Synchronized Aptitudes
Pairing. Spalaude (Spade x Alaude)
I don't own KHR. D. Spade-sama and Alaude-san belong to each other.
(So, if signorina Elena would kindly drop dead for goodness.) *rant*
-King Ro-
Note. Ow, been some seriously long time.
A little gift for my traumatized friend, for the pain in ass we shared over chap 345.
Through Elena's lenses.
Reviews, comments and criticisms are always welcome. Hope you enjoy this.
Stiffly swirled the sauced spaghetti into sticky mess and prodded the ovale meatballs, Elena settled down her fork, hardly felt any appetite. The broccoli have been casted siderear of her plate. Fancy marinated turkey left out cold. She reposed on her seat, hand shuffling under table, barely managed to keep a mild, small smile.
Their conversation have been carried for already two hours and some half, and somewhere along the way there had wine-drainings, food-stuffings and snippets of drunken jokes. Elena secretly glanced over her escort, her man, the one sitting right beside her—Daemon Spade—the ceremonious Mist Ringholder of this party's host, Vongola Famiglia. She glanced, she turned, and she tugged on his sleeve, but the former aristocrat was rather too occupied on the course of flashy assasinations and memorable missions. So she stayed in silence, a stupefied silence, but he paid no heed. For the twentieth time since the evening started, Elena asked herself this question.
—What am I doing here?
.
.
True enough, she was like an acquaintance of Primo Giotto. And she was—officially—Daemon's lover. Wasn't always being with one's partner a part of what lovers did? Then naturally, Elena came. No more than ten minutes after that, she found herself stucked in a desperate isolation; listened hopelessly for some shreds of dialogue that she might have something to contribute. So far the chance had not yet presented itself, and Elena already felt very out of place.
Her shoulders slumped, causing the poufy yellow sleeves to slide a few more inches down her arms. Elena longed to say something, no matter how trivial or mundane, but the surrounding talk was making her uneasy. She lifted her eyes again to her gallantly-dressed partner, Daemon Spade, who was somehow halfway through his own dinner despite the long, fascinated discussion, who didn't seem to notice her uneasiness, indifferently continued conversing with his table-companions.
Elena has always been confident when it came to attend these extravagant social galas, due to her upper class upbringing. She rarely felt nervous or detached to the famous and wealthy peoples who sponsored and were invited to those parties. After all, she was a woman of high status herself. From all experiences of participating in luxurious ballrooms, she also felt secured in her ability to have the best, correct manners, or join in any conversation with upfront ease and diligently enjoy her time.
Right now however, Elena seriously wondered if her confidence was unfounded.
The main guests at this particular get-together were not quite the same sort as those snobbish nobles, arrogant aristocrats and socialites that she was used to mingle with. This worldwide gathering was attended only by the most respected mafiosi, the very well-knowns and well-breeds in disputing and killing from that frightful underworld. It held all of the hustle-rustles of a normal party, but knowing there were bundles of assassins and criminals among the crowd, Elena can't help but lost all appetite, despite how delicious the exquisite European cuisine smelt.
Reluctantly stared back to her nearly full plate, she sighed.
Her escort was not the only person she knew, but the knowledge didn't raise any hope. After all, Giotto Vongole was a boss, and he had been too busy with the taken-forever guest-greetings from table to table. His righthand-man got himself in another business, which involved a beaming, weirdly-outfitted Japanese, namely Asari Ugetsu, otherwise known as the Rain Guardian of Vongola famiglia. These two were quarreling—though very one-sided—on a vacant corner ninety feet across the hall. Apparently, butting in wasn't the brightest choice to choose.
Lightning Guardian Lampou Bovino was out of question in first place. The boy was too intimidated, too self-secluded, cowarded. He currently hid himself behind the curtain of a balcony, probably contented with the one-man moonlit sightseeing. And she didn't feel right to interfere that private peace.
As anyone may guess, ethical Father Knuckle Francisco can't be comfortable anywhere outside his church or their headquarter. Though entitled as the Sun Guardian of a mafiosous vigilante group, he usually left excused from attending grandiose events. Especially where he deemed full of dysfunctionally malevolent sheeps.
Last, but not least, she nervously pondered, due to specific reasons, Elena couldn't really bring herself to consider knowing this man.
For his brilliant work at a secret intelligence agency, signore Alaude was offered the position of First Cloud Guardian. The man agreed, however, only after a long session of persistent pleas and various conditions. His personality went just according to his attribute: the distanced, aloof Cloud who stood above and beyond, solitarily observed the famiglia from an independent standpoint. He often to always refused to co-join in any grouping activities like this. Even if he did appear, the sight won't last for ten seconds. If not for Daemon's oddly anomalistic interest in him, she would never know such man ever existed.
That, Elena vaguely trailed back to her secret anxiety, that oddly anomalistic interest had left many questions disturbingly unanswered.
She knew it was stupid to be jealous with a man. Downhill stupid. But she can't help it. She can't help but bitterly admitted that she felt, for worse or worst, envious with Alaude. One time when she gathered enough sense to ask, Daemon's answer was... off. Elena didn't quite remember what was she asking, something about her, something about what did he think about that man, their relationship. Her lover responded, however, the answer wasn't near enough. He said he loved her, gently scolded her for being silly...
... But he never said aloud that they were just fellow guardians. He never laughed at her assumption (how she wished it was just an assumption), or claimed what between him and Alaude was just camaraderie, nor told that in any case, she was his one and only...
Oddly anomalistic interest. Daemon never denied that.
.
.
Reverted to the party, tonight must be her first chance to have a good glance at the Cloud Guardian's appearance. He is Alaude, she heard, at the introduction she looked up—
—And she was petrified.
Of course, Elena had awared of her own beauty. She was pretty, beautiful, yes, everyone would agree. However the man was astounding, so fair, far fairer than anyone she had met.
The cream white, graycuffed suit hugged nicely on his lithe frame, wasn't at all like her poufy, flowing dress. His pale porcelain skin, not much different than a flawless doll. His silky lightsilver hair, made her once wished she wasn't totally blonde. Then the icy clear blue eyes, that exotically mesmerized shade of blue, almost as if he could drown anyone in his irises.
Thus Elena, horribly afraid that her Daemon was drowned.
Whenever she thought about that, it shoved her down the pit of insecurity. There she found herself wondered furthermore, scared furthermore, depressed furthermore.
If only she can tell, a simple sentence, if only she can say, Please don't make him fall. If only she had enough courage to do that. Now even though she wanted to, she just couldn't, for Elena was seated to Daemon's right, while Alaude was forced to sit on his immediate left.
Why did he have to sit on Daemon's left?
She was suddenly roused out of her reverie as an abrupt laughter broke through the wordy dialogues. "Really Alaude, and all this time I thought you were imcapable of cracking jokes." Elena gazed up questioningly at her lover, to find that his attention had wholly turned to the man causing her anxiety.
Alaude raised an eyebrow, knife poised halfway on the modest-cut steak. "I said your head looks like water melon, what's so funny in that?"
"Mi scusi, I can even start a revolution with this novelish hair." Daemon seemed too delighted for replying an insult. His expression was of vaguely amused fascination, an expression he never showed her before.
"Presumptuous." The Cloud man curled his lips into a thin, graceful arc, and Elena was terrified when her lover dazed off to somewhere faraway. Somewhere she can't reach.
Daemon downed his champagne in one single gulp, chuckling huskily. "So I am."
"Hm." Alaude leaned back casually on his chair, arms folding and legs crossing, prominently added up to his natural elegance. Compared to him, Elena already felt weary from all that posing, partially due to her built-up distress.
"... The food is awful." The Cloud mumbled, quietly brought the white linen handkerchief to his mouth (though managed to finish the meal nonetheless) and neatly tucked the silverwares on a folded napkin.
Daemon commented, "Oh. Such serenetaste." He crossed his knife and fork atop the empty plate in a similarly refined manner. It, somehow, made her still-full dish seem rather inadequated, or ridiculous. She had pushed around the contents so much that it formed one great mushy mass of food.
Elena bit her lip and, not knowing what else to do, tried to arrange her silverwares on her unfolded napkin the way Alaude had. She glanced over to check the position, but ended up look at his face instead. The silveret's expression was solemnly neutral, though Elena felt a bit of a chill went up her spine at the piercing gaze.
The guests on their table started to make small greets with the statuesque Cloud. They probably didn't dare to talk before, like her, but seeing how he could exchange words casually with the man next-to, maybe he wasn't that far-fetched after all. That was what they thought, she guessed.
For a moment, Elena thought she saw Daemon's eyes twitching.
She noticed that quite a few of other men, rather handsome and nobly-dressed, from nearby tables had ceased their own conversations and turned to observe with obvious admiration; before one of them proceeded to approach in her direction.
Elena felt her face grow hot. She was the only female in the circle.
In fact, she really wished this turn of event would come up, so she can have a chance to tell him about her uneasiness, her worries, then maybe together he will take early leave for her sake, and—
—Was that a spark of jealousy in his eyes?
Elena couldn't feel happier.
.
However soon enough, she recognized—
The man didn't come for her at all.
.
He was French, with an avant garde-tailored suit and a stylish, Parisian hair cut. Stopped beside Alaude, he made a courteous bow. "It's a nice party, isn't it?" He directly addressed to the Cloud, hand gesturing a wine glass as invitation. "Do you care for some drink?"
At that time, she recognized once more.
That spark of jealousy, wasn't meant for her at all.
.
Keeping his face impressively unimpressed, the silveret refused. "No, non bevo da parte di estranei." [No, I don't drink from strangers.], was all he replied before his icy cold eyes averted back to her man, leaving the other man completely dejected, and said.
"Spade, cocktail."
Elena froze in place, watching as Daemon contentedly reached for the refreshments tray from a waiter, provided the glass to Alaude, both took a sip of their beverage and placed them on table in complete synchronization.
To say she was deadpanned, was an understatement.
.
"What's wrong?" Elena was slightly startled by Daemon's warm breath on her ear as he whispered in low tone. She turned to him quickly, registered his caring expression and the tinge of concern. She was glad; her lover had finally realized that he was, for lack of better word, neglecting her for the whole evening.
"It's—nothing... much, really... It's just...—" She fumbled on the glump of her poufy dress under table, tiredly sighed. "...It's just—I have been thinking—" She fervently looked up. "I have been thinking that—could it be—you and signore Alaude—"
Suddenly, there was chaos.
Elena heard a loud crash, a loud thud, the string sound of consecutive shattering glasses, a loud choir of various-pitched screams and a chorus of gunshots and raging explosions. Before her mind could access all that, the guests began dashing criss-cross from one side to another of the ballroom. It was only a matter of seconds before the whole scene turning into a messy war field. Exclamations and shrieks in many different languages resounded throughout smoked air.
"Take cover. Find something large to hide behind." The Mist Guardian concisely instructed, but Elena didn't move, for a moment he paid it no mind. His head cocked over the sources of this commotion: a number of armed clusters in pitch-black cloaks had jumped in through every windows framed around this hall, threatened to begin a huge massacre.
"Intruders." Through the chaos, Alaude's calm voice emerged beyond any noises. The man rose unceremoniously from his chair, fingers lightly sparked a purplish blazing flame, and drew out a pair of silver handcuffs.
Daemon quickly stood up as well. His scraped chair made a loud, startling sound. The look on his face that time, was of pure, deep concern.
"Isn't your injury from last mission—"
"Spade." The silveret glared impassively. "Only weaklings whimper over small scratches", was his final retortion, before the slender wrist was caught by Daemon.
"Don't go off by yourself—Alaude—" He paused as Elena clasped on his arm. Hastily but certainly, he turned to look at the blonde woman, the one who was officially, his lover.
"Elena, I have to. "
Elena fell silent for a moment. Daemon hadn't listened to her question yet, her very, very important question. But when her eyes rose to meet the icy cold, piercing glare of Alaude...
She let go of his arm.
"Yes... " Defeatedly dropped her hand to her side, and the poufy yellow dress slided halfway off her shoulders, Elena quietly murmured.
"Yes... Go."
Neither her man or that man spared her another look before both entangled in the chaotic hall, where the powerful Mist Guardian and the fearsome Cloud Guardian methodically demolished the whole intruding squad even before their aid forces arrived.
With absolute harmony, and perfect synchronization.
.
.
.
A tear fell in deafened silence.
.
Elena knew it.
She knew it all along.
[Synchronized Aptitudes / End.]