Post by Seek on May 2, 2013 20:47:22 GMT 10
Title: Procedural
Rating: PG
Word Count: 767 words
Summary: A Yamani lady bursts in on Neal's exam. AU
Pairing: Neal/Yuki
Round/Fight: 1D
Notes: The unnamed Yamani lady is obviously Yuki. For Muse--pancreas!Neal.
Warning: Neal's performing surgery. It's described.
-
He’s in his fifth year at the University, when the Yamani delegation comes, and Neal only hears about it because the students and masters gossip far more than the palace ever could. He doesn’t pay the gossip much attention. The exams get more difficult in the fifth and sixth year at the university, but he figures he may as well stick it out to get his red robes.
As much as he aggravates them all, the masters don’t disagree that they think he has what it takes. “If,” they keep saying, “Queenscove could learn to shut his mouth.”
The exams get more difficult once you’ve gained the yellow, and Neal’s practical winds up being surgery on some patient with a pancreatic disorder that has a fancy name he never remembers. They never give them live patients, and Neal’s thankful for that as he’s certain his patients would wake up screaming.
Instead, he’s cutting into a simulacrum, thankfully sedated by the Gift, under the watchful eye of Master Nasser, searching for the tell-tale dot of lilac fire and trying not to think about the fact that he desperately needs to pass this exam when the door to the lab opens.
Neal can’t help it. He glances up. It’s a lady; Yamani, he recognises from the almond-shaped dark eyes, and dark hair bundled neatly behind her. Clad in a thin white shirt, and loose tan breeches. “Gods all above, what are you doing?” he snaps, more due to nerves than anything else. “Didn’t you see the sign? This room is occupied!” He’d remembered to switch on the simple glass globe of magelight outside the lab, he was certain of it.
“Oh,” the Yamani lady says. Her eyes flick over to what he’s doing. “This is…not the exhibition hall.” She manages, all the same to make it sound like a question.
Blood drips down his gloves. He remembers not to run his gloved hand through his hair, certain she’s staring. Yes, she is staring.
“No,” he says crossly, “This is Healers’!” Every student at the University is supposed to know better than to pop on in when a procedure is being performed in Healers’, or at least to knock. He doesn’t even remember seeing her around before; surely he’d have remembered a face like that, perhaps even written a poem or two.
She’s still staring at him, hand going up to her mouth. Master Nasser steps in only now and decides to save him. “My lady,” he says, “The exhibition hall is on the opposite side of the quad. You crossed it when you entered Healers’.”
She bows to Master Nasser. “Thank you,” she says, but her dark eyes are still watching Neal, perhaps with amusement. For a moment, the thought crosses Neal’s mind that maybe this is a part of the exam, they want to see how you conduct a procedure with distractions, and if that’s the case he’s just failed this. Royally.
“Queenscove,” Nasser says, turning to Neal. “Is that the—what are you doing with the patient’s pancreas in your hand? Put that down—no, I mean, put that back!”
Neal’s learned to jump at that tone; now the Yamani lady really does put her hand to her mouth, but she doesn’t quite conceal a smile. Shamefaced, Neal realises he’s somehow clutching the simulacrum’s pancreas in his other hand, and how it got there anyway, he doesn’t know.
He quickly puts it back in the incision, but the damage has been done.The door shuts.
Master Nasser looks at the simulacrum, and sighs. “Two hours,” he orders.
“Master Nasser?”
“Two hours. I won’t deduct points because of our…visitor. Get a rest. You’ll perform the procedure again in two hours’ time.”
Neal groans. “Is she a new student?” he asks, as he cleans up.
Master Nasser sighs. “Queenscove,” he says, “The University is hosting some members of the Yamani delegation this week. Have you been living under a rock?”
Now he remembers; he’s quite put that out of mind thanks to the onslaught of exams.
“Hardly,” Neal drawls, “I’d put a meeting with a lovely Yamani lady on my appointments calender, right in the middle of my examinations.”
Master Nasser swats at him. “Away with you,” he orders. “Go get cleaned up.”
-
She sits at the table for masters and visitors (more often than not, visiting faculty) with a few other Yamanis. For a moment, their eyes meet. Neal stares down at his plate and hastily spears the piece of steak with his knife.
When he finally brings himself to look up again, she’s left the dining hall.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 767 words
Summary: A Yamani lady bursts in on Neal's exam. AU
Pairing: Neal/Yuki
Round/Fight: 1D
Notes: The unnamed Yamani lady is obviously Yuki. For Muse--pancreas!Neal.
Warning: Neal's performing surgery. It's described.
-
He’s in his fifth year at the University, when the Yamani delegation comes, and Neal only hears about it because the students and masters gossip far more than the palace ever could. He doesn’t pay the gossip much attention. The exams get more difficult in the fifth and sixth year at the university, but he figures he may as well stick it out to get his red robes.
As much as he aggravates them all, the masters don’t disagree that they think he has what it takes. “If,” they keep saying, “Queenscove could learn to shut his mouth.”
The exams get more difficult once you’ve gained the yellow, and Neal’s practical winds up being surgery on some patient with a pancreatic disorder that has a fancy name he never remembers. They never give them live patients, and Neal’s thankful for that as he’s certain his patients would wake up screaming.
Instead, he’s cutting into a simulacrum, thankfully sedated by the Gift, under the watchful eye of Master Nasser, searching for the tell-tale dot of lilac fire and trying not to think about the fact that he desperately needs to pass this exam when the door to the lab opens.
Neal can’t help it. He glances up. It’s a lady; Yamani, he recognises from the almond-shaped dark eyes, and dark hair bundled neatly behind her. Clad in a thin white shirt, and loose tan breeches. “Gods all above, what are you doing?” he snaps, more due to nerves than anything else. “Didn’t you see the sign? This room is occupied!” He’d remembered to switch on the simple glass globe of magelight outside the lab, he was certain of it.
“Oh,” the Yamani lady says. Her eyes flick over to what he’s doing. “This is…not the exhibition hall.” She manages, all the same to make it sound like a question.
Blood drips down his gloves. He remembers not to run his gloved hand through his hair, certain she’s staring. Yes, she is staring.
“No,” he says crossly, “This is Healers’!” Every student at the University is supposed to know better than to pop on in when a procedure is being performed in Healers’, or at least to knock. He doesn’t even remember seeing her around before; surely he’d have remembered a face like that, perhaps even written a poem or two.
She’s still staring at him, hand going up to her mouth. Master Nasser steps in only now and decides to save him. “My lady,” he says, “The exhibition hall is on the opposite side of the quad. You crossed it when you entered Healers’.”
She bows to Master Nasser. “Thank you,” she says, but her dark eyes are still watching Neal, perhaps with amusement. For a moment, the thought crosses Neal’s mind that maybe this is a part of the exam, they want to see how you conduct a procedure with distractions, and if that’s the case he’s just failed this. Royally.
“Queenscove,” Nasser says, turning to Neal. “Is that the—what are you doing with the patient’s pancreas in your hand? Put that down—no, I mean, put that back!”
Neal’s learned to jump at that tone; now the Yamani lady really does put her hand to her mouth, but she doesn’t quite conceal a smile. Shamefaced, Neal realises he’s somehow clutching the simulacrum’s pancreas in his other hand, and how it got there anyway, he doesn’t know.
He quickly puts it back in the incision, but the damage has been done.The door shuts.
Master Nasser looks at the simulacrum, and sighs. “Two hours,” he orders.
“Master Nasser?”
“Two hours. I won’t deduct points because of our…visitor. Get a rest. You’ll perform the procedure again in two hours’ time.”
Neal groans. “Is she a new student?” he asks, as he cleans up.
Master Nasser sighs. “Queenscove,” he says, “The University is hosting some members of the Yamani delegation this week. Have you been living under a rock?”
Now he remembers; he’s quite put that out of mind thanks to the onslaught of exams.
“Hardly,” Neal drawls, “I’d put a meeting with a lovely Yamani lady on my appointments calender, right in the middle of my examinations.”
Master Nasser swats at him. “Away with you,” he orders. “Go get cleaned up.”
-
She sits at the table for masters and visitors (more often than not, visiting faculty) with a few other Yamanis. For a moment, their eyes meet. Neal stares down at his plate and hastily spears the piece of steak with his knife.
When he finally brings himself to look up again, she’s left the dining hall.