I forgot to mention in the first chapter that this will be done in a flash fic style. Also that I'm completely ignoring some of the canon personalities given to us in "additional" material on the MapleGlobal website.
"Do you think we ever had a choice in all this? Were our destinies written in the stars, so to speak, or were we forever meant to serve in our Lady's service, after she spoke to us in that soft, lyrical voice, and told us of the ongoing war? "
Her eyes narrow, and she gives a suspicious sniff of her coffee, before taking a cautious sip. Instead of answering the question, Oz shoots back, "It seems you've finally learned not to spike my coffee… Honestly, it's bad enough that you have alcohol in the first place." Students, as they are regularly reminded, are not permitted to have alcohol. Especially mana manipulating students.
A drunk Irina is a philosophical Irina, as Oz has found. She doesn't know why Irina keeps going back to it, considering how little it takes to get her drunk. Lightweight.
"Aww, but you still love me~"
She snorts. "Of course I do. I wouldn't put up with your sorry ass if I didn't," she says, and gives Irina a quick poke on the forehead. "Honestly, Irina, you're seventeen. You can wait a few years till you can drink alcohol legally."
There's silence. Irina's staring into her cup, eyes flicking toward her, and back again.
"No- You did not-"
"I did."
Alcohol in Erev is brewed on Erev, and diluted on Erev. Lady Solaris the Seventh – or had it been the Sixth? had very reasonably decided that having access to the strong alcohol of the outside world was a Very Bad Thing, considering the high amount of mana manipulators on here at any given time (mages, as a general rule, tended to be lightweights).
As far as Oz knows (and will ever know, as far as she is concerned. Plausibly deniability, after all) there is a small, but thriving black market alcohol trade going on. The Lady Aria turns a blind eye, mostly due to the fact that it isn't being supplied to any mages. (Now that would be a disaster.)
"What's it this time?" she asks, deliberately levelling her voice.
"Irish Whiskey." Irina flashes a smile at her. "I got the gooood stuff."
"…I'm fairly sure that it goes up to 95%."
"Yes."
Oz sinks into their sofa, and slams her head into the wall, once.
"There, there," Irina stumbles her way over to the sofa. "It could be worse," she says, cheerful, and drapes herself over Oz, reaching a hand up to curl her hand in Oz's hair. "I could be drinking it directly~"
Oz groans. "Please don't remind me."
and
"Give me that bottle."
At Irina's arched eyebrow, she says, "It's three am in the morning and I've completed my course work, so whatever happens next…" She shrugs.
Irina watches her for a moment, eyes unreadable. "You get it yourself."
"If you don't remember, you're currently draped over me."
"True."
Irina stumbles back to her study desk, and grabs the bottle, as well as a clear mug filled halfway with a violently purple liquid in it, and makes her way over. She passes the bottle to Oz, and settles herself into the seat next to her. Oz takes a large swig, tilting the bottle up high, and almost spits it down a moment later. Her eyes are watering, and her throat's raw from the alcohol that's just passed through.
"What by the name of the Goddess did they put in this?" she spits, when her throat feels ready to speak again.
Irina laughs. "That's why you make mixers," and takes the bottle back, adding a generous amount to her mug.
"Do you even know what you're doing?"
"Nope," is the cheerful reply.
Hmm. Her throat's stopped burning.
The liquid is turning a vicious red.
"I think I'll take my chances with the alcohol thank you very much," and gives Irina's mug a suspicious glare.
Two hours later, the whiskey is gone, and all that's left is a slight buzz. Well, for her at least. A quick glance at Irina indicates that she's still heavily drunk. Hah. Lightweight. (To be fair though, she has the advantage of being a mage with an excellent grasp of self applied magic. So. Cheating? Perhaps. She calls using every advantage. Her body is unusually excellent at breaking down alcohol toxins, as well, although she doesn't know why.)
"-you have a crush on the emo pseudo-princeling, Eckhart."
Oz blinks. "Who?"
For a moment, Irina's face falls. It brightens again. "Hey, no pretending," she protests as Oz's composure dissolves into laughter.
"Irina, I'm fairly sure everyone has had a mild crush on Eckhart, at some point."
"Even me?"
Oz laughs. "Even you. He's pretty, and he's Lady Aria's ward."
"Well you'd be right. Hah, but I don't want to talk about emo boy." She stares considerably at the stars above. One of the more frivolous uses of magic is to make the roof transparent, offering a brilliant view of the stars above. Irina likes frivolous. Oz indulges her.
"I know you said you wanted to be a surgeon-"
"Not any more."
Irina raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment. She knows the wry curl of lips, and the shadows that overlap bright eyes.
"-but what did you want to be when you were younger?"
Oz blinks.
"Cygnus Knight."
"What changed your mind?"
"I didn't."
"So you're getting what you want."
She shrugs. "Perhaps, perhaps not.
"What about you?"
Irina is too perceptive and too sharp, even when drunk, to not notice Oz's short answers and divergence tactics. She doesn't comment.
"Writer," she says, and laughs. "Always a writer."
"But-"
"As much as I'd like to say that being considered doesn't mean surety, at this stage, it's common knowledge that we're Neinhart's favourites. We have power, and we're responsible-" Oz coughs. "-mostly responsible, with it."
"Hm."
"And I can always write about my missions… Whatever that's not classified that is."
Irina yawns. "I think that's about right for me," and stumbles her way over to Oz's bunk. "You can wake me up or something," she says, and crumples onto the bed, strings cut.
…Irina's bunk was on top. (They'd installed the bunk bed after Irina had said she liked high places. Oz didn't mind either way.) Oz curses, once, and decides that the sofa is fine.
No longer putting in effort to keep herself awake, she closes her eyes and drifts away.
(They wake the next morning – or rather, afternoon – to discover that they've missed half the day's classes. Oz groans from her position on the couch and makes a gimme, gimme motion in the direction she assumes the small kitchenette is, and from where the scent of coffee is wafting through the air.
They skip the rest of school and spend the day by the river because there are no bars in Erev that will allow under 18s in, regardless of time of day.
Oz thinks she sees a flash of a white and gold porcelain in the woods, but when she steps forward to get a closer look, it's gone.
Irina laughs from the top of the tree. "If he wants to tell the teachers, he will, and there's nothing to do about it."
It's one of the last peaceful days they have in a long time.)