IC CONTACT

[wizzardly]

VOICEMAIL:

"Er... yes, okay, I suppose I should tell you that if you're trying to reach me I'm not here, and if you're trying to reach me because you want to do something involving pointy bits of metal or otherwise painful objects, I'm never going to be here. So sorry."

Comments

[slightlyoffchilt]

I haven't really, no. Eaten -- I mean. [A beat.] Have you eaten?

[He has been drinking, quite obviously.]

You know where I reside, right?

[wizzardly]

Not yet. I could bring over some food if you like, pick something up? I rather like pizza, if that appeals. Or - or just a salad, if you're worried about those "carb" things Jeff's always going on about. I could also make you baked potatoes, I've gotten good at those.

You'll need to send me the address, but I do know you live here in the city. Rather convenient, that.

[slightlyoffchilt]

As long as it doesn't have much meat, I'm fine enough.

[Chilton rolled his eyes at the mention of Jeff's carbphobia. No wonder the man was so bitter!]

I'll send the address, yes. Will you have to tell your keepers?

[wizzardly]

If I had those, maybe. [downright bratty, that tone.

Also: pizza it is. Easy to pick up, and he can have it loaded with mushrooms and olives and things. ...Half of it, anyway; it would be a damn shame to keep sausage off it completely.]

I'll be there within the half hour. Try not to drink too much shit wine in the meantime, right? I'll be bringing a replacement.

[slightlyoffchilt]

You won't coax me into making brittle promises.

[Though, to be fair, Chilton more often than not broke his promises -- but always for reasons he could easily justify in his mind. The wine was a low-hanging grape.]

Don't -- don't you get ported out. Coming here.

[Worse case scenario, entangled with what Chilton considered his luck to be.]

[wizzardly]

If I see any swirling dimensional vortexes I'll do my very best to run the other way. You have my word.

[the sound of a door in the background, the pitter-patter of Luggage-sized feet.]

I'll be there soon. No more than - thirty minutes, all right?

[slightlyoffchilt]

Should you -- [Abrupt pause.] Should you plan to stay the night? I could administer the -- you know.



Sedative. To ease all the trouble.

[To ease all the trouble, Chilton just can't stand to be alone!]

[wizzardly]

Oh. [there's a thought.] Well, certainly I wouldn't mind that. Rather means I get to indulge as well, so yes, why not? If it won't put you out.

But we'll talk first, I'd hope. And drink. Mostly drink.

...I'll have the Luggage stay on the porch. It won't like it, but it should listen.

[slightlyoffchilt]

It should listen? Where are its ears?

[Important Questions.]

[wizzardly]

Would you really want me to tell you if I knew?

[slightlyoffchilt]

On its... Hinges?

[A theatrical gasp!]

Not the key hole!

[wizzardly]

I actually think that's what it sees out of? I'm really not sure, I only know I can feel it staring sometimes.

[slightlyoffchilt]

Maybe you're the one off your hinges.

[wizzardly]

Isn't that rather why I meet with you?

[slightlyoffchilt]

Not according to my diagnosis.

[And if he had Rincewind's file in hand, he'd flap it about. But he does not, he hasn't even paperwork to keep him company -- yet.]

I will be seeing you.

1/2

[wizzardly]

Which you should probably get around to telling me at some point.

[teasing, and already rather enjoying this side to his psychiatrist.]

Anyway, right, I'll be there shortly.

[wizzardly]

[it takes a stern talking-to (and there's more pouting than should be possible for joinery), but the Luggage draws its legs into itself in the end, ready to sulk on the porch for the rest of the night at its master's bequest.

Rincewind comes bearing gifts - a half veggie, half sausage and mushroom pizza and two bottles of red wine. They aren't the best, but he hopes they'll be better than whatever "box wine" is. He holds both arm-fulls up for inspection after rapping on the door.

Hopefully Chilton hasn't passed out in the twenty minutes it took him to get here, or this pose is going to get awkward. And tiring.]

[slightlyoffchilt]

[He answers the door only to lean against the frame of the threshold, squinting at Rincewind -- his glass of sloshing boxed wine in hand. He had not taken the advice to ease off the sludge.]

Mr. Rincewind! Hello. Please, please, come inside.

[Chilton pulled open the door, offering only a sneer to the abandoned Luggage. He beckoned Rincewind to the kitchen, announcing that the pizza and (more importantly) the wine can go on the table.]

Look at you, with your hat. [Another sip.] I'm glad you've come.

[wizzardly]

[a previously discussed, the Luggage may not have eyes, but Chilton will surely feel its wooden glare as he closes the door.

Rincewind feels out of place as soon as he steps inside, reluctant to move from the foyer. It's - very nice in here. And clean. Distracted, he eventually keys back in long enough to toe his sandals off and walk to the kitchen on socked feet.]

- Hm? Oh, well, yes. The day I'm without it is the day you'll know I've been possessed by something likely ancient and terrible, so you know. Watch out for that, will you?

[he watches Chilton with some amusement.]

I take it you've found a way to swallow past the homicide? - And you've a lovely home, I should mention that.

[slightlyoffchilt]

Turns out I have quite the tolerance for homicide.

[The Baltimore legend persists. He moved, sometimes swerved, to the cabinet with the other wine glasses. Soon Rincewind was presented with one of his own.]

We have to buy you real shoes. One day.

[Drunk or not, Chilton always had fashion advice to deliver.]

[wizzardly]

Sandals have their uses. [he leaned back against the counter with his new glass and shrugged.] Very light, aerodynamic. Dorian threatened as much the other day, you know. A shopping trip.

[although more for pants and shirts; between the two of them Rincewind could find himself with a new wardrobe. He was still on the fence about these modern clothes, personally - a robe still seemed the perfect all-weather answer.]

...Feeling all right? [he tried to keep his tone as casual as he could.]

[slightlyoffchilt]

Feeling lost. [A beat.] Lonely. [Another beat.] Less lonely now, of course.

[Chilton got about opening a bottle, serving himself first before Rincewind.]

Dorian Gray? The man's a narcissist. Malignant, bored -- the kind who'd brutalize you if it suited his fancy. [A long, long sip of wine followed.] Better hope he sincerely likes you.

[wizzardly]

Well, I know I'm a poor substitute - [something of an understatement] - but I'll do the best I can.

[and try not to think about the self-imposed pressure there, lest he anxiously overthink it. Wine will help that, of course. Rincewind eyes Chilton's pour before putting his own glass helpfully in range.]

Brutalize? [a hard blink. He fidgets in place.] I mean - yes, he's an immortal, they tend to be somewhat dangerous on the whole, but that seems a bit harsh. I mean, he introduced me to what jacuzzis are, the first night we met. We seem to get on all right.

How do you know him?

[slightlyoffchilt]

Was a patient, but I gave him to Raina.

[Gave him. Like one might a piece of meat.]

Like most socially adequate narcissists, Dorian knows how to put on a nice face. Just isn't his real one.

[wizzardly]

[well that distracts him from further wine pursuit.]

- Raina's a psychiatrist as well?

[or... perhaps was, given current circumstances.]