August 1st, 762, 3:40 PM
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Nervous?"
Edmund tugged nervously at his cravat. "No... Yes. Do I look alright? Is this on straight?"
"It's not anymore. Give it here." Micheal leaned over from where he was setting up his music and helped sort out Edmund's necktie, giving it a cheerful pat when he finished. "Weddings! What monsters they are, to lay low a man who has faced down demons unflinchingly. That's why I avoid them at all costs." The guard gave a sly wink.
"I can't explain it. I want this more than anything, it's just, ah..." Edmund paced nervously back and forth, tugging at his cravat again and pulling it out place once more.
Micheal leaned over toward Kuzan conspiratorially. "You'd better keep an eye on him," he said, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. "In the Corelands, there's a tradition that if the Groom runs off, the Best Man has to marry the bride."
"Don't scare him off! Go set up your music," Edmund protested, weakly waving his hands at Micheal, who ran off laughing. "Don't mind him, Kuzan, no one does that anymore."
The guard captain gave the priest a warm smile. "I'm glad you're here," he said, sincere gratitude shining through every inch of his face. "Although for a while I thought you'd have to officiate. No offense to Professor Theroux, but... ah..."
Edmund unconciously turned back to look at where Andre was sitting. The professor was sitting near his patronness, who was dressed all in black, as though at a funeral. In all the time since she had arrived at the wedding, the Lorelei had said but two words.
"Bah. Humbug!"
The rest of the surroundings, most fortunately, were lively enough to make up for it. It was a lovely chapel, lit with a thousand little motes of light that swirled about the ceiling like stars. Some ancient artisan had done a skillful job of carving the shield and sword of Ezra into the wall. And if, sometimes, it seemed like the walls didn't quite align, or the room had too many corners, the cheerful chatter of the guests soon banished such paranoid mind-tricks.
Near the back, Sam turned to grin at Lily, who regarded him with an amused smile. Marilena sat with Pumpkin on her lap, shaking her head and chuckling about young people these days. Nearby, Nizam and Guy tried desperatly to pull Loup away from investigating Masal, before the big cat decided to remove the dog's face instead of her own.
===============================================
The bride's side of the room, in contrast, was mostly empty. A few spillovers from the groom's side had made their way over when the benches had gotten too crowded. Sitting in the front row were the bride's only two guests. The one nearest the aisle, a winged, dog-headed man with bird legs, was snuffling very loudly into a borrowed handkerchief.
"I never thought I'd see the day," Marchaosis sobbed. The horrible bug-man sitting next to him patted him on the shoulder reassuringly.
===============================================
The bridesmaids matched. As a matter of fact, they were identical twins, wearing identical white dresses, with identical low-cut cleavage, and as they descended upon Andre, wearing identical mischevious expressions.
"Can't you just feel the love in the air?" The sister with the lower-pitched voice asked, looking at Andre pleasantly. "Gives you ideas, doesn't it?"
Malice looked... gorgeous would be too simple a phrase. Radiant, beautiful, all were appropriate. But more to the point would be her ability to make the demure white dress resemble something which would cause impressionable young men to wake up in a sweat.
"Mmm.... we ought to start looking for husbands too..." Spite agreed. She smiled at Andre, putting a hand on his shoulder that made butterfly spontaneously arise in his stomach. "Before we get too old to find someone."
Seeing as she resembled a well-developed nineteen-year-old, too old was not something Spite had to worry about. A very well-developed nineteen-year-old. With millennia of experience in most anything one could ask about.
"Any suggestions on some eligible men we can find?" Malice asked, walking around behind Andre and putting a hand on his other shoulder. "You can tell us. I'm sure the Lady Grey won't mind..."
"If you don't... we'll just have to find one on our own." Spite ran a finger along the outside of Andre's ear. "So any suggestions?"
===============================================
"Er... excuse me... excuse me..." Professor Charles Devereux, presiding Official of the Government, tried to pitch his reedy voice loudly enough to reach the entirety of the chapel. He wasn't succeeding. "Excuse me..."
There was a sudden ominous hiss of energy, and Devereux's eyes glowed a bright, piercing pink-violet, like two fires in the darkness. His skin began to split slightly, revealing the violet radiance within. The people quieted down.
"Thank you." Devereux said mildly, going back to normal. "The bride will be coming shortly, so please find your seats."
"Begone, you foul, feathered fiend!" The disembodied, ghostly head of Professor Jean-Jacques Pelletier glared at Jervis's bird, Aya, which perched nearby. The giant, red-black crow watched the ghost-head as if wondering if one could pick out an incorporeal eye.
"Professor Pelletier..." Devereux said quietly. Pelletier floated over to his seat. Aya looked sad to see her plaything go. "Thank you."
