maskormenacelogs | O6 👶 MOVE ASIDE AND LET THE MAN GO THROUGH

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O6 👶 MOVE ASIDE AND LET THE MAN GO THROUGH

WHO: Joseph Kavinsky & Jeff Winger, Frederick Chilton
WHERE: Various in Heropa
WHEN: Before this!
WHAT: Asshole hires a lawyer. Also, a criminal psychologist.
WARNINGS: R for triggering language (racism, sexism, etc.), possibly other problematic content

law offices | closed to jeff

[so the law offices of jeffrey winger are pretty hot.

not as hot as heropa itself, which is admittedly too hot. despite being functionally invincible under most circumstances, kavinsky finds the humidity gathering under his armpits pretty fucking unpleasant. in a rare moment of self-conscious concern with social appropriateness, however, he doesn't feel like stripping off his shirt. maybe it's something to do with the granite. look how much fucking granite this place as.

kavinsky pushes through the door, which one assumes is glamorously plateglass and lettered with winger's name and credentials. the teenager is clutching a can of the native equivalent of red bull, his hair in spikes, a stud in one ear and huge sunglasses, dressed in a wifebeater and jeans combination, leather jacket over one shoulder. he is twenty minutes late for his appointment, which for him, is an impressive display of punctuality.

he casts about in search of good-looking men to ogle at.]

hospital | closed to fred i mean chilton

[kavinsky is in the good doctor's office when chilton comes back from lunch. flipping a key card around in his fingers, which looks exactly like the key cards most of the staff use to get around, except that it's kavinsky's own mugshot on the surface, duckface and everything.

if chilton is thinking 'personality disorder,' he's not wrong.

but first things first, is probably the fact that the young man has installed himself in the psychiatrist's chair and arranged the objects on the desk around his feet, propped up as they are. he smiles in the sunshine coming through the window.] Hey, old man. Looks like your schedule is free. [he gestures at the books loaded in the shelves.] You got some inkblots for me? I'll tell you about all the vaginas you wanna hear.

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[These law offices are indeed swank as hell. Not particularly large, just a reception and waiting area and a few offices, but it's roomy and looks expensive. There's clean surfaces everywhere, plenty of glass, wood, granite and chrome, and interior decorating that keeps with the worlds retro design while still looking contemporary.

Kavinsky may look a little out of place around here but Jeff sure doesn't in his suit pants, shirt, waistcoat and tie. He can get away with a suit when he's got air conditioning in his office.

There's no one manning the front desk, Jeff had sent them on break after he wasn't sure a certain someone was even going to show up, so no good looking folks in sight, just some old dude sitting in the waiting area reading a paper. And then Jeff, swinging the door to his office open and pointing to Kavinsky.]

Asshole, you're late. Get in here.

[kavinsky touches his own chest, as if to say, who, me? the big eyes and youthful airs are helpful to promote the sense that this was accidental, but nobody believes it and that's fine. nobody is idiots, that's all. well maybe that old guy sitting there. who knows about him.]

I brought this for your secretary. But if you switched since the last time there was photos on the Internet, or she wears a pushup to work, it might not work out. [he grins, so many teeth. he steps toward jeff's door, reaching into the pocket of his jeans. it's not a very big pocket, but the scrap of lingerie isn't very voluminous either-- one of those strappy teddy numbers, scrunched up but unharmed, all black lace and a starburst of ribbons over what would presumably by a tanned and lovely female body for maximum heterosexual objectification!

he offers it to jeff in passing.]

[That sure is a skimpy thing. It's even more daring than anything even he'd dare to buy a woman, so he's just staring down at the black lace in his hands before deciding the best thing to do with it is toss it carelessly off to one side, he doesn't really care where it lands. Sorry Kavinksy, this lawyer has no appreciation for slinky lace undies unless they're already on a hot lady.]

Great. [By which he means not at all.]

I didn't get you any strippers.

[He takes up the helm in his oversized and comfortable leather office chair, tilting back in it comfortably as he gestures vaguely to a chair at the other side of his desk.]

Fucking disappointment, [kavinsky says, watching the lingerie fly away. doesn't everybody sexually harass their workplace proximity associates? no? weird. why would you associate with anyone in workplace proximity if you weren't, at some point or another, going to sexually harass or be sexually harassed by them.

he gets in and sits down on the chair. promptly puts his feet up on the desk, naturally, scooting his ass down to find a comfortable position. he flares skinny fingers at the older man, a hello. phone in the other.] You want an e-check or what?

[Worringly Jeff would be far more into the sexy lingerie gift if his employees were actually hot women and not Jeff's sort of not blood related niece and her boyfriend.]

We can sort that out later.

[The only reason Kavinsky's not getting told off for his feet on the desk is Jeff is soon doing exactly the same, slumping into his fancy reclining office chair, planting some very fancy leather shoes up on the desk and lazily dragging his beloved whiskey from a desk drawer. Two glasses are presented, filled generously, then one slid across the polished wood to the younger male. For a lawyer, Winger sure doesn't seem to care much about giving alcohol to underage teens.]

What I want to know is why you think you need legal representation.

[the underage teenager in question takes the glass of alcohol. he drinks from it pretty much immediately, doesn't flinch at the burn or anything like that. this is probably not surprising to jeff, given that kavinsky has his delinquent airs down pretty good.]

Didn't you read the Internet? [he gestures with the glass. there's some whisky left. he didn't down it too quick, recognizing that it wasn't shit tier liquor. it doesn't splash an of jeff's nice things.] I got some home invader up in my shit. I need to cover my ass with whatever comes next, because he isn't going to get in again.

[Shit tier it definitely is not, well done for noticing. Although not the stupidly old or expensive (Jeff saves that for himself), this whiskey is some damn fine stuff that he's making sure to savour.]

Soooo... should anything happen, you're basically hoping for some kind of self-defense plea, right?

[Not condoning anything but he sure as hell isn't going to discourage anything. He can offer impartial advice, little more.]

Mostly, I'm hoping the fucking police stay out of it, [kavinsky says, honestly enough, shrugging his skinny shoulders. he lowers the whisky glass and looks down at the liquor, just a thin sheen at the bottom now.] Don't think my cunt burglar is into it. Or me.

But yeah, if they roll in, sirens and uniforms. What you said. [he points at jeff illustratively!] I dunno. What else is there? Criminal insanity? There's that shit on TV. [impartial advice is welcome, from a real lawyer. evidently kavinsky's other sources of knowledge are somewhat less credible. we'd best be served not stepping any further back from the fourth wall, probably.]

Crime of passion? That help?

[kavinsky does not look like a very passionate person, but still.]

Eh, any of that will work. What'd work even better is if you didn't do anything illegal in the first place. I mean I'm no genius but abiding by the law tends to not get you arrested. [That is some sound advice, Kavinsky, listen closely.]

Look. Whatever you do or do not do, I don't wanna hear it. If you tell me what you're gonna do, then I'm in the shit, so just... work on hypotheticals, right? Everything we discuss here is hypothetical and nothing more.

[Downing the rest of his own drink and swallowing sharply, lips thin as he pours himself another glass swiftly before pushing the decanter towards his company. This is Jeff drinking all his problems away, all day every day.]

[kavinsky nods his head obligingly.] Hypothetical, [he agrees. he's cool. that's cool. he doesn't actually want to go into prison himself, so he appreciates winger looking out for number one. who or what else is there, anyway.] Abiding by the law. Sure. Whatever.

[another mouthful of whisky, and then kavinsky sighs. condensation floods translucent down the wall of his empty glass and he puts it down again.]

So hypothetically some cunt breaks the law. Gets his ass caught. It true there's no fucking death penalty, you only stay in the pen for a couple months? Even if I dunno. [his chair squeaks as he leans back in it.] You're that mass-murdering Lucifer motherfucker.

Hypothetically? Yes. A few months tops, followed by probation where you'll get an imPort probationary officer assigned to you. And that's if you're found guilty. I'll be doing my very best to to avoid that result where I can. [Settling out of court is where he prefers to be, but most of his kind do.]

You know I got Lucifer out of holding once? He was locked up without charges, I got him out. [Whiiiich is something he will out right deny was his doing to others, but if he feels like it can be used as bragging rights in this situation, you're damn right he'll boast about it.]

Well shit. [that is impressive. kavinsky's eyebrows go way up, and he leans forward, settling his chin on the heels of his hands. from what he's heard about lucifer, you have to be something of a soulless motherfucker to want to put him back on the street. and when you work out of maurtia falls, you can always use

a little less soul i guess.]

Have you ever heard of a motherfucker named 'Heisenberg?' [he asks, straightforwardly. not knowing what he's asking.] How about him?

[That's not a name Jeff expected to crop up. It takes him by surprise just enough that he drops into a brief but stony silence, covering for it with a deep swig of his whiskey. Fuck Heisenberg.

But just like that, Winger's back to his lawyery indifference, cool and suave and totally uncaring for whatever name is thrown at him.]

Worked with him for a while, right up until he shut everything down. [Including shutting Jeff down with a bullet.]

[oh oh ohhhh.

looks like a story. kavinsky's creepy little face goes nearly to

for an instant. he studies jeff with a casual crinkle to his eyes, and interest that is anything but casual. there's been a lot of drama among the white dude multiverse hoppers of this world, hasn't there?]

Any idea where he fucked off to?

[So much white dude drama that Jeff finds it difficult to keep on top of it all. He's mostly ignoring Kavinsky's shitty little expressions, focused instead on swirling the last bit of that drink around his glass.]

No clue. Word on the grapevine is he found a way back, but I dunno the truth to that. Might be that he's dead in a ditch someplace and the nanos never revived him, might be that the Porter got fed up of his shit and sent him back, might be any number of things. All I know is he's not here 'cause there's no way an egotistical fucker like him would be able to keep his head low for this long.

[this is so delightful. kavinsky stares at jeff with rapt interest. it doesn't escape his notice, that the story he's being told now is very similar to the one that jesse had shared before. maybe it's true. he likes the thought. heisenberg sounded like he could do a lot, but he wasn't a fucking dream thief, and kavinsky is narcissistic enough to believe anything that such an inferior being could accomplish, he could too.]

Okay, Lawyer Man. So you know a lot of assholes, you've represented a lot of assholes. [he drums his fingers on the armrests.] Where do you draw the line? When do you say, fuck off, I'm not representing you with this shit.

[The more time spent in this little meeting, the more time Jeff is learning that this teen could be the shittiest of shits. That's not really a problem, he's dealt with so many shits, but the question of boundaries seems all the more important when dealing with this level of moral scuzz. There's a lingering pause for Jeff to chew at his bottom lip before quickly knocking back the last dregs of his drink.]

Rape, kid stuff and animal abuse. Those are my definite no no's. Everything else I do case by case, but the less I know about the specifics, the better. [Reaching for his whiskey to top up his empty glass yet again. This lawyer drinks like a fish.] I will refer you if there's something I can't or won't aid you with, there's a couple of native lawyers about that I can recommend if needed. None better than me, naturally, but at least you know I won't leave you high and dry with no one to turn to.

[that's fair. kavinsky had not expected much different. those seem to be the usual lines that people draw in the sand, for reasons he isn't arsed to think about except when he's bitching pointlessly.]

What if the kid started it? [he asks. after all, he's technically a child himself, at least for a little while longer. he doesn't request more whisky himself, but he observes the older man drinking, reasonably impressed. he comes from a culture that is impressed by that kind of thing.] Appreciate Plan B.

Edited (drankin) 2016-10-30 06:46 (UTC)

If the kid started it, then you be the better man and don't beat up a little fucking kid. It's really not that hard.

[Exasperated more than annoyed. He really doesn't care if this teen is hotheaded enough to start fights, more money for Jeff as far as he's concerned. Kavinksy seems, as far as first appearances go, to be a rather perfect client. Rich enough to keep paying and maybe just dumb enough to keep getting into trouble.]

Oh, please. Make yourself at home. Don't bother yourself with decorum, or anything, that would be totally unnecessary.

[Perhaps it was the old man comment, or perhaps this was simply Chilton at his most habitual. To be fair, sass always followed his lunch hour break, it was practically a practice within his practice. Bedside demeanor wasn't necessary before the session started, after all, and moreover how could there be Kavinsky was sitting in his very chair.

Chilton closed the door behind him and, for good measure, locked it.]

We will delve into the sexual organs part only after you take a seat -- somewhere else.

[Chilton pointed in the direction of his light blue sedan and a hard wooden chair, both angled towards his desk and both offered in equal measure. His eyes were locked on that key card within Kavinsky's grasp, the question already forming on his lips.

But in due time.]

Edited 2016-09-18 20:12 (UTC)

[kavinsky notices the doctor looking at the key card, of course. that is definitely a hundred percent the point of flapping it around, showing off without explanation. but he pretends not to see, smiling instead with reptilian nonchalance. he gets up and out of the special chair slowly, deliberately, putting the card into his pocket.

he picks the blue one. settles his skinny frame into it, wiggling slightly to make himself comfortable.]

You know who I am? [it's a largely academic curiosity. vain as he is, kavinsky doubts it.]

[The sedan. Interesting. But then, Kavinsky had come to him willingly, hadn't he?]

Only by name.

[A more succinct answer to the question rather than "Reggie had some choice words to follow". But perhaps unsurprisingly, even Mantle played this ace of spades close to his chest. Kavinsky, he thought, must have a way of getting personal with the personnel.

Chilton admittedly found himself curious to see how deeply this freshly delivered patient could get under one's skin.]

Why don't you describe yourself to me? I'd rather hear it in your own words.

Edited 2016-09-24 06:27 (UTC)

[he had come willingly. he closes the door outside of himself and looks up at the little ceiling, then around him. this is interesting. he's never been in one of these before. he'dve thought it'd make him feel claustrophobic, but it's just kind of novel.]

A good-looking asshole. Influential. Former big fish, little pond. Flipped around now.

[he kicks the nearest little wall of the compartment, once, twice. not hard enough to on purpose break anything.] Hey, the Internet said ketamine was for depression. You want me to tell you some of that shit? [he whips his head around to look at dr. chilton again, a brow raised.]

Surprisingly insightful awareness. [Chilton didn't drawl the words sarcastically; the initial compliment aside, Kavinsky's glib comment about the reversal of big fish, little pond offered Chilton a hook. He was just about to assert that Kavinsky may be suffering from a sense of impotence and frustration --

-- And then his patient kicked the thing.]

Ah.

[Chilton frowned, furiously editing some of his prior assumptions. Impulse control was now a bigger issues.]

Well, contextually, yes. What symptoms of depression do you experience, when, what are your environmental... Influences.

[Tread carefully, he thought to himself. While impulsive violence did fascinate him, Chilton knew by now not to idly trigger it -- at least, not in his office, with the stuff he cared about easily within destruction's reach.]

Why thank you, [says kavinsky in a really shitty fake southern accent. he leans back in the sedan chair, throws his arms back to try and make himself comfortable.

it's not very comfortable. his brow furrows slightly, but he doesn't move. ketamine is the prize.] I hate everybody, [he says.] I hate me. Everything's fucking boring. Sometimes I don't sleep for like three days. I do a shitton of cocaine, that helps. [his feet go to the wall of the sedan chair again. he walks them up, so he can perch his shoes on the first gap of the bars.

he fully realizes that suicidality would get him full marks on this particular exam, but that's the thing; when you really mean it, you don't tell anybody.] My dad used to hit my mom so she moved us out. Sometimes I forget to eat. I started smoking when I was nine. Is any of this shit helping?

[he knows it does. for diagnostic purposes, loosely, any rate. this is very much appealing to his ego-- a tendency of behavior and attitude that dr. c is no doubt familiar with!]

I see. [Wow is what he wanted to say, but Chilton couldn't allow such obvious opinion to leak through upon this very first session. Wow. In truth, he had already decided that he would prescribe what Kavinsky wanted; there was something of a charismatic trainwreck about him, he was impulse manifested. Even if Kavinsky embellished a little, the fact that he would say such things to achieve his agenda, well, Chilton hadn't had a patient like that in some time.

The last definitive examples were all located in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

Chilton scratched out a few notes on his legal pad -- full marks for this patient, indeed.]

You are an interesting one, Mr. Kavinsky.

[Chilton darted his gaze back to the young man's face. It was difficult to resist wanting to watch this individual explode, but Chilton had his professional vices. He was well aware of that darker allure.

The ketamine might only exacerbate a potential messy climax, and Chilton wanted to watch it.]

Do you feel that you're constantly being hunted? Running from these difficulties? Would it be better to submit you to an in-patient situation?

[He was just screwing around, of course. Only fair, he figured, if he was going to be screwed with a little.]

[bang. kavinsky kicks the door of the sedan chair open, reflexive concern that the threat is legit. where are the jack-booted thugs. a split-second later, his narrow face settles into an expression halfway between amusement and irritation.]

Hey, [he says.] Man, fuck you. You know that shit with the Russians happened. How can you fuckin' ask anybody that? [he wraps his fingers around the sedan chair bars and pulls himself out of his seat. he winds up hanging halfway out of the doorway, looking at the older man with some expectation. is it paranoia if the reds are literally out to get you.]

I don't run from shit. The idea is, you run toward the cocaine, Doc.

[It would be a lie, if Chilton had pretended he hadn't jerked his shoulders up at the sound of Kavinsky's boot hitting hard. Just as it would have been a lie to claim that he didn't somewhat delight in the reaction, twisted as his ambitions were. Kavinsky proved himself to be a powder keg by every passing moment, and the doctor couldn't be happier about it.]

And how do you do that? Run towards your problems?

[Chilton took the cocaine reference as more metaphor, for the sake of polite company.]

With raised fists? A knife?

[A gun? Metaphorically. But his suggestions all had the similarity of violence, and he was tipping his hand about his opinion of the patient already.]

Cocaine isn't my problem, Doc, [said every addict ever, including one joseph kavinsky. by now, effectively spooked out of the sedan chair and its confining walls and what if the white coats do come, he moves over to the stiff leather seat. he looks at the psychiatrist from across the table and thinks more about the question.]

Whatever I got on hand.

[generally, violence. but most of the time, a subtler variant than any of those proposed.] Maybe ketamine, in a few minutes. [a fantastic joke about the various and sundry times that he's slipped tranquilizers to people who didn't know about them. kavinsky leaves it at that, though, the dangling start to a story, shallow and unelaborated. how he rolls. for now, he sits forward, his heavy-lidded stare intensifying a little bit.] You're the guy who wrote the book about Heisenberg, right?

Hm. [It would have been ethical, professional even, to walk Kavinsky out of that room right in that moment. It would have been an action committed to the mental health and safety of his patient -- and more than likely, to society as a whole. Kavinsky was a dynamite stick already lit, and now the seconds were counting down.

But Chilton wasn't much of an ethical man, and he was professional only when it was convenient to his agenda.]

I did, yes. I wrote the book about Heisenberg. The Methodical Man.

[Chilton was already reaching for his prescription pad.]

You've read it, then? [The intensity of Kavinsky's stare went unnoticed as Chilton fumbled for one of his golden pens.] Liked it?

[kavinsky does not look like your classical reader, so maybe chilton will understand and forgive him when he acknowledges,] Read some of it. You need to get that shit out on audiobook, man. [that wouldn't have made it any easier for kavinsky to wrestle his attention span into something helpful. it's the function of being on cocaine all the time.

and maybe ketamine soon. his eyes go to the rx pad with interest, and maybe it's as much the sight of lines scrawling out on the page as anything else, that makes him keep speaking.]

Sounds like a badass. And a piece of shit. Bet I could've taken him if it came down. Funny thing: nobody seems to know what the fuck happened to him. [he folds his arms on the table and studies chilton's face. searching for tells, any hint of deception.] Asked a few people, went to the end. You holding out on your loyal fans, Doc?

I can always discuss the matter with my literary agent. [In all truth, Chilton's concession would likely thrill his agent. You've made someone's day, Kavinsky, without having ever met them.]

Whatever happened to Walter White. [Chilton's pen in hand pauses, the prescription for that deeply desired ketamine nearly completed. He glanced up at the younger man.] The last I had seen him was when he prevented that rival gang from killing me.

[Written in the book, of course, but slim on the true depth of details experienced. Walt had provoked his rivals, of course, and had flaunted Chilton as an ally. He had endured what was likely a suicide mission to reclaim Chilton -- not as much as a friend as proof of possession.]

White was always a secretive man. We might never know the precise last minutes of his time here.

[And at long last, he handed over the prescription.]

[kavinsky snatches up!!! the prescription, if not with as much outward vigor as to betray his eagerness. he's seventeen and trying isn't cool, even if it's for a worthy cause like drug abuse.

he folds it up quick and scrunches it into the pocket of his jeans.]

You know where he was living? [he asks, cocking his head. he doubts it. he doubts that it matters, or that he'd be able to make much use of it even if he got there, even if his psychometry was working. kavinsky considers himself quite the expert on committing suicide, and in his opinion, it's unlikely walter white had announced his intentions to a silent room or even necessarily accomplished it there. still, worth asking. he throws out a peace sign with his other hand, by way of thanks.]

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O6 👶 MOVE ASIDE AND LET THE MAN GO THROUGH

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hsfhl sorry im late, started new job + have distraught houseguest. speedier starting tomorrow

never late! i am slow as balls

cw a lot of cognitive nonsense about sexual harassment

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lmk if i got sedan chair wrong

you're fine!

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lmk if i am construing icly incorrect info

oh my CRAP I THOUGHT I HAD REPLIED TO THIS OH MY GOD

no worries!! <3

<3!

tw suicidal ideation