"You're an idiot."
Zaveriel grinned despite himself as the healer bound his burned arm in a damp wrap, medicated in a mixture of herbs to keep infection from setting in, but didn't spare his master a look just yet. Of course, someone would have notified him as soon as he arrived in the Infirmary, given the stupidity that brought him here, he was surprised no one had told the Healer in the Garden where he was picking herbs with the lower-class students.
Getting caught trying to juggle holy fire was not how he had intended to spend his afternoon, and it was the times he did get caught that he hated, Gabriel got all mad and stern and it ruined the mood of his accomplishment.
"In my defense, how little that may be, I didn't think it would scorch my arm."
The Archangel raised an incredulous eye at the young messenger "It's holy fire what it the great holy name of Daddy-o did you think it would do?"
"I don't know, I mean I play with it all the time, and it never usually turns out like this."
"You what?"
The young messenger's eyes widened as he realized the hole, he had just dug for himself, turning to look at the older angel with wide horrified eyes, 'I did not just say that aloud.'
"Yes, you did."
'Shit, I said that aloud too!'
"You're not thinking to yourself, stop digging yourself a grave here, explain to me what you mean by that."
He eyed his surroundings from under his bangs, as though looking for a way out, he was swift, and his master was not as young as he used to be and—
"You're grounded." The Messenger turned on his heel and walked away, rubbing a few fingers to his temple in hopes of staying the oncoming headache. "It's like we're raising two fledglings."
"Hey! You need me!"
"Grounded."