Dr Evans is On Call

Dr. Adrian Evans sipped at a cup of coffee as he sat behind the reception desk in the main hall of the medical wing. He set down the cup and, adjusting his headphones, he picked up a folder and began thumbing through the files contained in it. It had been a slow, boring night. He didn't mind too much, however--he got paid well enough and when there was something to do it was seldom boring.

He flipped through the radio station on his walkman, turning it from the nightly news program he'd been listening to--something about a terrorist attack. How depressing... He finally settled on a station where some man was ranting about the government and taking calls only to violently disagree with them and have them cut off. Dr. Evans wasn't really listening to what was being said--he just liked the sound.

Weerwolven had a pounding headache from all the different scents in the Medical Wing. He couldn't focus on just on scent, it was overpowering. He shook his head trying to shake away the scents. Then he heard something, a radio. He walked towards the sound and spotted a man. He smelled like the hospital, except his scent was even stronger. He made a grunting sound and hesitated. God, he just wanted to hit himself in the head with a hammer. The soreness of his arm made him continue to walk towards the doctor. Weerwolven managed to say a simple, "Ahem." Hopefully that would grab the doctor's attention.

Dr. Evans thought he'd heard something. He glanced up, expecting to see Glint or one of the other Crusaders. The sight which met him, however, was so startling that he recoiled from it with a yelp of, "Oh, Jesus!" His hand wrenched back, spreading the papers from the folder he was holding everywhere, and knocking over his coffee on the desk. He fell over in his chair, and lay on the ground, heart pounding, headphones askew, wondering if he should pull out the knife in his pocket or if it'd be a moot point.

Weerwolven let out a sigh, he had been expecting this. "Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you." said Weerwolven with a deep strong voice. His eyes glowed with honesty, but the doctor probably wouldn't notice. "I'm injured. The Brazen Bull sent me here, he told me someone could help me. I believe that someone is you." Weerwolven didn't move, he didn't want to terrify the doctor even more.

"The Brazen...? Ah, alright," said Dr. Evans, getting slowly to his feet. There was no point in questioning the legitimacy of the claim. The HQ had a phenominal security system, after all--how could he have gotten into it but without a Crusader bringing him? The doctor pulled his headphones all the way off, noting that they were just letting off a crackling electric sound. With disappointment, he noticed he'd spilt coffee all over the walkman. "Oh... that was new, too," he muttered. He returned his gaze to Weerwolven. "You... ah... have an injury, yeah?"

Weerwolven looked at his arm. The bandage was soaked with blood, "Yes." he replied. After a short moment Weerwolven sneezed because of the different scents. They were making him lightheaded, but he would just have to deal with it.

"Bless you," said Dr Evans, putting on his lab coat as he came around the counter. He'd finally spotted the aforementioned injury--his attention, before that point, had been much too taken with Weerwolven's appearance. He pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his coat pocket. "What do we have? Stab wound, bullet wound, minor burn...? Eh--you're not allergic to latex, right?"

Weerwolven cleared his throat then spoke, "Bullet wound." He eyed the latex gloves and then shuttered at its scent. "Nah, I'm not allergic to it. It just had a, erm, strong scent."

"Right..." said Dr Evans slowly. Latex was virtually scentless after all--the smell of plastic was not a strong smell. "I can use vinyl gloves, if you'd prefer." He hoped he didn't prefer. Vinyl gloves were uncomfortable.

"Do you have any allergies or medical conditions I should know about?" asked the doctor as though there were nothing at all unusual about this new patient.

"Err.. No. Um, no to both questions." Humans didn't understand. Weerwolven sighed and then spoke, "This won't take long right, doc?"

"Depends," responded Dr Evans reaching into his coat for a pair of scissors. He cut the bandage away and removed it slowly, trying not to disturb the wound too much. "Do you feel more pain toward the outside of your arm or toward the core of your arm?"

Weerwolven grunted at his question. "I don't feel much pain at all really... Erm, it's a little sore on the outside, but that's about it."

Dr Evans pursed his lips. "The bullet must not be in too deep, then," he said. "Come with me to one of the sterile rooms and I'll have a look inside." He started toward the open door of an exam room, putting his scissors away in one of the pockets of his labcoat.

Weerwolven looked confused, "Can't you just, you know, pull the thing out?" Weerwolven wasn't exactly the expert when it came to first aid. He followed the doctor to the room anyway, hoping whatever the doctor was about to do wouldn't hurt.

"Pull it out? Well, yes, but first I need to take an X-ray to see where it is," he said. "I also need light to extract it by, and most all of the instruments are in the exam rooms here... I've just got gloves and scissors on me, honestly. And pens, but those are irrelevant."

"I have my claws..." said Weerwolven with a serious face, but he was trying to make a joke. "I will, uh, try to hold still doc. Sorry if I snap at you, it's a reflex."

Dr Evans raised an eyebrow. "If you snap at me, I'm going to sedate you," he said. He thought about adding 'with my fist', but it didn't seem like the smartest option.

The exam room was clean and ordered--and rarely used. There were a number of boxes on shelves set into the wall, above a counter covered with containers of cottonballs and needles and gauze and vaccutubes. There was a sink set into the counter, and a few boxes of laytex and vinyl gloves hung on a rack on the wall, beside a plaque which suggested patients turn off all communication devices so as not to interrupt the instruments. There was, as well, a sort of X-ray machine, set on a mobile arm--the same sort one might find at the dentist, say. Dr Evans put a lead vest on Weerwolven before positioning the machine and its film.

"This won't hurt at all," said the doctor as he stepped away to opperate the X-ray.

Weerwolven made a slight grunting sound once the machine started. He flattened his ears as if he was expecting it to hurt. He was kind of nervous around machinery. "I think I've done this before..." Weerwolven said quietly to himself. His ears perked up again once he started searching his mind for his lost memory.

Dr Evans took the X-Ray quietly, and when the machine was done he quietly moved the arm and machine back to its place against the wall and took the film. He shook it out a couple times before clipping it onto a back-lit board. "Hm." He put his hand to his chin as he examined the photograph's black and grey shadows. "It looks like the bullet richocheted off the bone, and went a little more superficial. I can remove it without complications, most likely."

"Good." Weerwolven replied. He couldn't wait to have this bullet removed and exit the Medical Wing. The sooner the better.

Once the doctor was finished removing the bullet and sewing the wound back up Weerwolven thanked him then headed to the exit. Getting out of the Medical Wing made Weerwolven's nostrils rest in peace. The stinging smells of medical supplies made his sense of smell go haywire. It looked as though no one was in the building so Weerwolven walked into the elevator (Which was a bit of a squeeze) then pressed the button that would make the elevator go back down to the main entrance.

When the doors opened he looked around a bit cautiously. Seeing that the Brazen Bull was no where in sight he headed for the main entrance to disappear into the night once more.

Dr Evans watched Weerwolven go indifferently, setting the extracted bullet in a glass bottle. After he thought about it, he said to himself, "I should've asked if he wanted to keep it. Whole intact bullet..." But, the hero was long gone, so he simply set it on a shelf instead, and returned to his desk.

(( Oh my god--I am *so* sorry. I completely forgot about this thread.))

((AHH! *Hugs* Your alive! I'm sorry I haven't been online. Oh, and don't worry about it.))