maskormenace | CHAPTER ONE

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CHAPTER ONE

[The video comes in rather unfocused at first, until some noisy fiddling brings a pair of 80s style Air Jordans into view.]

There's probably other things I should be asking first, but I only have two questions right now. One: How's the weather in California this time of year?

[If this place really is different, the forecast won't be nuclear fallout. People will be there again. America might be whole again.

Quickly, the camera shifts to a small coffee table with several different newspapers strewn all over it, but with a DVD copy of Terminator 2 on top.]

Two: How the fuck do you rewind this thing?

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Girlfriend.

[He volunteers, surprising himself, though it's still flat. No giving away how raw that hurt still is.]

Do you anticipate she may follow you here? Stranger things have happened.

She died.

[He never even got the chance to scrub away the chalk outline from his bathroom floor. Or if he could have, maybe it would have felt too final.]

They said that doesn't mean much for the Porter but-- I'll believe it when I see it.

Ah.

[Well wasn't that awkward?]

Do you bear any responsibility for her death? That might get... Messy.

Do you always ask sick shit about people you don't know right off the bat?

[Because Chilton's right-- even it was the rat bastard who shot her, he brought her into his world. And yet that's only part of what puts the sudden heat in his voice. Who the fuck was this guy?]

I'm a psychiatrist. Given that my clientele are exclusively imPorts -- yes, actually, I typically do.

Well this is a fucked up way to try and find new patients.

Perhaps. But nevertheless effective.

How many of them just wanted to find your office to kick your ass?

[His voice has returned to deadpan. He isn't planning on doing that to a normal citizen. Probably.]

Very few of them.

Well, I'm not looking for a shrink, so I guess you won't be looking for the ER.

Keep that kind of chatter up, and it won't matter if you're looking or not. You won't have the choice.

Free country. From what I can tell so far.

You're court appointed? They don't need to go scavenging for brains to pick.

I have my own practice beneath the umbrella of Heropa Downtown Hospital. But various groups endeavor my professional opinion, when necessary. Employees have required psychiatric evaluations for... Distasteful imPorts.

What kind of groups?

[Probably not the kind he was in contact with back home, but he's compelled to ask anyway.]

And define "distasteful."

[Because he's already met a guy praising laser discs, clearly he needs his head examined.]

Anything from the employer pool to RISE. Any rung on the ladder you might need.

[Maybe an overstatement, but Chilton was sure to make himself the gatekeeper of a good many avenues.]

Your behavior is already indicative of a personality disorder or two. That certainly is not to societal taste.

So you want me to suck up to you.

[He's been blackmailed before, but he's come to accept that he allowed himself to be. Either way, it didn't turn out well for anyone involved.]

What about you, doc? [Only fucked up people get into psychology. He learned that the hard way when he got back from the war. Or maybe it's just the nature of Miami.]

Asking strangers if they had something to do with their girlfriend being dead isn't up to "societal taste," either.

[That is a dressed up "you started it" accompanied, somehow, by a rather empty stare. For the immature intimidator.]

Really? [His skepticism, light and dry, cut clearly.] Is it not? I was rather under the impression that, when addressing the motivations of a murderer upon a victim, it was always the significant other who was questioned first.

[But apparently that had struck a nerve, for the tangent to make its conversational encore.]

So what about me, exactly?

I never told you she was murdered.

[And that's him suddenly sounding incredibly suspicious.]

What disorders have you got? 'Cause in my experience only crazy people seek out more crazy.

That is simply statistically one of the most likely outcomes.

[From his world, maybe. Chilton comes from a Baltimore where there's enough serial killers to fill every week of a season.]

And in that case, I would guess that your experience is hardly universal. [Coming from the guy who did just assert that being murdered was a universally highly probable exit.] I haven't any disorders. My interest is purely professional.

They caught the guy. He shot me, too.

[Because of all the people he'd killed, he would never, ever let anything happen to her. Until it did.]

Okay. [He drops that word heavily, definitely not sounding like he believes Chilton, but more like surrendering to a dog demanding to be taken out for a walk.]

I guess you just have a lot of balls to threaten new people about keeping them from working.

Perhaps not the specific compliment I would have granted myself, but your uneasy and vague respect is noted.

[He didn't really mean it as a compliment, but somehow he doubts Chilton will catch on to that consciously.]

Respect. Sure.

[It's been a long time since he respected anything, and he won't start now.]

[If those two words better illuminated Jacket's true intent, Chilton didn't change his tone about it.]

At least we better understand each other. [Hah.] I wish you well, in your technological endeavors.

Yeah. If there's no cool endoskeletons in this one, I know I can blame you.

[Again, joking. Maybe.]

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slightlyoffchilt - 2015-09-28 03:03 (UTC) - Expand

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