Ever since he had arrived at the Junkyard, the Workshop was pretty far from what Ian would consider an ideal space for a doctor to work. The rooms that had been allocated for their usage for Eclipse personnel left much to be desired when it comes to hygiene. He had spent much of his own money to get this compartment to a decent standard so as to make sure that any patients who consulted a doctor here didn't leave their appointment even more sick then they had already came. Whilst the Vampire's fellow medical practitioners sometimes thought he was a bit too nitpicky, they ended up relenting that it was much better than being chased by a delusional former patient with a rusty spoon. Now, the doctor made his preparations for his upcoming patient; the current Boss of Eclipse, Étienne Blanchard. Before he had assumed the position of treasurer, the Briton rarely interacted with the man durng his rise to power, save for the occasional check-up and mission assignment. In those early years, he had thought of the Boss-to-be to something of a thrill-seeker, too much of one he'd dare say, but that was the nature that helped the active branches get the job done...so long as the adrenaline did not go to their heads. Étienne was also rather hot-headed and seemed to have the attention span of a goldfish when it came matters that didn't involve an exchange of bullets. At times, the Vampire wonder if there was more to this demeanour than met the eye; given his profession, an ability to pierce the layers of a person was crucial so as to give them the best care after all.

Then came the great surprise of the decade; the impetuous Stronghold Native had risen up to leadership of Eclipse, in spite of the flaws he had presented. Given his longevity, Ian had plenty of time to be surprised; this one had confirmed that there was indeed more than meets the eye when it came to the new Boss. There was something there...something that needed refining; problem was, the Vampire had no idea what it was, it was something he was eager to divine for himself. Maybe there was some wisdom beyond that devil-may-care demeanour...or maybe Étienne simply gave him the position of Treasuerer by virtue of being the only soul willing to do the job after what happened to Ian's forebear. In the meantime, the Boss was due to meet him in the ad-hoc clinic regarding an injury he had sustained; the Treasurer had been away, seeing to a trading deal being struck with a community holed up on the coast...its quite remarkable the price people will charge for fresh fish these days. Now, Étienne had a specialist from Stronghold see to it...but it never hurt for a second opinion from someone most acquainted with one's medical history. He also had that matter of the coastal deal to bring up, since the folks there desired specific items such as boat engines for their little fishing fleet and greenhouse materials for winter harvests. This was naturally a matter that had to brought forth to the Boss, given the materials that have been requested.

It was the scent that first announced the Boss' coming to Ian; it was a peculiar mix of engine oils, urban decay and, most recently, drying blood. Oh yes, the scent carried a small element of temptation to it, but the doctor was well-fed...even if the meal did consist of expired blood bags with a side of pig's blood from the local butcher, acquired under the guise of making black pudding. No sooner had the scent begun to hit his nostrils, he got to work putting his gloves on. It was just as he was starting to put the second one on that the Boss entered the room, greeting him as he did so. Ian inwardly chortled at his hasty switch from morning to afternoon.

"Good afternoon to you Étienne," he said with mirth in his voice, "even the greatest of us can't say no to an extra hour or two in bed."

Indeed, not even the Infected himself was above such a desire; in his old life, sleep was few and far between due to the demands of working in a hospital; so much so that it might as well have been a luxury rather than a necessity. Nowadays, without a strict schedule, he could more or less choose his own hours...though sometimes, old habits died hard. Étienne would then enquire as to where he would sit, to which Ian would gesture towards a deck chair that had been customised with comfortable pillows. As the other man took his seat, and his shirt off, the doctor began to speak again.

"Anyways, better here now than much later...how's the injury these days? The Advisors here told me you were seen to by a specialist whilst I was away. They say they can tell that it is clearly bothering you...what did this specialist say to you regarding your wound?"

That last question was necessary, due to the nature of the world outside of Stronghold's walls, there just wasn't a shared database with which to consult any changes to a patient's records. Naturally, Ian already had the Boss' ad-hoc medical file out, ready to fill it in as necessity dictates.

The Doctor spoke a half-truth; yes, there were whispers amongst the Arms that the Boss still wasn't 100% after all the money spent on the specialist from Stronghold. However, having attended a private discussion with the other Advisors, their concerns should be further looked into. Of course, what was said in this room would never leave it; Ian still believed in the notion of patient confidentiality, for it was a cornerstone of his medical studies unlike those shills in the Inner Citadel and the Military. However, it was clear that the Boss was lying to him; the Vampire knew all too the signs of when a person was putting up a show of deceptive bravado. Even in the world that was, where the dog-eat-dog was much more subtle, many folks tried to downplay the pains that ailed them, unaware that they make the matter worse through their efforts to save face. It was a complete and utter annoyance to Ian, but it naturally came with the job. As to the matter of what this other doctor said, he raised his eyebrow slightly. He gently raised Étienne's partially, both to get a closer look at the injury and to see how the human reactoed. As gentle as the Infected was, a portion of his inhuman strength was still somewhat present in his fingers.

That was when he began to sigh a little; the Treasurer knew he had to try and cut to the matter at hand. If it wasn't nipped in the bud now, it could become a serious problem later. When he spoke, he would do so with a firmness few would ever hear from him.