Basil smiled, relieved, and the two of them entered the clinic; it was small, with two cots in the far back of the main room. On one, there was an old man who leaned against the headrest, a book in his hands and an IV hooked up to one arm, but the other was empty. At a desk, there was a middle-aged man in a white coat that was lightly stained with blood, who was so focused on writing on his clipboard that he didn't even notice them arrive.
	Clearing his throat nervously, Basil said, "Excuse me, sir?"
	Head shooting up in surprise, the doctor made a little sound from somewhere deep in his throat, dropping his pen in the process. It clattered noisily onto the floor. But then he smiled and said, "Ah, yes, hello. I hope that there is nothing too dire, but how can I help you two boys today?"

	Leith lifted a hand to his chest, dramatically feigning offense. "And here I thought we were just becoming friends. Obviously, I was mistaken." He then smirked. "But no, you're not dealing with your problems, kid. Besides, who even drinks [i]beer[/i] when they want to forget? There's barely any alcohol in the damn things. It's mostly just yeast. Yeast that is over two centuries old, at that." If he'd had a nose, he'd be wrinkling it in disgust. "Nasty and harmful beverages aside, how about you at least try talking about whatever happened with us? Maybe we could help you out."