Doctor John Carpenter walks into one of his examination rooms, running a hand through his thick black hair and pushing his fluffy bangs out of his crystal blue eyes. His stethoscope is cold through his thin button-up shirt and he pulls his lab coat up. He fiddles with a ring on his slender, long finger.

"Mornin', doll. How can I help you?" He asks as he closes the door behind him, his Southern lilt casting a charm to him that, when mixed with his practiced, professional smile, envelops the room with warmth.