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

[moralabsolutism]

He stayed stiff and awkward as if he was doing his best not to react to the simple motions of the doctor treating him. When was the last time he'd even visited a doctor? He honestly couldn't remember. Most of the time, he took care of his own injuries. But here medical supplies were low, so it was better to seek out a professional rather than let any of his injuries become infected.

He gave a nod at Goodsir's words. "What do you want for payment?" He figured no one in this town would be doing anything for free. The vigilante had a few ways of being able to settle his debts.

[bestsir]

Payment? It hasn't even occurred to him to ask for any kind of payment, no more than he would have done for treating a sailor on Erebus.

"I—I hadn't—there's no need," he says. "I only ask that—if you happen to find any further supplies, in or around town–that you might bring them here."

[moralabsolutism]

Just as Goodsir wasn't expecting to be asked for payment, Rorschach was taken aback by the fact that he turned down any form of payment beyond more medical supplies. Someone either had to be incredibly foolish or selfless to do that and this doctor hardly seemed stupid.

It looked like Rorschach had been wise to decide to trust this doctor. He was a good one. A moral man in an immoral world. "Will do. Good at scavenging." A decade of living one step above pure homelessness would help one develop that talent.

[bestsir]

"Thank you." Goodsir nodded. "Anything will help. If you experience any further complications from the injury, don't hesitate to come see me. All right?"

[moralabsolutism]

Rorschach nodded before gathering his clothes back up and putting them on. Without so much as a word of thanks, he went back out the door and into the cold, just as abruptly as he'd first come in.