OOM: the past, circa 1924

"We've got to stop meeting like this Miss Newfield, people will talk," said Dr. Gregory Moore.

Annabelle Newfield made a pained noise and without opening her eyes replied, "I don't get injured like this on purpose Dr. Moore."

The head physician at the Emily Mercer Memorial Clinic in Chicago had become Annabelle's unofficial doctor, much to the relief of the other physicians on staff.  Perhaps they felt that since Dr. Moore had grandchildren who were older than Annabelle Newfield he was better qualified  to handle the deadly 14 year old.  (Annabelle still maintained that the unfortunate physician who had tried to physically restrain her had been lucky to only wind up with a broken nose.)

"Considering how much you hate convalescence that was never in doubt," Dr. Moore replied as continued his examination of his rather woozy and disoriented patient.  "Dare I ask what it was this time?"

"Dunno, bloody giant plant thing.  Tried to eat Stefokowski and the plane."

"Mhmm.  Any difficulties other than the pain at the moment?"

Annabelle looked at Dr. Moore with disoriented misery, "I don't like hearing colors..."

"Synesthesia... lovely," Dr.  Moore replied sarcastically.  "Nurse, please see if you can get a hold of Mr. Whitley Styles.  Yes, that Mr. Styles.  He might know what species it was before someone started mucking about with it.  It would be nice to have some idea of where to start with treatment for a change."

He turned back to his patient, "I will say this for treating members of the AEon society, it's never dull."