"Not the first time I'm back from the dead."
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Stranger Things
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if i look back, i am lost
Today's Document
Keni
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
$LAYYYTER

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YOU ARE THE REASON
trying on a metaphor
cherry valley forever

#extradirty
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@chiltxn
"Not the first time I'm back from the dead."
{ xdrabelgideon } :
"As would it be wise for you not to make me think I’m a serial killer again." He leaned forward in the metal cage, getting a better look at the man. "You look well." For what it’s worth, he’s not mocking him.
“ — I try,” the doctor replied in a dry tone, taking a step closer to the bars. “Forgive me, for trying to put together the evidence that so clearly pointed to you.”
{ margotontheverge } :
"Oh, he’s certainly something alright. So that’s your professional opinion then?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "I’m here to see you. You are one of his colleagues, aren’t you, at least to some extent? I thought you could offer some insight. I’ve heard you’re a very insightful doctor." She batted her eyelashes a little.
“ — Flattery will get you nowhere,” he replied, yet, his smile betrayed the contrary. The compliment was just what he needed to inflate his ego, and the woman was already on his good side. “We are colleagues, I suppose.” If Chilton and Hannibal were at all colleagues, then they would be those of unethical treatment, and that is all. “What is it on that you require my insight?”
"I wouldn’t buy that if I were you."
Meme
“ — And why not?” Chilton asked, casting a curious glance towards the other man.
{ drdumaurier } :
The simple fact that Chilton was so unwilling to share what was in his mind made Bedelia want to stop the session immediately and to refer him to one of her colleages. Unlike Hannibal, he would probably not try to continue to see her as his therapist. He might want to be like her patient she had known for so many years, yet he was only himself, another psychiatrist attacked by one of his patients and who was trying to get better.
Bedelia was the only because she agreed to see him, but if he decided to not put his mind into his therapy, she would not hesitate to let him deal with his problems on his own. There was no acceptable excuse to miss a session, especially when it was so important for the patient’s future life. She had the possibility to allow him to work or to force him to leave his position with a simple letter to the right person and she would do it without any doubt. No one could play with her.
“A former patient of Doctor Lecter who was referred to me attacked me and nearly killed me. He swallowed his tongue while he was attacking me. That is the only thing that saved my life.” Bedelia looked at her hands before focusing her attention on the man again. “I am not hiding anything from you, Doctor Chilton, I simply do not enjoy talking about this to someone who is not involved with the police or with that specific patient.”
Half-truth. That was what he would get since she knew he would not give up until he had what he wanted. There was nothing else that Bedelia could say to him concerning her assault without taking the risk to draw Hannibal’s attention on her. What the F.B.I did not know, Frederick Chilton did not have to know. Her hands now folded on her delicate legs, she gave him a faint and cold smile, some sort of warning that he had to stop his little questioning if he wanted to keep her as his therapist.
”Now, Frederick.” The blonde woman insisted on his first name, knowing that it would make him react. He was not the psychiatrist, not when she was sitting in front of him. “If you are in therapy to gossip about your therapist, you will have to find someone else. I will not tolerate that you act with me as if I was one of your patients. It does not matter to me that your career depends on those sessions. Truth is that I could not care less.” Her voice was calm, but it was a real threat.
Chilton fixed Bedelia with a small, knowing gaze as she shared what had apparently happened to her. “Swallowed his tongue? How unfortunate.” He glanced over at his left hand, playing with his cane absentmindedly. “Such a shame that he died, don't you think?” It was clear that there was more to the story that Bedelia wasn't telling, but he decided not to push it any further.
“I understand.” was his only reply. “Though I admit that I am not the police, this is surely a horrifying experience that has happened to you. Does it not help to talk about it?” Frederick knew that he was turning the focus of the session away from himself, which was excatly what he was trying to do. He had no interest in talking about his own problems, yet he did love to talk in general. Despite how unaware Frederick was of the details he was missing, he couldn't help but wonder what exactly it was that Bedelia was hiding. She had already insisted that she was hiding nothing, but as one who spent most of his time around criminals (notorious liars) he had the honed ability to detect whenever someone wasn't telling the truth.
He read her body language, however, and understood that Bedelia would not reveal anything more. He didn't apologize — for the doctor rarely apologized to anyone, for anything. Instead, he mirrored the psychiatrist's actions, putting a façade of interest over his bored expression. His brow furrowed at the use of his first name, and it took more strength that was dignified to suppress correcting her. An undignified noise left the doctor's lips, as though he were a man whose secret had just become exposed. “Gossip? Never! Why, Doctor DuMaurier, I think perhaps you are jumping to conclusions here.” He let out a small, embarrassed laugh, and shifted in his seat once more. “What a ridiculous thing to say...!”
{ carolyn-long } :
Carolyn couldn’t help but smile back at him, “Good thing for both of us then. People may talk, Mister…”
“ — People always talk. It is something that cannot be helped,” he replied simply, before fixing the woman with a curious gaze. “But you... what do people say about —you?”
{ heseeseverything } :
Stylish, well tailored suit, well groomed. He’s vain, used to money, or knows poverty well enough to maintain his wardrobe now that he can. Forward, but not to the point of impropriety. Proud of his position, enough to include it in his introduction. Habit? Or flaunting his status to seem more desirable? What field?
The thoughts were practically instantaneous, his own observations sinking in even before he really considered the gentleman’s words. The man, Frederick, was flirting. Asking for his phone number. And according to proper social custom, likely expected a name at some point. "Sherlock Holmes," he replied politely, noticing that Frederick didn’t offer a handshake and therefore not offering in turn. Informal, or just unaccustomed to physical contact? “And it seems presumptuous to say you could help me, seeing that you don’t know what I do.” Not what Frederick meant by being “more productive,” he knew, but he found himself curious how he’d respond. Would he see it as rejection of his advances, or invitation to ask?
Frederick knew nothing of what went through the man's mind, but most of his assumptions were not wrong. He grew up in a household with a modest income — or as modest as possible with only his mother in the home. His suits of rather horrid taste were part obligatory, part desire to show off his wealth. He was neat and clean, but only because he was a sort of perfectionist, who didn't let a single flaw slip past his appearance.
Not one to analyze people, Frederick didn't remark anything about the man before him, except for his impeccable features. He smiled thoughtfully at his response, an avoidance to his first question. “Sherlock Holmes...” The name rolled over his tongue and he pondered it, letting it sink into his memory. “A wonderful name,” he commented, at last.
A chuckle escaped his lips at the man's next words, and he shook his head, not wanting to correct him; not yet. “Say I could — what do you do?”
I want h o n e s t opinions about how I portray my character. If there’s a constructive criticism, I’d like to read it. If you’re too shy to say it, you can tell it with the anon on.
Hope is my poison of choice
myescape2paradise (via yoursixwordstory)
Your muse walks in on mine undressing. How does yours react?
{ margotontheverge } :
"I don’t think so. I’m Margot Verger. I was a patient of Hannibal’s." She stuck out her hand.
“ — Frederick Chilton,” he replied, grasping the outstretched hand and giving it a firm shake. “Why have you come by to the Baltimore State Hospital today? Dr Lecter is an excellent psychiatrist; I doubt that you would need my assistance with anything.”
{ i-let-him-kill-me } :
"Dr Chilton… Always a pleasure."
Will didn’t even bother to try and mask the venom in his voice. He’d long gone past the point of being polite.
"However I’m not here to exchange pleasantries. Agent Crawford wants your… expert opinion on something."
The doctor leaned forward, feigning interest. He brushed off Will's sarcastic remark, a smug smile upon his face.
“ Oh? Well, do not be the one to leave me hanging. What is it? ”
Chilton
My part of an art trade with the talented ciorane!
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drdumaurier; myownprivatetrap; itmeanstwin: Since we had longer threads together, I don't think that I would like to drop them. However, you can message me if you don't wish to continue them!
malfaiteur-bienfaisant
“ Jean Valjean entered the galleys sobbing and shuddering: he went out hardened; he entered in despair: he went out sullen. What had happened within this soul? ”
Independent Roleplay blog for Jean Valjean from Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables
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