#doclothariofh

A man of many talents (and just as many admirers), 'Doc' Lothario set up shop on Main Street shortly after Freedom Hollow was founded. By day, the Doc tends to bullet wounds, pulls teeth, and gives the cleanest shave this side of the Maxis Mountains — though folks swear he’s got a cure for everything but a broken heart, considering he’s the cause of most of them.

Rumor has it the Doc’s got a different “remedy” for every ailment; a kind word, a soft hand, or, if you’re lucky (or not), a late-night house call. Whether hero or heartbreaker, Freedom Hollow couldn’t get by without him… though a few husbands might wish otherwise.

Winter settles firmly over Freedom Hollow, frost gathering on the edges of every windowpane. Above the clinic, Kaylynn Langerak keeps the Doc’s small apartment in order. She moves briskly through the space with a broom and cloth, determined to keep the place feeling lived-in rather than merely used. When her work is finished, she lingers.

Doc Lothario appears at the top of the stairs not long after, vest half-buttoned, expression already knowing. What begins as a passing remark turns easily into something more familiar between them, Kaylynn making a “house call” of her own before returning downstairs, leaving the doctor in notably high spirits.

Below, the clinic is alive with activity. Vidcund Curious works steadily at his table, surrounded by bottles, powders, and handwritten notes. He measures with care, crafting tonics for winter coughs, salves for chapped hands, and other mixtures whose purpose he explains only when asked directly.

Patients come throughout the day, breath still visible in the air as they step inside. Peter Ottomas with aching joints, Jennifer Burb seeking relief for one of the girls’ fevers, Alvin Futa needing something for a lingering chill. Coins are exchanged, remedies dispensed, and Doc offering confidence as much as cure.

By afternoon, Jan Tellerman arrives. She carries tension that seems to sit in her shoulders and spine, her posture too rigid to be comfortable. Doc listens as she explains, nodding before gesturing toward the examination table.

His hands are skilled as he works to ease the tightness from her back and shoulders. What begins as treatment slowly becomes something much more personal. Jan exhales, tension unwinding under his touch, her composure softening just enough to reveal the strain she carries.

“Dinner,” Doc says when she rises, as though it were the next step in her treatment. “The Dining Room. This evening.”

That night, the warmth of the Dining Room replaces the sharp cold outside. Conversation comes easily,  and when the evening draws to a close, neither seems inclined to end it just yet.

Weekdays keep Doc swamped with patients, but Saturdays bring a much needed reprieve from the near constant chaos of the Barber Shop and Clinic.

For the good Doctor, that place is the saloon.

By evening, he’s settled comfortably at the bar, coat draped back and drink in hand, the familiar sounds of laughter and music filling the space. The cold outside slips through the swinging doors, but inside there is heat, movement, distraction. Nina moves through the room with effortless charm, her voice carrying softly over the piano before she eventually makes her way toward him.

It doesn’t take long before he’s requesting his usual bath, this time from Nina. What follows is familiar, and for a time, the night feels full. But fullness is not the same as meaning.

By Christmas morning, the contrast is sharp. The clinic is quiet. No patients come knocking, no errands demand his attention. The world seems to pause, and in that stillness, Doc has nothing to distract him. There are no decorations, no feast waiting; only the remnants of routine and a day that expects something more than he has ever quite built. It’s a curious thing, he reflects, how a man can be so rarely alone, and yet feel it so distinctly when he finally is. Kaylynn, Nina, Sandra, Jan, all real in the moment, and yet not a single one of them here to share the quiet of Christmas Day. 

By the end of the week, Sandra is on her feet again, far too restless to remain at home another day. The saloon welcomes her back, and Sandra slips behind the bar as though she never left, hands moving with practiced ease. Glasses are filled, bottles uncorked, and coins are counted. At one point she even tosses a tin cup lightly from one hand to the other before catching it clean, earning a small cheer from a nearby table.

“You’re back in form,” someone calls.

“Was I ever out of it?” she replies, a hint of her old spark returning.

The door opens not long after, and when Daniel Pleasant steps inside, Sandra very nearly loses her rhythm. She watches as he crosses the room with that easy confidence of his, and suddenly there is a fleeting, unmistakable swoon she quickly tries to hide by busying herself with a bottle that doesn’t need tending.

Between serving rounds, she snatches a quick meal from the back table, where a spread sits available to anyone who’s bought a drink, hoping to keep patrons drinking. Sandra takes a small plate, just enough to steady herself, before returning to work.  Later in the evening, the door opens to admit the familiar figure of Doc Lothario.

“I hear you’ve recovered,” he remarks.

“Thanks to you,” Sandra replies, arching a brow. “Though I suspect you’ll be wanting additional repayment.” He smirks, not denying it, and makes a request for a private soak.

One of Freedom Hollow's most hardworking men, Doc Lothario often spends his evenings taking advantage of the amenities available at Cooke's Saloon....all of them.