(no subject)

[spacepeterpan]

The Doctor
Research Center Supervisor
Scientist: Dimensional Engineering, Sonic Devices, Telepathic Interfaces, et. al.
Time Lord
Special U.N.I.T. Science Adviser
Caretaker
Traveler Through All of Time and Space
Knight of the Royal Victorian Order
Former Lord-President of Gallifrey
Inventor of Yorkshire Pudding
Alias: The Oncoming Storm
Harry Feynman's Boss
Here to Help

Comments

[spacepeterpan]

[He pauses just a tick at that--that's decidedly not the answer he was hoping for, but he's committed to playing it cool.]

...ah, yes, right, sorry, was wondering if you can taste, we could get you a milkshake, something you can drink to hold you over.

[rycbaralaska]

After or before the clinic? [ If she can't smell, she thinks the taste sense is probably gone as well. But...doesn't hurt to check, right? ]

[spacepeterpan]

[He brightens just a little at what might possibly be a little enthusiasm over milkshakes.]

Well, let's get you to the clinic, first, just in case, and I'll see what I can do 'bout the milkshake.

[rycbaralaska]

Okay. Maybe this is just some weird space virus? [ That'd be great, right? Something the clinic has an easy fix for. ]

[spacepeterpan]

Ah.. yes, might be one of those.

[...although not one that he knows about, which narrows the field quite a bit--but there are always new things, of course, which have the bonus of not being the things he's hoping they're not.]

[rycbaralaska]

If it is, they'll probably know how to fix it.

[spacepeterpan]

They might just, yeah, with a little luck.

[Even if not, there were worse things than an unfamiliar new sort of space-flu. He made no comment about that, though, as he walked her carefully up to the clinic and inside, guiding her through the door.]