quicklog -- steph/dami: stephanie's loft.
[Stephanie had been spending a good amount of time in her loft and not idly wandering around Wayne Manor. What use was it to do so anyway? She was still at a loss of what to do, or who to be, and she'd spent a majority of the time there in the mansion wondering what she could do to keep the family together, to help the city, to not fall apart herself. It was grating, being lost in her own thoughts constantly, and days like that she missed having a constant in her life the most. Whatever constant -- a marriage, a job, a cowl -- that was. She knew there were quick fixes to that issue, and maybe even a few long term stitches to the wound. But, for now, she was just working out of her loft, treating a handful patients from her clinics for colds or minor injuries or refilling medications they couldn't afford. Stephanie wanted to do more -- mostly, she wanted her clinics back so badly -- but this would be a start.
Her loft was a little cluttered, not only with her own belongings, but with toys for her pets and supplies to tend to the people who dropped by for treatment. It was a quiet day, only one woman and her son (who had a mild whooping cough) had come by to check in with the good doctor. There were no office hours, not really. Just a burner phone, some cheap thing she bought at Target, whose number had been passed around amongst Old Gotham for emergencies. (Theoretically.) But, since it was a quiet day, she did little more than sit at her counter drinking coffee and scrolling through the journals. Attempts had been made to contact the family, and honestly she was waiting for the inevitable I told you so from Destiny regarding how her conversations with the family was going.
Thankfully, Damian agreed to do something with her, whatever that was going to wind up being. So, there she was, masking the upset over Helena's truth bomb with two fingers of whiskey in a glass. She was dressed, Damian, thank you very much , baseball shirt and jeans, and she sat at her counter nursing her drink while Flounder sniffed at her feet and Bandit dozed on the table on a pile of sealed gauze.]