Dr Henry Morgan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
livelongenough) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-06-08 11:49 pm
livelongenough) wrote in undergrounds2015-06-08 11:49 pm
Entry tags:
The good doctor
1) Real estate shopping
Thank you for your time, ma'am. I really appreciated it. I'll get back to you this week with an offer if I decide to buy."
It was a nice little practice. Always family owned, and the father was too old to do steady work. He was ready to retire, and none of his children had gone into the medical field. The offices had a very warm feeling to them. It felt like someone's living room, which made patients more comfortable. It also had multiple entrances, which meant that people who didn't want to be seen coming and going wouldn't be.
It was a bit small, but he'd have to start small anyway. He hadn't been a physician in quite some time, which meant he'd need to rewrite his resume a bit. Perhaps he'd call his hacker... Was she a friend? Yes, she was. His hacker friend. She'd done wonders for his records before.
"Home sweet home, I think," he said to himself.
2) A little detective work (day)
The Glenmorgan Clinic was a clean little spot, all polished marble and bright smiles. He'd made up a story, admittedly. He told the girl at the desk that he'd heard good things about the clinic, that his wife was sick, and that money was no object. Nothing could be done unless he brought his wife in, of course, but that wasn't what was important.
What did matter was the literature he received. Phamplets and a few URLs about their doctors and their procedures.
Not for the first time, he wished Jo were here. She'd have the authority to really go digging, maybe even get a warrant for a patient list. Instead, he'd had to make due with what he could get out of people while in the lobby and what he saw with the doctor. He'd heard the success stories, seen the pictures, but without names, he couldn't verify anything. Getting those...
For now, though, he sat outside a pastry shop, sipping his tea as he looked through the leaflet of the 'miracle clinic.' It was vague -- too vague for his tastes. Something was wrong.
3) A little detective work (night)
The head of a small Barnet nest had given him a task. She'd promised to keep the peace with the expansion of Redbright and to fully comply with the requirements to stay in the area if he found out what happened to two of her missing 'young.' They'd gone out for a hunt each within the last three weeks, and neither of them had returned.
It might have been a bit of a roundabout way of doing things, but he wanted to know if other nests were experiencing similar problems. It might, at least, narrow down what he was looking for.
So, Henry was out at night, walking down the streets of Islington. Familiar streets, ones he knew all too well. They'd changed a bit, but... Well. London was as eternal as he was. Some things just stayed the same. After all, this country respected history. A hundred year old building was a testament, not in need of being removed and its base built upon anew. Renovation, not reconstruction. That's what makes London home.
He looked around, judging the street. He was near the recognised nest of the area, he was sure. Might even be under someone's gaze right now. But he could handle that.
4) Downtime
Henry enjoyed antique shops. They reminded him of Abraham. Which caused mixed emotions. On the one hand, it was for the best that they spoke only rarely and that he couldn't go visit for a long time. Still, he missed his son. More, at this point, than he missed his late wife. He'd long since mourned Abigail. Abraham, however...
But he wasn't gone. They were just apart.
Which helped Henry rally himself a little, especially as he inspected the wares of his particular shop. A desk had caught his eye. Late Edwardian, solid oak. Still in excellent condition.
Surely Ms Redbright would allow him to change out the one in his office for something a little more customised to his tastes. If not, he'd find space for it in his rooms or in the clinic he was going to open. Either way, his admiration of it showed, as did the careful inspection he was making on it.
Which didn't stop him from noticing something someone else was admiring.
"It's a fake," he warned in a calm, polite tone.
5) School's In
Academia was no stranger for Henry Morgan. Being an instructor, however, was. He was far more comfortable patching students up than teaching classes. After this term and seeing how he handled it himself, he knew he might have to talk to Ms Redbright and get his position shifted around a little. He wanted to be at the Institute, certainly, but doing anything away from medicine could prove to be too much.
Still, it as a new experience, and he didn't mind that.
It didn't stop him from being frustrated with his students as he graded the first batch of essays from his class on politics. They were young, he had to remind himself. His purpose was to engage their minds, not test the critical thinking skills they didn't already have. He'd wanted a baseline for their knowledge and for their patterns of examination and reasoning, and he had one. He just... had to correct it now.
His office door remained open as he worked for staff and student alike.
6) Wildcard
((Got a scene you want? Post a starter in the comments.))
Thank you for your time, ma'am. I really appreciated it. I'll get back to you this week with an offer if I decide to buy."
It was a nice little practice. Always family owned, and the father was too old to do steady work. He was ready to retire, and none of his children had gone into the medical field. The offices had a very warm feeling to them. It felt like someone's living room, which made patients more comfortable. It also had multiple entrances, which meant that people who didn't want to be seen coming and going wouldn't be.
It was a bit small, but he'd have to start small anyway. He hadn't been a physician in quite some time, which meant he'd need to rewrite his resume a bit. Perhaps he'd call his hacker... Was she a friend? Yes, she was. His hacker friend. She'd done wonders for his records before.
"Home sweet home, I think," he said to himself.
2) A little detective work (day)
The Glenmorgan Clinic was a clean little spot, all polished marble and bright smiles. He'd made up a story, admittedly. He told the girl at the desk that he'd heard good things about the clinic, that his wife was sick, and that money was no object. Nothing could be done unless he brought his wife in, of course, but that wasn't what was important.
What did matter was the literature he received. Phamplets and a few URLs about their doctors and their procedures.
Not for the first time, he wished Jo were here. She'd have the authority to really go digging, maybe even get a warrant for a patient list. Instead, he'd had to make due with what he could get out of people while in the lobby and what he saw with the doctor. He'd heard the success stories, seen the pictures, but without names, he couldn't verify anything. Getting those...
For now, though, he sat outside a pastry shop, sipping his tea as he looked through the leaflet of the 'miracle clinic.' It was vague -- too vague for his tastes. Something was wrong.
3) A little detective work (night)
The head of a small Barnet nest had given him a task. She'd promised to keep the peace with the expansion of Redbright and to fully comply with the requirements to stay in the area if he found out what happened to two of her missing 'young.' They'd gone out for a hunt each within the last three weeks, and neither of them had returned.
It might have been a bit of a roundabout way of doing things, but he wanted to know if other nests were experiencing similar problems. It might, at least, narrow down what he was looking for.
So, Henry was out at night, walking down the streets of Islington. Familiar streets, ones he knew all too well. They'd changed a bit, but... Well. London was as eternal as he was. Some things just stayed the same. After all, this country respected history. A hundred year old building was a testament, not in need of being removed and its base built upon anew. Renovation, not reconstruction. That's what makes London home.
He looked around, judging the street. He was near the recognised nest of the area, he was sure. Might even be under someone's gaze right now. But he could handle that.
4) Downtime
Henry enjoyed antique shops. They reminded him of Abraham. Which caused mixed emotions. On the one hand, it was for the best that they spoke only rarely and that he couldn't go visit for a long time. Still, he missed his son. More, at this point, than he missed his late wife. He'd long since mourned Abigail. Abraham, however...
But he wasn't gone. They were just apart.
Which helped Henry rally himself a little, especially as he inspected the wares of his particular shop. A desk had caught his eye. Late Edwardian, solid oak. Still in excellent condition.
Surely Ms Redbright would allow him to change out the one in his office for something a little more customised to his tastes. If not, he'd find space for it in his rooms or in the clinic he was going to open. Either way, his admiration of it showed, as did the careful inspection he was making on it.
Which didn't stop him from noticing something someone else was admiring.
"It's a fake," he warned in a calm, polite tone.
5) School's In
Academia was no stranger for Henry Morgan. Being an instructor, however, was. He was far more comfortable patching students up than teaching classes. After this term and seeing how he handled it himself, he knew he might have to talk to Ms Redbright and get his position shifted around a little. He wanted to be at the Institute, certainly, but doing anything away from medicine could prove to be too much.
Still, it as a new experience, and he didn't mind that.
It didn't stop him from being frustrated with his students as he graded the first batch of essays from his class on politics. They were young, he had to remind himself. His purpose was to engage their minds, not test the critical thinking skills they didn't already have. He'd wanted a baseline for their knowledge and for their patterns of examination and reasoning, and he had one. He just... had to correct it now.
His office door remained open as he worked for staff and student alike.
6) Wildcard
((Got a scene you want? Post a starter in the comments.))
no subject
no subject
He considered the matter for a moment then smiled. It was, for the most part, a joke. "Perhaps in off-time I'll consider trying to get back into the medical examiner field. I did enjoy the work."
no subject
"Well, let's think this through." She picked up a pen, making a note for herself to look into this later. "First you will need to hand in a letter of resignation. Then I'm sure we can find a place for you as a physician, perhaps in a more advisory capacity. We do have a very good school nurse, but we could use your expertise in supernatural matters. If we could only offer a part-time role, that would have a corresponding impact on salary. Is that something you'd be willing to accept?"
She glanced up at him, expression serious. He was making light of the matter, but she hoped he had considered his decision carefully. Then again, she supposed that someone his age would have had so many different careers, a switch like this was minor in comparison.
no subject
He had plenty of savings still. Those he probably wouldn't come close to exhausting unless he didn't work for another hundred years.
It seemed like a heavy decision to most, and he supposed it was, in a way, but he viewed a great many things differently than most did. He had, really, an extraordinary amount of time, so changing his life was, in a way, second nature.
"Perhaps I'll keep an eye open for Scotland Yard needing a medical examiner. I... miss the work, really." What he missed was the investigation. Jo. But he wasn't willing to admit that to himself quite yet, especially not out loud. "And, well. I've certainly got time to wait."
no subject
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"The purpose of the work. Helping the dead." It sounded strange, he knew, but it was true. "Most of them died of natural causes. Simple enough. But the victims... Some of them didn't even know what happened. So they lingered, either wanting answers or wanting justice." He could help the living, yes, but he'd surrounded himself for so long with the study of death. "Detective Martinez helped me get that for them."
no subject
Sylvia had offered advice to many people over the years, some good friends, some complete strangers, witches she didn't know who nonetheless sought her wisdom on various matters. Sometimes they took the advice and sometimes not, but she hoped that she always offered it in good faith. She might lose Henry as a colleague at the school... but that didn't mean she was about to lose him to a rival faction. There were other opportunities, if he chose to take them.
no subject
no subject
She wanted to hear his thoughts first.
no subject
no subject
Everything he had just described was the job of the Outreach program. He had already started to do some work with them, and Sylvia suspected that he might like it more too.
no subject
"I'd be delighted. Thank you very much, Ms Redbright."
no subject
Good that they had resolved this. And Sylvia was sure she could pull a few strings, get him an interview at least. The Night Council always had need of people in the police force.