intently interested in Stark's comments about Karla, and perhaps not for the reasons that one would think readily available. Chilton wasn't claiming any sexual relation.

But then again, who would speak of that so bluntly? Who, of Tony and Chilton's social class, would play pride openly and possession so pathetically? The foundation for misunderstanding was, in fact, unintentional. Chilton considered himself having only a psychological claim over Karla Sofen.

"Do I?" he asked, eyebrows knotting. Karla was, as a whole, just a friend -- a friend that shared benefits with him, of course, but not a friend whom he had any claim over. They were, after all, just having some fun.

And while Tony knew, inherently, that he did want to see Moonstone like he'd seen her a few times before, genuine, and working for something greater than just herself, did he have that sort of claim over her? He leaned against the handlebar of the Kawasaki, and shook his head.

"If she sought my advice, absolutely," he answered, instead of anything specific. No interest may reflect poorly, but too much interest may make Chilton aware that perhaps he did have more interest in her. While he didn't mind telling him some of his more intimate issues, this wasn't the venue, was it? He appreciated clearly drawn lines, when it came to his -- and only his -- own privacy.

"If she came to you first," he translated. Chilton interpreted that as a subconscious power dynamic infiltrated by the guise of (perhaps genuinely conceived) good intentions by means of consent. Tony might have considered it respectful, waiting until Karla begged him for advice. Chilton, however, was in the business of advice, and he knew thoroughly what tremendous power it provoked between nuanced layers.

He cocked a grin down at Tony.

If Karla came to Stark, that would be like an admission of submission. And Chilton knew that Karla would have to battle that perception, before she would ever commit to such a deal.

"Goodness, how charitable. Better hope Freddie Lounds doesn't catch wind," he joked.

It was also a business mechanism, on top of the subtle layers and layers of power dynamics, and the even deeper layers of control issues that were not only held by Stark, but Sofen as well. But one didn't get in the business of offering unsolicited advice for free. Particularly not when the advice would be considered valuable in certain circles.

Tony Stark still considered his word valuable -- a high opinion of himself, perhaps. He smirked up at Chilton, in response, before he tilted his head.

"The gossip writer? What, is she going to do an exposé on import relationships?" he asked, a little curiously. "I know we're interesting, but what do you think? The secret life of two adults enjoying each other's company is hardly news."

At least when it came to Tony Stark.

"I wouldn't underestimate her," said Chilton, quick to defend his shield maiden. He felt an undeniable affection for her, though it came in limited amounts at random spurts, it was still a sincere emotion. After all, she had kept him alive during and immediately after Gideon's dissection of his entire torso.

"She has a knack for spotting, hrm, personality disorders -- and what weaknesses those bring." Chilton grinned back at Tony, enjoying the implication spouted at both him and Karla. "But she's much more vicious in her display than any psychiatrist would be."

"Oh, I have no intention of doing that," he admitted. While he had no opinion whatsoever on the journalist, he learned early on in his career that most journalists were there for a reason. They had a knack for getting into things that they didn't need to get into.

Hard reporters could get into the darker secrets, the kinds of things that left them not publishing them -- if just to keep the world safe from what their discovery would find. The dangerous thing about tabloid journalists is they had no such integrity. No devotion to the right thing, only to finding that next hit.

Oh, he didn't underestimate Freddie Lounds, he simply didn't want to like her. "When it's public, I'd expect nothing less," he added, quick to make sure Chilton knew he didn't hold it personally. She was a tabloid journalist, after all. That's what they did. "I'm sure she's very good at what she does, which is what makes her someone to watch out for."

"And she isn't one to be bought out of a story," he warned, giving Tony another of those significant looks. Bought into a story? Absolutely, yes, now that was a different angle altogether. Freddie Lounds had published lies before, because they were sensational lies, or exquisite fabrications -- Lounds was a woman with lofty ambitions. It's how Chilton could relate to her.

He knew that Tony Stark would be a point of interest for the journalist, but not for the reasons why Stark thought so. Freddie Lounds specialized in criminal and police reporting. She favored the bloody details of madmen.

And Tony Stark had a personality disorder or two -- it wasn't much, but it would be enough to catch her attention, in the event that he did anything extraordinary.

"I must continue my route, I'm afraid," he said, glancing out to sea. "Weekday work prohibits such endeavors."

Edited 2014-09-02 02:20 (UTC)

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