He had only moved into the town a few days ago, and had hardly had time to explore it in between furnishing his home and practice and advertising. He had visited the town several times in the past, so he had a general idea of where things were, but now that he had some time to waste, he decided to take a walk, try to remember some street names and find a place where to have dinner. 

It was getting dark by the time he left his house, clad in a long black coat and bowler hat. It was still quite cold, especially near the water, and as he crossed the bridge to get to the other side of town, he pulled the collar of his coat up to protect his neck against the chilly breeze coming from the river. He turned into one of the more quiet streets and looked around, trying to memorize it. 

Tobias had told him of the horrible attack he had suffered, and had warned him to be careful at night, but Tristan figured it was still early enough to safely pass through the more quiet streets. There were some shops that were closing just now, and a pub in the distance that was open. He figured the rough folk resided in the lanes and yards and only came out by night. By day, the town had seemed friendly enough to him. With confident strides, he made his way through the street.

[CW: References to violence. Injury.]

Anthony was having quite an un-good evening. Bad, even. Started off fine enough, but a few hours of getting drunk and doing things that he quickly learned he shouldn't do eventually led to a little bit of bloodshed, a limp, a very bloody and perhaps broken nose, and a black eye in it's birth stage. In summary — it led to nothing good.

For once in his life, his addiction actually brought him some good, as the alcohol dulled the pain quite a bit. Right now, the injuries were more of an inconvenience than anything. A mildly painful and debilitating inconvenience.

Anthony speed-limped awkwardly away from whence he came, until he found a nice enough corner of some street to hang around near for a little bit. He took a lighter and cigarette, and simply started smoking, as if this all were the most normal thing.

Tristan almost didn't see the short man when he passed him by. The filth of the street seemed to blend in easily with the street itself. It was the flame as the cigarette was lit that caught his eye, and he turned his head, first just to glance, and then, when he recognized the man, to stare longer.

Probably up to no good, Tristan thought. He remembered the man from the evaluation. Not crazy, just a twit. He had been released then, it seemed.

Well, it was none of his business and Tristan was eager to walk on, when he noticed the injuries on the man's face. That looked very recent. Doubtlessly he had gotten into a fight or something. Probably his own fault too. Or not? He remembered Tobias' awful story again. For all he knew this man had been attacked too, and Tristan was a doctor.

After a few seconds of internally debating, he walked over. "Excuse me..." he began awkwardly. "Are you alright?"

Anthony was simply minding his own damn business. Almost even starting to enjoy himself, in the most generous definition of the word. But, of course, as it has been proven so many times before, nothing good that happens to him will last.

He noticed the stare. Uncomfortable. For what was perhaps the first time ever, Anthony didn't want attention. He pointedly ignored the man staring at him, in hopes that he'd go away, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Ugh. He didn't want to talk to this person. Why's he....approaching him?

As the man asked whether he was alright, Anthony took a puff of his cigarette and 'accidentally' blew the smoke in his face. "I don't know. What do you think?"

Tristan stepped back, offended by the utter lack of civility. He frowned disapprovingly. Maybe he had been wrong in his diagnosis and this man suffered from some antisocial condition. "You seem injured," he stated the obvious. He held up his hands. "But pardon me for bothering." And he began to walk away. He couldn't help someone who didn't want to be helped.

Anthony frowned. That wasn't supposed to happen. He didn't expect that being rude would actually have consequences. "That's not real nice of you," he said, a sudden change of heart hitting him as soon as he realized he was going to be deprived of this attention that he at first thought he didn't even want. "aren't you a doctor or something?" He kind of recognized him as one.

Tristan turned. What was this man's problem? "Blowing smoke in people's faces isn't very nice," he replied calmly.

"I didn't do it on purpose," Anthony defended himself, ending his sentence with a brief coughing fit. "'m sorry." It was a very reluctant apology. He just wanted to have some attention on him again. How predictable.

Tristan looked at him skeptically. "Alright..." he said. "Well, do you need help?"

Thank God. "Yes," Anthony said, without missing a beat. He didn't want help, but he most definitely did want some personal attention.