RP: Walking the Streets Date: April 26th, 2006, afternoon Characters: Orla Quirke and Open Location: Upper Slaughter streets Private/Public: Open to Public Rating: PG-13 Warnings: None Summary: TBD
"Sod off," Orla muttered, swatting rather meanly at the owl perched near her shoulder. It refused to stop pecking and Orla refused to turn away from her cauldron. It was less than a win-win situation. "Sod. Off. Gods, go catch a bloody rat."
She reached up to one of the shelves above her row of cauldrons, grabbing for some harmless gillyweed to carefully stir into her mixture. There were a number of injuries waiting for her and as the only goddamned healer in the place (she'd been thinking this quite a good deal lately) Orla feeling a bit overworked. There was a row of five cauldrons in her basement workspace and three of them were bubbling away with three separate healing potions. If she wasn't careful, one or more was going to go sour.
Pushing a bit of hair away from her face, Orla found herself cursing vehemently underneath her breath. Owls pecking at her shoulders, potions bubbling in front of her, people getting pregnant and not telling herimmediately.
Pink liquid sloshed over the edge of her cauldron, landing on the hem of her robes. "Fucking…" Orla shook her head and wiped her brow. "Damnit. Alright, alright… the hell do you want, dust rag?" She would have to brew the thing all over again, she realized as she stared down into the cauldron. By the time she did that the bird would have pecked through her entire shoulder.
"Give me that," she snapped, snatching the rolled piece of parchment from the owl's leg. It didn't take her long to open it and scan through it. The contents didn't do much for her mood.
They'd all gone to Hogwarts. How was it that she'd been the only one to come out with a decent knowledge of potions and healing? How, she wondered, for she honestly didn't know. She stuffed the parchment in the pockets of her robes and quickly extinguished the flamed underneath her cauldrons. She'd be starting all of her potions again, it seemed. Someone else had turned up with a broken leg and she needed to be over there within the hour
Damn bombings. Damn fight. Damn Aurors. Damn having to move. This was not going to be her day. Orla gathered her things and hurried out of the field hospital. There was a scowl on her face as she set off down Slytherin Close. It was going to be a wonderful day.