A Slippery Slope

[Ismene Swift]

Hurling Roulette!

It was supposed to have been a simple excursion for ice cream, a nice afternoon out exploring London with a sister who was soon to abandon her for America. And yet, here Ismene Swift sat, in a hospital of all places, sneezing ice cubes! After a panicked mediwizard had reassured her that she was not suffering the ill effects of any sort of hex, he had shuffled the young debutante and her aching, cold nose off to Magical Bugs in the hopes that a cure for what ailed her might be found.

She had penned rather a frantic letter to Dot, whom she was to be meeting for a ball that evening, with her apologies (and her last will and testament) whilst her sister had gone back to Hogsmeade to inform their mother, and now Issie sat with only her own thoughts and a half-full pale of ice for company. The witch had never liked hospitals since an art professor’s attack had seen her interred in one, and she could feel her nerves abuzz—and another cube forming.

Without warning, she let out a mighty sneeze, sending a particularly large ice cube skirting along the floor to rest at the feet of the healer who had just pulled back the curtain.

@'Richard Gladstone'/@'Tristan Michaud'

  

[Richard Gladstone]

It was a busy day in the Magical Bugs ward and it was very much all hands on deck for the people currently working the day shift. It wasn't anything major other than a few flu's and other small magical bug related illnesses. For the most part, the patients had been made up of children and overly worried caretakers. A bit of pepperup potion and most were right as rain.

His next case was rather unique compared to what he had seen so far though. A young woman was reported to be sneezing ice cubes. From the description it sounded like a strain of some sort of magical cold or flu to the healer but he couldn't know for sure until he examined her for himself.

Once he had done so than he could devise which potions to combine to make up a cure for the young lady. Pulling back the curtain, he looked down at the sound of something skittering across the floor and he leaned down to pick up the ice cube with a gloved hand and he plunked it down into a vial enchanted to keep it in its current condition so that he could examine it later.

"Hello, Miss Swift. I'm Richard Gladstone, your healer for today," he introduced as he adjusted the curtain so that her privacy would be intact. "Do the ice cubes come out that size?" It had to be painful so he made a mental note to add soothing agents to the potion he would be devising for her.

  

[Ismene Swift]

Her sinuses burned from the intrusion and her nostril from the cold as the ice shot through her system. The look on her face was one of pure misery as she rose her gaze to address the healer with a nod in way of reply.

“For two hours now,” she added helpfully, tone implying very much that she thought she was dying. Her mother would have chastised her for being whiny, but Ismene felt utterly rubbish, and even nearly two decades of instruction in deportment could not adequately hide that fact.

This is a Téble

  

[Richard Gladstone]

Richard noted down her answer, more and more certain that she had contracted a form of magical cold or flu. "Poor dear," he tsked sympathetically as he examined her throat to check if there was any sort of swelling there. "Tilt your head back, please," he requested with the intention of examining the area that the ice cubes were coming out from. Her poor nose looked very raw, indeed.

"Do you have any other symptoms? Anything else feeling out of the ordinary?"

  

[Ismene Swift]

Dutifully, Ismene did as instructed, too distracted by her impending demise to appreciate the proximity of a handsome healer. On later reflection, the brunette would regret very much her failure to take advantage of the situation. If she survived, of course, which seemed entirely unlikely for the moment.

“Some dizziness,” she allowed, “and a bit of a chill, though that much I would wager has a simple cause. Oh Mr. Gladstone, I’m not dying, am I?”

This is a Téble