Inbox for Watson (Pumpkin Hollow)

[lightconductor]

Here you may contact Dr. John H. Watson, MD, late of Her Majesty's Army, with any professional or personal issues. He is available by phone, message, or just by dropping in on him at his clinic or his tenement flat.

The Clinic

Watson's clinic is a small building with a couple examination rooms and some beds, kept warm with a little iron stove in the front room. Pictures to come at some point.

The Flat

A short walk away from the clinic is Watson's small but cosy flat, on the second floor in a small tenement building.

The "sitting room" end of the main room
The kitchen, where the stove is the primary source of heat
Watson's desk
Watson's bedroom, alternate view

Comments

February 6th maybe, OFFICE HOURS

[pineapplesalmon]

RING RING.

César is polite enough to call ahead. "Hello, this is César Salazar. I'd like to join your practice as a patient."

[lightconductor]

"Oh? Certainly that's possible." Watson is not entirely practiced with telephones. There's a difference between knowing about a thing and having regular access to such a luxury -- and, in 1892, it is still something of a luxury for the very rich. Still, he's picking up the idea quickly enough. "Was there something in particular you wanted my attention for?"

[pineapplesalmon]

"No, other than I should have a general practitioner. I, ah, have a file started by First Aid and Chris Freeman, but I should explain in person why I'm not seeing them." César sounds a bit awkward on the phone; he's is going to have to mention he died, probably, maybe. "And mention a condition I'm getting continuing treatment for that isn't known in your time. But again, in person."

[lightconductor]

"Oh?"

Well, now he's interested, both from a standpoint of Local Gossip and also Professional Interest. He does, at least, have the sense to not sound too interested in a whole new medical condition. That would be unkind.

"Well, we can arrange a basic physical and you can tell me all about it, in person. Is there a time you'd prefer?"

[pineapplesalmon]

César snorts at the attempt to not be interested.

"Honestly, if you're available now, the weather has let up for a little while. It's been so unpredictable lately."

[lightconductor]

Oh, he tried. He really tried.

"I am free now. It's a quiet day in my clinic, at least."

[pineapplesalmon]

Sorry, César's too used to trying and failing himself, hence why it's funny. "Then I'll be over shortly."

After goodbyes, and true to his word, César is over shortly, folder in glove, and closes the door quickly behind him. "Good morning!"

[lightconductor]

"Come in, come in, out of the cold," Watson says, standing to greet him. "We can use this room, here, for some privacy." He opens a door, revealing a small examination room, comfortably furnished. He should hear the outer door from here, if anyone is to come in.

[pineapplesalmon]

"That would be great." César's going to tap out his boots on the doormat, then take them off and switch them for some shoes he carried in a bag (shhh, I just decided that). "I don't want to get anything on your floor."

He takes off his coat (which thankfully, it's his new coat so it has a hood) and puts it up on the coat rack, then follows Watson towards the exam room, his folder still in the bag.

Appointment at the clinic, by arrangement

[amourtician]

A few days before the meeting, Anzu sends a calling card ahead, bearing his name: Dr A.T. Menelikov, MN, MVAK (Talons)^{OOC NOTE}, and a handwritten note in pencil, indicating he'd like to talk to Dr Watson as one professional to another. He turns up at the clinic ten minutes early, dressed as elegantly as always, but in more sombre colours than usual.

He makes himself comfortable in the waiting room, where he leafs through his personal appointment book—a small moleskine notebook, the orientation of the cover indicating that he primarily writes his own notes right to left—and tries not to fidget with impatience. He's clearly nervous. He keeps his cotton gloves on, to avoid biting his nails.

^{OOC NOTE} MN: Medical Necromancer — equivalent of "MD"
MVFK (Talons): Member of Voluntary Fellowship of Koschey ([in the commune of] Talons) — rough equivalent of a cross between MFLLM (Member of the Faculty for Forensic and Legal Medicine) and FRCOG (Fellow of the Obstetricians and Gynaecologists), with the specific commune that he's working in

[lightconductor]

The calling card gives Watson some pause; a note from a fellow doctor is straightforward enough, but the letters after are confusing and mean nothing to him. His visitor is educated, at least. That much is clear.

"Dr. Menelikov?" This seems like a likely assumption, at least. Watson greets him in the waiting room, and offers his hand to shake. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

[amourtician]

"Friend Doctor Menelikov, if thou'rt used to the egalitarian manner, please," Anzu specifies; he shakes Watson's hand—his grip is gentle—he clearly intends for handshakes to, first and foremost, establish his good intentions and professionalism. And maybe there's a certain stiffness to how he holds his hands, and to how he moves, somewhat prominent in a man not yet on the other side of fifty. "Reb Doctor otherwise. But not Herr or Monsieur, if thou'd be so good, ziskayt. I've had my fill of both prepended to my title to last me several trips 'round gilgul."

He smiles, but his nervousness is evident.

"I've come to make an inquiry, and subsequently, a professional proposition," he says. Then he bites his lip, suddenly feeling awkward. "But, ah ... I'd rather we conduct the conversation sitting down, if that's no imposition."

[lightconductor]

"Ah, well, we can certainly hope for friend being accurate soon, can't we? Ah, I admit that back home we tend to be far more formal than most people here are, but no Herr or Monsieur is an easy enough request."

That accent, that dialect. It's like Lev's, he knows that much. He hopes "ziskayt" is flattering, at the very least, but he doesn't quite know how to ask that particular detail, just yet.

"A proposition, is it? Well, come into my office and tell me all about it, as I'm all ears. I'm no more eager to have a conversation standing up than you are, and the chairs there are quite comfortable. Do you drink coffee or tea? I can put on a pot quickly enough."

[amourtician]

"I would never reject the opportunity to truly befriend a colleague," Anzu says, warmly. "And worry not none about formality mismatch, dearest. Mine husband and I are ... well, nu. We come from a place where most formality is out of fashion, and long may it stay so."

He follows Watson into the office.

"I drink not coffee, but tea would be fantastic, darling," he says, then hesitates briefly, and adds, "if 'tis no imposition, could mine be in a cup that's seen no use for the past week? I can explain, if thou'rt curious—" briefly, his nervousness shows again, this time more obvious, lingering longer. "But yes, ah. Tea. No milk, just sugar and lemon, if there's lemons to be had on this island."

Even despite the resurgent nervousness, Watson's manner is putting Anzu at ease. And Lev's spoken well of Watson, after all. Lev tends to have a good sense of people, though to Anzu's chagrin, his husband is still occasionally reluctant to share his hunches with anyone.

[lightconductor]

There's a small iron stove in the corner of the office for the purposes of heat, with a small fire burning. Watson gestures to a chair Anzu can take, with a quick "Please, have a seat," and checks the water level of a kettle sitting nearby, finds it acceptable, and sets on the stove to boil.

His husband. Goodness. That still gives him such a pleased little thrill to hear.

"Tea it is. I haven't any lemons, I'm afraid, but I do have sugar. And, hm, I think I do have a cup in the back of the cabinet that hasn't been in rotation for a week or two." Watson cannot entirely keep the curiosity out of his voice. "It's no trouble at all, though if you don't mind telling me why, I would be interested to hear."

He's already getting out the cups, taking careful note of which one he chooses.

[amourtician]

Anzu watches Watson make tea, and fidgets with the cuff of his jacket, without quite realising he's doing so.

"I mind not explaining," he says, and then pauses, before adding apologetically, "but please, take it not as an insult. Merely a precaution. It's ah ... to do with the laws of kashrus. Not that I suspect thee of drinking gravy out of a cup, not at all. But, nu." He shrugs. "I find this place strange, and observing ritual is, ah. The proper thing to do, but I do find it comforting, more than anything."

He's speaking carefully, worried about slipping back into the habit of apologetics—at court he was often suspected (correctly, which was the worst part) of having reverted to the ways of his ancestors, despite his alleged initiation into the mystery cult of the New Sun, and so the habit developed.

"And it's a reminder of my freedom from the tzar, too," he says, before he can think better of it. "That I may keep all the silly rituals and unnecessarily strict laws I like. Feh! May the tzar's name be erased. And may his grave be a public facility for generations to come, provided anyone even remembers where he was buried."

[lightconductor]

It's the word "tzar" that gets him first, because that's more initially familiar to him. Watson has, until this point, operated on the assumption that whatever world Anzu and Lev are from, it is different enough that there are few to any similar cultural beats. "Tzar," though, strikes him as so surprisingly Russian that it gives him pause, a chance to reassess.

"You have a tzar? Or, rather--" And Watson stops again, thinking back over what Anzu has said, a word that had not been initially familiar, but after a moment's thought. "Wait. Kashrus, you said. I'm very sorry if this is an impertinent question, but are you Jewish?"

He sets the tea in front of Anzu, and takes a seat of his own.

The Appointment

[spaghettification]

Siebren shows up to Watson's clinic ten minutes early! And then spends fifteen minutes doing a floating equivalent of pacing trying to work up the testicular fortitude to just go inside. Look, he's nervy. But eventually, eventually there's a librarian-astrophysicist at the door, looking sheepish.

[lightconductor]

Watson meets him at the door, and if he noticed Siebren's vacillations, well, he's not saying a thing. Nor about the five minutes late.

"Ah, there you are. Come in and have a seat in the examination room, and I'll be with you directly."

[spaghettification]

"Thank you, Doctor." Siebren floats his way over to the exam room and sits. And fidgets. Well, it's not like Watson has never seen a restlessness of mind and body before.

[lightconductor]

It's a familiar symptom, that's for certain. Watson closes the door behind him as he returns, and offers a reassuring smile.

"Should we start with what happened that night?"

[spaghettification]

"When Mendel's court began tormenting everyone, a particular demon took a personal interest in me. But she didn't expect me to be capable of fighting back. I was able to kill her."

This is the part that makes sense.

"Her body melted into white chocolate and artificial cherry syrup. I ate all of it."

[lightconductor]

That is, Watson reflects, one of the stranger things he's been told by a patient, but that list lately has become a good deal stranger than it had originally been when he lived in London.

"Ah. I see. Was this... well, begging your pardon, but I certainly had my share of strange experiences that night. Was there some degree of illusion or delusion involved?"

[spaghettification]

"Probably. But I did not just imagine devouring her. And I spent three days, ahm. Digesting her. I have absorbed some of her demonic power. But I'm not certain if there were other effects."

[lightconductor]

"I see."

Watson looks thoughtful for a moment. Presumably there are side effects you can expect from three days digesting a demon who turned into what may or may not have actually been white chocolate and cherry syrup. They did not cover that in school. "I would suggest we start with a general physical examination, then, if you're amenable. What effects have you noticed?"