Darius did not like the answer the doctor was giving him. "But that is what I want. Treat the symptom. The world won't change. And I'm blessed with family money to afford to pay you for it. I do not want to fix things. I think it isn't possible." He turned to face the doctor, hoping he'd give in and give him something strong and would cheer his mood and heal his body.

Tristan wavered for a moment. Even after the scandals, the Carringtons were still an influential family. He felt slightly intimidated. And then, he really could use some of that Carrington money. But the very next moment he realized he could never betray his profession for money.

He shook his head. "You must first make changes in your life. Sitting in this dark room will only darken your mind. You need to let the sun in. I want you to get daily fresh air and exercise. A brisk walk of at least half an hour will do. Pay attention to your diet as well. I want you to avoid heavy, rich foods. Choose simple nutritious meals instead, such as oatmeal, lighter meats and vegetables. And then most importantly, you need to get out of this house and meet other people. I promise you, not everybody's out to hurt you. Have you no friends in artistic circles? Take a trip to London or wherever feels right to you. A place where your name is unknown and people won't know about your money when you meet them. Do these things and I will give you something to make it easier on the mind. But I will not give you something just to make this dark room bearable."

Every new word out of the doctor's lips made him look more miserable. He felt like he was draining any feeling of luxury out of him. At least he hadn't said no wine, small victories, he supposed. But still, lots of his orders felt more like suffering. "I have tried to make friends once or twice. Artistic people don't stick close to Whitby... and.." it felt like a lump came to his throat and he had trouble speaking on the thought that came to him.

He cleared his throat and moved on from the topic. "I've traveled before." The last time he did, he got horribly ill. Perhaps he should try someplace less likely to poison him. "I've not traveled in a while." He didn't want to admit if he did it, he'd like company. He hated being sick alone in a room with no one to care for him. Perhaps he could get some of the help to come. "Do people without money have people serve them?" He had seen the dirtiest of the poor but not the more middle ground. The ones who could afford to travel but not much more. "I hate the idea. But I will try it if you promise to give me something. "

"No, how would they pay them?" Tristan answered, completely missing the fact that Mr. Carrington meant people like him. "Why does it matter?"

Darius didn't even try to hide how the doctor's reaction struck him. He felt like he was being mocked. He scowled and stood up, taking the moment to turn his chair around so he wouldn't have to face him, even partially. Before sitting back down, he leaned in and raised his voice a little. "Not all poor people live in dirt sheds and eat rot! Some are just poor like you!" He shook his head and immediately dropped back into his seat, facing the window instead. He was starting to regret calling the doctor, clearly he was an idiot.

Was this guy... already on drugs?

But also, he was kind of right. He was kind of poor... Good thing the patient didn't see his irritated grimace.

"You meant people not as rich as you?" he asked. Out with professionalism. In with the salt.

Somehow, the irritation put him at ease. It was familiar and easier to deal with. He wasn't meaning to, it was just a reaction that he replied back in a slightly mocking tone, "Oh? Are you saying you ARE rich?"

Ouch.

Tristan opened his mouth to give an equally childish response. Then he remembered he was the doctor and this was a patient. There had been many patients who had tried to pick arguments with him. It was just that most of them had been less sane and therefore less ridiculous.

"As compared to some, yes. Why did you bring it up, Mr. Carrington?"

It was a shame the doctor had to be the mature one. But then he was poor and Darius could afford to be pathetic. He folded his arms and hung his head. "I just wanted to ask so if I wanted to not travel alone, I could bring a servant with me, and it wouldn't be obvious I'm rich. Like you said. And you mocked me for not knowing!"

"I didn't mock you," Tristan said. Not in the beginning anyway. "I'm sorry if it came across that way. Yes, people like me may have one or two servants." More like a half. "There's a whole range of situations between the workhouse and yourself."