January 23, 1894 — Staff Break Room
Derek McKinnon Philomena Sprout

It wasn't often that Philomen questioned his career choices--and when he did, it was never very seriously or very long--but the times when it happened followed a certain pattern. Mostly, it would be when he found himself of a morning, drinking a cup of tea in the break room and staring down at least half a shift before he could go home and sleep. He'd been staring into his cup with the sort of energy one might expect of someone who was only half-way through work at seven in the morning when the door to the staff room opened.

"Good morning," Philomen greeted when he saw it was McKinnon coming in. "Are you just starting or taking a break?"

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That was it. Last night - the night before? - was the last time Derek ever let Jack talk him into a scrimmage quidditch game at midnight. Derek wasn’t old, but he was approaching an age where bruises took just that much longer to clear up, and he wasn’t happy about it. There was a crick in his neck that just wouldn’t go away either. Angling his head so his neck gave a satisfying crack, Derek smiled to the Welcome Witch as he made his way into the hospital and took his time heading up to the ward but before that - he had just enough time to grab a cup of strong tea Pushing into the room, still bleary eyed he was met with a greeting that - simple as it was - still managed to be too much for this early. “Bit of both, I suppose,” He replied with a rasp; his vocal chords were tired from yelling at his brother to slow the hell down. “I just walked into the building though, if that helps.”

He walked over to the pot and poured himself a cup before dropping two sugars. “You?”

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"Just taking a break," Philomen replied. "Still have half a shift left to go." He took a sip of his own coffee, hoping it would at least imbue him with a bit more energy. "The first night shift is always the worst, I think." The first in a series of night shifts, obviously--this wasn't Phil's first rodeo* by a long way.

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*Insert era-appropriate turn of phrase here. :P

  

“Half a shift, egh.” Derek made a sound at the back of his throat, knowing he had exactly double that left until he could go home and nurse the headache that was currently knocking just behind his eyes. He raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Was the first part of your shift at least stimulating enough to keep you awake through it all?” He asked with a wry grin, knowing there were a fair share of shifts that he’d taken before where he’d had to take a pepperup potion or two. There was even one where he’d had a co-worker cast a cheering charm when he could feel his bedside manner souring.

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Philomen made a face. "It wasn't too bad," he said, which translated, of course, to busy, but not in an interesting way. Granted, this being a hospital, "interesting" could mean all sorts of unsavory incidents, and didn't promise a faster night than any other kind. "Any news from the outside world, then?"

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