Tracey Ophelia Davis (ophelialost) wrote in uprisingrpg, @ 2010-10-25 19:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | theodore nott, tracey davis |
Who: Tracey & Theo
What: She's hurt & needs a healer.
Where: Theo's private practice.
When: Monday afternoon.
Warnings: TBD?
Status: In progress.
The gray, zip-up sweater hung loosely on Tracey's lithe frame as she bent over and picked up her bag from the floor of the dance studio. As she stood back up, slinging the strap over her shoulder, she winced as she accidentally put too much pressure on her right ankle. Hell. Flinching, she glanced down, pulling up the bottom of her dark gray leggings to get another look at her ankle. Above her ballet shoes, the skin of her ankle was red and swollen, and she could feel it throbbing even as she stood still.
She'd thought she's just fallen on it funny when she'd been practicing, but no, the pain hadn't gone away, and now she was pretty sure she'd twisted it, if not sprained it. She'd been dancing long enough to know what a sprain felt like. Instinctively, she wanted to deny it, to push away the pain and ignore it until she went away. She hated pain... at least, pain that wasn't of her own choosing. She didn't like letting it have power or control over her. But years of training as a dancer, however, won out. She knew she needed to see a healer.
There was no way she was going to St Mungo's, though; just the thought of all those people bustling around, brushing past her, handling her with that clinical detachment... she shuddered just at the thought. Not just because of the people, but because of the hatred she'd developed of them during her years with him. All the questions, the excuses, the denials. No, she couldn't. She wouldn't. But... she did remember that one of her former housemates had his own practice now. Seeing someone she knew would at least be preferable to visiting a hospital full of strangers.
With a sigh, she zipped her sweater shut over the light green leotard she wore underneath it. Taking a deep breath as she stood in the middle of the empty room, she concentrated and apparated away, reappearing just inside the building. Holding her purse against her side almost defensively, Tracey limped up to the desk where the receptionist sat. Her voice was quiet but polite, even if she didn't meet the woman's gaze as she murmured, "Um- Hello. My name is Tracey Davis... I don't have an appointment, but I was wondering if Healer Nott could see me? I think I've sprained my ankle..."