[The word "chicks" spark a sort of bitterness in him, as well as more paranoia- why that memory? Does he know, somehow?- but Venkman quickly and aggressively beats that thought back down before he can dwell on it.
Venkman latches onto the new ammunition he has against Kim and throws it right back at him.]
That's right, Kimball. So why're you still here?
[The plasmid worked, alright. But it wasn't worth this.]
[Kim's reaction to the nickname is instantaneous. His shoulders tense up and a grimace appears on his face. His first thought is to ask how Venkman even obtained that information, but that quickly gets flooded with a series of other old thoughts.
"So you're the pinball policeman? God, I'd love to see the other cases you get put on. Some kid lost their stuffed toy down the sewer? Gonna solve the mystery, Kimball?"
A game that required no skill and a childlike affinity to flashing lights, and he trained for nine months for this stupid case. Him, a thirty-eight year old man--
"--Trauma-and-Stressor Disorder. It's not official by any means, but....--"]
Don't call me that. [He practically snaps at Venkman, voice is unusually harsh. He's trying to rile you up, stupid. Just ignore it. It's not as bad as what he could have said. He exhales sharply, bringing his hand to his temple.] I'm still here because I am concerned about your condition, and it would be highly irresponsible for me to simply leave you here alone.
[Regardless of how much I would prefer to leave, professional duty comes above all.]
[Venkman's triumphant for a bit, glad to have finally gotten a rise out of Kim, up until the snippets of Kim's memories hit him. He wonders why a memory discussing trauma comes to Kim's mind when he uses that nickname, and while he doesn't have anywhere near enough context to conjure up why, Venkman does realize that they might be connected. And for the first time this whole conversation, he genuinely feels bad.]
Sorry.
[His voice is just a little softer, the bite having gone out of it. If I'd realized it was that bad, I wouldn't have said it. He's an asshole sometimes, sure, but there's lines he doesn't feel like crossing, even with people he truly despises.
The edge comes back to his tone when he speaks up again.]
I don't need your concern. Or your pity. So take your "professional duty" and shove it.
[Does he even know how terrifying it is, to have a cop snooping around your home, refusing to leave, badgering you with questions? At least people like Frump had superiors, people who might keep him in check. He's got no one to answer to. He could do anything he damn well wants. Not like I can stop him right now.]
[It's not the name. It's something different. Something he considers embarrassing, something that Venkman will never find out about, because it was Kim's own fault for not weathering it.
I feel like the more I stand next to you, the worse my headache gets. Kim's brain feels like it's about to explode from the sheer amount of information and the fact he's trying to hold two conversations at once. It doesn't help that the pain from Venkman bounces around in his skull and gets amplified. He needs some way to block all this out, like how Venkman used that strange mascot to prevent Kim from seeing his thoughts. Over the next few seconds, Venkman gets a steady drone of some long, boring novel that Kim read once upon a time--the Revacholian equivalent of "War and Peace".]
Fine. [He glances around at the dilapidated surroundings, taking in the blankets and supplies. The Kim-narrated audiobook doesn't stop, but his defenses are likely weaker than Venkman's (probably) practiced mental barrier.] I'll leave, since your condition seems to become worse the longer I stay here. I would appreciate it if you told me who was helping you so I know you're actually being cared for, but it's not necessary. Does that sound good to you?
[Still. It's connected, isn't it? To whatever Kim wants to keep hidden, which he's not going to try to look into. Kim wants to keep a secret, and Venkman's no stranger to that. He'll at least extend him that courtesy.
Venkman hardly even noticed the headache until Kim mentions it to him- it's been such a constant of the last few days, he's starting to forget what it was like to live without it. Not only that, but he's spent this whole conversation fueled by adrenaline and rage. With the possibility of Kim finally leaving, some of that fight is going out of him, and he can focus again on the way his head pounds, of how much effort it's really taking to keep his body upright.
The sound of Kim mentally reciting the driest shit he's ever heard this side of Egon does not at all help, and Venkman grimaces, fighting through the feeling of his skull splitting in half to take another potshot at Kim.]
Plead the fifth. 'm not telling you shit.
[Though before Venkman can cling to Stay Puft once more, something flashes in his weakened mind, a memory tinged with quiet, tired pleasure- Venkman curled up against someone, one of the other person's arm's around his, his face pressed into their chest as he breathes slowly, evenly- almost asleep. He eyes the hand laced in his, and how short the red string connecting them is, now. He knows the other person is asleep, but he raises the hand to his lips and kisses it on the knuckles anyway, gently- a gesture that winds up being more for his own benefit than for the other's. Every part of his body and mind hurts, but he has this, and for now, it's enough to keep him going. To keep him alive. And he knows they're not safe, here, not really, but at least they're together. He closes his eyes.
Kim almost certainly doesn't catch the full memory- only a snippet of his thoughts during it. But once it's done flashing through his mind he'll find Venkman is shaking- either from the illness wreaking havoc on his body or fury, it's hard to tell. Probably both. He takes a step back- more of a stumble, really- and leans one hand on the wall to keep himself standing.]
[The phrase Venkman states is utter nonsense to Kim--he doesn't know what the hell the "fifth" is, though he can assume that it's related to law enforcement in some way. He doesn't have time to ruminate on this, though. The lieutenant simply crosses his hands behind his back, turns around, and proceeds to walk away without another word. His footfalls echo through the hallway as he retreats.
He tries to keep his mind on other things--police radio codes and signals, how the engine of a Coupris Kineema creates the distinct sound that so many people complain about, the mechanics of the cranes that lift cargo crates in the harbor. But this headache makes his fingers itch to reach for the cigarette he knows is in his pocket--the cigarette he saves for his nightly ritual of going over the day's events. Would it be worth it to break his own rules to deal with the pain?
The doubt is enough to make Kim's barrier falter slightly, and Venkman's thoughts inadvertently seep through the cracks. Kim's response rises instinctively, but it's...likely not what Venkman was expecting. It's uncharacteristically envious in tone. With how easily it seems to bubble to the surface, it doesn't seem to be the first time Kim has said this to himself.
He has something that you've always wanted--something that you'll never have.
The lieutenant is gone from Venkman's immediate presence, but his thoughts take some time to fade.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Venkman latches onto the new ammunition he has against Kim and throws it right back at him.]
That's right, Kimball. So why're you still here?
[The plasmid worked, alright. But it wasn't worth this.]
no subject
"So you're the pinball policeman? God, I'd love to see the other cases you get put on. Some kid lost their stuffed toy down the sewer? Gonna solve the mystery, Kimball?"
A game that required no skill and a childlike affinity to flashing lights, and he trained for nine months for this stupid case. Him, a thirty-eight year old man--
"--Trauma-and-Stressor Disorder. It's not official by any means, but....--"]
Don't call me that. [He practically snaps at Venkman, voice is unusually harsh. He's trying to rile you up, stupid. Just ignore it. It's not as bad as what he could have said. He exhales sharply, bringing his hand to his temple.] I'm still here because I am concerned about your condition, and it would be highly irresponsible for me to simply leave you here alone.
[Regardless of how much I would prefer to leave, professional duty comes above all.]
no subject
Sorry.
[His voice is just a little softer, the bite having gone out of it. If I'd realized it was that bad, I wouldn't have said it. He's an asshole sometimes, sure, but there's lines he doesn't feel like crossing, even with people he truly despises.
The edge comes back to his tone when he speaks up again.]
I don't need your concern. Or your pity. So take your "professional duty" and shove it.
[Does he even know how terrifying it is, to have a cop snooping around your home, refusing to leave, badgering you with questions? At least people like Frump had superiors, people who might keep him in check. He's got no one to answer to. He could do anything he damn well wants. Not like I can stop him right now.]
no subject
I feel like the more I stand next to you, the worse my headache gets. Kim's brain feels like it's about to explode from the sheer amount of information and the fact he's trying to hold two conversations at once. It doesn't help that the pain from Venkman bounces around in his skull and gets amplified. He needs some way to block all this out, like how Venkman used that strange mascot to prevent Kim from seeing his thoughts. Over the next few seconds, Venkman gets a steady drone of some long, boring novel that Kim read once upon a time--the Revacholian equivalent of "War and Peace".]
Fine. [He glances around at the dilapidated surroundings, taking in the blankets and supplies. The Kim-narrated audiobook doesn't stop, but his defenses are likely weaker than Venkman's (probably) practiced mental barrier.] I'll leave, since your condition seems to become worse the longer I stay here. I would appreciate it if you told me who was helping you so I know you're actually being cared for, but it's not necessary. Does that sound good to you?
no subject
Venkman hardly even noticed the headache until Kim mentions it to him- it's been such a constant of the last few days, he's starting to forget what it was like to live without it. Not only that, but he's spent this whole conversation fueled by adrenaline and rage. With the possibility of Kim finally leaving, some of that fight is going out of him, and he can focus again on the way his head pounds, of how much effort it's really taking to keep his body upright.
The sound of Kim mentally reciting the driest shit he's ever heard this side of Egon does not at all help, and Venkman grimaces, fighting through the feeling of his skull splitting in half to take another potshot at Kim.]
Plead the fifth. 'm not telling you shit.
[Though before Venkman can cling to Stay Puft once more, something flashes in his weakened mind, a memory tinged with quiet, tired pleasure- Venkman curled up against someone, one of the other person's arm's around his, his face pressed into their chest as he breathes slowly, evenly- almost asleep. He eyes the hand laced in his, and how short the red string connecting them is, now. He knows the other person is asleep, but he raises the hand to his lips and kisses it on the knuckles anyway, gently- a gesture that winds up being more for his own benefit than for the other's. Every part of his body and mind hurts, but he has this, and for now, it's enough to keep him going. To keep him alive. And he knows they're not safe, here, not really, but at least they're together. He closes his eyes.
Kim almost certainly doesn't catch the full memory- only a snippet of his thoughts during it. But once it's done flashing through his mind he'll find Venkman is shaking- either from the illness wreaking havoc on his body or fury, it's hard to tell. Probably both. He takes a step back- more of a stumble, really- and leans one hand on the wall to keep himself standing.]
Get out.
[Of his head? Of the building? Probably both.
Definitely both.]
no subject
He tries to keep his mind on other things--police radio codes and signals, how the engine of a Coupris Kineema creates the distinct sound that so many people complain about, the mechanics of the cranes that lift cargo crates in the harbor. But this headache makes his fingers itch to reach for the cigarette he knows is in his pocket--the cigarette he saves for his nightly ritual of going over the day's events. Would it be worth it to break his own rules to deal with the pain?
The doubt is enough to make Kim's barrier falter slightly, and Venkman's thoughts inadvertently seep through the cracks. Kim's response rises instinctively, but it's...likely not what Venkman was expecting. It's uncharacteristically envious in tone. With how easily it seems to bubble to the surface, it doesn't seem to be the first time Kim has said this to himself.
He has something that you've always wanted--something that you'll never have.
The lieutenant is gone from Venkman's immediate presence, but his thoughts take some time to fade.]