Chapter Text
Frankly, Essek would have thought that academic probation would feel more like a punishment than it did. Sure, it stung a little, and it really did force him to postpone some of his more official plans. But, on the other hand, he now had a hell of a lot of free time- two months until the actual hearing!- very little of which he really had to spend working on his own defence. He had a sterling reputation, a boatload of staff who would back him as being polite, studious and incredibly thorough, and an excellent poker face.
Plus, the only thing he’d done wrong was getting caught.
...
When he pushed open the door of the share-house, he was immediately bombarded with a wall of sound, laughter and excited argument. Essek sighed. Moving in with a house full of undergraduates had seemed like a good idea at the time. Less likely that they questioned his… unconventional hours. What he hadn’t considered, when deciding to live with five young adults and their landlady is that they would try, continually, endlessly, to befriend him. Jester (Tiefling, 21, somehow not a student?), kept handing him bags full of miscellaneous baked goods, some of them home-made, others considerably more edible. Caduceus (Firbolg, 24, studying biomedical science), repeatedly insisted that he join them for the dinners he cooked, and continued, after multiple strenuous refusals, leaving plates of warm food at Essek’s firmly closed door. Fjord (Half-Orc, 29, had inexplicably changed his accent recently) was obviously intimidated by Essek’s very presence, but still attempted, very blatantly, to charm him every time he was in the same room as the other man. Veth (Halfling, ??, legally a landlady? Maybe?) was somehow the most invasive of all of them, almost having a sixth sense about whenever anybody entered or exited the building.
At least the other two weren’t openly invasive. On the other hand, that meant he knew a lot less about them. Beauregard was belligerent, snarky, and definitely spent an unreasonable amount of time at the campus’s gym. He’d seen her kick an orange out of the air with unexpected precision, and her reflexes left little to be desired. She was also, he had come to realise, incredibly, and unfortunately for him, nosy. Twice, he had found her with her nose in his research, which indicated a certain level of intelligence, but also a certain lack of personal boundaries. Caleb, on the other hand, was something for an enigma. He’d been in this share-house longer than any of them, and seemed to spend days alone in his room. When he emerged, unshaven and sleepless, he was perfectly charming company, albeit more guarded than the rest of the house put together. He was an exchange student, apparently, from…Munich? Vienna? Wherever he hailed from, he seemed reluctant to discuss. Understandable. The German Empire had hardly ever held personal freedoms highly, and it seemed they saw no reason to break centuries of tradition. And, yet, it was from the lips of random strangers that he had heard the most about this man. Caleb Widogast was a genius, a celebrity in the surprisingly wide world of biological academia. At 30, already having classified some six dozen new varieties of frog was apparently something of a coup. He’d already heard several students refer to Widogast as the Frog Prince.
All in all, he felt, an incredibly curious group of roommates.
...
‘Mister Essek! Good to see you. Will you be joining us for dinner?’
Damn it. He hadn’t actually planned for dinner tonight, and he already knew that the fridge in his room was concerningly bare.
‘I think I will, Caduceus. Thank you for inviting me.’
‘Weeeeeelllll, I did some painting, which was super fun and I think it’s going to turn out really great, and then I handed out so many flyers for the Traveller you guys, it will be official in no time.’
‘How many cultists do you technically need to count as official anyway?’
‘It’s not a cult, Beau, and like technically, its five hundred, which is a lot, but everyone who joins will pass it on, so we’ll get there in no time.’
‘Jester’s right, Beau, it’s not a cult at all.’
‘See, Beau? Fjord understands.’
‘It’s a pyramid scheme.’
‘Fjooord!’
Veth’s table was far too small for nine people at the best of times, and the end of the day was hardly the best of times. The combination of end-of-day adrenaline and exasperated conversation meant that voices grew louder than their owners potentially intended. At least the food was excellent, and the multiple conversations meant that Essek could pass unnoticed, for a while at least.
‘And, er, Essek. How was your day?’
It was like Caleb had read his mind. Essek exhaled, and turned to face the auburn-haired man, as the rest of the conversations noticeably died down. Perfect.
‘It was…unexpected. I believe I will have a lot more free time than I had before.’
‘Wait, what’s happening? Are we talking about Essek’s probation?’
The room was entirely silent as Beau asked her piece, and Essek only had time to wince before the barrage of questions arrived.
‘You’re on probation?’
‘How do you even get on probation? Worst they ever gave me was basically detention.’
‘Did you, what, kill somebody?’
‘Jester, you do not get put on probation for murder.’
‘It’s worse than murder?’
It took Caduceus almost a minute of pointed coughs to kill the last of the discussion. Then, he smiled slowly, and turned to Essek.
‘There you are, Mister Essek. I’m sure we’re all interested in what you have to say.’
‘Thank you, Caduceus. Yes, as Beauregard so charmingly revealed, I have been put on academic probation.’ An insouciant shrug from Beau. ‘I’m certain that I will be acquitted when the time comes. My hearing is two months from now. I’m sure I will find a way to pass the time until then. And, if I am entirely honest, I would prefer no more questions.’
‘Fair enough.’
...
He had worked late again. He’d seen a thread, or so he had thought, between temporal shunting and the ‘wristpocket’, and had spent several hours trying to unravel it, before realising it had been another deadend. It was frustrating sometimes, the weeks without any progress, real or imagined, days on end without even a hint of the light at the end of the tunnel. He was so sick of it. He lay his head down on the desk, not at all comforted by the cool sensation of paper on his skin, and pulled a breath through his nose, and the out of his mouth. He needed a break. Something to do for two months, without access to the university’s resources. Maybe he should take up knitting.
And then he heard the faint knock at the door.