[i]“The other person we wanted to take this job went missing, so we guess you can have it. Please drop whatever plans you have, pack your life, and get on a plane in the next three days, or you’ll have a hard time enrolling your child at this school next year.” [/i]


It wasn’t exactly what the Council’s letter to Mariana had said, but it may as well have been. She was quite lucky to have an understanding mother and father, and a son who was already pushing for independence. 

Moreover, she was lucky to have found the place at all. 

Two flights and a rather long ride in a Council-hired car later, the Professor arrived at Marchand nearly an hour after most of the students. She had skirted along the back wall of the welcome breakfast with her bags in tow, dropped the lot off in her room, and collapsed face down in the mattress for a solid thirty-four seconds before sitting up to address a string of text messages on her phone. 


[i]”Yes, Santiago is allowed to have cup-of-soup for lunch,”[/i] she typed to Mamá. 


[I]”TQM, corazón,”[/I] was the next, to “Jimmi,” [I]”I'll call tonight. Be good.”[/I]


She sighed, ribs collapsing and her body deflating with the motion. The last time she had been so far away from her youngest son was while he was at Summer camp, and that was only two weeks. Mariana ran a tired hand through her tired hair, not even bothering to look at how flight bedraggled she would look in the mirror. 


He would be fine. His grandparents could look after him. The family was tight-knit. 


She dug a sweater out of her carry-on luggage to throw over her maxi dress and crossed to the hallway. The bustle of excited teen girls moving into their new rooms pushed against her forward motion to the exit, but she handled it with a kind smile and an occasional comment of, “Oh, careful now,” as a body bounced off of her. Her hair was a bit unkempt from such a long flight, but her stride was still as confident and easy as ever. She wore a soft expression and had a gentle smile, and the skirt of her dress seemed to flow with the same easy fluidity as her personality. 


Two doors and a few turns later, and Mariana had found just what she was looking for: It was difficult to find oneself a sudden outsider in a place, but she had received the roster (albeit only upon getting into her car from the airport,)  and old friends had a way of making new places feel less hectic.


She heard him before she saw him. It was a hard, cold voice, not unlike the rocks one would cling to in a storm at sea. And, like those stones, quite capable of warming up once the skies cleared. 


“Roderic Montana!” Her voice was bright, though tired, and she picked up her skirt to walk toward him a bit faster. “And Mr. Matheos.” Not who she had been seeking out, but not someone she was a stranger to. She moved to embrace Ray before he had a chance to pull back, and then Montana. 


“You're getting old, Mr. Montana,” she said fondly, hesitant to break the hug until he did, “Isn't he, Mr. Matheos? Nothing but dust will be left of him soon.” 



[@Magister][@Gelatinous Cube]