The train ride had been a long one. A ride he hadn't made since he left for school. In the six months Mot had been at Amity, he didn't once go back to visit his parents. He'd avoided it. To him, it would mean lectures on why he needed to work hard to do better. It meant little time to have fun, and a constantly stern mother giving him the stink eye.

After his trial on the field trip though, he found himself worrying. Over his friends yes, but one thing had stuck in his mind; If he had died like Red, where would that leave his mother? Six months of not seeing and barely hearing from him only to find out he's gone? More than that, after all he went through, he actually found himself missing her.
There was two things stopping him from going home; the hat she had given him was destroyed, wrapped in his overnight bag to keep the charred bits from getting on the rest of his belongings. Secondly, he wanted to prove himself to her. If he could come back with an accomplishment, maybe she would acknowledge that he wasn't a disappointment. Maybe she would be proud.
His exams gave him that opportunity. Not only was he now a Knob, he had passed said exam, and gotten his professor's pin to show for it.

The reaper sighed anxiously after he left the train, texting his mother to know he was in town and on his way. He'd been anxious on the way there, but the closer he got to his neighbourhood, he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. What if it wasn't enough? What if she scolded him for letting a gift he begged for get destroyed?
Before he knew it, he was at the door to his home. One of many houses, all similar in style and cramped together in a Gothic/Victorian style side of town. He hadn't been back in six months, and it felt so alien to him now. Amity was his home; all his friends were there. Still...

The reaper breathed in slowly, and opened the door. “Hello?”

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    At first, Mot's greeting was met with nothing but the occasional click of spoon on pot or the hiss and crackle of still cooking meat. Later it would be met with the stern clack, clack of heeled shoes on the floor, each step strategic and perfect in execution. Soon she would be found in the door way, arms folded across her stomach and under her chest, one hand gripping the handle of a long wooden spoon that still carried pieces of sauce and meat on it; her expression made it look like she was holding a murder weapon, not a cooking tool. Her eyes took one long, slow sweep from the top of her son's head - where was that damned hat of his? - right down to the toes of his boots; despite how happy she was to see him in one piece and (mostly) unscathed, she merely caught his gaze again, and spoke slowly.
    
    "Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?"


The smell of food cooking would be welcoming to most. For Mot he just felt his stomach turn. Ever since the bout of food poisoning he'd gotten as a child, home cooking just put him off. It was a wonder Hel managed to get him to eat anything. Lizzy even said he'd put on a little weight, which was apparently a good thing.

Mot froze as he heard the slow and perfect steps of his mother approaching. He gulped audibly, seeing the stern woman before him look him over like a flea that needed to be rid of. He had missed her; not so much anymore. She was still scary.
There was only one way to deal with his discomfort; be cheeky.

”I was actually hoping to do a bit of looting, but apparently someone is home.”

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    "I see." The woman said quietly, distracted with the young man in front of her. He certainly didn't seem as angled as he had been when he left. Perhaps that was a good thing? "Well, before you leave, I was wondering if you had seen my son on your way in?" There was no smile on her lips, no warmth in her features; apparently, she was still a little mad about the phone conversation on the train. "About your height, perhaps thinner, dark hair, his father's eyes, always wearing a Cowboil hat...a good boil who doesn't pretend to crash trains to avoid talking to his Mother." Yup. Definitely still upset.


His mother's sharp tongue was one of her best weapons, really. No matter how much he knew to expect it, she somehow was always able to leave the boil feeling rattled. It was quite the power. “Aaaaah hmm doesn't ring a bell.” Mot said with a nervous grin, unhidden eyes alight with a twinkle of sass. ”No boil like that exists.” Mot had actually completely forgotten about the Train ride phone call. It seemed he was going to pay for it now.

”Gosh, what kind of kid would do that to his own mother?” The reaper averted his eyes from his mother's accusing stare, a hand scratching lightly at one of his healing burns.

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    "Unfortunate, I have several words I wish to give him." She pivoted on her heel, the ever-perfect clacking of her heels echoing as she disappeared for a moment into the kitchen, returning later without the wooden spoon. Apparently she thought better than to hold it, lest she smack him with it. They did try hard to not strike their boy, after all!
    
    "A horrible one, who insists on making his poor Mother worry for months on end." Sugar coating was not often something she did, and she definitely had to let him know that it was NOT okay to pull that and never follow up. Months had passed, and she had taken out her worried frustrations on her work; not that he would ever have known that. Mot's eyes might have wandered, but hers never did; those black pools bore holes into him.


Aw, too bad! Mot supposed this mysterious son would have to go on living without hearing these several words. So sad. His eyebrow arched higher than the other as she seemed to leave. He shrugged, taking off his bag only to hear her come back.

Oh boy..

Mot couldn't keep up the sass anymore. He honestly did feel badly. The reaper's shoulders slumped, a downright pitiful look on his usually cocky expression. “Sorry.”

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    That seemed enough for her. For the moment he wasn't looking, there was a brief fondness that flashed through her stern eyes.
    
    "You are forgiven...but do not do it again." The edge to her voice was a very clear and obvious threat; it stressed her out that badly. "Now, come in - take your shoes off, young man - and tell me how your schooling is going." Said the woman wearing heels in the house. These were her indoor shoes. Worn only indoors. Who knows where Mot's boots had been!
"I hear Amityville went on a field trip recently, did you go?"


Mot flinched from her tone. Forgiven, but not forgotten. He'd think twice before pulling that stunt on her again. The young reaper obediently slipped out of his boots, setting them aside neatly so as not to incur her wrath later on. The reaper followed his mother, a smile staring to form as he readied to tell her of his victory against the exam and the instructor's pin he had earned.
But then.. she asked of the field trip.

His pitter patter footsteps slowed to a stop, his smile fading. “Uh.. I did.” He murmured nervously. How should he tell her, if at all? Did most schools have these kinds of trips? Did professor's die often? His heartbeat quickened with anxiety, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his vest. ”But uh.. can we not talk about it?” Why worry her more than he had?

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    "We could discuss it later, if that is what you'd prefer." Shrugging, she lead him in to the sitting room, gesturing to a seat before taking one opposite to him. Yes, she was going to make this difficult for him merely because of the time gap. "However, wouldn't you prefer to get the bad out of the way first?" Her son was expressive, she knew something was up...and she was curious. "Spill your beans, boil." This time she allowed him a ghost of a smile, but her stern face was ever present.


Mot followed, sitting across from his mother, his posture rather stiff as his nerves continued to send signals that there was danger afoot. Still, his mother was offering to tell her. Maybe she wanted to know. He shifted, relaxing ever so slightly as she faked some kind of attempt at a smile. Well, he may as well tell her.

He started off small, explaining the house, the boogeymen and the rooms. His scuffles with his team were glossed over. But as he got to the canyon, he visibly began to look disturbed. His mother knew him well; Mot couldn't hide his emotions well which was also why he was a terrible liar.
His eyes by this time were glued to his knees, explaining his near kidnapping (though it is to be noted he smirked when he explained how difficult a time the hunters had at catching the evasive cowboil), added with the unfortunate loss of his hat, which was brought to point as Mot took the destroyed garment out from his bag and laid it on the coffee table . He also told of Red's role as a double agent, her transformation..

Mot winced then, as he told his mother why his face was burned; how he'd managed to shoot the head Hunter only to be attacked by some kind of bottle filled with acidic liquid, blinding him. He also spoke of his death with Hel, getting turned into a Boo.. and then paused. He swallowed hard, and slowly explained that Red had died.

He ended his story once he got to the part when the portals opened up. His hands had been rung together the whole while while telling his story. “I uh.. tried my best. I really did.” He never once gave up, just as Hel has assured him. Not once did he back down. That had to count for something.

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    While she waited for him to answer, she leaned back against her chair, her legs crossing and her fingernails clinking against the arm rest. Tap, Tap, Tap.
    
    Oh, school life. As dangerous as ever I see. The ghosting smile returned when he expressed how difficult he was to capture, and her gaze moved down towards the hat he presented to her. Hrm, a pity, he did work so hard for that hat...no wonder he wasn't wearing it now. The thought of her son dying disturbed her; but she, like many Halloween Adults, knew that it took a lot more than your FEAR shield going down to die completely. Still, the process was painful and for that he had her sympathies.
    
    Tap, Tap, Tap Went her nails. "I am sorry for the loss we took." We of course meant Halloween in general. For the moment she brushed off his attempt to sedate her, though it wasn't needed; she could tell he didn't give up, his injuries and experiences were ripe with determination. Out loud, she said nothing to him, other than a monotone: "So what are you going to do about it?" She questioned, though was quite aware she was vague in her meaning; despite the thorough story it still seemed like there was something else there that was being left unsaid, just under the surface. She was using her stern mother powers to try and drag everything out of him.


As typical of his mother, she was always able to keep a stern and even face. Professional, almost emotionless and eyes toward the future. Honestly, while it always scared him, there was a great awe and respect for it. His mother was really cool; but Mot would never ever tell her he thought so.

“I plan to keep at it, honestly.” Mot answered, shifting a bit in his seat. “Actually, that brings me to this.” Mot dug into his vest pocket, bringing out Savage's pin. “I took my exam. I passed. I even earned my Professor's pin.” Mot smiled nervously. He hoped and prayed this at least meant something. “So, I'm a second year now; a Knob.”

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    Good answer, Mot. Good answer. Still, his dearest Mother's black eyes only flickered down to the pin he pulled out to show her, her dark eyes not once brightening despite the swell of pride in her chest. Her son won a Professor's pin! Moved to Second Year! Oh she was proud, so proud! True to fashion she didn't show it, but she did glance down at the ruined hat on the table before looking back up at her boy.
    "Is that it?" Again, vague as ever. She wanted to be sure she got everything out of him out front before something blindsided her.


Ouch.

Mot had gotten his hopes up for some kind of semblance of praise. Oh how wrong he had been. Was there nothing he could do at all? He stuffed the pin back into his pocket, trying his very best not to look as downfallen as he felt. “That's it. That's all.” That is all six months had gotten him. A ruined hat, third degree burns and a crazy professor's pin from riding giant one eyed corgis.

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    "Well, if that's everything, then." The tapping of her nails subsided and she uncrossed her legs to silently get back to her feet, taking a moment to gracefully fix her formed dress. Clack, Clack, Clack went her heels as she began to walk past him, but just before she would be out of his peripheral vision, she stopped. A hand went out to gently rest on the top of his head, her eyes turning down to look at him though her face remained forward.
    
    "Well done, Mot, and Congratulations. I'm proud of you."


Mot's shoulders slumped as she got herself up. She was obviously done here now, off to do mother stuff. Mot leaned back in his seat, sliding down a bit. He was sure she was leaving, but then the clicking stopped. Mot blinked, his head about to turn when suddenly a hand found itself on his head. That couldn't possibly be his mother's hand, not unless she was aiming to hold him in place while she snapped his neck.

Her words, at first, did not sink in. Mot stared ahead, then slowly turned his head up toward his mother. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide as saucers. Did she... just... she didn't, did she? He must of misheard! He stared dumbfounded for a long moment before he found his words.

“Wh..what? S..s-say it again!” Mot yelped, trying to be certain that this was indeed real life. No way did his mother acknowledge his efforts! Really!?

Mot's face was alight with the biggest of grins.

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    His Mother, however, seemed amused; not that it was easily shown on her face, but there was that tiny twist to her lips. She ruffled his hair once - though it could have easily been just a comfort-related shift for her hand - and sighed. "Very well, but only this once." Clearing her throat, she repeated herself word for word, still standing at his side.
    
    "Well done, Mot, and Congratulations. I'm proud of you."


The twist of her mouth was not missed, nor the ruffling of his hair to be mistaken for a shifting of the wrist. She even humoured him, repeating the line for him once again. It was even more wonderful hearing it twice. His grin remained, a laugh escaping him finally. He'd tried so hard, and his efforts paid off. They'd really paid off.

“Thank you!” He exclaimed. This made it all worth it. He would put himself through Hell and back to keep his mother proud.

Mot keened to himself, jumping to his feet. “Oh by the way, you get to put up with me for a whole week before I go back to Amity..”

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    "Wonderful." She allowed a sarcastic sense of disappointment into her voice, rolling her black eyes. "Good timing, I believe your Father is due for his quarterly visit upstairs." The Reaper continued to methodically Clack, Clack, Clack down the hallway towards the kitchen, but once more the noise stopped, but this time in the doorway. When she half turned to her son, her arms were folded across her stomach once more, and her expression had been schooled back in to the stern parent he knew her to be.
    
    "By the way, Halloween Daily's front page article should be of some interest to you. I suggest you take the time to read it and decide what you want to do with your life." With that, she continued back on to the kitchen, to finish cooking dinner.


Aw crap. What timing. So he'd have to put up with his father's boring rants on AMAZING SCIENCE. Sigh.

The young reaper was set to take his things to his old bedroom when his mother spoke up again. Newspaper article? His future? Mot sighed as if it sounded like some kind of chore. Probably an article talking about life after school.

Mot scanned the first floor for the whereabouts of the paper, scooping it up and taking it with him upstairs. Is footsteps slowed though part way up the stairs. The title caught his attention, and he began reading.

His overnight bag was dropped suddenly with a loud thud. “WHAT THE JACK IS THIS BULL?!?!!” He'd forgotten where he was, and didn't realize he'd just sworn while his mother was within ear shot.

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    "You will watch your mouth, young man." Came the hissed, stern cry from the kitchen. That was it though, no clacking of heels, no attempts to see what was going on. Just a strong threat and an irritated voice.