maskormenace | 001

[Good morning, Heropa. Greeting you today is a man with a bright smile and an even brighter shirt — aqua, with a tie that seems to match only in theory — and a look in his eye that twinkles with confidence and certainty. Yes, here is a man who is not at all questioning this place and its motives; here is a man who is totally okay with the situation in which he's found himself; here is a man who is a very good, very convincing faker.]

Greetings and salutations, fellow ImPorts! Allow me to introduce myself: Saul Goodman, attorney at law and soon-to-be judge. I want you all to be able to think of me as a resource — as someone whose purpose here is to assist where and when I can, at least as far as legal issues are concerned. For consultation purposes only, though; I won't... uh, really have the time to open my own practice here, unfortunately.

[And that does seem like something that upsets him, but he allows that emotion in for all of two seconds before dismissing it and focusing back on sounding genuine and honest. Which he is, to some degree. It's just... kind of rare, is all. But this is what happens when you don't want to upset your kidnappers: You do what you think you have to.]

Anyway, I'm gonna have to spend some time catching up on what's actually going on in this place, legally and politically speaking. There are other lawyers and legal professional-types around, right? We should chat. Oh, and for all you daytime TV-watchers —

[THERE THEY ARE. THE FINGERGUNS.]

Get used to seeing this face.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You should see me in the bedroom.

[Someday, he'll stop winking at people.

Today is not that day.]

[The flush on Chilton's face informed both parties that he had not anticipated Mr. Goodman gambling out of that corner in such a way. If only Chilton had opted for voice; his expressive mouth opened, then closed, and his eyes darted to a sideways glance -- he took perhaps ten seconds before he found his tongue again.]

I hear that lawyers are infamous with their companions.

[It was an awkward thing to say, unusual for the psychiatrist. Chilton silently blamed the wink.]

[Now it's Saul's turn to preen. That's exactly the reaction he was hoping for, and it shows in his wry smile and the slight lift of his chin. Like he's so proud of himself.]

Guess how many divorces I've had. I'll give you ten bucks if you're right on the first try.

[Chilton, hoping to save face now, treats the question with what he considers to be a joke of an answer -- sarcastic and only ruefully playing along:]

Oh, perhaps four?

[With mock offense:] Four? Jeez, Doc. Do I look that messed up to you?

[He can't resist grinning. This is how he treats heavy personal matters — like jokes.]

Three.

Let's assume that was a rhetorical question, then. Surely you aren't genuinely seeking my professional opinion?

[Not that he would grant one after ten minutes of meeting someone -- two psychiatric sessions, however? He'd be delighted to serve Saul that.]

Three is nevertheless impressive. [Says the unmarried Frederick Chilton.] Do you have a type?

I don't like to discriminate.

[Which is to say no, he doesn't quite have a type. Or maybe he does; he hasn't really given it much thought.]

Anyway, no. I'm not really in the market for a shrink right now, unless you're looking for bodies to put on your couch. [Eyebrow waggle.

His new mission in life: make Chilton as uncomfortable as possible.]

[Another blush -- he couldn't mask his scandalized expression immediately, even while knowing that Saul was having fun at his expense. That, if anything, only made it worse for Chilton.

He considered fighting fire with fire.]

I think you would suit the sedan quite well. It's a mint blue. And you have such extraordinary color schemes.

[Said the man who unironically wears those autumnal professor-plaid jackets with the leather elbow pads with like, weird ties.]

[Oh my god, did he just call it a sedan? This is going to backfire, isn't it? This guy is actually hella gay, isn't he?]

So I've been told. The mint'll really go with my eyes, I bet.

[Only time will tell!!]

I could certainly schedule you a session. If you're so eager.

Yeah, okay. Sure.

[WHAT COULD GO WRONG.

Saul thinks psychiatry is a load of baloney, anyway. Just look at Freud — what the hell was his deal?]

[Both eyebrows raised at that.]

I could make it a weekend appointment, if that better suits your schedule. Daytime television judge, of course, that might be a demanding timeline.

But I can certainly keep my office door open for you.

[Who knows? Maybe they could slip into something more Freudian, indeed.]

[That's almost flattering. People don't usually extend offers like that his way.

Saul grins, pleased.]

Thanks, Doc. I'll keep that in mind. When the urge to talk about my mother strikes, you're the first person I'll call.

[There's a quick frown -- tight and small, as if concentrated.]

Freud can only get you so far, Mr. Goodman.

If you say so.

[If Chilton doesn't expect Saul to keep treating the idea of psychotherapy as one big joke with a punchline involving either mothers or dicks or both, he is so wrong.]

See you around, Doc.

I simply cannot wait.

[Was there an edge of menace in that tone? Maybe some dark glee? Surely not -- considering how ethical and responsible Chilton is and has always been. Always. Yep.

Needless to say, he's counting on the comedy.]

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