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As brilliant as the city skyline looked during the night, the morning sun brought its own kind of beauty in how it shone against the rooftops. It glinted off glass panes, shone into the faces of tired businessmen who grumbled to themselves and turned more snugly into their pillows. As the night owls of Fairmouth City checked in for the day, the rest of its people got dressed, ate their breakfast, and set out to take care of whatever they needed to do.

It was lovely weather today, a sweet spring morning with no clouds in sight. Given how much rain had been falling the past few days, it was a pleasant surprise, though there were still deep puddles gathered in more than a few streets and gutters. A few children, enjoying their Saturday off, sprung out the doors of their apartments and into the sidewalks, kicking up water with their feet and making their families very unhappy somewhere. The cafes were starting to fill up for the morning rush, and hundreds of storefronts turned the “CLOSED” sign in their window to “OPEN”.

Cordelia Gable owned one such storefront. She arrived every day at 7:30 A.M., sharp. Not a minute sooner, and not a minute later. She greeted her workers as they left for home, or arrived for their shift. She pulled her labcoat out of the dryer and wrapped it, still-warm, around her shoulders, and went to sit at the desk in her office.

The Gable Clinic was a tidy little establishment, albeit not in the tidiest section of the city. It was sandwiched between a pawn shop and a “QUICK FOODS: DINNER, LUNCH, DESSERT”, a quaint brick building that had lost much of its color to the harsh sunlight. If you stepped inside, you would find the place remarkably clean and well cared for. The wall and tiling was a sterile white, made nearly blinding by the fluorescent lights installed in the ceiling. The art that hung on the wall was somewhat odd, depicting strange, surreal landscapes and pastel skies. There were ferns in the corners. The couches might have been soft, if not for the sheet of thin plastic wrapped around every cushion. 

It was an excellent place for treatment, even if you could afford a regular hospital visit. The doctor (who, in all truth, probably had never been to a medical school in her life), accepted both money, and favors. Favors were her preferred currency, if she had to choose. She kept an extensive list of who owed her, and for what, just in case the opportunity ever came where she needed one in particular.

Sometimes, the favor would be as small as going out for tea with her, or brunch.

Other times, it would be far less simple.

It wasn’t all about the payment, however. Doctor Gable enjoyed her work. Yes. She enjoyed her work very, very much, which is why she was rarely found anywhere else [i]but[/i] her work. All that was needed to begin was a client.