The door to Artemy's clinic is a little short and narrow for First Aid's dimensions, but after residing in Pumpkin Hollow for over a year he's gotten quite a bit of practice at squeezing himself through without even chipping the doorframe. He stays a little hunched over, trying to appear small and as unthreatening as he is on the inside. He's very eager to establish good terms with the new doctor, the change of the seasons reminding him with embarrassed horror of the terrible first impression he and Doctor Pierce made on each other the previous October. He'd like to avoid a repeat of that in its entirety.
"Doctor Burakh?" he calls in his soft, high voice. "Are you in?"
He's busy brewing some tinctures so he has his back to the front of the clinic. It takes him a minute to finish, turning around to face First Aid, and, while he does try to remain professional, Artemy's look of genuine surprise does betray his professionalism.
"Ah, and, you are?" He asks, trying to regain his composure. "Can I help you?" He's trying not to be judgemental, but he's unsure if his brews and potions will work on him.
Probably not, although they might make his fuel lines tingle.
"Ah, I'm First Aid," he hastily introduces himself, in a high and oddly natural voice given that it seems to come from a being made entirely of metal and glass. It goes well with the rich, thick moss that covers his shoulders. "Like you, I'm one of the medical professionals looking after this town. My specialties are emergency surgery and triage, although I've also been running a general practice since my arrival last year. I thought it would be a good idea to come and introduce myself --" And there's a smile in his voice, for all that his mask stays up, impassive and professional, "So there would be less confusion later. An emergency isn't a good time to explain that yes, I'm a person, and I'm here to help."
To be fair to Artemy, he regains stoicism rather quickly. He remembers a conversation with Leon, and approaches First Aid, one leather gloved hand out to give him a handshake. It may be more a finger to hand sort of handshake, but it's the meaning behind the gesture that matters, not the size of the participants.
"You must excuse my mannerisms. I have never see anyone quite like you." He remembers a conversation with Qingqiu, and thinks to add, "For reference, where I come from, we have not managed to send man to moon, so if I am rude, please feel free to tell me so I can address my behavior."
With that said, Artemy gives a curt nod, "Another medical professional is always good to have around. Welcome. May I show you around, First Aid?"
"That's okay!" First Aid quickly assures him. "To be honest, I have an easier time talking to people who are less familiar with robotics and advanced technology than those who already knew about them from their own worlds. People who are used to the idea of machine life as sub-sapient servitors sometimes struggle with the idea that I have free will."
But Artemy is treating him as an equal, and First Aid shows his appreciation by nodding and saying, "I would love to see how you do your work. Thank you."
Artemy sort of shrugs at the idea. Even though some of the words First Aid uses goes over his head, like servitor, he gets the gist of it, "You are respectful, you speak to me as an equal, so I will treat you as one."
He waves his hand to gesture First Aid to come inside. He isn't sure how far he can fit inside, but, well, he will leave him to figure that out.
"This-" He puts his hand on a large vat attached to a pressurizer of some sort "Is an alembic. I use the herbs-" Artemy waves his hands about, there are herbs drying everywhere, "In here, turn them into tinctures."
He moves quietly to a table beside the alembic with a beaker and a burner, "This is my brewery, here, I combine some tinctures with other materials to create painkillers, and hopefully antibiotics, when the time comes."
He conveniently skips over what exactly he uses in these painkillers and antibiotics while moving towards the middle of the room.
"And this. Cot for surgery." He nudges the small bed with his leg. It's made for working, not for comfort. "Hoping to get one, maybe two more in here."
"You can make antibiotics?" First Aid asks, voice and visor both brightening as he seizes on that most relevant piece of information. "Out of herbs? Oh gosh, that's wonderful. We're not as hard up for penicillin as we were last winter --" He gestures to the moss that covers his shoulders, "-- After getting a little help from Serranai -- but it's still a limited resource. Having an alternative would be wonderful."
So many of those things were still pretty new inventions in Artemy's time. Vacuums were used to clean floors, not keep people in space. And the concept of radiation was, what, only about thirty years or so old? X-rays had just been invented, but why would one need to be protected from them?
His mind spun at the implications. There was so much to unpack here. Oh so much.
He had so many questions, but Leon did not seem like exactly the right person to ask.
"That's absolutely incredible." Artemy settles on, sounding absolutely in awe, "To imagine, an entire event that would unite the world like that... I suppose you all tuned in on the radio at the same time to hear about it together?"
Finding the residence of Artemy wasn't difficult, but the paperwork to try to make all this go away has been highly annoying. Nonetheless, she knows she has to have a record of speaking to him in case it gets scrutinized later.
She walks into his clinic, hoping it will be relatively empty so they can speak in private.
Luckily it is empty. And pretty sparely decorated, seeming only to have things inside for utilitarian uses only. There's a few cots, medical beds, a table with a brewery stand and beaker on it, as well as other equipment, perhaps for processing and creating different medicines.
Artemy himself is the only person inside the clinic. He looks up from his work, paperwork today, and stands up, taking a few strides to meet Valdis at the door. He's tall, a good 6'2, broad shouldered, and obviously strong. If he was dangerous, she would have a problem.
"Ah, I don't believe we've met." He says with a Russian accent, holding out his hand for a handshake, "Come in, please, how can I help you? Unless you're hiding a bullet wound somewhere I don't believe you have a life threatening injury, so I'm assuming you're here for something more routine?"
As much as she dislikes looking up at people, it's not like Max and Fenrir were short either, so she's not intimidated in the slightest. She takes his hand, her grip firm and confident.
"We have not, and no, I am here to discuss the disturbance at the Oak and Iron from a few days ago. You see, a Councilman was stabbed and thus the enforcers are obligated to investigate."
He shakes her hand, but he does frown at this, eyebrows furrowing. He probably should have known someone was going to report the incident, considering how public it was, even though he doubted Erik or Pyotr were apt to do it themselves.
"Of course. I'm sure you have many questions." Artemy says, gesturing for her to come further into the clinic. There's exactly one chair in this clinic now, and he's offering it to her, "I can put on some tea if you'd like."
"No, I'd like to get this wrapped up as soon as I can. Erik has declined to press charges, but...well, you stabbed a very important person and your intended target, Mr. Stamatin, was severely injured and incurred memory loss, so we can't exactly let this slide."
Is she embellishing? Maybe a little, but she wants to see how he reacts.
"It is the opinion of the Enforcers that you are a potential danger to the other citizens of Pumpkin Hollow."
He does put both hands at his hips at her news. He has already seen Pyotr's injuries, and knows for a fact that he, and his memory, are both fine. Artemy wonders if she's doing what policewomen do sometimes, falsify information to see how a suspect reacts.
He has been in the Army. He's been in trouble with the law before even. He knows a little bit of how this works.
"If you wish to get down to it, I have no qualms with doing so." He says, politely enough, but still with some amount of seriousness behind it, with force of will, "I assume you have ascertained that this is my clinic, and I am indeed a surgeon and physician here in Pumpkin Hollow, and a good one at that. I have evaluated Pyotr's welfare myself since our altercation and I saw nary a scratch on him, nor did I see any signs of even a minor concussion. Though I would certainly be interested in speaking to the physician who examined him and seeing that report myself."
If such a thing exists, it's unsaid, but his voice carries the assumption- he knows it does not.
"As for my potential danger to other citizens of Pumpkin Hollow- I am afraid that it would be unprofessional of me to self diagnose to begin with, and on top of that, I am no psychologist. If you wish for me to be examined by one, I will comply. Unless, you had something else in mind... Miss?"
[The following letter is delivered to Artemy's door mid-week, in the final days of the year...]
I have a project that I could use your assistance with. If you're amiable, and have no other demands on your time, come to 115 Goldleaf Street at any time in the afternoon and see me in the second floor apartment marked 'A.' I'll leave it unlocked.
The front door opens directly into a long sitting room, left partially furnished by the previous inhabitants. Pyotr is lounging on a settee pushed up against one wall, his hands folded across his chest like a corpse with a vacant expression on his face. Neither wholly asleep or awake, he sits up with a start when Artemy opens the door, limbs moving in a jerk manner reminiscent of a puppet on taut strings.
"Oh," he says, relaxing. "You came." And without further preamble he waves a hand around the room. "How do you feel about moving furniture?"
Artemy raises his eyebrows. He could tell that Pyotr sure was comfortable. But, well, it was good to see him out of the Iron and Oak, at the least. Getting a proper place to live was a good sign.
"I don't have any real feelings about moving furniture." the Haruspex says sarcastically. He can't imagine anyone having any strong feelings about it one way or another. "A please would be nice. And perhaps telling me which furnitures should go where?"
"I was getting to that," Pyotr lies easily. Pushing himself up from the couch, he looks around the room as if to confirm it hasn't rearranged itself while he was mentally checked out. "I need to move all of this furniture out of the room so I can pull up the carpet. That's the first necessary step for turning it into a studio space. Normally it would be Andrey's job, but..." He shrugs illustratively. Andrey isn't here, of course; and Pyotr isn't going to be moving any settees or hutches with his stick-thin body.
"I actually would appreciate your help," he says, in a voice that is already too tired to be faking that note of earnestness. "Truly. It would save me a great deal of trouble today and in the future."
Artemy seems to nod in agreement, thinking the whole thing rather reasonable. It wouldn't do to have random art supplies spilling on the carpet, ruining it. Pulling up the carpet and disposing of it shouldn't be too much trouble. Perhaps it could be loaded up by carriage and burnt.
"I can do that." Artemy says simply.
And he does. He begins moving the heaviest furniture out into the hallway. He has to scoot it out, by virtue of it being too large to really pick up without more than one person, but he does so with ease. Smaller pieces he can pick up easily enough on his own. He doesn't ask Pyotr for help, assuming the man wouldn't be much help anyways at moving furniture, truthfully. That and Artemy really doesn't mind doing it all himself. As he works, clothing does get removed. First his jacket, and then a ribbed sweater, until he's down to an undershirt.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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"Doctor Burakh?" he calls in his soft, high voice. "Are you in?"
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He's busy brewing some tinctures so he has his back to the front of the clinic. It takes him a minute to finish, turning around to face First Aid, and, while he does try to remain professional, Artemy's look of genuine surprise does betray his professionalism.
"Ah, and, you are?" He asks, trying to regain his composure. "Can I help you?" He's trying not to be judgemental, but he's unsure if his brews and potions will work on him.
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"Ah, I'm First Aid," he hastily introduces himself, in a high and oddly natural voice given that it seems to come from a being made entirely of metal and glass. It goes well with the rich, thick moss that covers his shoulders. "Like you, I'm one of the medical professionals looking after this town. My specialties are emergency surgery and triage, although I've also been running a general practice since my arrival last year. I thought it would be a good idea to come and introduce myself --" And there's a smile in his voice, for all that his mask stays up, impassive and professional, "So there would be less confusion later. An emergency isn't a good time to explain that yes, I'm a person, and I'm here to help."
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"You must excuse my mannerisms. I have never see anyone quite like you." He remembers a conversation with Qingqiu, and thinks to add, "For reference, where I come from, we have not managed to send man to moon, so if I am rude, please feel free to tell me so I can address my behavior."
With that said, Artemy gives a curt nod, "Another medical professional is always good to have around. Welcome. May I show you around, First Aid?"
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But Artemy is treating him as an equal, and First Aid shows his appreciation by nodding and saying, "I would love to see how you do your work. Thank you."
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He waves his hand to gesture First Aid to come inside. He isn't sure how far he can fit inside, but, well, he will leave him to figure that out.
"This-" He puts his hand on a large vat attached to a pressurizer of some sort "Is an alembic. I use the herbs-" Artemy waves his hands about, there are herbs drying everywhere, "In here, turn them into tinctures."
He moves quietly to a table beside the alembic with a beaker and a burner, "This is my brewery, here, I combine some tinctures with other materials to create painkillers, and hopefully antibiotics, when the time comes."
He conveniently skips over what exactly he uses in these painkillers and antibiotics while moving towards the middle of the room.
"And this. Cot for surgery." He nudges the small bed with his leg. It's made for working, not for comfort. "Hoping to get one, maybe two more in here."
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Yamsgiving Overflow; Leon
So many of those things were still pretty new inventions in Artemy's time. Vacuums were used to clean floors, not keep people in space. And the concept of radiation was, what, only about thirty years or so old? X-rays had just been invented, but why would one need to be protected from them?
His mind spun at the implications. There was so much to unpack here. Oh so much.
He had so many questions, but Leon did not seem like exactly the right person to ask.
"That's absolutely incredible." Artemy settles on, sounding absolutely in awe, "To imagine, an entire event that would unite the world like that... I suppose you all tuned in on the radio at the same time to hear about it together?"
After talking to Erik and Pyotr.
She walks into his clinic, hoping it will be relatively empty so they can speak in private.
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Artemy himself is the only person inside the clinic. He looks up from his work, paperwork today, and stands up, taking a few strides to meet Valdis at the door. He's tall, a good 6'2, broad shouldered, and obviously strong. If he was dangerous, she would have a problem.
"Ah, I don't believe we've met." He says with a Russian accent, holding out his hand for a handshake, "Come in, please, how can I help you? Unless you're hiding a bullet wound somewhere I don't believe you have a life threatening injury, so I'm assuming you're here for something more routine?"
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"We have not, and no, I am here to discuss the disturbance at the Oak and Iron from a few days ago. You see, a Councilman was stabbed and thus the enforcers are obligated to investigate."
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"Of course. I'm sure you have many questions." Artemy says, gesturing for her to come further into the clinic. There's exactly one chair in this clinic now, and he's offering it to her, "I can put on some tea if you'd like."
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"No, I'd like to get this wrapped up as soon as I can. Erik has declined to press charges, but...well, you stabbed a very important person and your intended target, Mr. Stamatin, was severely injured and incurred memory loss, so we can't exactly let this slide."
Is she embellishing? Maybe a little, but she wants to see how he reacts.
"It is the opinion of the Enforcers that you are a potential danger to the other citizens of Pumpkin Hollow."
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He has been in the Army. He's been in trouble with the law before even. He knows a little bit of how this works.
"If you wish to get down to it, I have no qualms with doing so." He says, politely enough, but still with some amount of seriousness behind it, with force of will, "I assume you have ascertained that this is my clinic, and I am indeed a surgeon and physician here in Pumpkin Hollow, and a good one at that. I have evaluated Pyotr's welfare myself since our altercation and I saw nary a scratch on him, nor did I see any signs of even a minor concussion. Though I would certainly be interested in speaking to the physician who examined him and seeing that report myself."
If such a thing exists, it's unsaid, but his voice carries the assumption- he knows it does not.
"As for my potential danger to other citizens of Pumpkin Hollow- I am afraid that it would be unprofessional of me to self diagnose to begin with, and on top of that, I am no psychologist. If you wish for me to be examined by one, I will comply. Unless, you had something else in mind... Miss?"
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New apartment, growing pains
I have a project that I could use your assistance with. If you're amiable, and have no other demands on your time, come to 115 Goldleaf Street at any time in the afternoon and see me in the second floor apartment marked 'A.' I'll leave it unlocked.
P. Stamatin
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He opens it without fanfare, without knocking, taking the invitation very seriously and assuming he doesn't need to do either.
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"Oh," he says, relaxing. "You came." And without further preamble he waves a hand around the room. "How do you feel about moving furniture?"
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"I don't have any real feelings about moving furniture." the Haruspex says sarcastically. He can't imagine anyone having any strong feelings about it one way or another. "A please would be nice. And perhaps telling me which furnitures should go where?"
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"I actually would appreciate your help," he says, in a voice that is already too tired to be faking that note of earnestness. "Truly. It would save me a great deal of trouble today and in the future."
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"I can do that." Artemy says simply.
And he does. He begins moving the heaviest furniture out into the hallway. He has to scoot it out, by virtue of it being too large to really pick up without more than one person, but he does so with ease. Smaller pieces he can pick up easily enough on his own. He doesn't ask Pyotr for help, assuming the man wouldn't be much help anyways at moving furniture, truthfully. That and Artemy really doesn't mind doing it all himself. As he works, clothing does get removed. First his jacket, and then a ribbed sweater, until he's down to an undershirt.
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what you dont like it? xD
i like it too much
winks
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march.
"You know, I didn't think you were the sort of man to be in need of a matchmaker."
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"What do you speak of?" He asks, seeming genuinely confused.
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She hasn't been a part of the planning - she was away that week, and had other jobs to do at Town Hall.
"I'm not passing judgement, merely surprised."
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He just shrugs.
"It's part of the community of the town so I felt obliged to participate as a citizen. Surely it doesn't hurt anything."
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It's not her scene, but she'll try to get the details anyway.