<hr/><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/24/Docaveley.png)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Doctor Sylvester Aveley<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>None<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 18th<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Avery's Office<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Avery, CLOSED<br/><hr/>Doc Aveley was nicknamed ‘The Good Doc’ in Gomorra - though he often had his doubts.  Educated, yes, and with a clean shop that was respectable enough for most of the decent, wealthier folks of Gomorra to patron, he was still something of a novice to the West - but the people of Gomorra were willing to tolerate a tinhorn with a paper degree hung on his wall, since it gave them an exaggerated sense of confidence in what he was doing.<br/><br/>Which worked out well enough for Doc Aveley, since the majority of his time in his office seemed to be refilling prescriptions for laudenum and other miracle cures.  He wasn’t the meat-grinder battlefield surgeon that Doc Meisters was, but most folk were more comfortable in a clean office surrounded by glass bottles than they were in a blood-stained one with bonesaws and tools of the trade.  Medicine was a messy business in Gomorra - more often it was digging bullets out of people or treating ghost rock burns than it was anything as clean and simple as a medicine bottle - but in the year since he’d moved to Gomorra, he’d had to deal with more of the blood and gristle of the human body than he cared to think about.<br/><br/>That, and tummy twisters.  He could do without seeing another Texas Tummy Twister his whole life.  He shuddered as he thought about it, and popped open the lid of a cigarillo case and puffed on a pre-rolled cigarette as he waited outside the office.  It wasn’t often that he answered a summons to a business office - particularly a closed one.  No, he was used to private residences or occasionally the back room of a casino where a dispute over cards had gotten out of hand.<br/><br/><em>These people are insane.</em>That thought had crossed Aveley’s mind on more than one occasion.  They shot one another over cards and spilled drinks and horses and cattle, they groused over the cost to bury their nearest and dearest friends, and if it wasn’t for a dozen young newly wed ladies that came by his office regularly for hysteria treatments, he might well have already packed up and moved back East.  He fretted with his vest, then tugged at the sleeves of his clean suit, looking around for the ‘Detective’ who’d summoned him.  He puffed away at the cigarette, smoking it down to a roach, then lit another off the burning ember while he waited for the newest Law Dog to show himself.