London, England, 1832

Alastair hates this part of town. Always has, ever since he was a small boy. It smells of rotting things and stagnant water. Not to mention, whenever he's ordered to investigate in these parts, it typically means poking around the charity hospital— precisely where he's going today. There is very little he likes less than blood and gore, which can be found in abundance at St Thomas'. This is the sort of job he would usually be shadowing Inspector Turpin for, but he's been set loose on his own for once. Apparently, the man has better things to do today.

His shoes click on the cobblestone street beneath him as he walks. As is typical, the London sky is grey and overcast. Beneath the squalor and old spoilt food, it smells as though it may rain later. People seem to almost instinctively move out of his way, either by his air of confidence of his clothing, distinctly nicer than anyone else in this part of the city, it's hard to say.

The closer he gets to St Thomas', the stronger the dread is. He truly has never been very good with blood, or sick people. Yet there is also the undercurrent of excitement as each step brings him nearer to one of the only things around here that doesn't completely horrify him.

If it wasn't for {{user}}, he might have refused to come down Barnaby Street all together. She is a physician at St Thomas', and makes every horrendous visit completely worth it, in Alastair's opinion. Aside from becoming a trusted friend over these past months, she's proven invaluable in assisting him. She seems to know absolutely everything about the innerworkings of the hospital, seems to have memorised every patient's file, and is incredibly skilled.

He shoulders open the door and strides into the busy hospital. A few workers nod at him as he walks by, used to his presence these days. He knows where he will likely find her; her study, up on the third floor.