Somehow they found themselves on the floor, a stack of papers between them as Yeva read off some uninteresting list of surgical procedures, but at the mention of 'surgical drain', Azrael thought he might throw up, "Ugh, okay, I changed my mind."
"But we just started! And it's... it's... it's.. it's... very interesting!"
His head lifted from the ground to look up. Her speech caught and he was suddenly spry, "Are you drunk?"
"No, of course not," she shook her head. When he hadn't been looking, more of her hair had spilled out of its holding, and her cheeks were two spring roses, "I mean..." she huffed and drew quiet to focus harder than usual while she read, "I feel just a little funny, but I wouldn't say I'm drunk."
"The feeling," he was grinning, scooting closer.
"My head feels light and I'm really hot. And things feel..." she rolled her shoulders, passing a small wave through her limbs, "Just..." Her lids fluttered, she looked tired, "Just different. I'm really heavy."
"Drunk," the avriel corrected, interested in pushing her further, "You haven't even had your third glass."
"Yeah, well... You haven't even helped me, soooo weeee're even. And I'm not drunk. Maybe just lightly, you know. Almost drunk"
She squinted and clutched her book. He watched her, "You don't have to drink anymore if you don't want to."
That seemed to spark a stubbornness and she looked as though she'd rise to collect the third. And then she stumbled getting up, much like he had and they both laughed once more, "Could you perform surgery right now?" he pressed, propped up on an elbow.
"The jest is on you. I don't know how to do any s-ssu-surgery. Here, I need you to write something for me." Yeva pointed to the papers and managed to make her way across the room, checking the dough as she went while Azrael plucked a loose feather and opened an ink pot. Yeva formed the dough into a loaf, and put it into a greased loaf pan, the heat from the oven almost unbearable.
It was so hot.
"What are we writing?"
"Dear Devin- No wait,"
Yeva ignored him, focused on centering the dough and recovering it for its second rise. Where did they put the hourglass? "Dear Mr. Thorn," she corrected, "I wanted to write to you to trial to thank you for your lesson..."
"Mr. Thorn?" Azrael sat up straighter. Didn't that name sound phallic! "What kind of lesson?"
"Will you just please write this?" Yeva wobbled a bit, working on cleaning up her mess, "-I want to thank you for your lesson at both the university and Petyr's potions. Your level of medical expertise is quite inspiring and has given me a great deal of interest in the alchemical arts and its relation to modern health care. I can only hope to aspire to one day lead a lesson of my own one day.
Your lesson held a... alluring factor..."
"I'm not writing that."
"Alluring? No. That sounds like you want to fuck him," the Avriel suddenly squinted, voice steeling, "You don't, do you?"
"What? No! Gods no. I mean, he's.... he's handsome and stuff, but ah, will you just listen? Now I can't remember what I was even saying."
Azreal was grumbling.
"Just write that I appreciate having met a man of his academic esteem and I would like to place a formal complaint... But make it sound nice!"
Yeva was trying very hard to piece together her thoughts and have them come across as scholarly as possible. She didn't need Azrael to poke more fun, but she couldn't hide the drunken leaning on the counter, "Write: I have a few concerns about a educational system post the initial graduation children experience here on the island. As a member of the Order - write the full name," Yeva cleared her throat, mouth dry.
She began to pour her third glass and it seemed to taste sweeter than before. Magic! "Umm... Yes! - As a member of the Order, I have been given opportunities to further my own personal knowledge in healing largely without the help of University, although I am very, very, very, grateful to do so now. However, I have concerns for those whose finances may not permit, ah... opportunities such as mine. How then, do the poor achieve higher .... What's the word? Higher..."
"Shh, I'm still writing."
Yeva waited impatiently, grimacing at the word, "Just take that last part out. Say.... For those from cities without faction branches, or similar backgrounds, I think the university would benefit the consideration of merit based scholarships should there be... ya know, money."
His quill slowed, "You want to make the university free?"
"No, I mean, that would be great but maybe a bit too ambitious. Add that I wonder if the faction of Intellegensia or the Scholar's Nook, or even the merchants guild might be interested in investing in the future of Scalvoris' success. I wish you well... Yours truly..." she paused, to allow him time to write, "Yeva."
Azrael sat silent, scribbling and scratching. He was used to writing to his own council and he knew her well enough to mix the eloquence her own writing lacked with personality. She fully believed he would do this well, and of course... they could always edit once everything wore off.
"Alright," he finally muttered, "But this won't change anything."
She furrowed her brow, "Yes it will."
"Councilmen do what they want. If he does take your suggestion, he'll probably take credit too... if it works."
"...That's... I understand." she continued with her third glass, to which Azrael hadn't seemed to notice.
"What? You can't just let someone take your wins. That's ridiculous!"
"If it brings about positive change, then it's worth it."
"Yeva, I don't know who this.. this... Devin Thorn is, but academia? You should be in his seat."
"Can we not argue about this right now?" Piecing together coherent thought to bicker with him... well, it was ruining the small buzz she had, because while she was fairly coherent, speaking meant her words risked slurring. The more she talked, the fatter the sounds felt falling out of her mouth.
"No, you always say that."
"I just... I just want what's best," Beside her the hourglass still had a few more minutes, so she meandered back over to where Azrael was resealing the ink pot. His feathers looked soft, "It doesn't matter to me who takes credit."
"And I'm telling you - you'll always be in someone's shadow if you don't stand up for yourself. Maybe you should go to the next meeting with a formal proposal, take a vote... Publicaly. Humiliat-"
Yeva ran her hand down his wings and the Avriel silenced. She did it again, tracing where the white bleed to black and for awhile they sat there, the medic sipping her wine, enjoying the texture beneath her fingers. It was one way to win an argument.