mercs_muses: (Chilton: inocente)
gettin' my game on ([personal profile] mercs_muses) wrote2014-07-20 10:47 pm

the darkest timeline: chilton hates you

So he has come to a completely inexplicable bar, where the first drink is free and bizarre manifestations of conscience ask him pointed questions about who Hannibal Lecter is sleeping with.

Why doesn't his fractured psyche wish to know anything about who he is sleeping with? (Don't answer that.) For the time being, he has elected to keep drinking until alternatives beyond 'return to prison' present themselves.

Chilton is seated at a table that provides a good view of the bar, but has thus far done only the barest minimum by way of exploring the place. He can't even bring himself to abandon the jumpsuit. He almost likes it, in a masochistic sort of way: He's been indelibly branded. A burnt-orange letter on his breast.

His compliments to Dr. Lecter, Miriam Lass, and the BAU.
collects_strays: (destroyer-benefactor)

[personal profile] collects_strays 2014-07-21 07:28 am (UTC)(link)
Graham doesn't pause as he crosses the threshold. As though he were expecting the bar to suddenly appear, or at least doesn't object to it, he merely closes the door once again, and slips his hands into the pockets of his long gray coat.

The ease in how he holds himself, how he walks, is familiar, but unlike him. At first he seems to be heading toward the Bar - before the orange fabric that snags at his attention.

He still never stops. Graham's path tilts toward Chilton's table like it had been his intention the moment he walked in.
schrodingerskatz: (Crinkleface)

[personal profile] schrodingerskatz 2014-07-21 06:26 pm (UTC)(link)
What the hell are you wearing?

It's not exactly audible -- the words are almost at the edge of hearing, but they come with a strong feeling of surprise and a flicker in the peripheral vision.

Beverly's still getting the hang of appearing corporeal in the bar. It doesn't seem to be a problem for other dead people here, but they all seem to have been issued real bodies on arrival.