Classes had finally ended for today.

And without delay, Raveena was already making her way back toward the predator-folk dorms, her mind already preoccupied with the new set task at hand.

She needed to find her roommate before doing that job Professor Vask asked her to do.

Preferably before said roommate ended up somewhere again.

“If I ask Rory now, she’ll probably say yes just to make fun of me later… but at least she’ll actually help,” she reasoned in her thoughts. “Could use the hands for the parts. And the sass level is survivable.”

But before she could even get halfway down the hall—

flutter-flap— whirr!

A paper crane zipped down from above and slowed mid-air just in front of her.

Raveena blinked in surprise, then stopped.

“…Took you long enough,” she muttered under her breath, reaching her hand out.

The charm-post crane bobbed gently before it then settled onto her palm. Once settled, she unfolded it with one hand and scanned the page.

It was a cleanly written letter.

One that she could definitely tell that it was from Aya.

Raveena,

I’m sorry for the late reply—something came up really urgently, and I had to rush off! I hope that didn’t leave you waiting.

It’s okay, though. Coincidentally, I wasn’t able to stay long for lunch either, so I hope you found something to eat somehow!

I’ll see you again soon, alright?

With warm wishes,
Aya

Raveena stared at the page for a moment, then she let out a quiet, relieved sigh. “…Of course you were busy too,” she mumbled, folding the note before she tucked it gently into her coat pocket and continued walking.

When Raveena finally reached her room in the dorms, as soon as she opened the door, the familiar scent of Rory’s peppermint foot balm and vanilla snacks greeted her sense of smell.

There, lounging sideways on the top bunk in the most lazily-relaxed pose possible, was the unmistakable shape of her roommate Rory Brixton.

The fox-folk had her legs crossed, one hand behind her head, and the other lazily flipping a page of that same romance novel she’d been going on about all week—The Clockmaker’s Courting Calamity, or something equally ridiculous.

Raveena shut the door with a thud behind her. “I’m back,” she said as she set her bag down. “Didn’t expect to see you here. I figured you’d be out scaling a rooftop or dragging a cart of oranges through the field again.”

Rory didn’t even look up.

“Oh wow,” she said dryly, flipping another page, “listen to how she talks about me. Like I’m gone every day.”

Raveena raised a brow. “You are gone every day.”

Rory rolled over on her elbows, tail flicking lazily. “Hey now, I’m not that neglectful of a roommate. I’m here to keep you company, too. A loyal fox-friend, grounded and present.”

“Good,” Raveena said. “Because I’m going to need your help with something.”

That got Rory’s ears to perk. Then she slowly lowered the book to her chest, one brow arching with suspicion. “…Should I be concerned?”

“No. It’s nothing dramatic,” Raveena answered. “Long story short… Professor Vask asked me to fix the Culinary strand’s ovens. All twelve of them. So I need someone to help carry parts. Hand me tools. Keep me from dying of boredom.”

Rory stared, and then groaned, letting her head flop dramatically into her pillow.

“Twelve?” she mumbled into the fabric. “That already sounds too boring.”

Raveena rolled her eyes. “I’m the one doing the same process twelve times. How do you think I feel?”

Rory peeked up from her pillow with a shrug. “I dunno. Happy? You’re basically the type who’d marry anything with gears and a thermoregulator.”

Without hesitation, Raveena reached over and gave her tail a small tug.

“Ow! Rude—!” Rory yelped. “That hurts! Only my boyfriend gets to pull on that!”

Raveena gave her a flat look. “One, ew. Two, you don’t have a boyfriend. Three, if you’ve got nothing better to do than reread that boring fox-smut novel, then come with me.”

“It’s not fox-smut—!” Rory sat up, indignant. “It’s slow-burn clockpunk romance, and—hey! As if being your assistant’s a good use of my time—”

Raveena gave another tug. This one firmer. Enough to make her whole tail twitch.

“Ahh—okayokay!” Rory yelped again, now halfway slipping off the bunk. “Careful! Panther strength’s no joke, you know!”

Raveena crossed her arms. “So?”

“So—fine! Stars above,” Rory grumbled, finally hopping down to the floor. “But only because I love being emotionally blackmailed.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Raveena turned. “You’ll live. And I’ll tell Professor Vask to put in a good word for you. Maybe get you some extra credit.”

“Wait… really?”

“Yes.”

“…Okay, now I’m motivated.”

Later, after two long round trips.

Tools. Parts. Then more parts.

By the time they were finally settled in Room C-4 again—only now with a dozen ovens pulled halfway from the walls and scattered with supply boxes—Rory Brixton had collapsed onto one of the worktables like a dramatic, overcooked pancake.

She lay sprawled across the surface, arms dangling off both sides, hair a bit ruffled from the trek. “Why are these ovens so dense to have this much parts,” she muttered into the wood. “This is a crime.”

Raveena, standing nearby, wiped her hands on a cloth before crouching beside one of the units. With a faint grunt, she unplugged a connector hose, then with one simple effort, with her panther strength in action—she pulled the oven out cleanly from its spot.

Then, casually, she tapped the side of Rory’s thigh with the back of her hand.

“Break time’s over.”

Rory groaned, rolling half-off the table. “Can I get an extension? Just five more minutes. My tail feels like it’s part of the floor now.”

“No,” Raveena said flatly. “We finish early, we get to sleep early.”

Rory grumbled into her arm. “It’s not like we have class tomorrow…”

Raveena stood. “Do you want your tail pulled again?”

And at that threat, Rory sat up instantly, ears snapping upright. “Nope. Nope, working. See? Look at me go!" then she stood, pouting the whole way.

“Good,” Raveena muttered as she slipped her blazer off, folding it neatly over a chair before reaching for her work gloves. “If you survive this, I’ll treat you to something from town tomorrow.”

“Wait, you’re going to town?”

“Yeah,” Raveena said, slipping into the open cavity of the first oven. “I need a new set of tools for one of my Arcane Tech projects. Something for this workshop assignment—I can’t keep borrowing the school's stuff. Half the time it’s missing because someone else already took it.”

“…Can I come with you?” Rory then asked.

“If you’re just coming to town to hunt for a mate, no chance.”

Rory gasped, clutching her chest like she’d been stabbed with a breadstick. “Excuse me?! That is not my plan!”

From within the oven’s dark cavity, a hand reached out. “Wrench.”

Rory grabbed it from the tool tray and slapped it gently into Raveena’s palm. “Seriously, though,” she added, ears twitching, “believe it or not, I just wanna hang out with you. You know. Be a decent roommate. We do live together, and I figured, hey—maybe we try this radical idea called friendship.”

Raveena scoffed from inside the oven. “That sounds fake. You could’ve done that in the dorm.”

“Oh yeah?” Rory said, folding her arms. “What do you want me to do in the dorm, huh? Cuddle you? Confess my undying love and then kiss you? Feed you soup in bed? You don’t listen to my stories, you don’t eat food with me, you just sit there being all serious and broody. You’re so boring inside the dorms.”

Then she pointed to the oven. “At least in town, there’s food. Noise. Chaos. It’s romantic.”

Raveena stuck her head halfway out of the oven, raising an unimpressed brow. “Wow. Thanks for the positive words. And also—what the heck, Rory?”

Rory flailed her hands, tail puffing slightly. “It’s a figure of speech! An expression! Besides—look, I mean it, you’re attractive, sure, there’s potential—but no. I’m into guys. Very much. Like, too much.”

“Whatever.”

Rory squinted at that weird tone from Raveena just now. “…Why did that sound a tiny bit disappointed?”

“Pliers,” Raveena said, hand outstretched again.  And Rory handed it over without a thought.

The next moment, that same plier came flying back out of the oven with terrifying accuracy—straight toward Rory’s head.

“WAAH—!” Rory screamed, ducking just in time as the tool clanked against the wall behind her. Then there was a distinct crack. Followed by a very suspicious crumble.

Rory turned slowly to look behind her, and stared in horror at the fresh dent in the concrete wall.

“You—YOU COULD’VE KILLED ME—”

Raveena peeked her head out from the oven again. “Oh. Look what you made me do," she said nonchalantly as she gestured vaguely to the wall. “Now we have to fix that, too.”

Rory stomped over to the wall, pointing frantically at the dent with both hands like she was scolding a crime scene.

“Oh my—what would Saint Maribelle say if she saw this?!”

“She’d say to stop being dramatic. And that we’ll patch it up later.”

Rory groaned and dragged her palms down her face before trudging back toward Raveena. “Just… please resist the urge to murder me for the next two hours, okay?”

“No guarantees,” Raveena replied dryly, reaching for a spanner. “Who knows? After the fourth oven, I might snap and throw the whole oven at you instead.”

“Then I promise I’ll do my absolute best to be the most helpful tool assistant in the history of Saint Maribelle’s so that doesn’t happen!”

Raveena scoffed. “Then stop talking and actually help me. We’ve still got eleven more to go," she said as she extended her hand again. "Now give me a seal.”

Rory bent down, picking up a valve seal. “These extra credits better be worth it…” she muttered. “And you,” she added, pointing at Raveena, “better treat me to something good in town. I don’t want a biscuit and a pat on the head. I want a proper meal. With sauce.”

“Best you’ll get is soup. If I feel like it.”

And with that highly professional agreement sealed—soup pending—Raveena got back to work.

For the next few hours, she moved like as efficient and as quickly as she can without cutting corners. All with an expression set in that no-nonsense half-frown that said don't talk to me unless you're handing me a hex wrench. And Rory, to her credit, stayed true to her word.

She handed tools.

Carried the replacement parts.

And occasionally sang songs very off-key to help with the weird silence.

But by the time the twelfth and final oven was tuned, sealed, and pushed back into place (with one last grumbly clunk), with Rory thinking that they were done, Raveena insisted on testing every oven.

Every. Single. One.

Heat distribution, ignition speed, thermal regulation—all of it, repeatedly to make sure it's all consistently safe to use.

Which meant what was meant to be two hours turned into three.

And by the end of it, Raveena was slouched against the wall with a grease smudge on her cheek, and Rory had curled up sideways on one of the countertops like a sleepy cat with back pain.

Thankfully, much to Raveena's satisfaction, all the ovens were tested successfully, no misfires or anything of the sort.

“…Done,” Raveena finally said, half-exhaling, half-collapsing onto a nearby stool.

Rory gave a weak thumbs-up from her countertop perch. “Cool. I’m going to probably sleep here now.”

Raveena looked over at her, then pulled off her gloves and stood up.

“Hey, not yet, princess, we still have to return these tools and parts. Once that's done, well…You win. Full meal.”

Rory groaned then cracked one eye open. “With sauce? Promise?”

“Fine, with whatever sauce.”

With that promise, the fox-folk rolled onto her back with a tired and triumphant smile. “Best roommate ever, I guess!"