Everyone made such a big deal about Mondays.  It was the Tuesdays you needed to look out for.  Because, really, you could spend half of Monday griping about how awful Monday is, catch up with (select) coworkers about what (selectively) happened over the weekend, and spend the other half of Monday figuring out what you had to do for the upcoming week.

By Tuesday, it was the upcoming week.

And her workplace wanted to know what innovative solutions she was working on that would get St. Mungo's on track to becoming the world's leading magical medical centre.

Well, crap.  Ahmes still had no idea.  So she'd, in a last-ditch attempt, booked as many meetings with as many healers as she could this week, hoping to come up with something to please The Man.

And this was what her Tuesday looked like.

At least Flynn Hughes seemed a decent enough sort of fellow.  She remembered him from school--two years ahead of her, but in her house.  She had a permanent image of him stooped over books in front of the common room fireplace.  Whether or not that was accurate, that is how she remembered him.  She didn't even remember him talking.

But, she had heard that he'd manage to auction off Miranda Elliott at a social function, so he couldn't be all that bad.

She'd come prepared--or at least carrying the trappings of preparation--clipboard, wand, sheafs of parchment, and her healer's robes draped loosely over her shoulders.  She didn't feel comfortable wearing it.  People seemed to expect things from her when she wore it, but they'd issued it to her--it seemed to give her access to all the places she needed...

"Eh, Flynn?" she called, one knuckle rapping softly on a door--she'd been told by a welcome witch in the foyer that she could find him here.

Working a full time job, doing personal research, and working in an underground werewolf clinic was wearing on him. The healer almost always had dark circles under his eyes. Running on very few hours of sleep a night, he practically ran on caffiene. Coffee was the first thing he made in the morning, and Alohomocha was the first place he went before work, after work, and during his lunch break.

Flynn was sitting at his desk with a hefty pile of paperwork and a large mug of coffee. He heard a knock on his office door-- thankful for the distraction, he stood up and answered it curiously. The voice was familiar--

"Ah! Ahmes!" He exclaimed, stepping out of the way so that she could enter his office. Though clean, there was a comfortable amount of clutter. There was organization to his chaos-- if anybody tried to clean up his office for him, then he would not find anything for weeks! His system was carefully crafted after months in his head-of-spell-damage position. It was a delicate one.

"Come in, sit down! Don't touch any of the papers." he said carefully, though there was a cleared off spot on his desk for her to place things if she wanted to. "Couldn't wait to visit Mr. February, eh?" He teased, motioning to the sexy healer calendar on his office wall. His picture wasn't exactly sexy-- Flynn was a skinny man and not particularly muscular. Still, he was proud of his work on the calendar. It had already raised plenty of money for the hospital.

"What can I do for ya?" He asked, closing the door behind her and taking a seat in a creaky wooden chair.

God he was chipper.  Ahmes found herself smiling, in spite of herself, as she shook her head.  Here he was, acting like she hadn't notified him that--

Shit.  She hadn't notified him that she wanted to meet.  But he didn't seem to mind, soooo...

Ahmes crept carefully into the office, fingers held into the air in a show of not touching anything.  She gave a lopsided grin as she beheld "Mr February" admiringly.  "I rather like Mr Will-Sell-His-Boss-In-An-Auction, personally."  And she did.  She didn't expect that level of spunk from, well, a skinny spellsman. 

Not that she was one to talk as a skinny spells inventor herself.  "So, as you probably know, I'm a contractor with GMM--on a short-to-long term project to help with any structural innovations that Mungo's--St Mungo's may need..." She gave a sigh.  This schpeil, even though she gave it every time, never seemed to work.

"Do you ever face a brick wall in your work? Just, some obstacle you can't get around, no matter what approach you try?" She raised her eyebrows, anticipating his response.  "Well, my brick wall is getting people to talk about their brick walls. So," she sighed, which threw her bangs into disarray for a moment.  "Help me out here.--Help me help you.  What are your brick walls? And honestly, I'll do what I can to help with them.  I'm literally supposed to be doing that, anyhow."

Damn those vague job descriptions...

"Ah, well the witch had it coming!" Flynn replied, sounding a bit too cheerful for someone whose boss was now doing her very best to make his life a living hell via extra piles of work. He would be damned before he let her know how much it bothered him, plus he was so proud of the fact that he actually got to auction her off, that it was pretty much worth it.

He listened to her talk about her work, and she seemed a bit dejected. It was hard to work with anyone when no one was willing to work with you.

"Ah, brick walls. Of course I have. Who hasn't?" He raised a brow at her, "But which work are you talking about?" A daily prophet editor had written a few months ago about Flynn wanting to find a better alternative to wolfsbane potion. There was no way that Ahmes would know about his work in the underground werewolf clinic, however... That was a well kept secret.  "There's my personal... Experimentations and my work with the patients here." There were already a few things he could think of, his biggest brick wall being in helping people recover from serious damage sustained from mind magic. There was no cure for many cases, and it was difficult seeing families trying to keep things together through such trying times. Even a distant cousin of his was among the more permanent patients at the hospital.

"Personal experimentation?"  Ahmes raised her eyebrows.  "Well, nau, Frankenstein.  Are we talking routine necromancy-by-night corpse reanimation here, or, like, recreational drugs?"  She pulled her notepad out, twiddling her quill with relish.  She sketched out a scribbled version of Frankenstein's monster, with a large ? beside it. 

"Unless there are more personal experimentations I dinnae already mention?"

In all seriousness, though, Ahmes had seldom considered that others may identify themselves as inventors as much as she did.  It was not just her job--it crept into every inch of her space.  Absent-minded hairstyles and half-done makeup (for those times you came up with a good idea, ran out of the room to jot it down, and never got back to face prep).  Bits and scraps of paper littered about with half-chewed ideas.

Her eyes skimmed the piles of paper--their organized disarray--and was instantly curious what he had in the works. She rose to her feet.  He'd explicitly said she was not to touch any of the papers.  Hands clasped behind her back as she inched closer to a promising sheet.  "What have you been working on recently, then?"

"I mean, as in. I create potions or new plants and then I test them on myself." Flynn clarified, "No necromancy here, I assure you!" He laughed a little, "Though I have to admit, sometimes there are recreational aspects to testing the unknown on myself. Nothing addictive yet, thankfully." Imagine how bad that would be, if he had become dependent on some sort of magical substance that he had created.

It was controversial, testing on himself. But who else could he test these things on, really?

She scooted close to his pile of paperwork, and his eyes glinted daringly.

Ahmes did not know.

"I'm working on a cure for lycanthropy--" He hesitated. "Well. No. Not anymore." Flynn shook his head, "No, I'm doing alterations on the wolfsbane potion, trying to make an improved version that... Is less painless and stronger. That way people won't have to take as many doses, hopefully?" He rubbed his temples, "But that's a personal project. I've also worked on such things like trying to activate veela charm in those who did not inherit it from their veela parents."

Flynn leaned forward, "But what the hospital needs, is more research on mind magic. On extracting memories that have been altered, and on reversing magical damage to the mind."