2. Well, I might call you Doctor.

[bestsir]

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.

Comments

[bestsir]

That they are. Goodsir can't keep a grimace off his face.

"There's nothing that I want from you, Mr. Hickey, that your absence couldn't solve."

[friendsfordinner]

That grimace means that Hickey responds with a smile that could be described as crafty, could be described as shit-eating, and could be described as annoying. At the moment, he will happily settle for annoying the piss out of Goodsir.

"Harsh words," he teases. "But I'll take my leave. And probably see you again...mmm, tomorrow? Or the day after?"

But true to his word, he does start to head out.

[bestsir]

Goodsir decides he's not going to dignify that bait with an answer, and merely waits, wordlessly, until the door closes behind Hickey.