maskormenace | [04] Voice

[04] Voice

[ So even though the feed opens up, Walt doesn't talk for a moment or so. There's a sharp inhale and it's accompanied by a piteous cough. And then after a couple minute pause, he starts talking -- sounding rather relaxed. ]

Today was my birthday.

[ A beat. Nonchalant. ]

But it's also my death anniversary. How many people can say that? Their life came a full and complete circle, starting and ending all on the same day? I mean, what are the chances? Pretty crazy, that.

[ Another brief pause. Another follow up cough. When he speaks, his voice is a little strained. ]

I mean like, this whole world. What an insane concept, right? To think that our own individual worlds are just this tiny fraction of all the different worlds out there -- some with crazy powers or vampires or Satan. We have Satan. Does anyone ever stop to think about that? How Satan has a TV show? I mean, I guess...what a better way to say welcome to hell than Satan with his own TV show. I've never actually watched it, mind. But I imagine it probably involves burning people alive.

But following that thought -- I still think this place is hell. I mean, I can't be the only dead guy walking here, can I? And it's definitely not heaven. My therapist called it purgatory once.

[ A beat. ]

Purgatory is kind of accurate. Sometimes he knows what he's talking about. All of us just sitting here and waiting -- to either go home and die for good or to do whatever it is we do here. I mean, we can't die. There's a definite statistical likelihood that we come back to life if we get killed, so do we age? I'm 53 today, but am I not really 53? Am I eternally 52 until I die again? Do I die again? Or do I just live an endless loop of my life -- dying, coming here, dying coming here until some otherworldly being makes up their mind?

Maybe that's what Satan's show is about. Collecting as many of us that belong in hell and dragging us back with him. That's a pretty morbid thought, isn't it?

[ So why is Walt laughing. Why is Walt laughing like it's the most hilarious thing in the world? Why is he laughing at all? What was he laughing at again?

The laughter dies. ]

What was I talking about again? [ But it's lost. ] Anyway, I just want to know. Is there anyone else out there who died? Bonus if you died on your birthday. Might be good to talk about it. Therapeutic. And I'm here to listen. We can talk here or in person. If anyone wants to go with me to get birthdeath day breakfast for dinner, that could be a thing. That we do.

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[When Jesse comes shuffling back into their hotel room only to find Walt hunched over his communicator, he immediately steps over to pluck the thing out of Walt's hands. He shuts it off without offering a chance to finish the conversation, tosses it onto the bed, and drops a half ounce of weed onto Walt's lap. Something more pleasant to pay attention to.

...Well, aside from Jesse himself.]

You get bored without me?

You're wrong. And I had such high hopes that you would understand.

[ Chilton was at a level so vital to Walt, so important and significant. He was irreplaceable because he was what Walt lacked in Jesse, what Walt missed in his wife, what Walt needed in a friend and very important ally. Because of that, Walt wouldn't kill him or let anyone else even think of trying it.

What Walt felt for Chilton was genuine -- unhealthy and twisted possessive affection, but still genuine. He wouldn't delight in keeping him close if Chilton turned around to betray him. He would think himself a fool for believing in the man's aspirations, and it definitely wouldn't give him a thrill to dangle his life in the balance. At this point, Walt would more likely cut Chilton out of his life completely at a perceived slight than to resort to the same sort of poison torture he had used before.

They came out of Atlantic City with a whole new dynamic.

But to keep those aspirations alive and to keep Chilton interested, Walt had to get rid of those who distracted Chilton. He had to become as vital to Chilton as Chilton was to him.

Maybe Will Graham didn't see it. But the true danger of this alliance was not Chilton. It was everyone else who was associated with the good doctor. ]

Anyway, I think we've said all that needs to be said.

Just do your best to keep him in line and out of our business.

You know what will appease him best.

[ The shrug can pretty much be heard in his voice. ]

Do you want to meet me somewhere? For a drink?

Wha...hey.

[ Walt gives Jesse a temporarily stern look when he frees the communicator from his hands, but then his expression gives way to amusement and a snorted bit of laughter. ]

Christ, Jesse. I don't know whether you're the worst or the best.

[ He takes the weed in his hands, squinting at it. He seems so fascinated by it for a few moments before: ]

Harley's coming over. She's bringing food which is good because I'm starving.

[Yay! Harley!]

I figured you might be.

[...As he's reaching into his jacket to pull out a Snickers bar. Which he then waves in front of Walt's face.]

How much do you love me right now, you big old stoner?

What, now?

[Chilton asked, distracted. Now tasked with keeping Will Graham disengaged to ensure he keeps breathing, his focus centered on that crucial undertaking. The potential of resurrection notwithstanding, Chilton's people did not have the best of luck for reiteration: both Abel Gideon and Freddie Lounds, technically murdered, had not returned.

Those were not ideal betting odds.]

Where were you thinking?

[A distracted Chilton made for a pliable one.]

Wait, I—

[He's quick to get that out, quicker to bite down on whatever was meant to follow, sounding like a thought cut short.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend. He has no desire for friendship or anything near it here, but perhaps he's going about this wrong way. If White wants to believe he can care for someone else, genuinely care for them despite his claims to being akin a devil, Will refusing that may be the absolute worst course of action. So what's left, then, if not to play into it? Kowtow for appearances' sake, and in the midst of that, extend something mutual (not common, just shared) between them. Even if that can turn into The friend of my friend is my enemy because I'm an overly possessive arrogant douchebag who doesn't understand the first thing about friendship, at least it's worth a shot.

His breathing is the only thing that can be heard for a few moments, aggravated, frustrated, fast, like manifestations of a rapid heartbeat. Someone backed into a corner, someone who's looking around and realizing other options have been taken out of the picture. The heavy sigh that follows is one of defeat, finally bowing his head and accepting that he's got to play by certain rules or risk getting stuck, again, no meals, no compassion, just visits meant to add onto the viciousness. All very much the feel of someone who has been holding back on a confession for so long it's difficult to make. Like he knows it will be good to finally get off his chest but it's still dismal, and horrible, this cruel, cruel burden upon his shoulders.]

You asked...if I knew what it was like, to have people from my home here. To be from their future. To know how things will turn out, and they don't have a clue. Waiting for the inevitability where they do know.

[His voice is steady, but strained. One wrong word or move would choke him, drown him.]

When I said I knew exactly how you felt, that. Wasn't because of how I am, that was because I'm in the same situation. With him.

[His breath hitches, a stringed instrument one centimeter turn from being too tight, from breaking. And oh, how beautifully (and badly) Will Graham can break.]

I care about him, too.

You're definitely not the only one.

I haven't died personally, but... I saw myself die.

[It's kind of a weird story.]

I mean, he was a clone of me. But he was made to believe he was me. So... I don't know.

It's okay. I mean. We managed anyway. And I did get to greet him with a fist to the face.

[Of course he did. Ed and his temper at the best of times, let alone around his father and all that pain.

....

Wait, what?]

You....what?

[Did he hear that right? Sure, there are certain people that aren't blood that he considers family, or as good as. It's just not something he really consciously sought or considered, exactly. Especially here.]

Well, you certainly could, but would he tell you, and if he would, would he lie?

And what have you decided?

[ Have an actual legit video clip of Lucifer kissing a baby and random people hugging him with no provocation. ]

It's television, not real life. You should visit the set some time, I'm sure it'd be eye opening.

[ A pause. ] I suppose I view it as a gift. And like with any gift, it's counter to the spirit of the thing to go around checking its proverbial teeth. Nobody questions the gift of life until it's fleeting from them, and then every minute snatched from death's frigid hands is a victory--or to put it more succinctly: giving Death the middle finger.

You can't die here - not permanently - and so every moment you live here is exactly that. You fly in the face of the logical progression of every universe: birth, life, death. In fact, I could blast you to atoms with the power of my mind, and there would still be enough of you left to put you back together again.

Purgatory is an unending battle to survive, and once you die there you're done. No eternal damnation, no eternal peace--obliterated from existence by your own monstrous kind. Purgatory is no hope of escape, no rest, and there are worse things there than angels or demons. It's living at the muzzle end of a gun without a moment to breathe, or sleep, either for eternity, or until someone pulls the trigger.

[ He did ask for Lucifer's input. ]

It's cute that you think I worry about professionalism. Besides, sometimes we all just need to calm down and live in the moment. [Like you, you crazy bastard.]

[Wow, Walt.]

Thank you for repeating an insult I haven't heard since med school. Your words took me back to my youth.

[It was a HAPPY CHILDHOOD, yes.]

Erm...Well, okay, then. Anyway, my point is just that you seem... [ Like a trainwreck. ] Upset. And that we're not usually really good people to talk to when you're upset. There are lots of really insensitive people on this.

Doesn't that feel kind of weird being happy and being sad at the same time on the same day?

I see. Still, your death means enough that you've brought it up here. Anyway, to answer your question, yeah, I have died. Once—no, twice. Maybe three times at most, depending on what counts.

Oh! Okay, I'll get breakfast for him too. See ya.

You woke up here. You are alive again. That makes you responsible for yourself once more.

It sounds tiring, though.

I haven't died back home. [ ~~Not yet, ha~~ ] Though it was my birthday not so long ago.

Didn't do anything for it.

[ Getting off the point, Bela. This was supposed to be about him or something. ]

Hell can be of your own making, wherever you are. [ A considering pause. ] To others, this place might be better than their own world back home. Either because they're alive here or they've met the love of their life.

I'm in De Chima. So how about that one bar you like out this way?

See you soon.

Solve? Yes, all right. I would be able to meet you in an hour or two.

I'm not upset.

[ Walt's so far from upset right now. He feels great. ]

I just...

[ He's going somewhere with this. Wait a second. It's right on the tip of his tongue. ]

I can't be the only one who died once, right?

Just you. No one else.

[ Maybe there's a little paranoia now, paranoia that Chilton will bring backup or that Will might just happen to show up. Or that anyone else might invite themselves along under the guise of being there to celebrate Walt's birthday with him.

Who knew. The imagination could run rampant at times. ]

Definitely not. I know of others.

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