WHO Essek & Deirta Thelyss WHERE Essek's tower WHEN Morning of November 12 WHAT A visit from a ghost!Umavi. STATUS Complete ART CREDITHere, here WARNINGS Just some less than stellar parenting.
Though Essek did not have his boyfriend's keen mind when it came to tracking time, he did not need it this morning to know that he was running later than he would have liked. While almost certainly unfair, he blamed that same boyfriend for his tardiness that morning; Caleb and the bed they shared had simply been too warm, too comfortable for Essek to be expected to greet the day at a reasonable pace.
It was the sort of problem that Essek most certainly did not mind. In fact, it was a problem that he hoped he would continue having well into the future.
Still, it left him a bit frayed as he hurried about his tower. Essek found himself mentally scorning his past self for not taking just a few extra moments to put away the graded homework he had finished the evening prior, instead having left it for morning as he'd gone back to the Xhorhaus for dinner. He didn't always work in his towers and had, in fact, been working more and more in the library and using his towers more as storage for his lesser referenced books, but sometimes the silence was conducive to actually getting things done.
As Essek picked up the stack of papers that he would be returning to his students, tapping them twice on the edge of his desk -- and then promptly dropping them in an almost comical manner when he heard an all too familiar clearing of a throat from behind him.
The papers fluttered to the floor, ignored for the time being as Essek turned and looked at the figure that was standing prim on the other side of his study. Donned in her finest, as she always was, Essek only felt himself calm when he realized that she was vaguely translucent and he remembered what others had described experiencing in the previous days. The knowledge that she was just some sort of echo of her true self, rather than having arrived as he and the other Outlanders had, did little to dull just how intimidating she could be, though.
"Good morning, Umavi." Essek straightened, only just realizing how easy it was to slip into the rigidity he had held for so long. His arms moved in front of him on instinct, but didn't find his long cloak to hide within. His shoulders suddenly felt bare without the weight of his Shadowhand mantle resting upon them. He swallowed. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Deirta Thelyss peered at her son, judgement both clear and utterly familiar in her eyes. She looked exactly as she had the last time Essek had last spoke with her prior to being brought to Vallo; a stilted conversation about the peace talks that he had excused himself from quickly under the guise of a meeting that was not on his calendar. Her white hair was long and framed a face that did not reflect the number of years and lives she had lived. Adorned in golden jewelry from around her neck and fingers to the tips of her ears, she looked resplendent.
"Shadowhand Thelyss," she began, seeming to drift as she approached Essek. He hadn't been addressed by that title in months, outside of when Caleb used it teasingly, and hearing it in his mother's voice brought him right back to Rosohna. "You seem to be in a hurry. I hope I am not interrupting anything... important."
Breathing out a poorly disguised sigh, Essek dropped down to one knee and began to collect the papers that he had dropped. "Unfortunately you did catch me as I was preparing to leave for work."
"Oh?" The response was an invitation, his mother leaving it open for Essek to volunteer information. He hesitated, using the homework assignments he was gathering as a method to do so.
Part of him wished that this could be more typical, that they could have a loving reunion after he had been separated from his mother for just over eight months of time. His immediate family had never been very typical, though. There had been propriety drilled into him, a rivalry stoked and encouraged between himself and Verin, heavy expectations placed upon his shoulders from the moment the extent and promise of his magical abilities were discovered. Though his relationship with his mother had always been leagues better than that with his father, it hadn't been easy, by any stretch of the imagination. He was so much like her, so eager to meet and exceed the hopes she had for his prodigy of a son, so willing to sacrifice anything for his perceived greater good.
No, Essek reminded himself, slipping the last paper into his bag. He was no longer that person -- or, at the very least, he was trying not to be. His mother did not hold that sway over him, not any more.
Straightening, Essek met his mother's gaze. "Yes, I am a teacher. I teach magic to promising young minds."
"A teacher." The disdain was clear, which didn't surprise Essek. Though he had taken to teaching quite quickly in Vallo, it had never been an option for him in Rosohna. He had ingratiated himself into court and politics, had been given the title of Shadowhand at an early age, and had proven himself, despite the so-called defect of being a new soul. "Had I realized that was your desire, I wouldn't have wasted so much time, effort, and favors to aid you in your rise in power."
Though he hated it, Essek felt himself bristle at the insinuation. It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, but it nevertheless bothered him. He knew the rumors that abounded about the Shadowhand, talk of nepotism and a dismissal of his obvious talents. Though he had acted above it all, it hadn't kept Essek from dwelling, from wondering what else people said and thought of him. It hadn't kept him from wondering if, perhaps, they were right and he didn't deserve the titles and accolades that had been given to him.
Essek drew in a breath. "A teacher," he repeated instead, not giving his mother the satisfaction of an argument, "that is going to be late if he does not leave."
With that, Essek spoke the familiar words to teleport from his study to his classroom at Geliara. Closing his eyes, he drew in a long breath before opening them and raising a hand to bring up the lights in the room. He set his bag down on his desk, then turned -- only to once again see his mother standing a few feet behind him.
"It must be difficult," his mother started once his attention had fallen upon her, "living in a world where they do not have any means to keep your hair trimmed." Her hand waved toward Essek's head; his hair was in need of a trim, though it was by no means what anyone might call long, either.
This time, when Essek sighed, he did not bother trying to hide it as he raised one of his hands to rub at his temple. It was going to be a long day.