The Blood Chain

[LoganDarkHolme]

"It won't be like the bathroom, Malric. An ordinary Font would glow brightly, the Chains would light up for them if you drained the same amount of power as you did in there. They'll force you to make me glow to prove the bond." That statement still didn’t sit well with him, but he did at least know that much, the bond would have to be proven. He didn’t have to be happy with it. They sat in silence for a bit as they ate. Malric refilled his plate once more, feeling ravenous after expending so much power. Something he’d never did or had reason to do before, after a third bowl he finally started to feel more even keeled, he nodded as she spoke and explained. He’d wished he’d paid more attention, and that his parents weren’t such assholes to refuse to teach him this shit because they never thought he’d be worthy enough to find a font. Fuckers.




"I don't suppose you have a spare robe or something? At least I could, um, wash the smoky smell out of these clothes overnight or something. Then we can replace them tomorrow...when we do the thing at the Annex." Malric blinked as her words shocked him out of his thoughts and he had to blink a few times to focus on what she said “Oh, yeaa, um.., I have a washer and dryer in the bathroom, the closet in the back, im sorry I forgot.” he said, turning he rinsed off his plate and dried it leaving it on the drying rack he moved to his bedroom and sorted through his clothing, Finding a smaller robe way in the back from his younger years, he returned to the kitchen “This should fit you, apparently I still had a few items from when I was younger buried in my closet, guess I never paid attention much.” he lays it on the table beside her “Burnt fire is not an attractive smell that is true” he smiles for the first time, wanting to ease the tension between them. In only a matter of hours it finally began to sink in on what their fate was going to be.



“Going forward, Mara, I know you don’t know me, I know you don’t trust me, but I want you to believe, your opinion matters, your feelings matter to me, I don’t want you to ever feel like you cant voice your beliefs, your fears, or anything. And I will do what I can to give you what you need, and be someone you don’t wanna murder in their sleep” he smiles at her faintly at her “So, we have time to kill, what would you like to do? We can go down to the student store and see what we can find for you? Or you want to stay here and relax?”

 

[monique_minx]

Mara wondered if he was joking, or if he truly didn’t understand why most Fonts didn’t kill their Mages. The Chain was symbolic, yes, but it was also symbiotic, a one-sided feedback loop with teeth. A Font’s death rarely troubled a Mage, though there were whispers of rare exceptions. The reverse, however, was absolute.

A Font felt every injury dealt to their Mage as a violent echo through the Chain, no matter how it was inflicted. To harm one’s Mage by choice was worse. The bindmarks would tighten, burn, resist - turning the body against the act. It was like trying to write with a steady hand while walking through fire; the closer the intent came to action, the more the Chain pushed back.

Most never made it far enough to try.

It wasn't only the body that rebelled. Even now, Mara felt her emotions dulled towards Malric. Her aggression and resentment weren't as sharp, the outburst earlier had taken an immense amount of energy to muster. The thought of violence against him suddenly felt wrong. Yet it wasn't total. She could easily summon the rage needed to slit Drew's throat and thinking of that hadn't changed at all. The link between them was designed to protect him. Mara had only imagined how powerful that pull was before, feeling it for the first time for herself was surreal. She felt guilty for every time she'd seen an abused Font and thought they were weak not to fight back. The magic did its job well.

Mara blinked and cleared her throat, "Sorry, I was just...away with the fairies for a minute there."

She held his gaze just a beat longer than necessary as though she might say something. 'You don’t need to worry about me killing you. The Chain won’t let me.' The thought hung there, bitter and heavy, and she swallowed it.

"I, uh- you're not gonna be embarrassed being seen with me like this?" She gestured to her somewhat charred sweatpants and ashen tinted shirt, "I can't exactly wear the robe there and it'll take hours to wash and dry these...not that it'll help with these." She put her finger through a large burn hole at the hem of her shirt and wiggled it comically.

"Doesn't exactly scream 'Property of a ValDrakken', does it?" Maybe she shouldn't have smirked but as they say - 'if you don't laugh, you'll cry'.