A/N - First potential trigger warning of the 'Aurelia is an abusive piece of trash' variety 

Jason Nicolaisson stood in the small alcove beside the laundry door of his family home, his shoulders squared and his chin slightly tilted up in the way that his mother said was dignified.

Quick yet careful, he selected the next garment, a shirt, from the basket of freshly washed clothes on his left. Though he'd folded them after removing them from the washing machine, he unfolded the shirt again now, ensuring that the fabric lay perfectly flat before he ran the iron over it in an efficient manner. With the creases removed, he folded the shirt once more, placing it atop the neat, ever growing pile to his right before repeating the process with the next garment.

Sharp footsteps from the bathroom shot a tense kind of panic straight down his spine as his mother emerged. Jason didn't dare to look up, but he knew her hair would be freshly brushed and secured in its usual, neat bun with no hair out of place.

He knew that her eyes would be on him, picking apart every single movement he made, looking for a flaw to correct.

The steps hesitated as Jason continued to work and for a moment, he thought he'd met her standards. Then, the swish of fabric as her Speaker robes brushed against the walls of the narrow corridor grew louder as she strode in Jason's direction.

It was all he could do to focus everything he had on his task. Select, unfold, flatten, iron, fold, place, repeat. She'd taught him the correct way to do it far too many times. There was no room for error.

"Did you hear, Jason? Hydra and Centaur have gone Dark." The voice of Aurelia Shadowspeaker was firm and direct, even within the walls of the family home. "I'll admit, I was hoping that this new pair would go Dark sooner rather than later. It's always considered an honour when a Luminary pair is Ascended during the festival period. No one says it, of course. It's more superstition than anything quantifiable, but it's never hurt."

The swish of fabric paused for a moment as Aurelia stopped in her tracks. Jason kept his eyes glued to the next garment, blanking everything in his mind except his task and his stance. He held his breath in her silence until finally, blessedly, she kept speaking.

"Hopefully, Skypillar in its wisdom will see fit to Ascend a Banshee in the next pair," Aurelia continued. "Another year or two and that Other-cursed Shadowspeaker might start to think she's got the right to be the High Shadowspeaker when Skypillar finally graces us with a Banshee."

Behind him, Aurelia snapped something--a belt, he knew from experience--taut.

Jason flinched at the sound. His hands trembled, struggling to lay the fabric flat for ironing for the few, long moments before he stopped them from shaking.

Aurelia continued, but he could feel her gaze. He knew she'd seen his mistake. "Someone better than me for the position oh High Shadowspeaker--ha! That idiot wouldn't be able to participate in the nightly Speakings if I hadn't mentored her."

The click of Aurelia's heels stopped directly behind Jason. "Wouldn't you agree, Jason?"

"You are the most likely candidate for the position of High Shadowspeaker, mother."

"Most likely?"

Jason realised his error. "I only meant that there are none as qualified as yourself. The temple's judgement would be sorely misplaced if they selected anyone else over yourself."

He heard Aurelia's derisive snort as she surveyed his work, flicking a hand close to his elbow at his neat pile of ironed garments. "Aren't you done with that yet?"

Jason swallowed. "I will be shortly."

"Why Skypillar saw fit to burden me with you, I'll never know," snapped Aurelia.

She pushed forward, shoving Jason's shoulder into the wall as she seized his wrist in her hand. Jason's gaze shot to the iron. Even from here, he could feel the heat from its surface. She'd punished him with it before, but never while it was hot. Surely his error hadn't deserved--

"Stop your squirming!" she hissed.

Aurelia yanked his hand forward--not towards the iron, but instead slamming his fingers into the bench where he'd laid out the next garment, causing a flash of white pain to shoot through Jason's elbow. He bit down on the gasp of pain, but Aurelia heard it, and her grip tightened as she dug her nails into his skin.

"Oh, it hurts, does it?" she snapped. "I bet it doesn't come close to the pain of watching you fail over and over at the simplest of tasks. How many times do I have to explain it to you, Jason?" With her other hand, she picked up the garment. "You call this flat? How do you expect to iron something when it's still creased? You're supposed to lay it flat, you useless, lazy brat." She threw the garment in his face. "I bet you were just trying to get through it quicker, weren't you? Were you going to tell mummy you're a good boy for getting it done so fast?"

When Jason didn't reply, Aurelia's nails dug in deeper, leaving long, red marks down his wrist. She leaned her weight into him and pressed his back into the corner, twisting his wrist up between them to force him to look at her.

"I believe I asked you a question, Jason."

"N--no."

"No?" She slammed his wrist back into his chest, sending another flash of pain as his wrist bent the wrong way. "You know the rules! Look at me when I'm speaking to you!"

Jason swallowed down the pain lancing through his skull, making it hard to breathe, to think about anything except what he'd done wrong, how to fix it, how to make her happy. He met her eyes--saw the fury lurking there, the punishment if he didn't figure out what she wanted. "I did not intend to do such a poor job. I'll correct it."

"You'll correct it," Aurelia replied. "Oh good. I'm so glad to hear that you'll correct it." She released him and grabbed for the pile of neatly ironed garments. Jason didn't move as she picked them up and, one at a time, shook each one loose and dropped them on the ground.

"Wash them all again," said Aurelia, throwing the final one at his face. "I expect them to be finished by this afternoon, including your other chores while I'm at the temple. After you've finished cleaning up this mess, you will deliver the folder to your father at work. With how slow you've been at your other chores, you'd better not be late, either. You should try to show at least one parent that you appreciate their efforts to keep such a useless waste of air like yourself fed and housed."

Aurelia stepped away. Jason remained, the wall digging into his shoulder, his mind blank, his wrist bleeding from where she'd dug her nails in.

Her gaze pinned him down as, with a sneer on her face, she looked him over from head to feet.

"Pathetic," she muttered. "Clean yourself up before you restart the laundry. I don't want you bleeding on the carpet. You'll be lucky if I don't take your violin for this."

With that, the click of Aurelia's heels once more retreated down the corridor.

Jason didn't move until he heard the sound of the front door shut behind her.

It was his fault. She'd shown him so many times how she wanted the laundry ironed and folded. If he weren't so incompetent, she'd have had no reason to reprimand him. Her frustration was only natural. Next time he'd do it better. He would improve.

With movements that were more automatic than anything, Jason headed to the bathroom. He ran cold water over his wrist, grateful for the numb feeling that quickly overtook his skin, even if he didn't deserve the relief. These marks would fade within a few days. They wouldn't scar like so many others across his body had, yet he would remember them all the same.

He returned to the corridor, picked up each garment, placed them in the basket, and began the laundry again, this time ensuring that every step was precise and exact, with shoulders square and his chin tilted slightly up in the way that his mother called dignified.

*+*+*+*

An hour later, with the washing completed, folded, and placed away in the appropriate locations, Jason changed into clothes that were more appropriate for a public setting, collected the folder his father required, and left the house.

The heat hit him as soon as he left the house. It wasn't particularly hot, but the turtleneck collar, the full length sleeves and gloves his mother required him to wear were suffocating him nonetheless. Jason resisted the urge to run a finger under his collar, fought the desire to remove the gloves that would reveal the silvered scars on the back of his hands.

No one wanted to see them, as his mother was always quick to remind him. His discomfort was a small burden to bear. His appearance in public didn't only affect him, but his family. His father's job in government was one of great importance, and Aurelia was a highly respected Speaker within the temple. He had a responsibility, and one he would not fail.

Jason started the Gleamerbike and drove to the building in central Sylrael where his father worked.

He arrived a few minutes earlier than expected. His wrist stung where the gloves rubbed against his injured wrist, but he ignored it. After parking the Gleamerbike in its usual location, Jason was mid-way through locking the Gleamerbike and removing his helmet when a strange burst of light drew his attention.

His first thought was that someone was there, that perhaps sunlight had reflected off a surface, but he was alone in the undercover parking space. He watched the space the glimmer had come from for a moment longer before dismissing it and walking inside the office building where his father worked.

The double doors slid open seamlessly, releasing a rush of cool air that blessedly engulfed him and banished the heat for a few brief moments. He politely inclined his head to the few individuals that he passed, who returned the gesture.

Jason approached the secretary desk, situated between two large, leafy plants that had always intrigued him. He'd long suspected them to be fake, but it had never seemed appropriate to ask or investigate closer.

The rather flustered secretary noticed him quickly and gestured for him to wait. Jason inclined his head in acknowledgement and remained by the desk. It was a few minutes before the secretary made her final few, scribbled notes and ended the call on her Liaiser.

"Your patience is appreciated," said the secretary, laying down her pencil and rising from her seat with a smile. "I've been expecting you, Jason. Do you have the folder for your father?"

On cue, Jason lifted the folder with both hands, fingers perfectly placed on either side. "I believe it contains all he requires for today. You have my apologies for any tardiness on my behalf."

"It's no problem at all. Your assistance is greatly appreciated." The secretary took the folder, and after a quick check that it indeed had the required folders, she nodded. "I'll deliver this to him at once. Thank you, and may Skypillar's blessings be with you."

Jason inclined his head, echoed the farewell, and left the building with the knot of tight anxiety still sitting on his lungs.

His breaths grew shorter, shallower. He tried to focus his head as he walked back to the Gleamerbike, compiling a list of the tasks he still had left to complete.

After being reprimanded earlier, he'd completed most of the household chores with efficiency, double checking each one as he went. There was his usual expected hour of daily violin practice, though he often left that until the end of the day. He also knew he'd be expected at the temple in a few hours, for both a show of family support at his mother's nightly Speaking, and to offer guidance to any of the sixteen year olds with questions about the selection of their chosen name in a few days time.

Dread crept in at the final thought, leaving him drowning in the secluded shadows of a starstone arch.

How could anyone be expected to ask him for guidance? His mother might have been a Speaker, though he should be able to assist those who were not as fortunate to be close to the temple's teachings, he was far too incompetent to do so. He was forgetful and lax in his studies, barely able to surpass his younger brother's knowledge of the subject when they were quizzed by their mother. He'd embarrass Aurelia, ruin her chances for High Shadowspeaker because he was lazy and ungrateful and--

Jason closed his eyes, placing his palms flat against the wall as he struggled to drag himself back together, to pull back from the panic that was threatening to swallow him. He forced himself to move, to walk to the Gleamerbike, to pick up the helmet and put it over his head.

He wasn't at the temple yet. He still had a few hours where he could study and ensure his knowledge of the Luminaries and their Aspects was satisfactory. He could study, use the time that he had available to do something about it.

Still, his head remained spinning. He couldn't quell the dread, the feeling that he'd already failed. He needed his violin, needed a chance to clear his head, but he'd left it at home. He could return and complete his hour of practice now.

Yet Jason caught himself looking down the street as he kicked the Gleamerbike into gear.

Gerald's florist wasn't far from here, perhaps a few blocks. The hustle-bustle of the shop was strangely calming amongst the smell of the multicoloured flowers, the jingle of the bell every time the door opened. His mother didn't approve of him dwelling in such a location, especially with how Gerald himself seemed oblivious to the existence of the temple, but Jason wouldn't stay long. He'd spend a few minutes, ensure Gerald had been following the guidelines that Jason had put together some months ago, and then head to the temple to study for tonight.

The decision settled him.

Yes, he'd go to the florist. He would walk through the front door and hear the bell. Gerald would greet him, Jason would incline his head. He would walk through the back to the greenhouse, run his fingertips over the velvety leaves of the species closest to the door, he would double check the flowers were being well kept, and then he would leave.

No one except Gerald would ever know that he'd been there.

Jason kicked the Gleamerbike into gear and began the short trip towards the florist.

*+*+*+*