ph_logs | It's December

It's December

Who: Watson and you
What: December toplevel for your various Watson needs.
When: Throughout December
Warnings: Talk of old injuries/current disabilities, use of alcohol.

1.

With December comes the beginning of some colder weather, and for Watson, this has always meant the very physical reminder of the time he took a bullet in his shoulder, and the one that's still lodged in his kneecap. He's always had something of a limp, but these days? He's certainly leaning on his cane a little more than he normally does, as well as being a little more of a homebody.

The hot springs, however, are a tempting destination, particularly before the weather becomes bitter enough to keep him closer to home.

On a beach full of people, a bathing costume is, of course, necessary. Here, where it's a little quieter, it isn't, and after setting his clothes into a secure bundle, he slides into the water in the nude. He finds a comfortable seat, and closes his eyes.

2.

There are, of course, business hours.

Watson isn't so busy he won't sit at the front desk of the clinic himself if necessary, a cheerful little fire in the stove to keep the room warm while he writes. This has always been the way for him: quiet office hours are the perfect time to absorb himself in the task of writing some of the things in his head down onto paper. He writes with a dip pen, one where the shaft has been made with a rather familiar looking feather.

Pay no attention to the huge grey tomcat with the ragged ear who is often curled up by the fire, sleeping. He has a tendency to follow Watson to and from work, and comes and goes as he pleases. Watson might have given up on trying to control Diogenes's movements. It's easier just to let him in.

3.

In the evening, it's common for Watson to drop by the Oak and Iron and order a drink at the bar, or maybe a full meal if he has no other plans and does not want to attempt to cook himself. This is one of the little social things he does to keep himself sane, in fact.

He's quick with greetings, eager for conversation.

"How are you keeping yourself? Do you have time to join me?"

4.

Wildcard. Hit me up!

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Artemy finds himself at the bar this evening for a similar reason.

He never has been one for the luxuries in life, but since arriving to Pumpkin Hollow, Artemy has now realizes that he actually can make money, and that there is no sense in hoarding money all to himself.

And that spending money locally makes sense, and helps to support the people around him.

It is still hard to get out of the hoarding soviet mindset, so today, he has forced himself out of the house for a meal that he does not have to cook himself. It feels uncomfortable, but it is good for himself.

He is genuinely glad to see Watson, and is happy to take a seat next to the other doctor.

"I do, Oynon, I was just hoping to order a meal myself." Artemy says joyfully as he looks at the menu, "Truthfully, I only stayed at the Oak and Iron but a night, so I never got a full taste of the menu here. What would you suggest?"

"Well, I --" Watson pauses and blinks. "I beg your pardon. What did you call me?"

It at least didn't sound like it was an insult, based on tone alone.

"The fare here is often simple but usually good. If you have a fancy for meat pies, theirs are a safe bet. I'm having the stew, myself. Something warm on a cold night will be very welcome, I think."

Artemy shakes his head slightly.

"My apologies, a word from my native language. Think of it as a title of respect, used between doctors and scientists and the like." Sometimes he still forgets himself, he should really explain himself more often, or just forgo the words entirely, he supposes, "... A meat pie sounds rather good. I would like to try that, I think."

He eagerly waves down a bartender to order one. It just sounds much too good to pass up. Most of Artemy's diet does consist of meatstuffs.

"Well, I'll take it as a compliment, in that case. Oynon. Hm."

Watson sounds pleased with it, at least. He takes a swallow of his drink. "I'm glad we have another chance to speak, Doctor. I fear I was not at my best, when last we met."

He was really not at his best the entire time he was at the casino, if he's honest.

"Think nothing of it." Artemy insists. "It was not particularly a good environment for anyone's best."

Artemy isn't much for drinking or gambling, but he knows many are, and he does not belittle anyone who is. People are not weak for succumbing to predators.

"No," Watson says, seriously, "it truly was not." He lets out a sigh. "This is rather closer to the normal state of things, or at least so far as what passes for 'normal' around here." He offers a smile. "How have you been settling in?"

"Fine, all things considering."

Fine was relative. More like understanding way too much about himself, being overwhelmed by it, yearning for home... but it didn't seem appropriate to air all his grievances. Still, his answer leaves a lot to be desired.

"More than not, everyone here is kind. It makes it easy to fit in."

He nods. "The locals are nothing but welcoming. It does make it rather easy to find oneself at home here, no matter how unlike my own home it is. I have found it a comfort."

Though, of course, when he arrived here, he had been very desperate for human companionship. That had certainly made him more susceptible.

"The first couple weeks I was terribly suspicious and ill-tempered, admittedly."

"That's hard to imagine, but it's good to know that you've managed to turn yourself around."

He thinks of Daniil, and how he is struggling.

"I know another man who is adjusting similarly- he has also been rather ill-tempered since arriving and is worried about his own reputation."

"... Ah. Hm. Forgive me, but is this someone else from your same world? I ask because someone else did mention a 'Capital,' as you did."

It's a leap, but it doesn't seem unlikely. And Dankovsky certainly had been having difficulties adjusting.

"The conversation did not permit any further inquiries on that point, but he was certainly quite ill-tempered."

He sighs a bit at that- He supposed the inconsistencies in where they came from where enough to tie them together. The line was obvious, even to those who did not see the lines.

"Indeed. My colleague Daniil Dankovsky." He frowns slightly, "I do know he can be... disagreeable. But he is a brilliant doctor, talented, and does apply himself to the good of all when necessary."

And I am hopelessly enamored with him, Artemy thinks to himself.

Watson can't help raising his eyebrows, if only because that seems like a slightly familiar bit of apologia.

"He told me I was fictional," he says, more wry than angry, "or at least a madman, and then became downright insulting, but I will take your word on his nature, for now. Perhaps time will mellow him somewhat."

Artemy's expression becomes that of a blank stare.

"... He told you, what, exactly?" He asks, almost as if he can't believe his own ears, "Fictional? As in some sort of character? Forgive me, Doctor, I am confused."

"So was I." He sighs. "My name, sir, is Dr. John H. Watson, and while I have encountered a handful of people who have heard of the books I have written about my friend and companion Sherlock Holmes, your Mr. Dankovsky insists my books were written by some man named Doyle, I think it was." Watson's expression grows grim. He's also feeling something like a tattling schoolboy, which is also not pleasant. "If this is true from your perspective as well, I beg of you that we do not fight over it. I haven't the will."

"I can't say I've heard of them." He sighs. "But I can't entirely rule out the possibility either. I'm from a small town in the steppe, out in the middle of nowhere, we weren't exactly getting in regular shipments of books outside of Russia, you see. However, Dankovsky, being the Capital dandy he is and all, may have had access to a wider variety of reading materials."

He rubs his forehead with his forefinger and thumb in annoyance at the situation.

"It doesn't excuse his behavior, mind you, calling you some sort of madman and fighting you over it is not acceptable- He does tend to become disagreeable over which he finds impossible, though just because he finds them to be so does not mean he is always correct." More often than not, Dankovsky's insistence of relying on rationality seems to get him in trouble, rather than accepting that others may have different viewpoints.

"I can be sympathetic on that count. I had to learn quite a few things I would have called impossible commonly exist here, as well as other things I had never even conceived of."

Watson sighs a little. He doesn't think he has it in him to explain the part where Daniil accused him of gross indecency.

"It was not a very productive introduction."

"I do apologize for my colleague's indiscretions." Artemy states flatly, like he's had to do this before. Because he has. "I am... trying to help mend things between him and the townsfolk here, though I know it cannot be all my own doing."

"I would not hold you responsible for his actions," Watson says, "but it is good of you to try. We will hope that he adjusts."

He is not holding his breath.

"What of yourself? How have you been keeping yourself busy?"

"I've been trying." He admits softly, and it is very much an admission, "Truth being told, before my arrival here, I was much busier. Now..."

Even between his work, he finds himself... not busy enough.

"I would like more to do, truth be told."

He understands that, that urge to keep busy.

"I think I was rather lucky, as when I arrived the town was in need of physicians, and I fell very easily into a role I found comfortable," Watson muses aloud. "If you have not found a place... I could see that being very distressing."

"I do have my clinic, and that does keep me busy," Artemy begins. "I have a number of clients who do come and see me, though truth be told."

He sighs, not really sure if he should be disclosing so much, not that he doesn't trust Watson, but- does Watson really want to hear all of his woes?

"How much do you know of psychology, doctor?" He asks, seemingly changing the subject abruptly.

He lifts an eyebrow.

"It is not my area of expertise. I read papers on diseases of the mind when I come across them, certainly, but I am not certain there is any sense that there is any agreement between the professionals about how the mind works to build a field of medicine out of it, just at present. A rather new specialty, I would say, at least in my time."

Ah yes, in Artemy's distress over what is appropriate to talk with a colleague about and what not he forgot that twenty years or so is a vast amount of time in medical knowledge.

"Of course, my apologies." He says as if he has made a social misstep, "I have had some things on my mind. Nothing of concern."

He says 'nothing of concern' a bit too fast, as if it is, indeed, something of concern.

"Now, see here," Watson objects, with something of a laugh, "you cannot say such a thing and then simply not continue. It will drive me mad from wondering. I presume that's your area of expertise?"

Please tell him everything.

"Er, no, it's more of an... area I am looking for help with."

He feels even more awkward admitting it. But once he has it's almost as if the words begin tumbling out of his mouth unprompted.

"When I was in the army, and fighting the plague, doing what I had to do, I was strong, but now that they have left and I am free and safe, my mind is weak and plagued. It's as if the sand pest has never left. I see faces, hear screams, I may as well still be back there."

Artemy immediately feels like he has overshared, and his face immediately betrays his thoughts, which are 'oh fuck I should run away, I've said too much.'

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