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singillatim2023-10-24 09:23 am
2. Well, I might call you Doctor.
Who: Harry Goodsir and OPEN
What: Doctor's hours
Where: Harry's cabin, around town
When: Anytime during October, early November
Warnings: TBD
It's taken some weeks—including the awful voices and even, ironically, the words of Cornelius Hickey—for Goodsir to finally act on advice he'd given to Edward Little when they'd first arrived.
He starts by placing a notice on the board. Then he starts scavenging the town for all the medical supplies he can find, consolidating a store of them in his cabin. What he does manage to find, in combination with the contents of his surgeon's chest, isn't nearly as much as he would like, but it will do.
He has learned much, these last few weeks. That disease and infection is caused not by miasma, by tiny animalcules that may be spread by various forms of contact, and that wounds must be kept clean—disinfected—thus averting festering and gangrene. That there are compounds in food that keep the body healthy, and that not all foods contain those compounds. He tries not to dwell on the lives he might have saved with that knowledge on the expedition, and to focus on the here and now. As he said to Little: to live, and do what good he can.
And to try not to let his hatred of Cornelius Hickey consume him.
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Yes, that is indeed rather vague. Goodsir frowns slightly and tries to work out the best way to phrase the questions that are forming in his mind.
"It will be difficult to ascertain what's changed, as I don't know what you—what your condition was before," he says. "Could you—it might help if you could explain a little of what concerns you."
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Right now though, it might be inevitable. At least doctors are supposed to have some sort of confidentiality thing going on, right?
His exhale turns more into a sigh, but he decides to be honest.
"I'm not human." A very normal thing to say, clearly. Bigby sounds like it's a pretty normal thing for him to say though, like it's nothing too out of the ordinary. "I'm actually a wolf."
Still.. you know.
Very normal.
"But ever since I showed up here, I only feel human. I can't smell or hear anything worth shit anymore."
Bigby glances over at Goodsir. "Does that explanation make some sense, doc?"
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Goodsir digests this quietly for a moment.
"It makes as much sense as anything does here," he says. "Which is to say that I feel I've no choice but to believe you. If I may—how—are you—are you able to change your—your shape at will?"
How does one ask these questions?
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Sorry, Goodsir. Apparently the weird information just keeps on coming - but it is Bigby just being truthful to what the other man is asking from him here. Especially since Goodsir actually does seem like he's bothering to believe Bigby here, which is more than he was expecting.
This is the least he can do in return.
"Lycantrophy. I had to look human in order to stand out less." A wolf bigger than some buildings would stand out for sure in the middle of New York City, after all.. "But I can't change back and forth anymore now. I've been stuck like this for a few months now."
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Goodsir has had a lot of catching up to do in matters medical, but this is probably the first problem in which he's felt completely, wildly out of his depth.
"I—I see." He struggles to find something helpful to say. "I confess, this—this is a matter entirely beyond my experience." He lets out a small, nervy laugh. "There are no shape-shifters where I come from, save in legends—selkies and so forth, but that ... I'm sorry, I'm at a bit of a loss."
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"Sorry, doc." It's a little more polite than Bigby usually would be, but.. well, it's not hard to notice that he's confusing the poor guy. It's no wonder. Not like it's much easier for Bigby himself, who's so used to having a Fable doctor at the ready that this definitely is his first time interacting with a mundy doctor, his first time having to figure out how to even put any of this into words.
And Goodsir seems so relatively nice about it, with that nervous but kind of gentle way he's trying to let Bigby down, that it makes the man try to work up a little bit of respect for Goodsir in return. If not just for his time. "I know it probably sounds like a lot."
Forget that 'probably'. It's definitely a lot.
"All I ask is.. uh, maybe you could check my vital signs? I'm trying to figure out just how human I am right now, and I have no idea what those are supposed to be like for humans. You don't have to think too hard about it beyond that, if it's too weird for you."
no subject
"That I can do," Goodsir says, and he is visibly relieved at that. That's a task he can manage. "Sit, please? I shall take down your temperature, pulse rate, and so forth, and make a note—that, at least, will provide an initial set of data from which you can work."
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There's something a touch awkward about that statement, but Bigby figures it's probably better to put the cards on the table here. Especially since he thinks Goodsir is probably not used to having patients like him--
"This is pretty much the first time I'm seeing a doctor for something that doesn't involve bones being set back into the right place."
--you know, patients who've never had their vitals checked at all, apparently.
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Goodsir smiles a little. "I've known men like that. My father was a doctor in my home village, and there was many a fisherman who saw him only for such things."
He doesn't quite have all the knowledge of a modern doctor, but he has enough to take Bigby's temperature and pulse rate, to check the sound of his breathing and his reflexes. He does so efficiently, and as far as he can make out, it all checks out normally.
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He sucks in a breath, and then tries to put it out of his mind for a moment. Maybe he should focus on something else for a moment, otherwise he'll just associate the other guy with that very unfortunate realisation. And Goodsir has seemed relatively kind about it so far, so that means the guy deserves better than that.
"Fishermen.. Did you live by the sea, doc?"
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"I was born in Anstruther—across the Firth of Forth from Edinburgh," he says. Being addressed as doc sits uncomfortably, but he lets it slide for now. "A fishing village, very small."
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"Edinburgh.. That's over in Europe, right?"
Somewhere in Europe. That's the best he's got.
"I guess they're really pulling people here from all sorts of places. I'm from New York City." Technically, anyway. He'll save Goodsir more confusing talk about other worlds with fairytale creatures when the poor guy was already confused enough about the wolf thing.
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"Scotland," he says. "New York—that is on the eastern coast of America, isn't it? I've never been, though I hear it's a remarkable place."
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That's the kindest thing Bigby will say about it, though he does suppose he got pretty used to the place if it now feels strange to be here, rather than there..
"Usually I would say I'm a little more fond of being out in nature, but this place kinda feels like it's specifically designed to change my mind on that one."
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Goodsir chuckles a little at that. "I'm inclined to feel similarly," he admits. "Though it's less harsh than the Arctic ice. It might prove to be as dangerous, but differently so."
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It could just be a coincidence, especially when people here seem to be brought from so many different worlds. But considering the nature of the coincidence, Bigby can't help but ask.
"You know Edward?"
Sorry, Goodsir, Bigby doesn't know about ye olde decorum.. Just going straight to casually calling a man by his first name..
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"Lieutenant Little? Yes—we—we served in the same expedition," Goodsir says. "There were two ships, Erebus and Terror. He was Terror's first officer, and I the assistant surgeon aboard Erebus."
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"I met him when we both first showed up here, out in the woods. Pretty much the first thing he told me back there was that he was looking for his men." Bigby isn't sure whether that would include Goodsir if he was on a different ship-- It probably means it wouldn't include him, if he had to guess, but it's not like Bigby knows even the slightest things about anything related to ships or the navy.
"Guess it's a good thing it means you guys at least aren't alone out here." .. he pauses, then adds with a realisation: "Unless you happened to not be able to stand each other."
Look, you never know. Bigby is part of a relatively small community where there are some people he sure can't stand. It happens.
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At that, Goodsir actually lets out a very tired laugh.
"Lieutenant Little is ... we were not friends, but there is no enmity between us." Unlike at least one other Goodsir can name. "I didn't know him well, as we were on different ships. But he was liked well enough, across both crews."
Whether he was respected is a different matter entirely, and one Goodsir isn't going to get into right now.
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"I can see that," he concludes with a nod after considering it for a moment.
A moment later the corners of Bigby's lips curl up into a near-smile. "You must be liked too. Y'know, if not just for being willing to put up with all this nonsense."
Look, he can't imagine he's the only non-human coming in today. Goodsir must have had a lot to think about..
"Not to mention doctor Swineheart could sure learn from your way of treating people."
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Swineheart. What a name.
"I can only try my best," he says, with a modesty that might ring false coming from anyone else. "Often I feel as if I've scarcely got a hold on anything happening here, but if I've been able to help anyone, I can be glad of that."
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.. maybe not the most reassuring message in the end, huh. But it is the truth, and Bigby - if nothing else - likes sticking to practical reality in that sense.
"So you have just as big of a chance to figure out stuff about this place as any of us who come from stranger worlds do. You seem smart enough for it." Or.. well, you don't become a doctor without having to be smart, right?
Bigby's view on this might be a little simple, actually being a wolf and all.