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)
maskormenacelogs2014-04-08 09:08 pm
slightlyoffchilt) wrote in maskormenacelogs2014-04-08 09:08 pm
(wasted on fixing all the problems)
WHO: Doctor Chilton and these poor, unfortunate souls.
WHERE: Chilton's office at the Second Chances Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center.
WHEN: March 20th - April 20th.
WHAT: Chilton, stealthily seeking potential personality disorders for his personal projects, offers psychiatric therapy to interested imPorts.
WARNINGS: Potential unethical practice, depending on the way the sessions log out.
Doctor Chilton's office was significantly smaller than that which he normally inhabited: the corners felt cut, the walls tightened with thinner plaster, his decor boasted only limited paraphernalia (a couple of framed maps of Heropa and the Chesapeake Bay area, a selection of gold plated pens). Such spatial reasoning resonated with the fact that, here, he was not the Chief of Staff (as he had been at both the Norman Osborn Hospital of Psychiatric Evaluation, as well as the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane). The power and prestige he had once wielded now slipped through his fingers, and every privileged lost was like a windblown grain of sand. Chilton had felt the pressure of time, in conjunction with his stifled space; he needed to flex his gnawing ambition.
And offering his degree of discipline to psychologically burdened imPorts cut the most logical angle, he figured.
He had managed to situate a couch (though slimmer than the descriptor would hole, as it was more like a sedan), in his office. Light blue upholstery buttoned down to silver legs and a backing -- the look proved suitably Fifties, and moreover atmospherically aligned with his own tastes. It rested parallel to the soft chair offered, and was thus adjacent to his own desk. He preferred patient to assume the couch, if only because it completed a power imagery that he favored: the doctor, spine upright, in his chair across from the patient, exposed and engaged, resting down.
His efforts to accumulate a library were more triumphant than his knickknack collection: leatherbound psychiatric reference books -- a matching series in black and gilded gold, the sharply printed DSM-V, a worn copy of "Organized Behavior in Disaster", and cleanly leafed journals waiting to be scribbled upon with notes born from the twisted minds of his patients. His walls would eventually be lined with books, halfway for the sake of an impressive interior.
Perception had always been key to practice, Chilton rationalized.
Gold and black ballpoint pens lined neatly along his desk, awaiting the chance to manifest fates into ink. Chilton pulled at one to twirl between his quick fingers as he turned his attention to his pineApple laptop, checking the day's itinerary.
He was most impatient for his patients.
WHERE: Chilton's office at the Second Chances Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center.
WHEN: March 20th - April 20th.
WHAT: Chilton, stealthily seeking potential personality disorders for his personal projects, offers psychiatric therapy to interested imPorts.
WARNINGS: Potential unethical practice, depending on the way the sessions log out.
Doctor Chilton's office was significantly smaller than that which he normally inhabited: the corners felt cut, the walls tightened with thinner plaster, his decor boasted only limited paraphernalia (a couple of framed maps of Heropa and the Chesapeake Bay area, a selection of gold plated pens). Such spatial reasoning resonated with the fact that, here, he was not the Chief of Staff (as he had been at both the Norman Osborn Hospital of Psychiatric Evaluation, as well as the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane). The power and prestige he had once wielded now slipped through his fingers, and every privileged lost was like a windblown grain of sand. Chilton had felt the pressure of time, in conjunction with his stifled space; he needed to flex his gnawing ambition.
And offering his degree of discipline to psychologically burdened imPorts cut the most logical angle, he figured.
He had managed to situate a couch (though slimmer than the descriptor would hole, as it was more like a sedan), in his office. Light blue upholstery buttoned down to silver legs and a backing -- the look proved suitably Fifties, and moreover atmospherically aligned with his own tastes. It rested parallel to the soft chair offered, and was thus adjacent to his own desk. He preferred patient to assume the couch, if only because it completed a power imagery that he favored: the doctor, spine upright, in his chair across from the patient, exposed and engaged, resting down.
His efforts to accumulate a library were more triumphant than his knickknack collection: leatherbound psychiatric reference books -- a matching series in black and gilded gold, the sharply printed DSM-V, a worn copy of "Organized Behavior in Disaster", and cleanly leafed journals waiting to be scribbled upon with notes born from the twisted minds of his patients. His walls would eventually be lined with books, halfway for the sake of an impressive interior.
Perception had always been key to practice, Chilton rationalized.
Gold and black ballpoint pens lined neatly along his desk, awaiting the chance to manifest fates into ink. Chilton pulled at one to twirl between his quick fingers as he turned his attention to his pineApple laptop, checking the day's itinerary.
He was most impatient for his patients.
no subject
no subject
Edgeworth had reached out to Chilton, concerning Violet's well-being, defending her against Chilton's prior accusations. While Chilton played apologetic and gentlemanly, he savored what that interaction had revealed: Violet had people who cared about her. Here.
And perhaps she cared about them, too.
"After all, surely you'd want to avoid any additional stress. Given what's been going on, in the news, who wouldn't find that stressful?"
no subject
"I'm not stressed. And I don't care if I'm fired. Are we done?"
no subject
He was tempted to continue with at least, but that would be simply pushing his luck.
Chilton only had that brief twitch to work with; the slight sliver of a fracture in Violet's composed veneer.
"How is your current residential situation? Compared to your native home?"
no subject
"It's fine." she answered curtly. She has more of a chance to be alone compared to being at home. It's just Miles who keep fussing over her.
no subject
"Good to hear," he said with a smile. It was a hollow movement over his lips, hardly sincere. "You appear to be forming meaningful connections. I know Mr. Edgeworth is particularly invested in your well-being."
no subject
Her eyes narrow at the mention of Edgeworth. "That has nothing to do with why I'm here."
no subject
"Are you fond of him?"
no subject