[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/NfsfH45.png[/img] [img]https://i.imgur.com/GkI6CVY.jpeg[/img] [sub][color=B3EB3F][b]Location: Main Street Pines Holler and Caldwell's Family Practice // Interacting With: N/A[/b][/color][/sub] [color=B3EB3F]_____________________________________________________________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________________________________________________________[/color][/center] Morning came early to Pines Holler, whether it was invited or not. Eleanor Caldwell had already been awake for nearly an hour when the power went out, though she didn’t register it right away. Habit carried her up before dawn, before the cicadas gave way to birdsong, before the heat had fully settled into the bones of the house. She was halfway through reviewing patient notes at the kitchen table when the ceiling fan slowed, stuttered, and then fell silent, the sudden absence of sound almost louder than the noise had been. The air thickened immediately. Ellie leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment, sweat already gathering at the base of her neck. Somewhere down Miners Street a screen door slammed. A dog barked once, sharp and irritated, and then went quiet again. Pines Holler, half-awake and already uncomfortable, shifted uneasily. [color=B3EB3F]“Well, that's a lovely start to the day,”[/color] she murmured. She checked her phone out of reflex. No service alert. No outage notification. Just a dark screen and the faint reflection of her own face, tired but composed. She set it down and pressed her thumb against the inside of her wrist, thinking. Electricity usually came back quickly. The lines out here were old, temperamental, but familiar. Still, she’d learned better than to trust usually. She stood, pushing the chair in with care, and moved through the house with the quiet efficiency of someone used to being alone. The place was modest, worn in rather than worn out. Books stacked where she meant to organize them. A folded sweater draped over the back of a chair she hadn’t bothered putting away. Lived-in, but steady. Coffee came next. Black. Strong. Brewed on the gas stove the same way she’d watched her mother do when storms rolled through and the lights went dark. She poured a second cup into a thermos without thinking, then paused and set out cream and sugar on the counter anyway, arranging them neatly. Someone would end up needing them later. A patient. A neighbor. A town that ran as much on habit as it did on hope. By the time she dressed, light blouse, slacks, hair pulled back, the heat was already pressing in through the windows. She wiped her forehead, grabbed her keys, and stepped out onto the porch. Main Street was stirring despite the outage. Kids rode bikes barefoot down cracked pavement, laughter echoing in that loose, summer way. Old men occupied their usual spots outside the general store, rocking chairs creaking in rhythm as they speculated loudly about how long the power would be out this time. A pair of tourists stood squinting at their phones like they might magically reconnect if they stared hard enough. Ellie’s gaze drifted, unbidden, toward the old lumber mill. The sign still hung crooked in the distance, paint peeling, letters faded by years of weather and neglect. Parton’s Lumber Company: closed, but not forgotten. Neither was the ripple effect it had left behind. She didn’t linger. There wasn’t time. The drive to her practice took less than five minutes, but she made a mental list the entire way. Refrigeration times for medications. Which patients relied on powered medical equipment at home. Who would refuse to call the hospital even if they needed to. Who she would have to check on personally if the outage stretched into the afternoon. Her clinic sat on Main Street like it always had, clean lines and wide windows that made it feel almost out of place among the rot and rust. Ellie unlocked the door, stepped inside, and flipped the switch near the back hallway. A low hum answered her. The generator kicked on smoothly, lights flickering once before stabilizing. She exhaled, relief measured but real. Emergency power would keep the essentials running, refrigeration, basic equipment, enough air circulation to make the place tolerable. But the fuel gauge told a familiar story. Not much gas. Enough for an emergency. Not enough for comfort. She made a note to call Husker's later, see if they’d spare a few gallons from the bar’s supply if things dragged on. Another quiet favor to be repaid eventually, though Pines Holler rarely kept track of who owed who anymore. Ellie moved through the clinic, checking systems, opening blinds, straightening chairs that hadn’t been disturbed overnight. Her stethoscope lay where she’d left it, old leather worn smooth by years of use. She picked it up, draped it around her neck, and felt something settle into place. Power outage or not, Pines Holler would still need a doctor today.