[Chilton, returning to his office with a freshly brewed coffee in hand, paused to take in the pacing image of Poe Dameron. Some might have considered it the wrong hour for coffee, but it was either that or alcohol -- no one had yet caught onto the psychiatrist's own problems, so concerned were they with their own.
And Chilton was fine with that.]
Mr. Dameron, I presume? Shall we?
[Asked Chilton, opening his door for his newly minted patient. The office itself sported a heavy desk placed before a towering bookshelf, the sort built into the wall. Amidst his collection of mostly psychiatric texts (and his own published book about Walter White) were a couple crystal decanters, filled with whiskey or scotch.
Two seating options were angled towards his desk: one uncomfortable wood chair and one soft, light blue sedan.]
no subject
And Chilton was fine with that.]
Mr. Dameron, I presume? Shall we?
[Asked Chilton, opening his door for his newly minted patient. The office itself sported a heavy desk placed before a towering bookshelf, the sort built into the wall. Amidst his collection of mostly psychiatric texts (and his own published book about Walter White) were a couple crystal decanters, filled with whiskey or scotch.
Two seating options were angled towards his desk: one uncomfortable wood chair and one soft, light blue sedan.]