As the trainer for the Ministry's aurors, Brian Quinn took his job seriously. Privately, he was committed to keeping himself conditioned and toned. It was rare for him to miss working out in the gym in the mornings, and working out was how he managed his stress. He had been hand trained to be a fighter by the Lupins and their allies from his childhood. He knew, first hand, that a decent auror could not rely merely on being able to flick a wand with one's wrist.
He was in his office this morning, with a standard issue "patch kit" on his desk, bandaging his left hand as best he could so that he could begin his regular duties. He was pulling a double shift today. He had been out all night working, and now was beginning the second shift, doing his regular duties. He had had the misfortune to be out trying to track James Blood and his rogue werewolf pack when he had accidently stumbled upon a pair of wizards who had had entirely too much firewhiskey, and one of them was out of sorts over some marital mess. The drunken and angry wizard had lashed out at Brian, recognizing him as being from the Ministry, and had picked an old fashioned brawl with him.
The brawl hadn't lasted more than a moment, really, but in the process, the wizard had managed to pick up a loosened brick from the alley and bang it full force on Brian's left hand. The drunken wizard was temporarily in custody until he came to his senses, but Brian was no closer to finding or arresting James Blood, and that was frustrating.
At the moment, Brian was feeling very glad he was right handed, but he recognized the swelling and the telltale bruising. He was certain that at least one of the bones in his hand was broken. It was a relatively easy fix once he got home. His wife, after all, was the Minister's daughter and was a well known healer in her own right and Director of St. Mungos. Today he intended to merely wrap up his hand and work through the day as usual. It wasn't like he hadn't had worse.
He grew momentarily frustrated with trying to wrap the supportive sports tape around his hand, and left it dangling while he picked up his paper cup of French roast coffee. The coffee had gone cold now, but it was coffee nonetheless. He took a sip of the cold coffee, wishing it was a swig of firewhiskey to temporarily take the edge off the broken bone in his hand.
by Brian Quinn Fri Jan 24, 2014 3:54 am
