#baodc meadows

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Little trivia:

Mrs. Meadows' siblings are named Qiang (older brother), Yanmin and Ai (both younger sisters). If you got feedback on these names, please lemme know.

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Another question about my queen.

What type of doctor is Mrs. Meadows? I know back then there probably weren't like different types. But if she worked today what field do you think she'd be in?

I kinda think General practice or a family care doctor but idk.

~Cowboy who has a crush of Hugh Larry and Hugh Jackman and Hugh Dancy. Basically 90% of Hugh men.

General practice, I believe from all I could find so far (still reading through medical books etc of the time)

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Heyyyyyy!

Question. Do you think Mrs. Meadows would like any medical dramas? I doubt she'd like Scrubs lmao. But something more serious, you know?

~Cowboy watching House MD for the seventh time

Probably not. Because she IS the kind of person who'd get upset about all the things the shows get wrong. ^^; Especially when 'how it actually works' is skipped over for the sake of filling the runtime.

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New HeroForge mock-up of Mrs Meadows. you're welcome

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Probably not. Because she IS the kind of person who'd get upset about all the things the shows get wrong

How about shows like medical detectives etc....so basically true crime shows? Would she like those? Since these shows do not skip over or simplify the aspects(as far as i know) that most medical tv shows do?

She'd hate those for their exploitative nature. It's one thing to write books meant to study cases and understand how things add up in order to prevent them in the future, and another to lay bare people's suffering for someone's entertainment.

Meadows would absolutely not be on board with it.

Sidenote here: this is why she, while a theatre-lover has not patience for plays leeching of real life tragedies.

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Have the first 1078 words of Mrs Meadows' POV in ch7:

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You wake up feeling as if you had been thrown under a carriage. Which is to say slightly worse than what has become your regular morning ever since Nate's death.

This morning's additional misery, you reckon, stems partially from the past day's stress and irritating nature, and partially from spending the night in the armchair by the window, as you have left the room's beds to Miss Beauchêne and Finley. It's approximately a 30-70 split.

You stretch, slowly and deliberately, evaluating which muscles, joints or ligaments will give you the most struggle. Everything is shaping up to become another long day ahead, and if your instincts do not fool you, said day has just started.

"Are you always up this early?" someone - Miss Beauchêne you recognize after a longer moment than is reasonable- asks.

"Good morning," you respond with a trace of sourness directed rather at the pain between your shoulder blades than at the younger woman. "Yes, I am."

You push the heavy curtains aside to peer out and nod curtly. It's not long past sunrise, the town is in the process of waking up, so your instinctual assessment of the current hour has been correct.

"Granted, under normal circumstances I'd be up and about at a much earlier hour," you add, getting up and pulling hair pins from the now unruly birds nest your hair has become. On the bed Miss Beauchêne comments on the sentiment of getting up that early with a short noise of distaste and disapproval.

"Have you slept well?" you ask, as you sit down in front of the vanity mirror, ignoring that sentiment.

"I guess," Miss Beauchêne responds, sitting up from the reclining position she had been in. "It's hard to sleep after all what has happened."

You just hum in agreement, brushing out your hair. Although you recognize that Miss Beauchêne might be in the best position to understand what is commonly robbing you of a healthy sleep, you see no reason to unnecessarily involve her in your problems.

"You really didn't need to let me have the bed," Miss Beauchêne notes, as she moves to see to her own morning routine.

"Yes, I did. You needed it much more urgently, and I'm used to unorthodox sleeping places."

Miss Beauchêne gives you a quite suspicious and scrutinizing look, a trace of misplaced concern on her face.

"Fall asleep on your desk often?" she ventures, making small talk, you figure.

"More often than I would like," you humor her.

"I don't reckon overworking oneself is a healthy habit." She draws a heavy breath that gives away her next words, before a single syllable has even left her lips "Believe me, I know." "I had no intention to doubt you. But I prefer people staying out of my business."

Again Miss Beauchêne casts you a measured and measuring glance, before turning back to seeing about herself.

So do you.

It isn't until Miss Beauchêne produces a little container from her belongings that your attention is on anything but yourself.

First you only pay little attention to the object. It is reminiscent of a thumb-sized bullet cartridge and its use eludes you, until Miss Beauchêne twists the contraption's bottom, producing what looks to be a stick of beeswax out of the device, bringing it to her lips.

"That is quite an interesting thing to see," you note. Miss Beauchêne looks at you rather surprised.

"I would have thought you would know what lipstick is," she says, and you search her face for evidence of mockery. You find none.

"I do, but I was talking about the device you house it in. It is quite ingenious."

At this Miss Beauchêne's lights up into a delighted beam.

"That is too kind, ma'am. I made it myself."

"Oh?"

"Yes." There is an odd joy to be found in seeing the young woman's eyes sparkle as she breaks into an excited explanation. "I had a look into what a lipstick, or a stick of lip balm as it is in this case, could be put into to make it, well, more of a practical device. I got frustrated with the tins and jars and wax papers, it all proved to be quite impractical, a little unhygienic if one looked at it closer, and I have rather dry lips much to my dismay, so I am often in need of some sort of ointment."

"It does look a little like a bullet cartridge," you point out, and Miss Beauchêne nods.

"That's what it is. Well, originally was. What I took the inspiration from I mean. Frankford Arsenal's .45 Colt cartridges, alongside some modified glass tubes. It was quite a bit of fiddling to get the twisting mechanism to work, and since then I refined it to make it more reliable. The result is what you see here."

You arch your brows in an impressed and inquisitive arc.

"Impressive, I must say, really impressive. Patent pending, I presume."

At this Miss Beauchêne — done with applying lipbalm — closes the devise and purses her lips in dismay.

"Mrs. Meadows, with all due respect, but I believe you can guess how just [i]trying[/i] to file for a proper patent would go for people like us. For someone who happens to be a woman, and not a white one on top of that. If I'd file a patent, it's all too likely that nothing will come of it, until I am old and grey and not in any position to defend my rights, when, poof, a white man will miraculously invent the exact same device."

You roll your eyes. Not in annoyance at Miss Beauchêne, but in annoyance at a world in which these words carry far too much truth for their own good.

"And then he'd get celebrated by the press for making the lifes of those poor, feeble women so much easier with this revolutionary device," you agree, dryly and bitterly. "All while still condemning said women for using lipstick in the first place."

You both exhale tiredly and in unison.

In a strained silence the two of you finish your morning routines, and you duck behind the wooden screen nearby to change into clothes that have not been slept in.

"But, well," Miss Beauchêne picks up the hanging thread of discussion, "I still hope to live long enough to see a change for the better."

"Becoming immortal is quite an ambitious endeavour," you observe, pinning your hair up proper.

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She bites...

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Happy birthday our grumpy doctor✨👩‍⚕️💐✨

She'd call it 'realistic'

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Happy birthday to Meadows!

ah damn, I actually forgot Dx thanks for the reminder Dx

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Also, for those who want a visual ref for Mrs Meadows:

(Image of Leeah Wong as seen on 'Murdoch Mysteries')

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Sitting here writing, and wondering 'which character is the one holding the posse together'... first thought was

'josie and Mrs Meadows, by means of staplers and hot glue'

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Also, who wants to see Meadows' path (hopefully) later the week?

(please leave a response, not just likes)

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More handwriting. Hope it's readable.

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Character Trivia:

Mrs Meadows has a degree in medicine from the WMCP. Class of 1881.

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I will definitely appreciate the little anatomy details like the parts of the brain. Just finished my massage therapy program so actually if you have any questions about that kind of stuff feel free to ask me

I should maybe give a spoiler for the bit ^^;

warning slightly squicky

"Do you have children, Mrs. Meadows?" Miss Beauchene asks, with genuine innocence and curiosity.

You stiffen, and feel your heart plummet like an icicle breaking off of a roof and impaling a passerby's praecuneus.

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🍐 for Josie and Mrs Meadows?

🍐  :    how intelligent is my muse overall?  are they smarter than the average person,  or less than?  are they primarily self-taught,  or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school?  are they more street smart or book smart? 

Josie: She's above average in some fields, and most is self-taught street smarts.

Meadows is certainly above average, but she lacks emotional intelligence at times. A lot is self-taught, some of learning together with Nate. So, lotsa booksmarts and some field experience.