Entirely fictional and original character. Created by Miko Goblin. Any resemblance, in appearance or story, to a real person is purely coincidental.
Dr. Octavia Incirrina is a 46-year-old octopus woman living in Nova Scotia's Annapolis Valley, where she works as a family physician specializing in the medical needs of cryptids, mythological beings, and other nonhuman residents. She operates a small, perpetually overbooked clinic, treating everyone from centaurs and vampires to forest spirits and creatures whose anatomy requires consulting tomes so old that Latin was a new invention.
Octavia grew up in a coastal Nova Scotia community, the daughter of an octopus woman and a human father. Her childhood was largely unremarkable, apart from the practical difficulties presented by her mother's shockingly dominant genes. She developed an early interest in biology, partly out of curiosity and partly from frustration with doctors who seemed more interested in studying her, or shrugging her off, than treating her. She eventually attended Dalhousie University's medical school, completed her family medicine residency, and expected to settle into conventional practice.
That changed when she encountered supernatural patients who had fallen through the same cracks in the healthcare system she'd experienced growing up. A minotaur with untreated hypertension, a dewdrop fairy prescribed medication without accounting for her tiny body mass, and a werewolf whose recurring injuries and missing days had been dismissed as a neurological disorder convinced Octavia that the province needed physicians who understood nonhuman physiology. She pursued additional training in comparative physiology, consulted specialists across Canada and abroad, and gradually established one of rural Nova Scotia's few medical practices where unusual patients could expect competent care without becoming scientific curiosities.
Professionally, Octavia is patient, methodical, and exceptionally difficult to rattle. She approaches unfamiliar physiology with curiosity rather than alarm and readily consults specialists, folklorists, or religious leaders when conventional medicine falls short. Her office contains an impressive collection of medical references, unusually sized examination equipment, and two decades' worth of increasingly disorganized anatomical notes.
Her patients appreciate that she treats their unusual characteristics as medical considerations rather than defining features of their identities. A vampire complaining of back pain gets an examination, not a lecture about the price of immortality. A sasquatch with diabetes gets dietary advice and appropriate medication, not a documentary crew.
Her patience does have limits, particularly with administrative nonsense. Octavia has little tolerance for forms that assume every patient has the same organs, laboratory reference ranges designed exclusively for humans, or specialists who refuse referrals because they don't recognize a patient's species. She's become an accomplished advocate for medical accessibility, though she'd much rather practise medicine than argue with bureaucrats. She maintains a close friendship with Alstroemeria Wren, a local fairy social worker whose clients frequently need medical assessments. The two share a commitment to their communities, an appreciation for strong tea, and an unfortunate tendency to take on more responsibility than anyone reasonably should.
Outside work, Octavia enjoys gardening, board games, waterfront walks, and spending time with friends who have long since stopped noticing her unusual appearance. Her composed professional manner gives way to a dry, occasionally mischievous sense of humour, particularly during a competitive board game. She's fond of the ocean but mildly irritated by strangers who assume she spends every spare moment swimming. She likes the water perfectly well, but also enjoys comfortable chairs, good books, and not having to rinse salt from her clothes.
For all its frustrations, Octavia has never seriously considered another profession. She believes everyone deserves competent, compassionate healthcare and insists she has no intention of retiring early. She would, however, appreciate it if someone could finally invent a provincial electronic medical records system that accommodates patients with more than two arms.