1861/06/27 Patient Zero
Scene Patient Zero
Characters Kitty and Davey
Place Dr. Yin's Office
Date Monday, 27 June 1861

Yin had some business to see to. Some shopping to do, perhaps, for medicines or tools that the space required. The space still requires a lot, but it's coming along. The red-and-white pole has been pulled down, with a new sign reading "PHYSICIAN" hanging over the shop, complete with an Earlenmeyer Flask, flanked by a scalpal. Medical and surgical.

Inside, the sawdust has been swept from the floor. There's a desk just in the door, behind which are four cots for medical patients. The left side of the room is blocked partially by a curtain, on the other side of which is a hard, high table, a bar for tools, and the long mirror left over from the barber. The room is empty now save for that auburned-haired witch, as Davey first referred to her, with her back to the door. She's working at the bar along the back where the woodstove is. She is arranging a series of boxes and tools back there, checking this scalpal or that rubber tubing, cleaning as needed. Her hair is pulled back and up in a stylish, tight pile of curls. She wears a white blouse with a high neck and long sleeves and a striped grey and blue skirt. In addition, there are gloves on her hands.

The nice newly painted door of the Surgery flies open, propelled by a sturdy iron-shod hobnail boot, a boot attached to the leg of the local blubberous barman, Davey. He stands outside, peering up at the sign, his eyes screwed up, his mouth moving as he tries to read an unfamiliar word. 'Fisik.. an?' he mutters to himself. He shakes his head and moves through the doorway, seeing only Kitty in the room he grins nervously, "Hi, uh.. The Doc in?" Davey raises his left arm a little, which he is clutching with his right hand, with a dirty cloth wrapped around the left forearm that is dripping blood onto the nice clean floor.

The kick of the door has Kitty startling. She jumps and lets out a quick "Ah!" dropping the scalpal she had in her hand. It clangs softly on the floor. By the time she realizes who Davey is and what he's doing here, she's turned around and is leaning back against the bar, as though she could get just a little further away from the percieved threat. But no, there is no threat. So the hand clutching her heart slowly falls, and she settles back on her feet. "Physician," she corrects, in her sweet southern drawl. "Superior to a doctor. A true man of science and medicine." In case he wanted more information than that. The sight of the arm doesn't make her pale, or flail. No. She looks interested. Intrigued even. All sight of previous fear is gone now as she begins to cross the room to the man. "No, sir. Docta Yin isnna here, just now. But never you mind, sir. This don't look like nothing that a steady hand can't see to." She gestures around the curtain. "Why doncha come over here an have a seat, and we'll see what's what, hmm?" Cue disarming dimples.

Davey clomps back a step, confused, clearly not understanding the definition presented to him. Mostly what he got was 'No doctor', "He's no' here?" frowns the fat man in his Irish-American lilt, "So I should wait?" Clearly well out of his comfort zone, Davey looks around the room nervously. Happy in a fistfight or raucous saloon, this unfamiliar place is giving poor Davey the willies.

"You can wait if it's needed. But you'd best give me a look at it, either way." Kitty stands by the curtain, pulling it back to reveal the high table there, the bar of instruments, and the mirror. Kitty continues to smile, ever-so-sweetly. "Ah promise, sir. No need to worry. Can you tell me what happened?"

Davey boggles at the array of what seem to be torture instruments. This isn't how medicine should go, where's the basket of used bandages ready to be used again? Where's the bucket of pitch? The tooth-pullers? The bottle of 100-proof painkiller? "Well, uh.." stammers the man, still clearly very ill at ease, "Young Johnson and That Bastard O'Rourke were dicin' in the saloon just now, O'Rourke accuses Johnson of cheatin' more than usual. Johnson doesn't like that at all and starts to talk about O'Rourke's mother. I go over to knock their stupid heads together, but O'Rourke pulls out his pig-sticker and starts waving it around. Just as I'm explainin' to him how to be quiet with the butt end of me shotgun he slices me arm.." Davey raises his left arm again, the cloth around it now completely soaked in blood. "He's got less teeth'n he used to now, but even after pouring some whisky on the cut it won't stop leaking"

Once they're in the surgical area, Kitty gestures to the table. "Please have a seat up here. It'll situate you higher than a normal chair so it will be easier for me to have a look. We can't have the good doctor come back to find ya bleeding all over his shop now can we?" She's just as sweet as candy. Not waiting to see if Davey does as he's instructed, the woman turns to the bar and lifts up an apron, pulling it over her head and tying it behind her. It's crisp, clean, and white. The gloves are already worn. "I assume, in your story, a pig sticker is a knife? Do I need to run and see to this Mister O'Rourke?"

Unconvinced, but calmed by the conversation Davey waddles over to the table and hoists his fat frame onto it. "Oh, uh sorry about that" apologises the barblob, seemingly seeing the blood trail for the first time. "I'll clear it up if you want, got a bucket of fresh sawdust back at the saloon I can use" Davey settles his ample self on the tabletop and removes the cloth from his arm It sticks slightly, eliciting a hiss of pain, and reveals a nasty gash the length of Davey's forearm. "A knife, aye. And he'll be fine when he wakes up. Long as likes soup, anyways"

Kitty steps up then, moving to reach out and take his arm by the elbow and the wrist, her own touch clean and soft and gentle. She moves the arm this way and that a little, peering at it. "He might have some damage to his head that might need some looking after. Once we're finished here, I'll come with you back to where you fought, and we can see how things stand with him. Do you have bar fights often?" She asks, tilting the arm a little more with a soft hum. "I can stitch this up for you in just a few minutes," she finally declares with a touch of pride.

Davey snorts, "That bastard's got nothin' in his head weren't put there by boozin' and whorin'" he says, then realises his cussin' "Uh beggin' yer pardon, Miss" he appends apologetically. "We get folks settlin' their arguments with their fists often enough, not usual anyone dies. I won't have guns drawn in my place, they wanna shoot each other they do it in the street like civilised folk" Davey looks up, genuinely surprised. "You can? How'd you know how to do that?"

Kitty's already moving back to the bar in front of the mirror, opening a large wooden box and begining to lay out certain items. Thick thread. A curved needle. A bottle of liquid. Tools of the trade. "That's quite alright, sir, so long as you don't make a habit of it here," she says, primly, in response to his cusses. Deft, thin fingers thread the needle. "He may not die, but that does not mean that getting beaten in the head is healthy either, Mister …" she trails off. "I'm sorry, we haven't been introduced." She uses the liquid in the bottle to wipe down the needle, then turns with that same dimpled smile again. "I'm Kitty Morton, sir, and I know how to do that because I am quite a fine nurse, if the Lord may forgive me for being so prideful."

Davey smiles "No sin in being good at what you do, Miss Morton" he replies, "I'm O'Connell, Davey. You've like as not seen my name over the saloon, I brew the best moonshine in the state. Wildsnake I call it. I saw you and the Chinaman roll into town the other day, guess it's good to have a doctor again, even a forrin one" he grins, "Or a woman" Davey's middle name is definately not 'Subtle'. "The last one wasn't up to much, though"

"It's a pleasure, I'm certian, Mistah O'Connell," Kitty says, setting the needle aside for now in favor of th bottle and a clean rag. "If you'll hold out your arm for me please … I apologize that this will not be pleasant, but it is rather necessary." Comments about foreigners and women go entirely ignored, for now. There's something of greater interest. Kitty wets the rag and, once Davey seems ready, moving to dab and apply the alcoholic compress to clean out the wound. "This moonshine you brew, sir … is it terribly pure?"

Davey licks his lips worriedly, but holds out his arm, fist clenched, wondering where the hot iron is that'll seal his cut. "Most potent in town" he says, happy at least to be distracted and talking about booze, "My still is a work of art, and I designed the filterin' system myself" He frowns, slightly suspiciously, "I'll not be givin' out me recipie, mind"

And so she begins to clean out the cut of his arm, even going so far as to splash a bit of excess into the depths of the cut. It'll burn. "No, nor would it be right of me to expect you to," she says with a little smirk. "But I ask for purity because, if you can make it truly pure and truly clean, too strong even for drink? Why, that I might be inclined to buy a few bottles of, should you be interested in selling, rather than giving." Once the wound is clean, she sets the rag in a small empty basket behind her on the bar, and puts away the liquid bottle. Now for that needle.

Davey hisses between his teeth as the cut is cleaned, but keeps his arm steady nonetheless, the pain being less than he expected from a hot cauterising iron. "Undrinkable?" he asks, curiously, "I suppose if I ran a loop and sent it through the filters twice, and didn't add the snake.. Uh, the other ingredients I could do that. My first ever try was close to what yer askin', it's how Blind Tom got his name" Davey shaked his head, clearly puzzled, "But what's be the point? 'less you want to die drunk.."

Kitty chuckles, shaking her head. "Not at all. But such a concotion would have medicinal purposes that I should verty much like to employ. The mixture I used on your arm I ordered from back east. I daresay it would be cheaper to order from you, wouldn't it?" Yes, she's conducting business while about to put a needle in his arm. "Now prepare yourself sir, this will be most uncomfortable. But the more still you stay, the sooner it will end." And just like that, she slides the needle through and begins to stitch him closed.

"Medicinal, huh. Now there's a thing. I never did.." Davey suddenly grits his teeth as the needle goes in and mutters a few choice words in Gaelic that if said in English would have turned the air in the Physician's blue. He grips the edge of the table tightly, his arm shaking a little. "Gnngh!" he gasps as the work is done, breathing deeply, unable to form more coherent speech at the moment.

As Kitty doesn't know the words, she doesn't seem bothered by them. "You're doing so very well, sir. Just a bit longer now." And she doesn't pester him with questions or conversations, now. She just sees to her work. She has a strong, steady hand, and makes quick work of the thing, at last reaching into the pocket of her apron for some silver scissors, which she uses to cut the thread after she's knotted it. There's a few flecks of blood on her gloves, but she remains clean. "There you are. Now with a bandage you'll be quite alright in some weeks time. Do you need a moment? I know stitching is particularly uncomfortable for the patient, but it is the best way."

Davey blinks away the tears in his eyes caused by the pain and looks down at the neat stitching. "Well I'll be a son of a goat.." he says, poking at his arm. "Ouch!" He grins, "I never did see anything like that before, d'you do clothes as well?" The Solid Saloon owner is all smiles now that his ordeal appears to be over, with not a rusty saw or bucket of pitch in sight.

"Only if the clothes are bleeding," Kitty admits with a little laugh. She goes to another basket sitting atop the bar and removes a clean linen bandage, which she begins to wind around the stitched arm. "Let it breathe when you can, but keep it covered at night," she tells him. "And clean it very very carefully once a day, or you may return here to have it cleaned if you're worried about the steadiness of your own hand. I'll need to remove the stitches in a few weeks time, so be careful until then." She looks up at him, smiling—nay, beaming. "Forgive me, sir but … you are my first patient. And I'm so pleased it seems to have gone so well."

"First.." Davey is aghast, then his face splits into a grin. "Well then I'm pleased also, considering the last doctor prob'ly would've sawn the thing off to stop it going green" He wiggles his pudgy fingers happily. "I'm sure I must owe you for this?"

The auburned-haired bell quotes a price, perhaps a bit higher than the last doctor might have charged. But then she didn't cut off his arm now, did she? "It may be easiest to pay half now, and half when the stitches have been removed. In case you are concerned about my integrity." Even as she says it, she smiles.

Davey nods, "Fair enough. You said you're coming to take a look at O'Rourke?" he asks, "Didn't bring any coin with me, I was a bit busy bleeding all over the floor to think of it" he grins, "So you can either pick it up or I'll bring it by later, as you please"

"No, I'd best go have a look," Kitty decides. She steps out from behind the curtain and goes to the desk which no-doubt belongs to Dr. Yin. A brown satchel of very fine, thick leather is removed and she slides it onto her shoulder. "Lead the way if you please, sir."

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