With a groan, Arthur stretched out on the rough bed he had stayed in the night before and pulled himself into a sitting position. The thing was like a piece of slate with thing rocks for pillows. With some struggle, Arthur managed to pull himself up from the bed and got dressed, keeping his lab coat tucked away in his pack to avoid unwanted attention. The last thing he need right now was to be noticed by any thugs or other miscreants. Grabbing up his cane and shoving his medical supplies deep into his bag, Arthur made his clumsy way down the stairs and into the bar, where he found a seat facing the door. Once seated, he ordered whatever gruel the inn cook made that morning.
Meanwhile, a rather large group of people slowly made their way into the run down bar that was the inn. While attracting various people's attention, their attire was that of simple traders and most paid them no mind while they nursed their hangovers with one or two drinks. This early in the morning there weren't many people who bothered to wake up.
"We'll be here for only a day or two, lads" said the man who led the charge as he sat down at a round table, around five or six people sitting down next to or around him. "So, order some grub, but try to go slow on the drinks. I don't want you all tipsy if the storm clears up more tomorrow." He chuckled, looking at a woman whose face showed signs of corruption. "Especially you, Cath. I know that arm hurts like hell, but alcohol won't do your system any good."
"But beer cures everything!" Catherine protested, with a chuckle that ended with a slight grimace as she grabbed her arm. "Oh, quit your whining, Catherine. I know what'd cheer you up," another well endowed one said with a wink. "Beer isn't the cure all, its s-" She was cut off as Ron sat down suddenly, the chair creaking as it scratched the floor. "Blah, blah. Can you two keep it quiet? My head's killing me."
"Oh, I don't think we can. You know how loud Nova can get in the sack," Catherine said with a chuckle and a wink back at the other woman. Their conversation kept its eagerness much to the lamentations of Ron as they ordered their meals, their presence mostly fading into the background as more people walked in.
The waitress came back with something a light beige color on a plate for Arthur. Barely hiding a grimace, Arthur thanked the young woman and turned to his plate. It was then he overheard the conversation coming from two tables over, the source of which was a group of people dressed as traders; the blonde-headed physician couldn't help but hear the complaints of a hangover and an injured arm. His want to help people caused him to half rise from his chair, but he caught himself and sat back down, remembering he did not want to draw attention to himself in this town.
Talking over a mouthful of what were once beans before the Hailstorm hit, Jones gently unwrapped the bandages covering Catherine's arm. "Don't hit me, I'm just checking you again. It might be worse than last night."
Underneath the bandages was a scary sight indeed. Compare to last night, the wounds appear to have festered and the skin around the bite wound had turned red; the wound itself just looking somewhat gnarly in general, with icky pus-like substances sticking to the inside of the bandage. "That looks... slighlty bad," said Catherine.
Arthur had commenced eating his miserable meal when he heard the apparent leader of the caravan say something about checking the wound. He set his spoon down and looked over in time to see th bandage removed and the wound underneath. With an audible sigh, Arthur shoved his plate away from him and pulled himself to his feet slowly. He limped over to the crowded table. With his best bedside smile, Arthur spoke to the caravan leader and the wounded woman, "Sorry to approach like this, but I could't help but overhear your conversation from my table. Your wound looks terrible, miss. You see, I'm a trained physician and was employed before the Fall. I could take a look at that wound for you," His accent came out thick and smooth, bringing attention to his nationality.
"How do I know you're not just bullshitting us?" Catherine asked with her trademark lack of tact. "Anyone can just say they're a doctor."
"I'm a doctor," Ron said, grinning slightly.
He had expected this; everyone was so paranoid after the Stones fell. With an audible sigh, Arthur responded, "Yes, anyone can say they're doctor like your friend there, but can anyone tell you that your infection will spread and cause necrosis if you don't get it treated soon," Arthur asked then turned to the head of the caravan," What did you use on it last night?"
"Technically, yes," Catherine replied with a straight face. "Except I don't know what Neko-crisis is or whatever you just said."
"Cath, its when your very cells start to die. Literally means 'death, the stage of dying,'" he said with a sigh. "It happened two days ago. The Lost that bit her probably had a breeding ground for nasty stuff in his mouth No pun intended. I cleaned the wound with peroxide and sewed her up. Mid-level painkillers that should've helped a bit. But, here she is."
Catherine pondered the meaning of what he just said. "So... basically my arm is dying? Hey, it can join my other arm!" Cather said, flailing about her "good," heavily burdened left arm with a flagrant disregard for any medical knowledge someone might have.
"Hm... Then I should just need to redress the wound a bit better and give her antiobiotics to take until the infection goes away. One moment," Arthur limped away, his back turned as the injured woman flapped her burdened arm around. He grabbed his pack and set it on th table and began rummaging around near the bottom to find his medical supplies. Once he found them, he looked through them to make sure he had the needed supplies. When he found them, he made his back over to the table and pulled a chair up next to the injured woman and sat down holding up the supplies so that only the table of traders could see them.
Jones bit his bottom lip, going over numbers in his head. As the man pulled out his supplies, he too went through his own, pulling out various objects of value. "All right. For the antibiotics, I for one would accept this," he said as he put said object on display. The object in question happened to be a Rolex Watch, its silver glinting in the candle light. "It still works, even. Not really my style, but it looks like it'd suit you, Doc."
Arthur set the supplies down on his lap under the table and looked at the watch for a moment or two before replying, "It's a nice watch and all, but I have my own," at this, he pulled his bronze pocket watch up by the chain and opened it up to show the man that his still worked as well.
Jones hid the groan that built up inside his head as he simply nodded, pulling out a different thing to trade. "A box of .357 rifle ammunition. Only missing one bullet. How does this sound? Fair trade?"
"I'd say that would be a fair trade, if I had a gun that took that ammunition or if I had a gun at all. I doubt you have what I want in that bag of tricks of yours, Mister...?"
"Jones. Owner and proprietor of Abrams Caravan." He stowed his bag of differing valuables away with another sigh. "And its not a bag of tricks. I happen to have some valuable stuff in there. So what is it you want? Food? Parts? A new cane?"
Arthur looked at the cane held in his hand, thinking that a new cane would be nice as his was becoming quite worn from his travels, "A new cane would be useful, but what I want is to travel with your caravan until I find a suitable town to settle in.I imagine you make rounds at most settlements, Mr. Jones?"
"Hm, I don't think he happens to have that in his bag..." Catherine replied with a smarmy grin. "You sure you don't want the watch? I think you could probably choke someone with it."
Jones glared at Catherine and her morbid suggestions. "You know, the man could always just decide not to treat someone so unappreciative of their services. You be a good patient and stay quiet. This is business." Catherine just shrugged. He turned back to the man, narrowing his eyes for a moment before smiling slightly. "Well, then. I guess having a better doctor than myself is a good pro when it comes to a caravan. Really, stitching someone up is the only thing I do well. Medical textbooks just start to confuse me after a while... But what are your terms?"
"How about paying for my meals and lodging, any medical supplies found will be given to me to add to my kit and when I decide to stay at a settlement, you pay me fourty-five blues to set myself up for a while?"
Jones hummed to himself while he closed his eyes for a few moments, thinking. "Fourty and I give you a new cane. I've got one I've been keeping for a while. May or may not have belonged to the corpse of an old millionaire." He shrugged.
"I find those term acceptable, Mr. Jones. If I don't like the cane, though, make it fourty-two blues."