The Eye of Anubis: A Wedding Interlude

[NeoTiamat]

Chapel of Ezra, Kamarn-Quse, Har'Akir
August 1st, 762, 4:22 PM
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Eisenwald blinks, looks up at Edmund, and says, "Harris, this was totally an accident." as he thinks, quite accurately, that Edmund would remove his head from his shoulders if he tried flirting with, let alone grabbing the underwear of, his new bride.

"Don't worry about it," Harris said, looking back and forth between the Lamordian and the magician. He opened his mouth to explain the situation to Tomas, then decided that discretion was the better part of valor in this case.

The single men began to crawl out of their hiding places now that the sacrifice had been made. Jervis gave a bit of a snort, smirking at Tomas. Dieter goodheartedly nudged his countryman in the ribs a few times. Samael gave a huge grin, setting his arm around the taller man in a gesture of camaraderie.

"Go get her, big guy," he said, pushing Tomas towards where Lia stood. "We'll back you up."

The other men nodded cheerfully, as they all began to back away and look for ample cover to watch the show from.

===============================================

The reception was a lovely affair. The tables were clothed in fine white linen, with candles setting a friendly, intimate mood. Given the slight kinks in Otto's music machine, the ambiance was provided by a mouthless, dancing fey, who leaped and twirled along with the melody he played on his feather-decorated flute. Jervis was roasting the wyvern over a barbecue pit. More standard fare was provided; fine wine, savory cuts of lamb, fresh grapes and plums, hot baked bread, and in a slight concession to the groom's home country, some kind of rather horrid sausage.

"Speeches are in order, I think," Marchand-Renier said, standing up and raising his glass. He casually dodged as someone threw something at him. "A toast, then," he amended, dryly. "My congratulations to you, Edmund! Though she may have been an iron-fisted tyrant, what woman isn't, at some point? She is intelligent, accomplished, and she most certainly isn't marrying you for money or power. You'll be a happy couple."

"Um. Thank you?" Harris said, looking slightly unsure of how to respond. Menetnashte squeezed his hand reassuringly, smiling at Marchand-Renier, a smile that promised there would be consequences later.

"Don't mind him, Edmund," Carter said cheerfully, raising his glass. "He's just jealous. And who wouldn't be? The one time I was almost married didn't go nearly as well. Of course, that was at knife point... and the bride turned out to be a giant snake..."

Carter shook his head, then notice everyone at the table staring at him. "What?"

Remy quietly toasted Harris, figuring he'd better do it before everything got out of hand again. "Cheers, Captain Harris." All around, the others joined in the sentiment, raising their glasses high.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Tomas," Lia says in a sweet tone of voice, "if you come anywhere near my leg with that thing, they won't have to bury you. They'll only need to bring a dustpan and brush."

The wizard holds out her arm, with a clenched fist on the end. "Put it on there and let's have an end to this silliness," she says in a far less sweet tone of voice. "I still don't understand why I agreed to be here for this ... ceremony."

[DocBeard]

"Lady, do you have any idea how many off color jokes you just set yourself up for?" Tomas asks dryly, blushing and rolling his eyes at the goading of his fellow menfolk. Traitors, all of them. "And you agreed to this because you are a secret romantic, waiting to be swept off your feet by some handsome gentleman with horns and the ability to speak the tongue of devils backwards while standing on one foot, or whatever they're giving doctorates for these days."

Mentally wishing Harris and the Anubite good luck, Tomas carefully puts the garter up Lia's arm. He is, to his credit, a gentleman about this, though it is difficult not to be when in these particular circumstances.

[Kaitou Kage]

"Congrats, Ed," Kuzan patted the burly Mordentishman on the shoulder. Unfortunately there was far, far too much craziness going on. Random beastie attacks, Otto's intimidating and downright disturbing contraption, and wyvern chops for dinner. At least the reception had begun to calm down just a bit. Parties at weddings were pretty universal, so that part did not surprise him. But this party took a turn for the...well, weird didn't really describe it.

The priest lowered his voice. "Are all Core weddings this strange?"

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia looks at Tomas askance when he outlines his idea of what she looks for in a man, but allows him to place the garter. "Actually," she replies, "I'd prefer a man with a good set of fangs over one with horns. And I do not much care about - nor for" - the wizard casts a quelling glance at the bachelors having a laugh at her and Tomas' expense - "foolish jokes. Let the hyenas cackle amongst each other. Where's the wine? I'm in the mood for Barovian red, but any red should do at a time like this."

[NeoTiamat]

Chapel of Ezra, Kamarn-Quse, Har'Akir
August 1st, 762, 4:00 PM
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It was at this moment that part of the roof fell in. It appears that when psychopathic necromancers choose to crash the reception, they have a very literaly definition of crash. First came the falling sand, which reassembled into a large, skeletal, and quite corporeal creature of the feline persuasion. This was followed by a black mist, which coalesced into the form of John Lancaster Cavendish, Necromancer-at-Large.

"Sorry I'm late." Cavendish said, brusting a piece of rubble of his coat. "I had a prior engagement in Nova Vaasa. Very sorry."

Schrodinger's skeletal screech of an answer had a decidedly skeptical tone to it. Cavendish waved it off.

"Well, now that I'm here, let's get this party started." The madman flashed his weird, oily grin at you. "Maestro, music!"

The Featherflute tapped his foot twice, then began to play. It was a beautiful melody, haunting, effervescent, a song that wormed its way into your very mind. It was music that you would not, could not forget, the most enchantingly beautiful music you had ever heard. It did have one small flaw. For some reason you had an inexplicable urge to start tearing your eyes out of their sockets.

"Wonderful." Cavendish smiled a little, even as Schrodinger gave a rather more dismissive screech. Cavendish quirked a brow at the undead smilodon. "Everyone's a critic. Well, alright, here."

"Ytke, Zhevi!"

The roast ducks on the plates before you began to shudder and move, searching the world with their horrible, headless necks. Roast wings began to flap, and by some malign agency, the reception's main course took off from the table to fly about the room. They searched the room for victims, their ability somewhat reduced by the lack of any sensory organs whatsoever, and fiercely tried to batter any hapless mortal in range with their delicious, crispy wings.

"Pierozhniye, Zhevi!"

The cherry pastries... grew wings. Bat wings, actually, though they were largely made out of little wafers with a very nice cherry-cream on top of them. Like tiny, chiropteran marauders they took flight, dive-bombing the assembled guests.

They flew in formation, a swarm of unwholesome, high-sugar desserts, seeking to spread the bane of diabetes to the living. Nothing, no diet could stand in their way.

"Tort Zhevi!"

At the corner of the room, the massive, multi-layer cake shuddered to life. Guided by an unholy intelligence, the cake emitted pseudopods of white frosting, lumbering to a stand even as it sought to batter Kuzan with tentacles of batter.

"As I always say," Cavendish noted, watching his creations wreak havoc. "There's no party you can't liven up with a magically augmented food fight."

Schrodinger screeched.

"Oh shut up."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"I take everything I have said about these festivities back," Lia says after a very brief pause. "I applaud any party that allows me to do this - Impetum meum omni errore vacue erit! Per iussu meu, TE AD PI REDIGO!"

A pale, bright green ray leaps from Lia's outflung hand, stabbing directly at Cavendish ... and erupts into a swarm of green key lime pies. The next moment, however, the wizard ducks behind the first available cover to avoid a counterstrike.

(OOC: Not sure if we can do this here and now, but hey ... why pass up the opportunity? Quickened True Strike followed by Green Key Lime Pie Bombardment on Cavendish. Ranged touch attack roll: 28. Save at 22.)

[Kaitou Kage]

What the hells ARE you doing?

Trying to avoid being eaten by cake. Kuzan never thought he'd actually find himself being attacked by his food. He dreamed about it once, but not quite in this manner.

Geez, I go to sleep for a while and when I wake up, you're in the #1 wedding on L'Interrogateur's Zaniest Wedding Receptions of the Millennium?

Yeah, and I'm the Best Man, too. the priest retorted as he ducked another cakeopod.

You never cease to amaze me.

Kuzan only grunted. He had his own way of dealing with this. "Tvashtri," he intoned and gestured at the forks and knives arranged for cake eating, "जीवन करने के लिए अपने चाकू लाना."

The utensils shook for a second. Then they cheerfully stood up, bounced to the edge of the table, and lunged for the animated cake.

"Hah! Take that!" Kuzan shouted triumphantly as his silverware army assaulted the living cake in a dance not unlike one seen on a far distant plane, where kitchenware performed to a tune sung by a candelabra. If only the priest knew.

[The Whistler]

Otto inwardly stewed a bit at Cavendish's musical performance--this in *addition* to the requisite eye-stabbing horror, but regardless. Accidental machine sentience and ruined ceilings aside, a man just knows when he's been shown up.

Which is why some part of the gunsmith got considerably more enthusiastic once the food started flying. Time for Plan Delta-Six!

"Ladies and gentlemen, I humbly recommend for those of delicate constitution to avert their eyes, or to hide underneath of your chairs, yes?"

Ooh! Ooh! What's Plan Delta-Six?

The one where we get up on this table--

Yeah? Yeah?

--And use it to support this extremely large blunderbuss--

Ooh! I *love* the extremely large blunderbuss!

--Which we are going to support with this brace--

I want to be the extremely large blunderbuss' BEST FRIEND.

--And load it with--

I am going to call it Mister 'Splodey. Say 'Hi', Mister 'Splodey!

With...

...Well, it *was* a food fight. Using live ammunition might've been more effective--but it would *hardly* have been cricket.

The gunsmith grabbed a dessert tray from the center of the table and funneled all the gumdrops into the mouth of the shotgun, swinging the muzzle around to get as many ducks as possible in his sights.

Well, there's no possible way that this can go wrong.

Hoooraaaaayy for Mister 'Splodey!

--KRA-FLUDGE--

[Nathan of the FoS]

Seeing that the food fight is on in earnest, Charles avails himself of a banana cream pie from a nearby table and says, kissing Sarari, "I've been wanting to do this for months."

So saying, he becomes invisible.

About thirty seconds later, Cavendish gets a faceful of banana cream pie.

"I CHANGED MY BUILD BACK TO ROGUE FOR THIS!" Charles crows, before bestowing another banana cream pie on Schrodinger's bare skull.

[NeoTiamat]

Chapel of Ezra, Kamarn-Quse, Har'Akir
August 1st, 762, 5:13 PM
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The vast array of green key lime pies arced towards Cavendish as though a swarm of angry, sugary locusts. Some of the airborne cherry pastries nobly gave their lives to deflect the pies, but there were simply too many. No force could stop them. Thus it was that John Lancaster Cavendish experienced a suddenly color change from grey-and-black to green. It was a delicious green though.

Of course, then Charles hit him with a banana cream pie.

Slowly, the Necromancer toppled like a tree in the wind, first swaying, then falling flat onto his back, bits of cream sticking to his suit. Cavendish reached into a coat pocket and withdrew a (mostly) white handkerchief, waving it in the air.

Schrodinger shook itself off, covering Charles with a certain amount of banana cream, then snagged itself a roast duck downed by a gumdrop. A cat's got to eat, right?

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"Alright, that's enough of this silliness," Marilena chuckled, shooing everyone out of the food-covered area as she made her way over to the bride and groom. "Time to give these two some privacy before you all attract more trouble."

She rolled up her sleeves and picked up a dinner fork. "Not my usual choice of tools, but it will serve well enough. Now, does anyone have some mice that Old Marilena can borrow? Squirrels, birds, any kind of small creature will do."

Marchand-Renier presented her with two squeaking black rats, trying desperately to squirm out of his grasp. "Second cousins," he said, dryly, handing them over. "Serves them right for trying to stow away in my pockets."

With a swish and a flick of Marilena's magic fork, the rats were transformed into magnificent black horses. One of them bore a striking resemblance to Flea, who was looking very disturbed at his sudden change in perspective. The gathered guests began to laugh and cheer, seeing where this was all going.

"And did any of the vegetables survive?" Marilena asked. "Squash, turnips, pumpkins?"

"Well... there's this one!" Dieter joked, trying to pick up Marilena's cat. Pumpkin bit him.

"Over here!" Micheal and Guy were holding a watermelon half, the shell elegantly carved with ibises in flight. The two carried it over and set it down on the ground.

With a swish and a flick of Marilena's fork, the watermelon became a beautiful open-topped carriage, though the green stripes and pink interior were not quite the standard colors for a wedding.

"Hope you don't mind if I borrow this, dear," Marilena said, tapping the air by Andre's shoulder with the fork. The professors unseen servant suddenly became a good deal less unseen - a befuddled, plain looking man wearing a pastel coachman's uniform. The man looked around, shrugged at Andre, and then took his place at the reigns.

"Off you go, now," Marilena said, to the cheers of the crowd. Harris stepped into the carriage, beaming as he helped Menetnashte up, caring not one whit for their current cake-covered state. The couple rode out through the streets of Kamarn-Quse as the guests threw rice, and anything else they could get their hands on that looked worth throwing - everyone was already as messy as could be, so why not?

As they rode off, Menetnashte pointed her hand, palm up, towards the ceiling of the underground city. The air above burst into colors - red and greens and violet and gold, a shimmering rainbow of light, that coalesced into a perfect, surreal sunset. The happy couple waved before turning to each other, joining in a passionate kiss, framed by the glow of the city, and serenaded by the cheers of their friends.

And they all lived happily ever after.

[DocBeard]

"Submitted for your approval, one genuine possibility." Tomas Eisenwald cuts a dashing figure in a black and white suit, heavily tailored in a fashion popular in the United States in the 1950s. "A pleasant end for all involved...or is it? Did good triumph here tonight? Or did the smiles and laughs simply serve as a mask for tears and screams? For you will note, the conflict, the how, was not addressed this evening, leaving an effect without a cause."

Behind Tomas, images of a bloody ceremony, a struggling, screaming Harris being chained to a softly smiling Menetnashte, covered head to toe in the blood of sacrificial victims, while the kindly priest's diabolical form swells, old Bel himself looking on the proceedings with grandfatherly pride. And just as quickly-it's gone, back to the pastoral sunset.

"The problem with happy endings is that they rarely end anything at all. Especially in..." A close up, on Tomas's defiant, haunted gaze. "...the Twilight Zone."