@oliverxco from here
Connor doesn’t know much about vets. He’s not sure if he needed to make an appointment, or call ahead, or if they had an open clinic, or whatever. Showing up like this is probably a little rude.
Frankly, he does not care.
He slams the doors open with much more force than necessary, but he’s running on pure adrenaline, so he doesn’t have much control over how he uses his strength. The kitten - tiny, with matted fur and a nasty cut down her side - is tucked firmly against his chest, and if she weren’t so hurt, Connor reckons she’d probably be annoyed at how loud his chest is beating. The times he’s seen her about, she’d always been feisty and playful, slipping easily away any time he’d tried to catch her. She’s a delightful little thing, and Connor hadn’t realised just how fond he was of her until this moment. Until he had her in his arms, whimpering and looking up at him, needing his help.
“Help!” he shouts, panicked, and he probably looks wild as he rushes to the counter, hair in disarray and blood on his shirt, “I need a vet - she’s hurt real bad!”
It’s a slow day at the veterinary practice ( and you are a horrible goose ) and Mike’s taking the opportunity to catch up on some uni work, sat at reception with the receptionist ( Carol ). Or at least, that’s what he’s doing up until the door slams open and he jumps a mile.
He looks at Carol. Carol looks at him. And then the bare bones practice springs into action.
“-- Okay. Call Stephen, he’s at the Michaels’ estate,” Mike instructs, and Carol nods, scurrying off to do just that while Mike leads this gangly cat-holder to the nearest prepared practice room, talking all the way, “-- Stephen’s the senior vet. We’re short-staffed right now, but don’t worry, we’re qualified to take care of her. When Carol’s done, she’ll need to get some details but for now, let’s focus on her. Here, put her on the table.” Meanwhile he washes his hands and such, then starts pulling the necessary accoutrements from the cupboards. “-- What happened?”
