✖ Doc Worth ✖ Third Dose ✖ Video ✖

[amphetamedic]

Bra-fuckin'-vo, all--

--s'nice ta see ya all workin' out yer little problems. I've always been a firm believa' that most issues can be solved with a slap ta th' mouth er two. S'healthy. Good fer ya.

Fuckin'...therapeutic.

That bein' said--I am a doctor. An' I am currently acceptin' patients. An' whass even better than that:

I don' like the lot

Comments

[voice]

[white_beret]

Do you do home visits? [Spoken slowly, obviously slightly out of it]

[voice]

[amphetamedic]

Depends on if it's worth my while, 'course. But--sure. Let's say I do.

...what's yer problem?

[voice]

[white_beret]

Broken ankle, broken ribs and I might have done something to my back.

I'll...[He trails off, losing the thread for the moment] I can give opium. Painkiller for your patients. It's amazing stuff, I don't feel a thing.

[voice]

[amphetamedic]

Aw. Feelin' loved, then?

[He almost has to contain a snort when the other man says "for your patients," but he suppresses it and behaves himself. Sounds like an offer he can't refuse.]

Deal.

Where?

[voice]

[white_beret]

3A. I didn't lock the door.

[In Person]

[amphetamedic]

[Worth doesn't even answer--just collects what supplies he's "procured" so far, and heads over, donning his fur collared jacket. He also doesn't knock, choosing instead to walk into the room like he owned the place, shutting the door behind him and striding lazily in as he calls out.]

Oi. Where's the lame duck..?

[In Person]

[white_beret]

[There's a puff of smoke drifting up from behind a large pile of papers. A pair of feet, one stained in blood and at a crooked angle, protrude]

Quack.

[In Person]

[amphetamedic]

[He quirks an eyebrow and saunters over, peeking his head over the stack of papers.]

Yer a long way from the pond, ducks.

[And then he goes to his customary slouch, crossing his arms over his chest.] Seem pretty good goin' despite yer...obvious injuries. Though I s'pose that's not too surprisin', given yer state o' mind.

[Worth sets his bag on the desk, unceremoniously knocking some papers over in the process.]

[In Person]

[white_beret]

[Komui beams up at the man standing above him, waving his pipe in greeting. There's blood under his fingernails.]

I can't stand up.

[He flops his head in the direction of the small avalanche of papers]

I sorted those yesterday.

[In Person]

[amphetamedic]

[Worth gives a shitty little smile.] An' looks like you'll be sortin' em again tomorrow, so I hope ya liked it. [He gets right next to the other man and starts grabbing at him, checking him out as gently as he can, which isn't very, focusing on his leg.]

Jus' wanna go right fer it, then? This needs ta be set. I'm sure yer fucked in other places, too, but the sooner this shit's set the better.

[In Person]

[white_beret]

[Komui frowns] I hadn't sorted them in two years. [And then he smiles again] It must be a sign. Set it once I've had another breath.

[He lifts his pipe to his lips and inhales slowly, his face going lax and his breathing slowing. ]

[In Person]

[amphetamedic]

Yeah--an' the sign is: "shouldn' o' fuckin' sorted em in the first place."

[The man's leg is already extended, but he brings it down next to him so it's in a better position. Worth nods and waits til Komui inhales before anchoring one hand above the break and one just after it, sneering as he yanks hard to snap it back into place. He's seen people pass out from getting their legs set--so it's a good thing Komui wasn't in the proper state of mind. Worth looks up at him, one eyebrow quirked.]

Thank shit fer psychotropics, hrm? [He chuckled a little to himself as he reached over to his supplies, removing a makeshift splint which was actually just a branch from the biodome, and wrapping.]