maskormenacelogs | to try to let myself out this cage I trapped myself in

WHO: ❝ EL DIABLO ❞ and FREDERICK CHILTON.
WHERE: Chilton's office.
WHEN: This week.
WHAT: The time has come for some Real Talk™.
WARNINGS: Possible canon-typical mentions/references to death/child death/murder/violence; will ETA/mark as necessary.

[ The whole fiasco of texts mis-sending was a hassle, but Diablo has already bounced back from it; annoying though it was there are worse things in the world to live with, and he has fewer qualms regarding what people know about him. He just doesn't care that much anymore, certainly not as much as he expected to.

Especially Dr. Chilton; it's probably for the best, even, that he knows who he's dealing with, particularly as Diablo isn't quite convinced yet the guy really knows what he's doing when it comes to what kind of "good" a person like himself -- and others, other criminals or volunteers -- could be capable of.

Diablo's supposed to reconvene with Dr. Chilton anyway to pick up discussion about all that Task Force X (take two) business, which despite his agreement, Diablo is still embittered and wary of. But this whole place is not much better, the government putting the pressure on as well to do their dirty work, so it still seems the preferable alternative; anyway, always better the evil you know.

Standing with his shoulders loose and arms hanging slack at his sides, Diablo knocks on Chilton's office door. ]

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Come in.

[Invitation. Acceptance. A simply way to established dominance; this was Chilton's office, Chilton's hospital, Chilton's territory. Chato was, quite literally, just a visitor.

The doctor smiled widely, showing too many teeth for comfort.]

Chato, hello. How are you feeling?

[Innocuous enough a question, as long as it wasn't coming out of Chilton's mouth.]

[ Diablo looks around Chilton's office with some vague skepticism, perhaps disdain, but his expression is mostly neutral as he steps inside, putting his hands into his jacket pockets. It's exactly the kind of office he'd expect someone like Chilton to have -- somehow fake despite the decor, creating the picture of a person Diablo was so far unable to reconcile with what he knew of Chilton.

Which granted, was not terribly much, but Diablo hadn't gotten a great first impression of the guy... or, for that matter, a great second impression either.

He ignores the question until he's standing in the middle of the room, stare leveled at Chilton. Then: ]

I ain't here for therapy -- how I feel ain't got nothing to do with it.

Just a polite way of saying hello.

[Which of course, they both knew to be a lie. There was nothing inherently polite about Chilton's manner is dealing with his company -- especially company like Chato. They had already locked horns.]

So -- straight to business, then? Take a seat.

Yeah, sure. You know what's polite, is minding your own business.

[ Diablo releases a sharp, scoff-like exhale before he turns his gaze on the empty chair in front of Chilton's desk. He's really rather not sit, but supposes it'd make more sense to; this could take a while, for all he knows -- whether or not it actually needs to.

So he sits, leaning back in the chair so that his back is straight and his legs are adequately man-spreaded. Then in a more patient tone, he prompts: ]

Okay, I'm listening.

I sense that our time is running thin. I have... Witnessed the company you keep, Chato. The sort of interests you maintain. [Chilton cleared his throat, his eyes on his folded hands above his desk.] In my experience, in this world, there are certain... Types. Of imPorts. Who do not remain too long. Certain types of imPorts prone to exportation.

[Chilton gave a glance, a stern if quick look.]

We must stitch together a team while we still have the resources.

[Because, in Chilton's view, people like Chato tended to run disposable lives.]

[ That certainly merited a frown, both somewhat dubious and somewhat confused -- what Chilton was saying just didn't make sense to Diablo, at least not the way it was being said. All vague and cryptic.

Good thing Diablo was blunter. ]

Meaning what? What interests? [ He cocked his head in a casual but perhaps faintly confrontational way. ] Besides, what's the hurry? You wanna put a team together, you want people who're gonna stick around, right?

How would you even know that, anyway? Cuz last I heard, that shit's random.

Your scope is longer termed? [That alone surprised Chilton; aside from assets like Haen, he had anticipated a lot of the soldiers would port in and out. This world could be a highly fickle one.] As for interests -- really? Look at you.

[Chilton still sizzled from the blanco comments Diablo had unleashed. It was only the other Latinos who ever took notice of Chilton's ethnicity, passing and preoccupied as he was.]

It seems random, sure. But there are patterns to it.

Yeah, look at me.

[ Diablo gestures vaguely, but still in a somewhat challenging manner. ]

I been in gangs since I was fourteen, man -- that's most of my life. And there ain't no gang or no group that's gonna work if there ain't no stakes to it. I mean, I dunno what patterns you going on about, but... what you saying now, how you even plan on getting anyone to care enough to bother, y'know?

[ And Diablo isn't exactly here for telling someone how to do their job when their job is, well... this. He's in it to help put together some reasonable or even good guidelines for this whole operation, he'll make an effort to look out for his own (by whatever loose definition "his own" would qualify as these days), but he's no sell-out. ]

You speak with such conviction. [A useful quality, reasoned Chilton, if Chato was the intended leader of the group -- as Chilton had planned. It wasn't bravado that this man wore, but authentic and unapologetic courage.

And people tended to follow that.]

What if I let you decide the stakes? A man should be able to grasp his own destiny.

[ The proposition gives Diablo pause, though not necessarily in a bad way -- he knows better than to trust it unequivocally, of course, but it still sounds... well, he can't find too much fault with it, either.

Mixed feelings or not, it is at least something he can do, and has done. ]

You want me coming up with the incentive? And the reward too, I take it. [ He pauses, sitting back in his chair. ] Okay. I'll do it, but I got a condition: no kill-switches.

Kill-switches...? My god, I hadn't even considered such things.

[Chilton was quite evidently aghast at the very concept; manipulative and wretched as he could be, he still was not Hannibal Lecter.]

I would not advocate for that kind of violence.

Good.

[ Whether or not Diablo actually believes that -- and it's probably slightly more likely that he doesn't even though there's actually nothing personal in that particular distrust -- he responds with the sort of straightforward acceptance that carries the underlying message of you better fucking not.

Chilton seems sincere enough in his condemnation of the concept, though, which is hopefully not a feint. ]

Cuz we don't need violence -- not for this. People motivated by more than just fear. [ Even if it took Diablo a long time to accept or care about that truth. ] So yeah, you can leave that part to me. I'll work it out.

I trust that you will. I need you in a leadership role, understand that. [A significant look, before he turns to make his exit.]

People are depending on you, Chato.

to try to let myself out this cage I trapped myself in

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