Christian wondered what today would bring. Maybe one of those black and white hookers Tommy had told him about. It was important that someone in that profession get regular check-ups, after all.
Christian blinked. Was he seeing things? No, the walls, the carpet, the clinic furnishings were still in color. The girl, however, was black and white and grey.
And hot. And if Tommy was to be believed, a hooker.
"I think I need to start wearing a sign that says 'I am not Bel,'" Christian complained. "Look, sweetheart, I'm a doctor, and if you want my help, then take a seat and tell me what's wrong."
Becky raised an eyebrow. "If you get one of those, I want a 'Hell no, I'm not Rory,' sign. So sick of that, since, hi, lacking a little color here. Can't be that hard to tell us apart."
She obligingly sat down. "Throat hurts, dizzy, and congested," she said, scowling. "I want the good drugs."
Christian peered down her throat, not thinking about using a different instrument to examine her, not at all. He took her temperature, then nodded. "You have the flu," he said. "I can give you some Tamiflu for it, but you need plenty of fluids and to keep off your back--feet, I mean feet--for a few days."
[ooc: Couldn't resist. :)]
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And hot. And if Tommy was to be believed, a hooker.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
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She obligingly sat down. "Throat hurts, dizzy, and congested," she said, scowling. "I want the good drugs."
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"Ahh,"
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