Fort Xavier: The office of Mr. Kipling

[Simon Kipling]

Somewhere between the docks where the zeppelins exchanged goods for supplies and the residential area of the small but busy out port, there sat a not-quite decrepit little building. The sign above the front door was wooden and hand-made, as was much of the building itself, it's letters a rather finely carved script with faded gold paint on a dark cherry-stained backdrop.

Mr. S. Kipling
Veterinary ~ Surgery ~ Apothecary ~ Dentistry
Devoted to restoring you to good health and humour, from the evil abyss of sickness and infirmity.
Animals doctored when time permits. ~ Elixers ~ Splints ~ Remedies ~ Trusses
Evening house calls ~ fees may be bartered ~ (Sorry no poultry).

A faded paper in the small front window read [ REGISTERED Cow Doctor ]. A hand from within took a hold of a wooden sign hanging in the window of the door, turning so that the side facing the narrow street read "The Doctor Is In".

Inside the man walked through the small dimly-lit waiting room and into the office in the back. He was dressed in a simple but respectable manner. His afflictions offset his gentlemanly appearance and were numerous. Most noticible was the mask he wore on the right side of his face. Crafted from dark-stained wood and brass it obscured a portion of his face, offsetting an otherwise rugged if somewhat handsome face. The darkened, cracked flesh protruding from the edges of the mask hinted that this was an accessory of necessity rather than some odd quirky bobble worn by someone merely wishing to make a scene. Fixed upon the mask was a hands-free loupe on a hinge, allowing for closer examinations of his patients' ailments.

Secondly, if he were not wearing gloves and had the sleeves of his shirt rolled for working the steel and brass prosthetic limb that hung in place of his right arm would draw some attention. While it had obviously been well crafted it was hardly the most appealing grasping apparatus ever constructed; perhaps if he had been a physician instead of merely a surgeon he would have had the standing to afford something a little more comforting to his patients. Upon closer examination it ticked softly with clockwork gears and springs, the fingers tapping the well-worn table top as he walked past with a slight but noticeable limp.

Upon the desk sat his medicine bag, large and heavy with various apparatuses, ointments, salves and dressings. The dark crocodile skin had that scaly texture to it, his long soft-furred tail brushing over it's surface as he made his way to his chair. Oh yes, there was the third thing; the tail. Though able to hide most of that particular affliction Mr. Kipling had found that his mutation was best utilized in his profession rather than hidden. The additional set of hands coupled with the prehensile tail allowed him to perform work that would normally require two surgeons and a nurse to complete. And given the condition of some of the patients for whom he had to make house calls he needed every digit he could spare.

On the hat stand behind his desk hung his jacket, derby and other necessities like his cane umbrella as well a long, heavy Imperial coat, well-worn and a little worse for the wear. When asked how he acquired the item he usually told a story of having worked as a stable-hand in the Imperial Calvary, caring for the horses before receiving an emergency promotion when no other doctors were available. If one were to ask the patrons at the local watering hole they might tell a different story; one of a doctor who treated an Imperial officer who had an embarrassing medical problem he wished his wife and fellow officers not learn about, that and a few teeth left as a bartered payment after initially refusing to compensate the good doctor for his work.