Bart Torgal (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theresalwaystheview) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ph_logs2024-04-04 04:22 am
theresalwaystheview) wrote in ph_logs2024-04-04 04:22 am
Sometimes I stare out of the window and think about how lucky I am...
Who: Bart Torgal and...you?
What: Seasonal log, as he attempts to earn enough money for a vessel
When: Mid-spring through event times
Where: Watson's clinic, Bart's lab
Warnings: General warning for poorly-dealt-with mental health themes, will update as necessary
Bart's winter had been bad. Terrible, really. For every ounce of progress he made, there was some kind of setback. Something that crippled him in his research or his attempts at having anything resembling a social life. He feels more alone than ever, even with the knowledge that there are people that at the very least think well of him. But what did that matter, really, when he's opted not to show his face out in the world unless it was for work?
1. The Clinic
From the moment that he knew he was good for something around here, he'd put himself to work on it. Working intake at John Watson's clinic, he'd been updating paperwork and helping to educate the doctor on updated medical techniques and information, knowing that if he had the common knowledge behind him of an additional couple of centuries of advancement, then who would he be to keep it to himself? So he was careful to pass on everything that he knew, and make all of his research available to the staff both here, and at Winterbottom's clinic closer to the center of town.
A handmade wooden sign with a slider that denotes when the clinic is open indicates that they are seeing patients. Walking into the clinic, you will see him sitting behind a desk, writing or occasionally drawing, filling out page upon page of notes from loose sheets. There are pamphlets, printed on thick card paper and folded neatly, for newcomers to peruse so that they had a better idea of how to approach an appointment. In an emergency, the boy is cool-headed, his manner and way of speaking incredibly gentle.
"Welcome to the clinic of Doctor John Watson, what can we do for you?"
2. The Lab
When not at the clinic, Bart is at home. Those that have known him for a while know that he's been working nonstop to turn part of his home into a proper laboratory for the production of everything from batteries to make the radio project by Tarantulas viable in the long term, to assisting in the production of penicillin from the samples that he'd been getting from the various farms around the island. The latter is at least coming along better, as materials to fabricate long-lasting, rechargeable batteries that wouldn't degrade into physical hazards is somewhat beyond his means just now.
When at home, he works late into the night, his lamps lit until the wee hours. He doesn't associate much with the people outside of his research, a long-standing habit that he has yet to curtail as he remains nervous about getting close to anyone at all.
A visitor will have to knock loudly, or find a window of his lab to tap on if they want his attention while he's wrist-deep in a production cycle for an antibiotic that he's attempting to prepare for proper in-vivo testing. He's going to look poorly slept, somewhat haunted, ragged around the edges like a college student studying for finals. There are samples absolutely everywhere, from the island, from the ocean, and from the outer edges of the entrance of Hepogaia.
Wildcard
Bart can also be found in fits and starts out in the forest, or down at the beach, pursuing lines of inquiry and writing in blank notebooks that rapidly fill with small handwriting and sketches that look more akin to diagrams than regular art. He's not an artist after all, just desperate to remember as much as possible, with an eye for details and an almost pathological need to put everything down accurately. Speaking up without letting him see you coming will make him jump. Sorry.
What: Seasonal log, as he attempts to earn enough money for a vessel
When: Mid-spring through event times
Where: Watson's clinic, Bart's lab
Warnings: General warning for poorly-dealt-with mental health themes, will update as necessary
Bart's winter had been bad. Terrible, really. For every ounce of progress he made, there was some kind of setback. Something that crippled him in his research or his attempts at having anything resembling a social life. He feels more alone than ever, even with the knowledge that there are people that at the very least think well of him. But what did that matter, really, when he's opted not to show his face out in the world unless it was for work?
1. The Clinic
From the moment that he knew he was good for something around here, he'd put himself to work on it. Working intake at John Watson's clinic, he'd been updating paperwork and helping to educate the doctor on updated medical techniques and information, knowing that if he had the common knowledge behind him of an additional couple of centuries of advancement, then who would he be to keep it to himself? So he was careful to pass on everything that he knew, and make all of his research available to the staff both here, and at Winterbottom's clinic closer to the center of town.
A handmade wooden sign with a slider that denotes when the clinic is open indicates that they are seeing patients. Walking into the clinic, you will see him sitting behind a desk, writing or occasionally drawing, filling out page upon page of notes from loose sheets. There are pamphlets, printed on thick card paper and folded neatly, for newcomers to peruse so that they had a better idea of how to approach an appointment. In an emergency, the boy is cool-headed, his manner and way of speaking incredibly gentle.
"Welcome to the clinic of Doctor John Watson, what can we do for you?"
2. The Lab
When not at the clinic, Bart is at home. Those that have known him for a while know that he's been working nonstop to turn part of his home into a proper laboratory for the production of everything from batteries to make the radio project by Tarantulas viable in the long term, to assisting in the production of penicillin from the samples that he'd been getting from the various farms around the island. The latter is at least coming along better, as materials to fabricate long-lasting, rechargeable batteries that wouldn't degrade into physical hazards is somewhat beyond his means just now.
When at home, he works late into the night, his lamps lit until the wee hours. He doesn't associate much with the people outside of his research, a long-standing habit that he has yet to curtail as he remains nervous about getting close to anyone at all.
A visitor will have to knock loudly, or find a window of his lab to tap on if they want his attention while he's wrist-deep in a production cycle for an antibiotic that he's attempting to prepare for proper in-vivo testing. He's going to look poorly slept, somewhat haunted, ragged around the edges like a college student studying for finals. There are samples absolutely everywhere, from the island, from the ocean, and from the outer edges of the entrance of Hepogaia.
Wildcard
Bart can also be found in fits and starts out in the forest, or down at the beach, pursuing lines of inquiry and writing in blank notebooks that rapidly fill with small handwriting and sketches that look more akin to diagrams than regular art. He's not an artist after all, just desperate to remember as much as possible, with an eye for details and an almost pathological need to put everything down accurately. Speaking up without letting him see you coming will make him jump. Sorry.
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