You must wonder what we're doing here in your part of the world.

[bestsir]

Who: Harry Goodsir and anyone who promised him some stuff, or hell, if you just want to bug him in the coroner's office in the hospital, so literally anyone.
What: Dr. Goodsir's office hours. Bring him things, come to chat, or tell him to clean his overgrown curiosity cabinet out of the hospital posthaste.
Where: Harry's office and impromptu lab in the basement of the Riverview hospital.
When: Anytime in July.
Warnings: Harry's doing an autopsy with Victor Frankenstein. Potential for grossness having to do with critters.

The truth is, there isn't that much for the Riverview coroner to do on a good week. There was a brief increase in activity after the business with the cult, but otherwise Harry is very much left to his own devices.

Hence letting his naturalist's instincts out to play. He now has a pet eyeball-eating lizard (he is still trying to work out a system of nomenclature and is hoping someone might have some ideas) and a couple of moths in a jar, a lot of botanical specimens, and some assorted feathers, bones, and other items that he's collected or that have been brought to him by friends.

When he's not attending his classes at the university, you'll probably find him here, working or studying. He does go back to the communal housing on a nightly basis, but he keeps very late hours. Come see.

Comments

[billyrocks]

Billy starts at a run, but skids to a stop when he glances over his shoulder and realizes Harry isn't following. He's just standing there, frozen to the spot. It's a sign Billy recognizes having seen it from Goody. He curses again and sprints back to Harry, slapping one hand on his shoulder while the other holds his revolver.

"C'mon!" he shouts, dragging Harry towards the shelter of the trees.

He takes a shot at the monster's exposed face, but it only seems to piss her off. She shakes her head, sending droplets of yellow spittle towards them.

[bestsir]

He doesn't quite snap out of it until Billy physically pulls on him, and then he staggers back, slipping a little in the mud and flailing until he gets his feet under him again. At that point he puts on a decent turn of speed, though a few flecks of the spittle catch him on the shoulder.