When Rasna met the Doctor's eyes, only placid dark holes greeted her. Whereas the others raised their hands in toast, the doctor abstained from the champagne, taking the opportunity to sweep his ponderous head around the occupants, minutely checking their faces for hints of strain or illness. Asmodeus, always the cavalier imbecile, felt his preliminary medical reports were too slow to take into account a rather loose idea of departure time. Irritably clicking his fingers against his side, Surgeon tried to put the implications of playing 'find that plague' with the possible recruits out of his mind. If there was contagion aboard, it had already begun its insidious work. By the time the ship had calmed down enough to allow him a proper medical evaluation, everyone could be infected. Honestly the colossal lack of concern Asmodeus possessed for even the most basic protocols was grossly unsettling. Had HE placed himself under the Doctor's care, or surrendered his personal medical documents? No. And when asked, Rasna (irritable she-thing) only answered that the captain had all the protection he needed in her.
Of the people on board, she and Corgi #3 topped his list of most pleasurable sacrifices in the name of science. She because she was under the outdated assumption that a quick hand and a pistol could save her master from unseen bacteria and Corgi #3 because…well, first it was unoriginal to be Corgi #3 and second, his left ear flopped in the most dissatisfying way imaginable…a mocking half salute to all his Corgi brethren. Honestly, it was any wonder that his companions hadn't torn him apart on the spot.
Dr. Surgeon would have.
Or might…given the chance.
But he had more pertinent things to plan for than the double homicide of two dogs, quarantine had been breached, proper medical procedures dashed, and now he scrambled.
He recognized two among the tired passengers, consumed as they were by enough fabric to fashion another sail. The Lady Sakura, and the Lady D'Aris. Of course, noble women like them only suffered from boredom…and sometimes exotic sexually transmitted diseases. Somehow he doubted they'd react favorably if he insisted on the necessary examination, so after noting their name and a personal reminder to watch their physical dalliances, he put a star beside their name and moved on down the list. By now everyone had moved, grabbing strange pipes, knobs, and intentionally phallic levers to pull the HMS Firefox away from port. The rocking and rolling pitched the Doctor and his supplies across the deck, scattering his tools and discarding his lollies in a cascade of color across the slanted wood. Frenzied, Surgeon grabbed as much of his things as he could before they pitched from the railing and into the churning waters, making a special mental note to discard one of Asmodeus's belongings for each of the things he'd lost in this hasty departure.
Four lollies. Four. FOUR! Who knew what they could have been essential for!
Muttering to himself, Doctor Surgeon descended from the deck and away from the clamoring possible plague rats. His own room was barely set, a cramped workspace. Sighing, he set the items down and took to the bowels of the boat again, passing by the various crew members and, without their permission, placing a gloved hand on their forehead for a few moments. A brief pinprick, and he removed it, continuing on his way. He was stretching the suite's capacity, honestly. These sorts of advanced diagnostic functions would cost him dearly. Luckily, the crew seemed engaged in making the rusty piece of garbage float, and that in itself was enough distraction for him.
Much as he'd prefer to check on Tegan, maybe insist on her distance from the eccentric and probably whore-ridden Asmodeus, he needed to use this opportunity to refuel the vital functions of his outfit.
Descending into the hold, he lay a hand across one of the chained rectangular boxes, almost lovingly, before producing a key and snapping off the lock.
No one was here.
Opening the lid, Doctor Surgeon took a moment to admire his handiwork, scentless creature laid out, hands crossed, in a bed of straw. The body, pale, preserved, blinked slowly, short breaths like heartbeats along his pasty skin. The drugs pumped in his system, along with the high yield proteins, would keep him and his…companions, alive for quite some time during the journey…at least until he needed them.
Horror dawned in the man's eyes, he opened his mouth to speak, but only a choked moan cut the air of the cargo hold.
Doctor Surgeon held up a finger to his beak, shaking the large head, chiding him.
"Relax," he said, leaning down over his victim, "I'm a doctor."
A minute later he was below decks, tripping on shoes, corgies and steam spiders as he squeezed through the cabin door. His (as far as the public were concerned) wife was sitting at the oak table with the same old book she had been defrosted with.
