dr. j.s. steinman

“With genetic modifications, beauty is no longer a goal or even a virtue
It is a MORAL OBLIGATION.
Do we force the healthy to live with the contagious?
Do we mix the criminal with the law abiding?
Then why are the PLAIN allowed to mingle with the FAIR?!”
                                                          -Dr. J.S. Steinman, MD

A Day at the Theatre//Sander Cohen-Dr. Steinman

Having the luxury of a day off, something that was nearly foreign to Rapture’s finest plastic surgeon, Dr. Steinman took it upon himself to visit one of his dear friends down in Fort Frolic.

Bustling past the people loitering in the Fleet Hall’s foyer, he ascended a flight of stairs, up to the theatre’s reel room and Sander Cohen’s office.

The eccentric artist had a tough iron gate pulled across the doorway, indicating he wasn’t in the mood for visitors. However, Steinman was above the law. The surgeon cleared his throat, tapping on one of the bars.

“Good morning! Is the ‘Wild Bunny’ in his hovel, or has he gone out to Mr. McGregor’s garden?”

A Little Muscle//Grossman-Steinman

“GROSSMAN!”

Steinman bellowed as he threw open the doors to the Kure-All. He’d been wandering all around the Medical Pavilion and hadn’t been able to locate the microphobic physician. It took only a short sweep of the place before he  found whom he was looking for.

“Grossman…I’ve been looking for you all day! Where have you been?! No matter. I need you. There have been too many wretched splicers trying to sneak their way into my surgery wing. And I’m too busy of a man to fight them all back by myself. I need you to keep watch while I’m working. I can supply you with grenades, explosive, and other firearms to do the job. You just have to show up. Will you do it?”

Special Delivery//Sander Cohen-Dr. Steinman

Though someone like Dr. Steinman was loathe to give up corpses, as that was the brunt of what he’d been working on of late, there was one exception: His dear friend Sander Cohen.

Both men had been using the corpses of splicers and normal people alike for their own “creative” endeavors; Steinman’s as vessels for new surgical and beautifying procedures and Cohen for his newest series of sculptural installations. Now, pulling a cart loaded with bodies stacked carefully under a tarp, the doctor pulled it through a tunnel, towards Fort Frolic.

Cohen had closed the place off the public only a month or so ago, however, he had made an exception for Steinman, as the surgeon had done the same for him in the form of body-sharing. And normally, this was a task the surgeon felt was under him, but past attempts to Tom Sayer splicers or lesser doctors into delivering them had proved unfruitful.

Stopping before a heavily locked Securis door at the end of the tunnel, J.S. produced a short-wave radio from under his surgical coat, turning it on and to the correct channel, having to deal with a bit of static for only a moment.

“Cohen, are you there? Let me in. This is Steinman. I’ve brought the bodies you requested for your art. I’m at the eastern door.”

The Meeting

Dr. J.S. Steinman hadn’t forgotten about their meeting. In fact, he’d taken half of a day off just to visit one of his dearest friends

The surgeon had to go through many workers, and plasmid-abusing guards to get to Ryan, but, it didn’t matter to him. They were just doing their duties; he didn’t need to remind them he was above every single one of them. They knew it just as well as he did.

Having passed through the final chamber, he was brought to Ryan’s door. Cinching his tie a bit tighter, and smoothing out his suit-coat, he entered the founder’s office. Even knowing what a stoic character Ryan was, he stepped through the threshold in his usual manner.

“Mr. Ryan, how lovely to see you! I have not forgotten about our meeting, as you can see. How are you?”

Just a Little Off the Top

|| After some shenanigans involving Dr. Steinman and the fact that barbers were in fact surgeons as well during earlier decades, I decided to draw a Columbia (maybe?) Steinman were he, of course, fulfills both duties. Metal. ||

An Evening of the Elite | Ava Tate

Dr. J.S. Steinman stepped through the threshold into the Kashmir Restaurant. For once, he seemed overly dressed in his tuxedo. One had to wear a tie to get it and, though the rule still held, the host had said that it wasn’t quite so formal, however, it was apparent they both had very conflicting ideas of “informal”.

Running a hand over his brown hair, the surgeon wandered in, looking for a place to sit. He usually chose a spot with either Cohen or Ryan, or them both, however, both were absent at the moment. Ryan, he knew had wired him saying that he had to work late at Hephaestus, taking care of some mundane business with a worker, and he was certain Cohen would be there. Shrugging, he figured he’d secure a place for them both when he arrived.

Hearing a greet in French, and spotting a vigourously waving hand out of the corner of his eye, the surgeon turned, spying one Ava Tate waving him over to her table. He smiled, hurrying over.

“Ms. Tate, my dear, you’re looking absolutely fetching to-night! Then again, you never disappoint,” he commented as he took her into a hug.

Recruiting

Dr. Steinman slinked into the abandoned apartment as nonchalantly as possible. He didn’t wish to draw any attention to himself. Though there were technically no laws in Rapture, what he had been planning was most likely going to be unpopular with the citizens of the city.

A good-looking young man sat on a sofa, a drink in one hand, a cigarette smouldering in a groove on an ashtray. He looked up with stunning blue eyes.

Such blue eyes…they reminded him fondly of…

“I’ve heard you’re the one they call when…bodies are called for?” he said smoothly, adjusting the lapels of his suitcoat. “I have a proposion for you.”