I'd Like to Make a Complaint

Yoka had started to leave but hesitated when he called out to her. The comment about sharks brought a narrowed-eyed smile to her face. Yoka was often one of those sharks. She ran a hand through her thick, dark hair and considered.

"Well," she said, and she accepted the cup of coffee from the secretary with a nod and a thank you. Yoka would be sure to slip her a tip on the way out. She doubted being the coffee-girl was in the secretary's job description, but Yoka appreciated the hospitality none the less.

She said, "Yoka is fine so long as I can call you Steve in return."

Yoka sipped her coffee and was about to answer the question when another person entered the room. He appeared to be younger than she, although appearances were misleading; she and Steve appeared close in age, though Yoka was well over five hundred. But the fact that he called Steve sir gave Yoka the impression that he was a student....and he looked a little bit worse than weary. It appeared Steve would have someone else to help him stave off the sharks.

She took a sip of her coffee. It was good, better than what Yoka expected the school to serve, which led her to wonder if it was the school's coffee or his own. She sushed it and took another drink.

"Bring your paperwork with you," Yoka told Steve, sliding her hand down onto her hip. "Three isn't always company, but I don't like to mix business and pleasure where i don't have to."

With that, she gave him a gentle wave and slipped out of the office, tipping the secretary on the way out and leaving him alone with the young, feather-plucked student.

A long, dreary sigh rolled out of Evander’s beak at the director’s question. With a roll of his bright, crimson eyes he propped himself up on the arm of the sofa and slowly extended his now raggedy wings. A few coverts were missing; that was no big deal, but there were larger gaps where some flight feathers should have been…

“As you probably know, the fall semester is approaching, and some of the science and alchemy departments are out gathering materials for class,” he started, his tone turning annoyed, bordering anger. The gryphon had been going to the Academy for years, and never once had he had this happened to him. Perhaps hopping up on the leather settee wasn’t the best idea, as his sharp talons were now cutting into the upholstery as his anger fumed.

“I had, on five separate occasions this morning, a lab assistant from the alchemy department come up tae me and yank feathers out of my wings. Five. Separate. Occasions.” The feathered student exploded, pointing out the gaps in his feathers with a talon, “Not only was it more painful’n all git out, but because of that, I might can’t fly until those feathers grow back in, which takes about a feckin’ month at the earliest!”