milliways_bar | (no subject)

Oh.

Oh. A doctor.

That might...that might be nice.

A very, very sorry Lègle de Meaux, infinitely regretting the mixed drinks of his July 14th celebrations, drags himself pitifully in the direction of the sign.

"Hi there." Guppy says, looking up at the man. "Can I help?"

"I may be dying." He closes his eyes. "...I'm already dead, but I may be dying more. Has your modern medicine discovered a cure for the hangover?"

"We can take the edge off it." Guppy says, trying not to grin at his expression. "Take a seat?"

He gets the waitrat to bring him a pint of water and some paracetamol.

Eyes still closed, Bossuet fumbles his way into a seat. "The drinks were blue," he murmurs. "I don't know what they were. Is it very bad, Doctor?"

"Is what very bad, the drink or the hangover?" Guppy asks, sliding the pint of water and medication across.

There is a young man in a purple silk shirt who approaches. He looks in the prime of his health, though, and oddly timeless in his attire.

"You are a philanthropist," he says to Guppy. His accent is a strange, washed-out mix between very posh British upper class, and soft Mid-Atlantic; he has probably travelled a lot, or knows very many different people, moves in very wide social circles. "Do you get many interesting alien diseases to treat here?"

Guppy smiles.

"More a volunteer, but thank you." he says. "And yes, from time to time, and magical ones too."

"I suppose in the future, people can cure everything?" he asks.

"Maybe further in my future, but not in my time." Guppy says. "We get a good go at it though."

"Can you cure consumption?" he asks, curious.

"In a lot of cases, yes."

Beat.

"Do you have consumption?"

Because if so, a bunch of people just got exposed...

"I hope not!" he laughs. "Not that I know -- no, I suppose that wouldn't be likely at all. I'm just curious because it's a great scourge of our time."

"Ah, well it can still take a little time." Guppy says. "Several months of antibiotics, and it doesn't always work. But we also vaccinate against it - stop people getting it."

"That's like inoculation against the smallpox?" he asks. "We do that, too. But there's no such thing to eradicate consumption."

"Yes, much like that." Guppy says. "What year are you from?"

"London, 1891," he says. "My name is Dorian Gray."

He offers his hand, smiling.

"Guppy Sandhu, England 2014." Guppy smiles and shakes the hand.

"2014," Dorian says. "I am impressed. Where in England?"

"Holby, it's near Wales."

Nobody has ever heard of Holby.

"I haven't heard about it," Dorian says. "It might be a small town in my time, or perhaps even a village."

"That's okay, most people haven't. Are you new here?"

"Yes," Dorian says. "I've been pottering around for no more than a week, trying to learn the ropes. This place is breathtaking!"

"Did you have any questions about it?" Guppy asks. "It can be a confusing place at first."

"I am finding out things on my own," Dorian says, "but I'd quite like to know how medicine is practised here, just in case."

Dorian hardly needs it for himself, but who knows what trouble the people he knows will get into.