Bishonen & Bishojo: DotM
With the CRACK echoing in the darkness, Daemon's form contorted in a spasm. It wasn't quite pain, but he definitely felt a ripping, a loss to his inner being. The warm contentment he felt for those precious moments both in the ball and as he was released back beside the fire were sheared away. The breaking of the bond between bishie and trainer did not diminish the bishie by any means, but the psyche definitely noticed the absence, especially if the trainer was at some level appreciated or loved.
When the wracking tremors subsided, Daemon found himself sprawled beside the witchlight. While everything he did always had an understated elegance to it, even he found it hard to make an unexpected dirt face-plant elegant.
Hayllian gold peered from sooty lashes at the form just on the edges of the light. Her back was still turned, so could not ascertain her emotional state with any certainty, but those bare moments as a bonded Bishonen allowed a certain bit of insight. That, and the time he'd spent in her presence, he had learned a bit about her scruples. She had told him before that she did not want to capture him. There was no reason given, but the firmness of her statement there in the restaurant was self-evident. It also bore truth in her actions here this evening.
What was really eating him, though, was Why?
From the first Daemon his breed was based on, there were all of those genetic memories of deep-seated non-acceptance. It niggled his subconscious, why did she not want a black jeweled warlord prince? Was it because she wanted someone with more power? While ridiculous to think, there were others out there with more power, ironically, one sitting to the side of his charge wearing an unreadable expression. Was his appearance not to her liking? Daemons were always aware of what their physical presence did to the female half of the populations. It was his signature, attractive to anything with a pulse and rejecting all. He didn't think it was his history either, genetic or his own. A guardian of a future Witch was nothing to sneeze at. Why did his trainer not want him?
"I thought you understood my thoughts on captivity, Janaelle," she whispered. The words did not echo like any Witch pre or post, but they did contain a haunting quality.
Aela's shock when the chibi threw the Bishieball had broken with the flash of light signalling a capture. Her mind lashed back to reading the original trilogy. The agony and the hatred that captivity wrought. The silent chains that twisted and hurt. The aching bonds that she empathized with. It was a definite lesser degree of the trials Sadi had to endure, but her own experiences with the rules that bound the Family had some direct connotations. Until she came here, there was no way for her to remove those chains. She would never put her favorite character through anything similar to what happened in the books, let alone the more mild forms that she experienced.
For Daemon Sadi, the Bishieball represented everything she felt repulsed by.
It was somewhat different with Sephiroth. If he wasn't with her, they might have had a Territory wide massacre. Janaelle wanted out of the overprotective watch of her kin. The trainer bond was a means to an end. The chibi's intent was not deplorable and to a point she empathized. It was just that Aela held her honor close to her heart, even if said heart broke.
The shadowed form of the trainer shifted her feet so that she was in profile to the witchfire. The eye shaded in flickering lights also showcased the black slash given by Witch. To keen mako eyes, it was a writhing thorny vine. To nacent bonds, she exibited wry determination and heartbreak warring with doing the right thing.
There was another ball in her hands. It appeared as if by craft. Sephiroth made not a move from his place by the fire. It was Mother's decision after all. Janaelle had her heart in her throat, tears in her eyes and a mind awhirl with the ramification of her own actions. Sadi was in the middle of scrambling up from his face-plant and didn't quite catch the action before another CRACK split the night.
Casually, the silver general caught his almost sibling when she crumbled from the destruction of the bond. Daemon's head shot up to stare at his charge with momentary confusion before swiveling to watch the broken halves of a second Bishieball drop earthward.
"Go," a voice lifted from a head bent forward. Curls had shifted to cover her eyes so what little expression showed from the light of the fire couldn't be seen. Daemon couldn't detect a tremor in her voice, a repressed sob or anything. At any other time, he could respect anyone who kept control over their emotions, but not only did he just get summarily rejected (again, he might add, physically now if not verbally before) but the trainer also was doing exactly what he wanted from the start! How dare she follow his original orders!
"You-" he started.
"I fufilled my part of the bargain. Neither you nor your charge are bound by the wicked trainer, so you might want to flee home before you're caught again.
"You foolish-!"
It wasn't shouted, but it may as well have been with the intensity it was uttered.
"La parola, l'onore, la famiglia. A bargain struck in good faith is always kept, thus your word is more than air passing your lips."
Daemon approached and practically vibrated with suppressed emotion. His taller height canted over so that they were nose to nose. "I ought to shake some sense into you..." He trailed off when he noticed peripherally that Sephiroth tensed up at that threat. "But I won't. You did as promised and I technically cannot fault you for that." Gold eyes bore into resolute obsidian before a faint whisper of a sigh passed through his lips. His head tilted to the side and lowered a smidgeon further. Out of sight, a wicked smirk flared before whispering in her ear. "This doesn't mean you get away that easily, either."
Aela's hand darted forward to push him away, but futily pressed against a solid wall of warm muscle. Daemon's bicep curled around her arm for a scant second before his hand did something that caused her eyes to widen and her other hand to also raise to help push.
Sephiroth choked on air because from his vantage point it looked like the gold frosted male just goosed his mother.
Daemon darted back over to his charge's side, one hand displaying two miniaturized orbs between outstretched fingers.
"Kitten will need to check in with her mother and Witch needs to be told about your new little duckling. Afterwards, though... There will be a conversation. That I promise you, trainer mine."
The infuriating male gave a provoking grin before sweeping Janaelle up into the black winds, obviously on their way home. It left mother and son gaping unattractively into open air. The witchfire sparked and spat merrily before turning into a normal fire without craft to sustain the purple red color.
"He just grabbed your balls mother?" Sephiroth inquired gently, trying to ascertain whether he should be offended on his mother's behalf.
Aela coughed in embarassment as her mind ran with the weird implications his question brought up. "I guess... I suppose that is true in one form or another, Sephie, but please do not say that in such a way before an audience. Please. It might not be understood the right way."
A fine boned face looked up at her with curious green eyes and tilted to the side to inquire of his mother, "What other way would it be misunderstood?"
Aela was left spending the rest of the night trying to explain innuendo to her born, bred, and raised killing perfection son.
Sephiroth occupies one Bishieball. I broke Janaelle's and Daemon's. That infuriating male took another two hostage. That means I have only one Bishieball left. And I haven't caught a singly Bishie by myself. Janaelle deliberately caught herself, Seph did the same but accidentally, and the chibi had the gall to catch me a black-jeweled Warlord Prince.