[color=39b54a][b]Dr. Arthur West - Salem Church Clinic[/b][/color]
[i]
 "[i]What[/i] watch?  If you think cranky over there," she wagged her beer bottle towards Barney, "is gonna pull a double overnight, you're dreaming.  And I'm not sure how tough our friend over there is, after getting his ass kicked by his lunch. Sorry.  I'm...not used to being surrounded by folks who weren't conditioned from childhood to have a tactical approach to things.  You aren't wrong; sadly, we don't exactly have the resources for that, at the moment."[/i]

"Sorry," Arthur replied sheepishly, "I don't exactly have a mind for military matters. We had a special division back at the Vault that handled these sorts of things. Its not exactly my area of expertise."

[i]"If they're retreating, it seems most likely they'd raid us for supplies and a place to lick their wounds.  Though from what I know of the Gunners, they probably won't be nice about it.  Many are armed and armored and most seem coordinated enough to have paid attention to minimal training," she agreed.[/i]

[i]"I need a coffee to go," she said at the grumpy waitress, then stood.  "I'll walk you back to the clinic, if you like.  It's on the way to Brandy's house.  I'm going to pick up some ammo and a sweater, then take the first watch.[/i]

"If you don't mind then that would be great," Arthur nodded. The idea of bloodthirsty Gunners creeping up on them in the dead of night had him on edge. He'd be glad for the company, even if the Clinic was only a short walk away. But you never know..

After a curt conversation with Barney, Frieda had gotten up and left the Diner, with Arthur following in tow. As they approached the clinic, he could see a trail of blood leading up into the front door of the church. Which meant that Steve had most likely just dumped the body inside. Arthur grimmaced,

"I do hope he kept it away from Miss Summer. Otherwise I'll need to have a word with Barney about that man..." Arthur said. 

 "For fuck's sake..." Frieda muttered when she saw the trail.  "Hold this."  Frieda pushed her coffee cup into Arthur's hands.  "...uh, sorry.  And this," she sheepishly gave him her still-burning cigarette.

"Uh..no problem," He said, as he took the coffee and the cigarette, and awkwardly held it. The smoke from the cigarette wafted upwards towards his nostrils, and he extended his hand to hold the cigarette out further.  

[i]With a grunt and a sigh, she picked up the pungent corpse by the shoulders of its shirt and pulled it along the floor and outside the clinic, dragging it back down the stairs and leaving it in the street.  It was heavier than she had expected, but she managed.  She broke a slight sweat with the effort.  "I'll move it on my way back out to the main entrance, but at least it's outside, for now."  Frieda held her hands out for her coffee and her smoke.  "I'll take those back, now."[/i]

"Thank you Frieda," Arthur said with a sigh of relief as he handed her back her effects, "You'll have to excuse me, I have a strict decontamination regiment to implement now, thanks to our friend Steve.  I, uh, suppose I'll see you tomorrow? Thanks...thanks again for the drink. I enjoyed our talk. Listen...I know I'm a doctor and not a therapist..but, well, if you'd like to talk more your brother and your...people. Then my door is always open. I think I understand what you're going through better than most...believe me. Have a good night Frieda." 

With that, Arthur turned and went inside the church. True to his word, he immediately began cleaning and decontaminating everything on the first floor that could have possibly been touched by the unwanted corpse. As he did so, he muttered under his breath about 'no concept of hygienic conditions' and 'how have these people not all died from infection?' 

Even if Steve meant well, Arthur had to chide the man about even considering the idea of using a dead, chem-addled, raider corpse as a 'blood bag'. The fact that he'd apparently thought this was no big deal was testament to just what sort of 'medical treatment' these people were used to. He shuddered at the thought. 

After a couple hours of cleaning, and when the clock had nearly struck midnight, Arthur finally sat up from his labors and inspected the now spotless clinic floor. Summer was fast asleep, still recovering from her injuries, and Arthur was glad he hadn't woken her. No doubt the cocktail of medications she was currently on was keeping her quite drowsy and down for the count. 

Arthur's thoughts then turned back to the body of the poor sod still lying outside. He stepped out of the clinic and saw it still lying where Frieda had drug it off to. The initial stages of decomposition had already set in and the body was considerably pale. Rigor mortis had not yet affected the body, although it would no doubt occur soon as well. 

"I need to get this off the street...this is just unhealthy.." He muttered.

A thought crossed the doctor's mind then, and he scratched his chin thoughtfully.

[i]Well a 'blood bag' was a silly notion, but I suppose there's no reason he couldn't still serve medical science. [/i]

Arthur stepped back inside the clinic for a few minutes, and when he returned, he was armed with latex gloves, a filtration mask, and a medical apron wrapped around his labcoat. With a grimace, he began pulling the body around to the backside of the church. There he found what he was looking for: an old cellar door tucked away neatly behind a few rotten bushes. Hesitantly, he opened the cellar door and looked inside, producing a small flashlight he'd taken from the rectory office and shining it around below. The cellar was dusty and ancient, and probably hadn't been touched since before the war. There were a number of shelves, crates, and tables strewn about down below, along with other materials and areas he couldn't yet see. 

With a shrug, Arthur rolled the raider body down the stairs and then closed the doors. He briefly returned to the clinic and came back with a small box of equipment: jars, tubes, and various other laboratory items he had stashed away in one of his packs. With some effort, he carried all the items down into the cellar and closed the doors behind him. After which, he lit a candle and propped the body up on one of the nearby tables, setting up his equipment around it. It was a modest setup to be sure, but it would do for now.

"I suppose an autopsy is in order...." Arthur said, speaking to no-one but himself, and perhaps the cold corpse in front of him, "Well my poor decaying friend...time to see what makes you tick." 

He then withdrew a small tape from his labcoat pocket and clicked a small button on it to begin recording before setting the device off to the side,

"This is Dr. Arthur West of The Bioscience Division, continuing my personal logs which serve as my usual reports to The Directorate. I understand I've been infrequent with my updates, but now that I've settled in what is hopefully a more stable area, I should be able to  send them consistently from here on out. Now to my report, I am currently conducting an autopsy of a wasteland specimen brought to me via one of the settlers in the Salem township. I understand that we've had numerous such studies of surface-dwellers done over the years, but I've always found that redundancy of data analysis is never a bad thing. The individual is approximately 25 - make that 27 years old, with obvious signs of heavy chems use: consistent with behavior typical of those inducted into raider gangs..."

Arthur continued his detailed autopsy of the raider, recording everything he found at cataloging it with all the preciseness that might be expected of someone like him.

OOC: Pausing here in case something happens during the night. If not, then Arthur is just basically going to continue his work and go to bed sometime in the early morning.