Quoted By:
>Continued
Richard's beside manner, though considerably improved from previous, has done little to set Gil at ease: far from upright and relaxed, his shoulder is taut and hunched beneath your fingertips. (He hasn't bolted, though, which you consider a victory.) If Richard has noticed this, he makes no mention of it, merely produces a loupe and affixes it to his eyeball. He clasps his hands behind his back, and The Snake winds around them.
You watch intently as Richard, well, watches Gil intently, 'hmm'ing and 'huh'ing and tilting his head back and forth. Sometimes he paces two steps one way, then back again the other way. It goes for long enough that you're convinced that that's the extent of things, that Gil was getting all worked up over nothing, and just as that crosses your mind Richard removes the loupe. His hand is gloved again.
"Thank you for your patience," he says. "May I proceed with the physical examination?"
Gil leans back on his heels, hard. "Sorry, the— the what?"
"No need to worry— it wouldn't necessitate any implements. No scalpels or whatnot. I merely feel as though I would benefit from being able to handle your flesh."
He says that like it's a regular thing, like any regular person would say "handle your flesh" outside the context of murder. You slide your hand down Gil's back and hook your fingers around the 'X' of his suspenders. Not that he <span class="mu-i">would</span> bolt, but, well... he's jittering his ankle. "Um," he says. "I-I-I don't know if I would benefit, from, um—"
"He's just going to prod you! And if he does <span class="mu-i">more</span> than prod you, then I shall, um—" You swap hands with the suspenders, gingerly wrapping your now-free hand around his forearm. "—I shall defend you with my life! As we discussed! So carry on, Richard."
"Thank you, Charlie." He inclines his head. "Now please, like we discussed— upright and relaxed."
Gil accomplishes half of that handily, but remains constricted as Richard palpates his neck, turns his chin back and forth, pokes all the way down his chest, raps his knees, and makes him lift his feet in turn. Every motion is treated with the utmost seriousness, but for the life of you you can't pin any pattern to it. Business as usual, you suppose.
Gil stares into the middle distance as the skin of his palm is examined in loupe close-up, and keeps his eyes averted as Richard stands from his crouch. "There's something I'd like to try," he says.
Does the human part of him shut off when he's getting all intent and metaphysical? Could he sound any more pointlessly ominous? "Nothing bad, right? You want to try a normal—"
"Yes, quite normal. I'd like for Mr. Wallace— Gil, that is— for Gil to close his eyes and relax his right hand at the wrist. That's really all."
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