maskormenace | un: anonymous

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un: anonymous

[ There are some times that Poe is thankful for his powers. This, being able to ask his communicator to scramble his ID so that he can post anonymously, is one of them. He doesn't do this often. But something has been bothering him more and more, lately. ]

has there ever been something, or a multiple somethings, that you did that at the time you knew was right, and just, but then later - maybe after coming here - now makes it a little harder to sleep at night?

a lot of us come from places where we had to do a lot of shit we wish we didn't

but we could still tell ourselves we were doing the right thing

and i still think i was doing the right thing

but here i meet ghosts and i can't help but wonder if there wasn't another way

how do you deal with it, when you can't justify everything to yourself anymore? and that's not a rhetorical question, i honestly want to know

do you think earth has made you a better or a worse person

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

My sympathies, either way.

But from my experience, this process of grief, guilt, and existential crises is a process that varies as according to the individual. Yours would be a specific journey.

yeah, well, specific journey or not, it's not like other people haven't been through similar shit

though granted this place definitely piles on the 'shit i didn't even know was possible' on top of everything else, but

i'd like to finish this particular quest as fast as possible

Are you looking for, more specifically, psychiatric help? To expedite your process.

i made a promise that i would

just haven't really gotten to actually doing it

let's just say my line of work looks pretty poorly on someone failing a pysch eval

so it would take a bit of discretion

Your line of work. Military, then?

yeah

though since i'm the only imPort that's in it, earthwise, as far as i know, maybe keep it down a bit

you can see the dilemma though

i don't just reflect on me

[Well, now.]

Oh, I didn't know it was such a confidential matter. You being the only one.

[But he thrives on the fact.]

It is understandable, yes. I've treated patients with ties to the FBI -- [Exactly one.] And I understand the perception at stake.

me being in it isn't confidential

me being in it and possibly not fit to fly? not something i want getting out

i wouldn't lose my job but they would definitely ground me and that would be the way to drive me actually crazy, so i'll pass

you're the chilton that everyone else keeps mentioning, though, aren't you

What have they been mentioning about me?

Admirable things?

they said that you helped them

which is pretty admirable, sure

[Whew!]

Simply my profession. My very confidential profession. Which your superiors cannot make me surrender to them, should they attempt to invade your privacy.

[There's a long wait before the next reply.]

and if i wanted to hire you? are you available?

I am, yes. Especially for imPorts. My facility is in Maurtia Falls.

[He really isn't sure about this, but he's getting tired of not being fully himself and frustrated with his own reactions and the endless nightmares and-- ]

alright

then yeah

i'd like to make an appointment

What date and time works best for you? This week, next? Morning, afternoon?

saturday morning is best

easiest to slip away

I'll send the scheduling request along to Reggie, my receptionist. Under "P.D." and nothing more.

10AM?

yeah.

alright.

send me the coordinates, and i'll be there.

Just a moment.

[And he texts over the location of the Maurtia Falls Psychiatric Hospital for Abnormal Conditions.

Would you like to action that out here? Inbox, handwave, something else?]

[He's mostly regretting this decision by the time he arrives at the hospital. He's not dressed in his usual - wearing a grey hoodie with the hood up because he didn't want to get recognized by fans on the street on his way here. Luckily most natives tend to assume he's taller than he is, so he gets to the hospital without any issue. He gets the directions to Chilton's office, checks in with the receptionist and then waits - never actually sitting down, just pacing.]

[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.]

Captain, technica-- [ Poe was midway through correcting him until he turned fully to actually see the man in the doorway. Then, instead of a hello, or a 'good to meet you', a look of annoyed surprised crossed his face instead. ]

What the hell? [ The annoyance turned to something more actively angry, and he pointed an accusatory finger at Chilton. ] You're not Chilton.

Captain Dameron, of course. [You can't impose "Doctor" before your name, demanding it spoken by others, then turn around and ignore the preferences of similar conduct.

But as he set down his coffee, as Poe said those words, a searingly hot hatred crossed the pinch of his lips. He had an idea of what Poe was getting at, and if he was right, then Chauncy was dogshit to him.]

Explain.

What, you don't remember being a total asshole to me on the network? [ His voice is sharp. ]

Or was that just some kind of - messed up Psych Eval test to see how well we all do under dickhead pressure?

Do you have the memory of a goldfish? Is that it, Dameron? Have you not seen me on television, in editorials, on the goddamn Network? I have been here since the beginning, long before you. How dare you come into my office, how dare you.

[Honestly, was Poe just that unobservant? Or perhaps he has a head injury that severely limited his critical thinking. Either way, that wasn't something Chilton could solve. This was over before it even began.]

You don't need a psychiatrist, you need a neurologist. [He pointed to the exit.] Get out.

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private. un: Poe Dameron

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> > action works easiest!

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