undergrounds | The good doctor

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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.))

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Indeed, he had a pair of eyes on him right at that very moment. Cooper prided himself on knowing all the movements that went on in Islington's territory. Even if he didn't personally track every person, he knew the others of the clan would inform him if there was anyone suspicious moving around. When he received word of Henry walking the streets, lingering in the area when others would move along, he decided to investigate.

He stealthily followed Henry for about a block, following far enough behind not to be noticed, but close enough that he could keep an eye on what the man was doing. After seeing no indication of what he wanted, he decided to confront him directly. Cooper appeared as if he'd come from nowhere at all. "Lost your way, have you?"

Something that years of being alive allowed one to learn was how to feel eyes on you. So, Henry wasn't entirely surprised -- especially, now, knowing about vampires -- when someone appeared. He held up his hands as he turned around, showing he had no weapons. He even managed a small smile.

"Actually, I happened to be looking for someone to talk to you. Maybe you can help me out?" He'd learned to be careful about how he said things. Though, after this many years, he had pretty good intuition about things. "I don't suppose you know of a nest in this area?"

Normal people? Wouldn't have a clue what he was talking about. It was a good place to start.

Cooper considered the question. This man didn't look like any ally or hanger-on that he knew of. What sort of fool willingly sought out vampires? "Tell me why you need t'find them and maybe I'll tell you where they are."

Cooper folded his arms, the expression on his face showing that the matter was not up for debate. His first duty was to keep the vampires in the area safe. He didn't know what this man's intentions were, and until he did, Henry wasn't getting anything from him.

Henry kept his hands up. If there was one thing he'd learned from his time with Jo, it was how to make sure someone knew he wasn't a threat. Hands visible was a good start.

"There's a nest in Barnet that's had a couple of members go missing. I promised them I'd look into it."

He still couldn't believe he was dealing with vampires. It seemed impossible, but he'd seen the proof for it. He wasn't the only... different sort of person out there. Which amazed him. Still, it was important that he kept focused.

"I wanted to ask about the nest here. See if anyone's gone missing."

"What's it to you?" Cooper asked, his suspicions not quelled. His first guess for someone looking for missing vampires would be a hunter looking to find more, but he claimed a nest had sent him. That was a bold lie to make and Cooper could think of half a dozen more plausible ones off the top of his head. Perhaps he was on the level.

"What's your name?" He demanded imperiously before his first question had even been answered. He watched Henry very closely for any signs of a lie. Anyone who wouldn't tell the truth about something as simple as their name wasn't to be trusted.

"Doctor Henry Morgan. I work at the Redbright Institute."

He couldn't blame the man for being suspicious. He would be too in the same situation. Which was why he kept still and said only what he needed to. Better not to overexplain. Otherwise, he risked sounding like he was trying to talk too much and keep the focus off something.

"I want to find out what's going on."

Dr. Morgan? He'd heard of that name before. He thought back to the ball and his conversation with with a certain ghostly grandmother. "Do you know a ghost named Clara?"

While he didn't sound friendly in the slightest, that edge of accusation was no longer coloring his tone. He sounded less likely to be interested in grabbing the good doctor and breaking his neck.

"I do. I promised her that I'd keep an eye on her granddaughter."

And then investigated a clinic she'd been worried about, but that was a separate matter entirely and not why he was here. Until he had an answer for the nest in Barnet, their acceptance of the Redbright expansion was tentative, and he didn't want to see any sort of war start. He'd had his fill of those.

Clara was a pretty good judge of character. She may have been a sweet old lady, but she was no pushover. If she thought this guy was on the level, that improved his standing in Cooper's eyes. He wasn't about to trust the guy if he turned his back, yet he was willing to give him a chance.

"Seems like you involve yourself a lot in others' business." Not like Cooper could talk. That was his specialty. His next words came slowly and with a certain reluctance. "We haven't had any missin' members. How many have Barnet lost?"

"Clara is at the Institute, and I try to help when I can. I was in Barnet for Ms Redbright, and if people are going missing, those close to them deserve an answer."

Because vampires, werewolves, witches... all of them count as 'people.' He's been alive too long and seen too many injustices to draw the line at the supernatural.

"Barnet's lost three. Not many, but they weren't the loner types. No one important either, but still-- active members of the community."

Cooper tilts his head as he thinks, trying to form connections in his head. He speaks his thoughts out loud. "Normally, I'd say it was hunters or werewolves if it was just one, but three doesn't make any sense. They'd try t'wipe out the whole nest at once, not pick 'em off one by one. Could be someone's taking 'em."

He didn't like the thought of that at all. Anyone who could hold a vampire captive had to already know their weaknesses and how to exploit them. That meant it was somebody powerful.

"That's what I was concerned about. I wanted to know if it was wider-spread or if it was staying on a small scale."

That it was just in Barnet, apparently, made it a little easier, in a way. It meant he could rule out other places further away as bases of operation. He could limit the comfort zone and look around it. Maybe.

"If you want to find missin' vampires, you're gonna need to think like one. I'm coming with you." The way he says it, with finality, makes it clear that's that. No room for argument or debate. Maybe this is all just an elaborate trap. Send the doctor out as bait and lure him in with a sob story about missing vampire. Well, if it is a trap, it's working. He'll just have to keep his guard up until he's sure of what's going on.

"Is Islington territory the only place you've checked?" It'll just waste time to cover territory Morgan has already gone through.

"Islington and Barnet, though I'm inclined to think we should go back to Barnet." With another pair of eyes, a differently situated mind, and other keener senses, it was worth another look. "If they're all from there, it's likely that's a comfort zone for whoever's doing it."

"Sounds like a plan. We'll get there faster if we take my ride." He points to a shiny black motorcycle parked on the curb about half a block up. He eyes Henry in a critical manner. The doctor looks like a bit of a square. "Have you ever ridden before?" That'll just be perfect, if he ends up falling off as soon as they take off.

"Not for a few years." More like over twenty. "But I think I remember the basics of leaning."

Besides, it would be faster. He just hadn't had a need to drive or ride anything that wasn't public transportation for almost forty years. Still, he thought he could still manage to ride properly.

"Good. I don't have a helmet, so don't do something stupid like fall off and crack your head open. I'd prefer t'deal with as few bodies as possible tonight." Cooper swings his leg over the bike, pulling a pair of goggles over his eyes to protect them. He revs up the motorcycle, looking completely at ease on top of the machine. He waits for Henry to climb on behind him. Then they'll be off.

"That isn't something you need to worry about," Henry mutters, half to himself, as he swings his leg over to sit behind Cooper. It's a bit odd, being in this position on a bike, but he doesn't complain.

Cooper drives like a maniac, speeding along like he's got the devil chasing after him and scraping around turns so fast that it's a wonder the bike never tips over. He gets more than just a few car horns honking at him as they maneuver their way through London and it's a wonder a police officer never stops them.

They get to Barnet in record time. He finally slows down his pace, going through the streets at less than insane speeds, and tilting his head back so that Henry can hear his voice over the rumble of the engines. "Anyplace in particular you've already checked?"

"I've asked," the man said as he stepped off the bike, "around the nest and a few of the usual haunts for the younger members. No one's seen anything they've been able to tell me."

He didn't have police access now. No way to get to see the CCTV, to watch for anyone who might have been following any of the missing people. Still, he couldn't help himself.

Cooper kills the engine, hanging his goggles off one of the handles. He shoves his hands in his pockets, staring at the buildings around them. "Guess we do this the old-fashioned way then: looking for anythin' suspicious."

He keeps his nose tuned in for any sign of a vampire's scent. There's distinct differences in how they smell when compared to humans. He glances over to Henry as they walk down the street. "So what's your shtick, doc?" He probably had some kind of power if he was working at the Redbright Institute.

Henry, too, looks around carefully. He doesn't know these streets anymore like he does New York's. There, even with all its chaos, he knew when things were different. When something wasn't quite right. Here, he's still a stranger. The prodigal son returned after a long while but with no fatted calf to receive him.

Speaking to a vampire, it's easy to admit his own secret. Plus he's trying to get used to saying it.

"Immortal."

"No shit, huh?" He reaches out and pokes Henry with a finger. Yes, that's a very scientific method of proving someone's immortality. Still, it's better than pushing him into traffic and seeing what a bus does to him. Cooper glances towards every alleyway they pass, hoping to see something suspicious. If there's one thing he's learned living in London, it's that nothing good ever takes place down a dark, deserted alley.

"How old?"

The result of that might well be quite surprising, should Cooper ever follow through with attempting to kill him. It's not pleasant for Henry, certainly, but it's a show. At the very least.

"Two hundred and thirty-five. Give or take a couple of months."

It's strange to think about sometimes. That he's seen that much of the world go by. Yet, to some immortals, he's barely a child.

The mention of Henry's age makes Cooper stop dead in his tracks. He's never met someone so close to his own age. "I'm two hundred and thirty-four." That's not something he mentions very often or at all if he can help it. Cooper is quite touchy when it comes to the subject of his age.

"Looks like you got to reach your prime before you stopped aging. Lucky bastard." There's no anger behind the words, only a quiet sort of resentment, the kind that's built up over too many years of being stuck permanently in his teenage body.

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