Vayal Academy

Tailina adores the work of teaching Mysticism, especially at such a wonderful, prestigious school as Vayal Academy. It’s the kind of job you dream about, when you’re a little fledgling with feathers just coming in and no real understanding of how exclusive Vayal is — before you understand that thousands are dreaming that same dream, and it’ll never be in reach.

Except Tailina managed to get her claws around it, and now here she is, wondering how to approach her latest problem. The Mystics are always causing problems. (Which is fine, really; she expects it. You can’t blame magically gifted eighteen year olds for causing a bit of trouble, especially not when they can manipulate mana or see around corners.) It’s just that, usually, Mystics are passionate, talented students, and so this problem is somewhat unprecedented — Tailina’s used to, say, things going missing from her office (although this year’s theft is the most brazen and concerning yet), but she’s never really experienced this before: nobody can focus for even a second.

Gelstra’s gotten an Illusionist friend to help her cobble together a serviceable little holographic locket of some pigeon — pretty, Tailina can admit, but not worth stealing glances at literally every class, every lecture, every tutorial.

Hattie’s in some sort of strange arrangement with the showoff deer and the cute human Restorationist — all the First Years are talking about it, and it’s filtered its way up the gossip chain to the faculty, now; easy to see why — the strange Kothelli custom is not totally foreign to Vayal but really Hattie Hare’s the last student you expect to have two girlfriends — like, you think the concept would break her dutiful brain, so it’s easy to spread the news in a sort of can you even believe it?! way.

Anyway, be that as it may, as far as Tailina’s concerned — one lover, two, five, who cares, really, so long as you can focus on your work — but Hattie breaks this sacred covenant, and spends most of class time sort of staring off into space (more often than not lingering around Syrene, which makes sense to Tailina given the mouse is quite pretty).

Syrene herself, the star pupil, has something dogging her too — she’s a good enough Mystic that Tailina’s questions to the class are answered, most of the time, but Tailina’s really putting all of herself into this, since such potential deserves to be nurtured, and it’d be nice to see that effort returned.

Most like Syrene is just embarrassed — if Tailina didn’t know she’s responsible for stealing the Horn of Compliance by now she’d have to be totally blind. Syrene doubtless realises this too, and is looking for an out — a way to slip into the office again and this time dump the incriminating artifact behind like, a couch, or something (maybe the filing cabinet). So Tailina resolves to contrive some reason to get Syrene in the office, something arranged well in advance so she can bring the artifact — but then, what?

Well, it’s probably a question for after class. For now she needs to wrangle these spaced-out Mystics. “I must gather some things in my office. Read over Archmage Glyvel’s Rules of Reaction while I am gone; it shall not take long.” Any teacher at Vayal learns (quickly) that her students are their most revealing when they think they’re alone.

From her office, Tailina detaches her consciousness and throws it into the adjoining classroom, which for a Mystic of her experience is about as difficult as putting your ear up to the wall. It’s no harder to cloak herself from Hattie.

Syrene leans forward like a drunk inviting gossip. “This is a test, right?”

“Huh?” Gelstra replies, head snapping off the locket. “Oh, Professor’s gone?”

Rolling her eyes, Syrene fixes her attention on Hattie. “What’d you think?”

“I don’t know.” Hattie sounds like an indignant toddler who’s just discovered life isn’t fair. “We should just read. Like she said.”

“Still mad at me?”

“No.”

“Come on, Hat, you and me are friends; can you really stay mad?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“You know what you’re doing.”

“Hattie, Hattie, Hattie, I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Gelstra, sensing the brewing confrontation, finally puts the locket away and swivels in her chair. “What’s Syrene doing?” The porcupine’s spikes bristle like a crowd waiting for a speech.

“She’s talking like Alyx.”

“Who the fuck is Alyx?”

“Come on, Hat; this is-”

“Nym’s voice, but it’s what Alyx would say.”

“Guys, who the fuck is Alyx?”

“My girlfriend,” says Hattie, at the same time as Syrene says “a fucking idiot.”

How strange, thinks Tailina, floating and pondering. It’s time like these she gets jealous of the Restoration and Evocation Departments… They always have more students than they know what to do with, so this sort of thing just blurs into the background. But when your class size is three, you need to step in and mend the burned bridges, or your cohort wastes the year like a snake eating its own tail. Counsellor Rusk is, sadly, utterly useless, and so Tailina wonders if perhaps she should get Syrene and Hattie into her office to talk this out — or maybe they’d be better off telling her separately, and she can make a sort of mediator judgement enforced by penalty of failure.

Hmm. She needs more information. Tailina makes a snap judgement.

“Gelstra,” she says, poking her avian head from the office, “If you could help me, please.”

“I can do it,” Syrene says immediately, even pushing up out of her chair, and it warms Tailina’s heart. What a shame it is to turn her away.

“This is more attuned to Gelstra’s skillset.”

“I could borrow her skillset.”

She can count the students she’s liked as much as Syrene on one claw. At first Tailina’s about to stay the course — call Gelstra in and get her help going through the overstuffed office for a dusty old scroll — but she figures, well, maybe it’s a sign from the universe. “Alright then; but leave Gelstra’s skills where they are.”

Humming delightfully in the elf’s voice, Syrene slips into Tailina’s office and bows her head. “How can I help?”

Tailina takes a seat behind her desk; Syrene stays standing, the only way she can see above the forest of loose papers and pyramids of horizontal scrolls. “I sense,” the professor says, “there is some tension between you and Hattie, yes?” This is going to be a nightmare. So much coaxing. Should’ve stuck with the original plan. “I think-”

“Yeah,” Syrene says. “She’s angry cos I f- because I had sex with her girlfriend.” Misinterpreting Tailina’s shock at her candor for a more general shock, Syrene hastily adds, “Before they were together, by the by.”

“And I assume you didn’t do this to upset her?”

“Well. No. I wanted to upset the other one.”

“Deer Conjurationist?”

“That’s the one.”

“Whatever for?”

“Does it matter? She’s not in this class.”

Syrene really is talking to her too casually, but then Tailina’s so appreciates not having to drag all this out of her over hours (they can never lie to her, so they just sit there humming awkwardly) that she lets it slide. “I suppose not. Listen, Syrene, it would be most helpful for me if you could patch this all up and leave it behind you.”

“Believe me, Professor, I’m trying. So is her girlfriend, actually.”

“The Restorationist?”

“Yeah. She had a real nice time, so naturally she can’t hold anything against me, but Hattie’s a lot more stubborn about it.”

“Erm. Well. Yes-”

“Oh, sorry, Professor. I shouldn’t be talking about that, should I?” Syrene strikes a frankly off-putting balance of innocent and covetous.

“I, you see, I only need to know enough to help solve this-”

“But details would be inappropriate.”

“Certainly during class time.”

“I can come back later?” With Whisper’s pilfered power Syrene makes it look like her blouse is half-open, and Tailina appreciates both the display of arcane versatility and admittedly her chest, but she has the grace to feel guilty about it.

“Yes. Perhaps you should.”

Surprisingly Tailina’s little interaction with Syrene basically fixed the class. Her favourite student sat back down and then sat up, diligently taking notes and answering questions, shooting her hand straight up before Tailina’s beak was even closed. Gelstra picked up on the shift and paid attention, too, and then Hattie had no choice but to follow the crowd.

So Tailina’s feeling grateful, is the upshot, as Syrene slips back into the dusty Mysticism class as the simulated sun’s going down and the artificial snow’s settling over everything in perfect powdery sheets. The Horn of Compliance isn’t in Syrene’s satchel, or tucked under her sweater, but worn brazenly on her hip, like a sword in its scabbard.

Cards on the table: both Tailina and Syrene are expecting to fuck, but only Syrene expects it to happen now. Really, for Tailina it’s more resignation than expectation. Every year as she meets the new intake, she promises herself this time, it won’t happen. And, of course, it happens: slowly, and then all at once.

“Hey,” Syrene says, when she spots Tailina behind her desk at the front of the room. The distant, fleshy sound of Blue Moon devouring a tin of Archmage Halivan’s Kitty-Cat Feast of Tuna-Turkey-Tuscany undermines the hot edge to Syrene’s (more properly, Nym’s) voice.

“Have you made strides with Hattie?”

“I tried, Professor, I really did. Went right up to her after class, like you said, but she wasn’t having any of it. Said she had to run off to do Temple chores.”

“Hrm. There was some controversy about her sneaking off. It might be true.”

“She doesn’t even have a minute for me? And here I thought we were such good friends.”

“Well-” but before she can continue, Syrene unslings the carved ivory handle and hefts it up in her paw, like she’s testing the weight of a big sack of coins.

“What’d you use this for, Professor?”

“It’s an ancient artifact, created by Archmage Qiselle. I’ve studied it for decades and have yet to fully understand its mechanism.” The lie comes so easily because she’s had it prepared for years. And it’s not even a complete lie — it’s not like she doesn’t study the Horn.

“I don’t think you’ll ever understand it if you study it alone. Maybe I can help?”

This is all moving a bit too fast, Tailina thinks, but as she steels herself to nip this in the bud, Syrene leans over the desk with such an innocent smile on her face that she wonders if she really was misinterpreting — hopefully she’s not just seeing what she wants to, which could really get her in trouble and would reveal things about herself she really tries to keep buried. “If I let you help, will you promise not to steal from my office again?”

“Wish I could,” she replies, coming round the desk. “You said it yourself — I’m a Thief. Remember how disdainful you were? Didn’t realise you liked me yet.”

Tailina, deep in thought, fixes her gaze across the room — a fatal mistake that lets Syrene close the distance and lock the Horn’s invisible collar around her neck. Well. That’s new. Nobody’s ever tried that before. “Funny joke, but-”

Syrene twists the handle, loops the lead around her fist to tighten the slack away, forces Tailina down to her knees. “Strange look on your face, Professor. Hope I wasn’t misinterpreting you.”

Syrene might be talented, but Tailina’s still far above her. “You have misunderstood your role, yes.” Her talons close around the thread and-

And nothing happens.

See, any sufficiently practiced mage learns to fear Mystics — Thieves especially. There are wards and counters to their abilities, and Syrene would fail every time if she tried just launching a link into Tailina and running off with all her spellcasting. But, give her this: she’s right that the best way to study the Horn is to get hands-on, and Syrene’s been about as hands-on as you can get; Tailina’s had the collar round a few student’s necks before, but Syrene’s had Nym practically living in the thing for the past two weeks. Long ago she learned to scamper down the connection, bypassing all defences and awareness.

So Tailina’s powerless, is the thing, as Syrene tilts her chin up and smiles, somehow still innocent. “Sorry, Professor, I don’t really go in for that. I hope you still like me.”

She doesn’t respond; her big owl eyes are screwed shut as she concentrates, tries to cast her consciousness along the leash and steal back with her own power. She’s siphoned a thousand times, and yet, here, it comes so slowly, ponderously, like she’s sunk in tar.

Syrene tuts. “Professor. Behave for me.” She sits herself in Tailina’s chair, rolls her panties down to her ankles, and yanks the teacher under the desk, spreading her thighs out in the sort of efficient non-verbal communication the typically mute girl is well practiced in. For her, this interaction is taboo and, yes, bold and brazen in equal measure, but there’s no doubt in her mind (certainly no fear) that she’ll get what she wants (which, by the by, isn’t even Tailina, but it’s an incidental benefit she finds hard to ignore).

Tailina, on the other claw, remains on her knees in the dark, cramped space under her desk in a kind of stupor, knocked totally off balance by how fast this is all moving. In a moment the world seems reduced to nothing but the gold furred legs either side of her head and the potent, primal smell against her nostrils.

“Do you not know how to do it?” Syrene asks, with a tug on the cord to force Tailina’s beak against her. In truth the movement is just to distract the Professor so she doesn’t notice her handwriting sliding down the cord and merging into Syrene.

Tailina does know how to do it, for the record, but she’s only ever done it as a teasing thing, and there’s a strange sort of knot in her stomach, like, oh no,if I do that, Syrene won’t be happy. I’d need to throw myself into it.

It’s not clear why this should bother her. Syrene is, after all, her student, and a First Year at that, so it’s Tailina who needs to be impressed. Still, illogical as it is, the thought remains with her, and a moment later her absurdly long avian tongue snakes out her beak and brushes against Syrene.

The Thief, reasoning that Tailina is now sufficiently distracted, uses the opportunity to slip the red paper square out of her satchel and lay it out on the desk. In her teacher’s hand, she fills out a request to the Alteration Department — there’s an artifact she needs to “study.”

Once the request form is safely tucked away, Syrene leans herself against the desk and focuses on the feeling. She’s had a lot of sex since she arrived at Vayal, and most of it has been her idea. Yet all of it, current encounter included, has been for a reason. Even her lovely time with Mae Maiven — by far the best sex she’s ever had (sorry, Kivali) — was more about Alyx than Mae.

But, goal accomplished, now Syrene can focus on enjoying this. She tugs on the leash.

“If you focused up, I think you’d do a better job, don’t you?” she says in Nym’s voice. Tailina, who has had enough conversations with the klutzy Illusionist to be confused about what Syrene sees in her, and who is already uncertain about this whole thing, decides that she’s entertained this long enough and raises to her full height-

No. Syrene yanks down brutally on the leash and she is forced back to her knees with a sharp noise of pain. “Come now, Professor,” says Syrene, tapping a finger against the luxurious polished wood of the desk. “Apply yourself.”

With a tiny sigh of defeat, her tongue returns to work, and she ceases her skittering along the cord of magical energy — too hard to do that and a good job at the same time.

“Nff, that’s better.” Syrene’s legs loop over Tailina’s shoulders, press down on her back to keep her pinned well in place. “That’s a good-”

She’s silenced by the creak of the door. Tailina freezes — she’s got dirt on quite a few colleagues, but not all of them, and if this is somebody she can’t blackmail into silence, things could develop very poorly for her.

“You shouldn’t be in here alone.” She recognises the voice: Professor Helen Horsham, the uptight human who teaches Advanced Evocation. Helen’s squeaky clean, and has actually reported precisely this sort of thing three times in the past — Tailina tries to send urgency up the line, to impress upon Syrene how dire this could get, but her student swats the concern away.

“Oh, Professor Tailina just went out to get something. I’m waiting for her.”

“Yes? And what reason do you have to be waiting for her?”

“I’m behind on everything. I don’t know if you saw me in the Gauntlet but-”

“I’m sorry, First Year, but I have no time for your boasts.”

Syrene digs in with her feet and clamps her thighs so Tailina’s head’s locked in. Keep going, she thinks, down the link, and, showing an enormous amount of trust, Tailina does so. It’s repaid by steady, regular rhythm and not a single gasp or moan. “Oh, sorry, Professor, I wasn’t meaning to boast. It’s just, well, I signed up for too many events, and I was all tired after and I just kinda spiralled and fell behind. She’s been helping me catch up.”

Helen, who was in Diligence back in the day, can appreciate a good studious catch up. It seems to placate her, and Syrene grins, only to quickly drop back into a neutral expression when the blonde Evoker turns back suddenly. “You should not be in her desk. Go sit somewhere else.”

Wheels turn, but only for a moment. With a nod Syrene says, “you’re right, sorry — that’s the fatigue getting to me.” I’m a victim, she thinks, so they won’t kick me out. But you? Better make it good. The taunt’s accompanied by a sliver of magic returning to Tailina — her scattering of Illusion spells, to be precise.

Helen leaves when Tailina makes it look like Syrene has stood up and walked across the room. As soon as the door’s shut again, the ability rushes out of Tailina as quickly as it returned. “That’s my good little Professor,” she says, ruffling the feathers on the back of her head.

Tailina tries to pull back, to say ‘come, let’s go into the office, at least, so that can’t happen again,’ but the opening of her beak is met by Syrene shifting her hips down, forcing them between so that the top half rests on her mound and the bottom pokes between her thighs. “I haven’t cum yet,” she reminds her, and with nothing to do but use her tongue, Tailina realises she only has one way to cure the painful discomfort of a forced open beak: hard work.