Post by Natasha Walker on May 23, 2013 16:01:37 GMT -5
"Okay Max, start slowly...slower..."
Natasha watched with a critical eye as her fifteen-year-old son hovered his hand over a shallow bowl of water, look of intense concentration on his face as he stared down at the unmoving surface. Maxwell's eyebrow twitched, gaze narrowing and boring into the liquid just an inch beyond his fingertips.
They were seated in the living room of their small apartment; all Natasha could afford this close to both her work and Max's school. She had no plans to be housepoor, and would like to able to afford more than just the bare necessities. But being a single mother raising a teenager on her own wasn't easy, and sometimes she had to cut corners to make ends meet. Even if she knew it embarrassed her son to bring his friends back to such a small place with his mother right around the corner, instead of a large house with a basement all to himself like other kids.
Max to his credit had never complained about their living situation (within earshot of his mother), but he still refused to bring friends back home. Though that could have easily been because his mother taught one or two of his friends.
A small ripple ran through the water in the bowl, interrupting Natasha's musings. The water started to bend and curve, pushing against the edges of the bowl.
"Good," she murmured. "Now grasp it and lift it out of the bowl."
Max's teeth wore on his lower lip, fingers twitching and curling into a fist. The water lifted, then dropped back into the bowl with a splash that sprayed droplets onto the table.
"You forgot your breathing exercises," Natasha sighed, drying the table with a cloth. "Remember, you have to stay calm."
"It makes me nervous when you're here staring at me," Max grumbled, flexing his fingers in frustration. "Why can't I practice by myself?"
"Because last time you tried, you soaked yourself and the living room," Natasha smirked. "I can teach your friends just fine, I can surely teach my own son."
"I can't practice with you hovering though," Maxwell protested, scowling a little before concentrating on the bowl.
"Get the basics right," Natasha informed her annoyed son. "Get the breathing and rhythm right, then I'll leave to make lunch and let you practice on your own for a few minutes. Deal?"
Max's eyes lit up. "Deal." He focused on the bowl with renewed determination.
Natasha's lips quirked. In many ways, Max reminded her of his uncle, her brother Keegan. He'd never voiced the words 'I can't', and neither had Max. Not once since his elemental abilities began to manifest had he protested practice, or entertained the thought that he wouldn't be able to manage the slightest control over water.
Natasha's family had a long history of producing high-ranking elementalists, and she didn't doubt that if Max kept practicing, he would be yet another. Her heart swelled with pride in her son. At least she had done something right with her life.
Natasha watched with a critical eye as her fifteen-year-old son hovered his hand over a shallow bowl of water, look of intense concentration on his face as he stared down at the unmoving surface. Maxwell's eyebrow twitched, gaze narrowing and boring into the liquid just an inch beyond his fingertips.
They were seated in the living room of their small apartment; all Natasha could afford this close to both her work and Max's school. She had no plans to be housepoor, and would like to able to afford more than just the bare necessities. But being a single mother raising a teenager on her own wasn't easy, and sometimes she had to cut corners to make ends meet. Even if she knew it embarrassed her son to bring his friends back to such a small place with his mother right around the corner, instead of a large house with a basement all to himself like other kids.
Max to his credit had never complained about their living situation (within earshot of his mother), but he still refused to bring friends back home. Though that could have easily been because his mother taught one or two of his friends.
A small ripple ran through the water in the bowl, interrupting Natasha's musings. The water started to bend and curve, pushing against the edges of the bowl.
"Good," she murmured. "Now grasp it and lift it out of the bowl."
Max's teeth wore on his lower lip, fingers twitching and curling into a fist. The water lifted, then dropped back into the bowl with a splash that sprayed droplets onto the table.
"You forgot your breathing exercises," Natasha sighed, drying the table with a cloth. "Remember, you have to stay calm."
"It makes me nervous when you're here staring at me," Max grumbled, flexing his fingers in frustration. "Why can't I practice by myself?"
"Because last time you tried, you soaked yourself and the living room," Natasha smirked. "I can teach your friends just fine, I can surely teach my own son."
"I can't practice with you hovering though," Maxwell protested, scowling a little before concentrating on the bowl.
"Get the basics right," Natasha informed her annoyed son. "Get the breathing and rhythm right, then I'll leave to make lunch and let you practice on your own for a few minutes. Deal?"
Max's eyes lit up. "Deal." He focused on the bowl with renewed determination.
Natasha's lips quirked. In many ways, Max reminded her of his uncle, her brother Keegan. He'd never voiced the words 'I can't', and neither had Max. Not once since his elemental abilities began to manifest had he protested practice, or entertained the thought that he wouldn't be able to manage the slightest control over water.
Natasha's family had a long history of producing high-ranking elementalists, and she didn't doubt that if Max kept practicing, he would be yet another. Her heart swelled with pride in her son. At least she had done something right with her life.
Can't wait!
