RV: Recreational Veterinarian

“It’s just a broken leg. No big deal.”
A pale man with sandy-blond hair and facemask appropriate to his station tended to the whimpering dog. The similarly haired creature was sprawled on the kitchen counter of a cozy wooden cabin lit by a single electric light.  He leaned closer, inspecting the injury.
“Let me see now, ma’am. Do you happen to have any—oh, never mind. I’ll get it myself.”
He turned to his metal-and-wood toolbox and flipped it open. The homemade case bore a brass engraving on the lid:

 

To my little fixer-upper, -Cassie.

He reached inside and pulled out a few medical tools, antiseptic, and gauze.
“I could use one of my splints,” he said, “but honestly, I’d recommend something simpler. Do you have a wooden spoon or maybe a ruler?”
The equally pale woman with orange red hair thought for a moment.
“Oh—yeah. Hold on.” 

She grabbed a hardwood spoon from a ceramic bowl near the woodfire stove and paused, then asked, “Is there any benefit to using homemade equipment instead of your splints?”

“Well,” he said with a small smile, “I don’t have to charge you for it.”
She chuckled, taking a moment to look at the rugged man across from her while she casually leaned on the sink counter behind her. Allowing her quilted jumpsuit to showcase her silhouette.

 “I’m so glad you came into town when you did. Founders be praised. I was so terrified we’d have to put my little baby down. Do you know how awful that would’ve been?”

He nodded. The mask hid his mouth and nose but not the shape of the strong features, nor the scruffle of a man who has forgot to shape. When paired with the intense silver-blue eyes framed by circles, they portrayed the man an eccentric.

 “If you don’t mind me asking—is this a golden retriever?” As He looked down at the sandy-blond dog, no longer than his arm.

“Yes. They were bred and preserved in the Kaskad vaults. They’re an important part of our vault culture.” 

He hesitated. “I always thought they used to be bigger.”
“There are stories that say that,” she said, as he wrapped the splint and gauze carefully around the dog’s leg. “But these look like the same size they’ve always been.”
The man nodded, whether in agreement or avoiding an argument was unclear.
“Speaking of you never told me what vault you were from. - I mean you were a fridgeman too, right?”

He blinked then looked at her with fake seriousness.

“Unless I’m secretly a werewolf and my parents never told me.” They both laughed, and she flashed a smile as she adjusted her hair.
“No, but seriously, what vault are you from? You don't look like a Kaskad or talk like a Shy-anne”
As he finished securing the splint, he poured a small dose of liquid into a cup and held it out for the dog to lap up. “This should help with the pain.” 

“Well,” he said after a moment, “I’m from the far east, in Potmaq.”
“Potmaq?" Is that one of the lake vaults?”
“No. It’s part of BosWash Complex.”
Her silver-blue eyes widened. “Wow. BosWash. I’ve never met anyone from there.”

He shrugged. “I guess there are a lot of us.”
“Sure,” she said, skeptical. “But they don’t usually come here. So what are you really doing all the way out in 'DaMall'?”
He hesitated, searching for a less embarrassing explanation. Hoping he would find a better excuse in his toolbox.

"Come on, don't be embarrassed. Look we all have to come out here for different reasons. Look, I'll start, I came here to Wed-mal for my fiancé who was working the oilsands. We broke up, and I just stuck around here, because I couldn't tell my parents. Yours couldn't be more embarrassing than that, right?

He decided it was too late to back out now.

“I’m a cryptozoologist.”
“A what?” Her expression shifted. “I thought you were a veterinarian.”
“I am.” Almost reflexively, he reached into his bag and pulled out his license. “Graduated from Wise College see, here's my degree and here's a translation."

She read the translation aloud, as though a magic spell to convince herself.
"To all persons let it be known That Virginia's Wise University has conferred Jason E-645 Callhoun-Cronkite with a Degree in Veterinary and Anthropic Medicine With which he has been awarded with Honors."

Jason fidgeted a little as she read the degree, feeling as though he was being inspected by an officer. He knew the degree was impressive, but it never seemed to make him look better, just his passion look worse. She folded her arms.
“So what’s a cryptozoologist?”
“We study missing animals.”

Despite the heat from the fire behind Jason, the temperature of the room dropped instantly.
“Oh. You’re one of those moose-chase tourists.”
“I’m not a tourist. I’m a scientist.”
She sighed. “I was about to ask if you wanted to grab dinner, but I guess you’re busy.” She placed a few metallic coins on the counter.
 “Well, My girlfriend’s flying in soon anyway.” Jason said, wondering if he needed to pull out proof of that too.
“Good luck to her,” she added flatly.
He packed his tools away as she picked up the dog and opened the door to her stone-and-log house. He gestured apologetically at the mess—shaved hair, antiseptic bottles—but she waved it off.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where the moose are, would you?”
“No,” she said immediately, before turning her back to him and tending to the dog.
Jason avoided eye contact as he stepped outside.

A blast of cold hit his face as he stepped outside It was late autumn, which meant the first snows were already falling.
The town of Wed-Mall spread out beyond him in a oblong rectangular shape, braced by large metallic pillars above, that were said to have once held a roof. The city was an open-air community of stone and log buildings built into massive concrete and metal pillars, surrounding it giving the place a closed, arena-like feel. It was said that some of the original flooring still lay buried beneath several feet of dirt. Had Cody arrived on time, Jason would have gone to see it with him.
Snowflakes landed on his hair as he walked, toolbox swinging in one hand, the other shoved deep into his pocket. He needed a cab soon—his fingers were going numb.
“You, stranger, come see the missing moose!” A shopkeeper called, half-hidden beneath fur and antlers. A Wendigo. “Books, sightings—everything you need!”
Jason smiled politely and shook his head. “Just need a cab.”
“Your loss.”
It wasn’t that Jason wasn’t interested in moose. He was. But one glance on the shelves told him he’d already read everything on those shelves—seventy-five percent nonsense, the rest spurious at best.
“Taxi!” Jason waved.
A centaur pulling a hybrid rickshaw-carriage pulled up. “Hello again, Jason. Were you able to contact your people?”
“One of them hasn’t shown up yet,” Jason said. “Probably at my RV.”
He handed over two coins. “Thanks for the loan.”
“No trouble. Thanks for the help with my hound. I know most folks here don’t love moose hunters, but they usually bring money—or ways to make it.”

Jason nodded as he tried not shiver in the rickshaw.
“If You're cold back there?” There’s some coats and blanket in the chest by your feet. You’ll need it.”
"Thanks"
"I'd let you buy it off of me, but I saw you in that other coat last week. Why aren't you wearing that?"
"When I do vet work, I wear my labcoat and mask. It makes me seem more professional."
"You mean it makes you seem less crazy when you tell them why you're really here."
Jason shrugged as the cabbie laughed. They passed through the large concrete gate that led out of the town.

-----

As the cab pulled up to the RV, Jason noticed a massive, old off-road truck parked beside it. A hulking figure sat inside.
The door opened.
The figure that emerged was nearly seven feet tall, covered head to toe in white fur, his face unmistakably lupine.
The Amarok sniffed. “Hey. Am I late?”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “A couple of days.”
“Damn, sorry man.”