Fashionable Gimping

Khaat had left Brian perusing over some select bottles of wine and firewhiskey to replenish their wine room and stepped out into the sparkling sunlight of Diagon Alley. She had told him she was heading a couple of doors down to Sparks. She really had worn crappy boots again. Well, they were expensive and stylish Jimmy Choo black leather stilletto boots--some of her favorites, but she was finding that her ankles were, by far, not ready for them. She hurt. And standing with Brian in the booze shop didn't help. If she had been one of her own patients, she'd have lectured herself rather soundly. It had been stupid.

She was grateful for the black walking stick with the tall amethyst stone set in its handle. It was now a necessary evil, at least until she healed. She was learning to stuff a bottle of pain potion in her purse, and she limped worse than Doyle ever did. And the fact that the shoes were making her barely able to walk, even with the stick, brought Edgar Doyle to her mind and how he might have chided her for being stupid.

She knew at least part of that was due to the ridiculous tall stillettos she thought she could force herself to wear. She had wanted her life back. Her sense of self. And for some reason, she had never gotten past her attraction to sexy little shoes. She was beginning to understand why Doyle wore sneakers now. They were immensely practical, and far more comfortable. Had they perhaps been more in keeping with the sleek royal blue sweater dress she had chosen, along with the chunky black belt, well, she might have chosen them. She had chosen style over function. And she was understanding Doyle better now as to why he did not make such superficial choices.

She stopped and leaned back against the brick wall of a shopfront. She was starting to overheat from the pain. She reached into her bag for the pain potion and the bottle spilled out of her bag, crashing to the brick pavement and shattering into a milion pieces. She sighed heavily. Well, that was just bloody perfect. She began to consider taking the boots off and walking down Diagon Alley in her bare feet in the snow. She wondered how often Doyle got so aggravated with himself. Or did she have the corner market on it by herself?

''You're an idiot!'', Doyle said as he noticed Khaat barely walking. He limped next to her and hit her lightly with his cane on the back so she would straighten herself up. He then raised his cane and hit the wall with it, positioning it just parallel with her eyes. He looked at her. She was worn out, more than he ever was, but that was a reason more to call her an idiot. He had his usual dark grey suit, plain T-Shirt and dark trousers on, with his new pair of sneakers. ''And you limp horribly'', he added.

''You know, when I started limping, my mum told me to wear comfortable shoes. I mean, I do know you want to hook up with a random homeless guy from Knockturn, but still, there is a far more simpler way to do so - get naked!'', he said. ''Although, that would probably attract much more attention... or not?'', he wondered.

''So, except from you being either drunk or high, what has happened? I doubt you were satisfied enough to walk around destroyed like that. Wait... it is combination... what have you been taking?'', he inquired.

"I am neither drunk nor high," she said. "Or at least I don't believe I am. The second time I was taken by Felix Barker, he broke both my ankles. That necessitated the stick for awhile. And I guess that since I have now beocme underweight and undernourished because of my little incarceration against my will, I understand that it has caused my ankles to heal more slowly. i guess I was presuming that it was the natural effect of having both ankles broken that caused me to limp a bit more like a John Wayne swagger than any real class.

"I was actually just thinking about you. I actually was gaining some respect for your immense practicality and was already berating myself for being an idiot. The stillettos, although rather sleek looking, are not at all practical. I was just thinking how if I had been one of my own patients, I'd have chewed me out rather thoroughly.

"And besides the fact that I just broke my bottle of pain potion on the pavement, what makes you think I'm on something else?" She wasnt' going to admit to Doyle that she had been stealing illegal mind numbing potions from her husband and taking them right along with the pain potions, and she was hoping Doyle just wasn't that freaking smart. She was totally ignoring the fact that Rob's version of the potion eventually caused death if it were taken long enough. She was aware of that. But being able to chase her near death experience out of her head at this point made it appear worthwhile. At least for the immediate moment.

''Well, if you honestly state everything is fine, let's walk'', he said, cheerfully. Of course he knew she had been taking something, but since he was not sure, he had to walk it out of her. His method may have been drastic, but he did not care if he succeeded in his initial plan. ''You said you had your ankles broken by some Baker? Who's that chap? And how did that happen... a massage session turn wrong?'', he asked.

''The first law of limping - never forget that you have a limp and that it hurts! As I have said, if you wanted to look sexy, you should have come naked... people would ignore the stick, trust me. But, why would you even decide to go out? I mean, you're half dead and probably stoned by cheap firewhiskey, but still, you decide to limp around like Red Riding Hood after a pretty uncomfortable meeting with a saber-toothed tiger. Any peculiar reason for that or is granny just horny as hell?'', he asked as he continued to walk. ''And yes, I am going to ignore your last question'', he added.

"Alright, so, well, now that we both admit that the heels aren't working, one moment." She reluctantly transfigured the stylish heels into stylish black flats. There was still probably more practical support for her ankles had she transfigured them into the high top sneakers like Doyle wore, but, well, they just didn't go with her dress. She wasn't going that far. But flats, well, she'd give him that. That was more practical, and the heels just weren't working.

"Felix Barker is a msochistic bastard. He was hired by some enemies of my father to torture and kill me because of their need for revenge. I was used. Flat out. Barker took me twice and tortured me. The second time was when he broke my ankles, amongst other things. I'd have died from blood loss and from traumatic shock if my father had been one moment later in coming. However, I am pleased to report that Barker has been captured, tried, and has been put away in Azkaban in the company of several extra nasty dementors. And I am just cold hearted enough where he is concerned that it does not bother me that he should be miserable for a few decades.

She continued now to walk beside him. The flats had helped. Ok, Lesson learned. She wasn't ready for her favorite shoes. "Its not about needing to look sexy," she admitted. "Its just because I really, really love heels. Ok. Lesson learned. Heels are not practical yet. And you're right. It does hurt. I have been trying to ignore that part."

Stoned. So he knew. Damn. She really had hoped he would be either stupid or unobservant. He was neither. He'd figure it out eventually. He was, after all, a muggle doctor and a potionsmaster. That had been another foolish hope on her part.

"Its not firewhiskey, and I only drink top shelf when I do drink it," she told him. "Let us not forget I am married to a potionsmaker. I would remind you that my father is a potionsmaster, but that is irrelevant here. He is innocent of this concoction. Well, this version of it, anyway. This one, I am getting from my husband's lab, although I daresay he is not aware of it--not yet anyway. Since we are still married, I see no issue with taking what I want from his stores, although sometimes I do need to obliviate those tarts he's hired to make his wares for him. I call them tarts only because he resents me being more accurate and calling them potionswhores." Her uncertainty of how he would respond to her made her avoid telling him the exact potion just yet, but she already knew full well she was, basically, busted.