Katy hated desk work.

The sound of an office buzzed around Katy as she sat in her own little room in the Wing City Police Station, the Police Commander's office. It wasn't as big, or as 'imposing' as that of the chief, but that was fine. It indicated she wasn't expected to spend that much time in it. The ringing of telephones, bustle of wandering desk workers and low hum of conversation were an ever-present factor, and some days it just gave Katy a headache on days like this.

Days like this, when the few calls were relatively low calibre, and Katy's own unit weren't needed out there, where everything could be handled by regular every day officers. And those days were suck.

"Sodding paperwork..." Katy muttered, scribbling away at a ridiculous arrest form. Bureaucrats. The bane of an honest police officer. Every action had to be written, reported, rewritten, edited, confirmed and sent to a committee before she could do anything significant. Or at least it seemed that complicated sometimes. It probably wasn't literally that bad.

"...was that a SOD joke, Katy? Really? Really?"

Katy had forgotten the SOD agent in the room; she was examining files that Katy kept locked safely away in her own room. She had learnt from the past that there were some things she couldn't trust the whole force with, and so the most sensitive data was kept here. Sonya was trusted though -- a high ranking agent in the Special Operations Department. The reason for her complaint was obvious; the name. Whoever had thought of that was either incredibly dimwitted, or incredibly cruel. Bad 'sod off' jokes were prevalent when SOD agents were around.

"No, Sonya. Just complaining about paperwork. If I w-" Katy cut off as a voice cut through her speech. One of the desk-jockeys, as Katy called them from the other room.

"Phonecall for you, Commander!"

A life of sharing, caring; a love of endless giving together. Marie Tedrick and Legion Gerasene request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their --

Liesha tossed the invitation away, expression sour. It was a pretty thing, snow white with delicate pink flowers and letters drawn out in the thinnest and most exquisite black font -- but it wasn't very aerodynamic.

She watched as the folded card crash-landed on a pile of hastily sorted manila folders, bounced off and plunged to the floor. The witch did not bend to pick it up.

"Yes, I'll hold."

While she waited, Liesha curled her finger around the telephone cord, giving a pull here or there, trying to work out its kinks. After a few comical seconds of struggling, she jammed the 'speaker' button in defeat, returning the receiver tenderly to its cradle. She leaned back in her chair to massage her temples.

The Director's chair was too large for her, and she hated the metaphorical implications therein. Hell, the entire office was too big. It felt padded and unreal, much more suited to the 'perfect sociopath' who had once perched there. She had thought lining the far wall with pictures of her brothers' families with brighten things, but it still felt bare.

Just like former Director Miles Frost had liked it.

It had been about five months since Liesha moved all her stuff upstairs. There was a long drop, a long way down from the top floor.

Katy sighed. What was it now? Probably a complaint. It seemed like that was the theme of the day - just exactly what Katy didn't want creeping up from around the corner and kicking her in the teeth. Some egocentric businessman complaining about seized merchandise, an offended shopkeeper whining about damaged premises... everything was so petty.

"Put it through. Let's see what's the matter..."

Sonya turned back to her files, muttering quietly about something. Katy didn't even know what the agent was up to, but she trusted her, and so let her do it. Whatever it was. In actual fact the SOD agent was looking into a particularly private case, one that she had no intention of sharing with the rest of the department, so perhaps she was abusing that trust. The case wasn't damaging to the department though, and not sharing it was saving lives, so perhaps not.

The phone clicked through, then and Katy leant back in her office chair - a basic thing, damaged from over-leaning, because Katy leant a lot when she was bored and needed to move - and rested her head on a filing cabinet.

"Hello, this is Commander Katy Lockhart speaking, how can I help you?"

"This is Director Liesha Kennicot. Are you alone?"

The witch spoke curtly, finger hovering over the disconnect button should this not be the case. Her own line out of the office was deemed 'untraceable' but that wouldn't matter much if there was someone sitting there at the other end.

There was quiet on Katy's side, and quiet on her own. To cover the gaping silence, Liesha nudge the fallen invitation with her foot. Damn, she hated the silence -- not just right here, now, but in her entire office. By the first week she had wanted a clock, a fan, anything to cut through the throbbing null.

Down in the bullpen -- both in Los Angeles as well in New York -- there was always the sound of cabinets being opened, calls being made, agents talking back and forth with each other. In all honesty, Liesha preferred being in the war room or out supervising than here, holed up in her little (massive) office.

She let her gaze wander up and over some more framed pictures on the far wall, realizing she had a meeting to continue.

"More importantly .. is there someone there that you know I can trust?

Katy looked to Sonya briefly, receiving a raised eyebrow from the agent in return. "I'm not alone, but I'm in the presence of only those I trust. They're doing something rather important, so I hope you trust my judgement enough for them to remain." the commander responded.

Katy gave Sonya a look that said 'I assume that you are doing something important', or perhaps 'You'd better be doing something important', before continuing.

"...but they can't hear the phonecall, anyway, I'm not on speaker." she finished. Her own phone-cord remained stoically untangled; whenever it did so, on days like this Katy had more than enough free time to spend unravelling it. "What is it you want to talk about, Miss Kennicot?" Whatever it was, it sounded important. After all, Liesha was the director of the SCD nowadays, and most business she dealt with personally tended to register high on the radar.

Katy leant forwards, over the desk, to place her elbow down on it. This was a listening posture, screaming 'intent listening is taking place, do not disturb' to others around her.

Liesha hesitated. In her professional opinion, the WCPD was a bit lax in who they considered to be trustworthy. Her ego and perspective were still a bit bruised after the beating they had taken during the Pyre case -- though Liesha knew Katy to be a good woman. Not to mention the fact that right now, the SCD wasn't looking so hot when it came to 'employees with the most integrity'.

"Dusk." The SCD Director scooted herself closer to the desk, having no patience for more preamble. "I'm sure you remember him. He's got every three and four letter government agency after him -- including yours, and mine. He got away from us last time, but get ready for round two." She began to flip through Dusk's extensive file. "We've got confirmation of where he's going to be."

The Savage's personal history was thin, but the long list of crimes to his name more than made up for it. He seemed to know wherever the camera was, when it snapped a frame of him -- either that, or he always wore a smug look on those dark, rugged features.

"Here's the catch, though. He knows we know. And he doesn't care. I don't know if this is going to be a final stand or what, but a lot of shit is going down this Friday, in New York state."

A 'lot of shit'. Yeah, that was the professional term. Ten years of bad guys, ten years of ups and downs, ins and outs. All hopefully wrapped up and woven neatly into a 4:00 service.

"Dusk means to crash a wedding, crash it hard. I hope you've got a dress or something you can hide a gun under .. "

Katy frowned, sitting upright. Dusk. That bastard. He was worse than Jeanson.

And that was saying something.

"Dusk? Holy... and you have a tip on where he's going to be? Well that's certainly a piece of good news."

In one way. In another it meant that there might be a lot of condolences to be sent home in a month's time...

"Wait... a dress?"

"Yes. Four 'clock at Le Vico castle, off the Gold Coast in the Hamptons. Beautiful home. Fletcher Godeaux -- who will be watched like a hawk by Vogler's council and members of the House -- will be married to the lovely Gina Tedrick -- who has vigorously screwed up investigations for the both of us, I'm sure."

Liesha glanced down at the invitation. She couldn't quite make out the address. "I don't need to tell you, Commander, that there are going to be a lot of people dropping by this wedding with more on their minds than just well-wishes. Gina's made heaps of enemies. Powerful enemies. And Fletcher? Well .. "

She tapped her chin. "Let's just say the 'security' at this wedding is gonna be a bit divided."

"Dusk gave me some problems in my Major Cases days." That was an understatement, but Liesha continued in an even voice. "Let's just say I know from personal experience how .. attached the Savage can get to a woman. He's coming to the wedding, no doubt in anyone's mind. He intends to make Gina his own."

With the House and the Chromatic Order present, it all just seemed too perfect.

"If it's a trap or something else .. well .. to be frank? I'd like your people to be there. We need more .. stable assets."

"If I may be frank, Liesha, that sounds like a shitstorm of the likes that very few have seen before." Katy said, whistling. "Good grief. I wouldn't put it pass Tedrick to have planned this entire wedding simply as a trap for Dusk. It seems something that she would do; I almost feel sorry for Fletcher, really."

The commander paused for a moment, considering the vampire in question. "Almost."

"I seem to recall that Fletcher has significant importance to these people - I haven't a clue what, but I can safely assume that if Dusk tries to take him down, we'll have a bunch of very angry wedding guests on our hands, yes?" Katy continued, leaning back and shaking her head. "We'll need to keep the bastard safe, and try to stop the volatile attendees from bringing the whole place down, at the same time apprehending Dusk and any others who turn up who are on the wrong side of a criminal record."

The commander raised her eyes to Sonya at Liesha's last words, clicking her tongue thoughtfully. "As for who I'm sending, I think I might have just the right team in mind..."

Sonya glanced up at this, and frowned. "Wait, what? What are you..?"

Katy cut the woman off with a raised hand, and motioned for her to wait.

"Dusk's motive, as usual, is a mystery. All we know is that he's going to be there. I don't even know what kind of firepower he may be bringing along with him." Liesha flipped through the photos. Some were shadowy, but some were bright and clear, as though the Savage were deliberately posing. "And I don't think he'll try to tangle with the entire House, or Chromatic Order. If he wanted to piss them off, kick that sort of wasp's nest, he would have done it sooner, and sneakier. You get it?"

Liesha ran her fingers through her hair, which was down, sleep, and braidless for the first time in weeks -- she had a press conference later in the hour. The witch licked her lips, and stared up at the ceiling.

"But you're right. Gina is caught up with some rather heavy-hitting friends, and Fletcher may be one himself. I'll explain it later." At her own risk and discretion, Liesha avoided mentioning the Torment's involvement. Did they really need to add Nicolas Godeaux to the list? "I can't ensure there won't be casualties on either side. We both know the way that Dusk likes to do things."

"You'll be working with my agents. Luckily -- or intentionally -- my entire Major Cases team was invited. They're about as elite as you can get on our side. Who will you be sending to join our little gathering?" Liesha reached out and flicked the (still twisted) phone cord. "I heard something about a Special Operations task force being formed .. this would be quite a christening mission for them, huh? At least, on the inter-dimensional scale."

"I understand. He'll be looking for a specific course of action, that we probably won't expect. I'll send my best, a team of six or seven agents overall - and yes, the Special Operations Department was what I had in mind. I'll have the team leaders communicate with you personally closer to the date, to sort out the game plan." Katy waved a hand towards Sonya, mouthing 'get them', to her, and the agent nodded, abandoning her files and leaving the room to gather her two second in command.

"The SOD are the best we have, as far as covert and tactical operations go, and they should be able to come up with cover stories explaining their presence at the wedding." the commander continued. "Casualties are unfortunately indeed likely. But my agents know what they signed up for. They're our toughest, our most gifted; all of them are more than just the police in suits, with better guns. But I could sing the praises of my own people for god knows how long, and it means nothing till they're out there. You have our support, Miss Kennicot, we want Dusk brought down as badly as you."

Katy turned on her chair, and reached a hand out to one of the cupboards, beginning to rifle through it for the WCPD's file on Dusk.

"If Tedrick's planned this as meticulously as I think she has... well, I can't promise that anything I do will be a surprise to her, at least. She knows the department well enough to know we want Dusk, and if Gina doesn't know something of our relations in the past, then I'd be surprised myself.."

The higher you got up the figurative 'food chain' in this sort of job, the more you realized that everyone has history with everyone.

"I'll send over a list of guests, which should be helpful. Look at it closely, and it's like the lovely bride gathered a handful of pressure points to cripple any challenger." Liesha closed her eyes. "Things are basically set to explode, and I'm not sure how much everyone knows -- or thinks we know. As for timeline, I understand the enormity of this undertaking, and how little time we have to work with here." The witch massaged her temples. "We're going .. shopping soon. To look for new bridesmaids dresses. I had to decline the position of Maid of Honor, seeing as my plate is a bit full keeping everyone alive this Friday afternoon .. "

This wasn't entirely relevant to the cast at hand. Liesha curled her fingers in her own hair, and resisted the urge to give a healthy yank.

"In return, if you could get me a dossier on your team and their abilities, I can start working out exactly how we're going to tackle this." Liesha continued. "Depending on how busy I get in the next few days, you may hear from me personally, or you may hear from one of my lead agents. Do not take calls from anyone besides myself, or an Agent Raley-Sinclair, or an Agent Lieffers."

What more was there to say? Chat about the weather? Maybe about the old days, when Liesha had brutally interrogated the wrong man? No, there wasn't anything else.

"Get me that list soon, Commander."

And she disconnected the call.

Katy put the receiver down with a click, leaning back once again and crossing her fingers together. The commander stared at the doorway, at the various papers stuck to the wall through blu-tack or pins. This was going to be one hell of a weekend...

Abruptly, the door swung inwards, and Sonya returned with two others; the other top SOD agents. Katy nodded as they entered, but remained silent. She was pondering. Just how much was Liesha leaving out, she wondered? How much had she forgotten, or perhaps worse, deliberately omitted? Their departments hadn't had the smoothest sailing relations in the past, but in the end the job usually got done...

"Well, commander? I take it you've got a job for us?"

Katy looked up at Sonya's words, her eyes meeting the blonde woman's own. "Yes. Yes, I do..."

The commander chucked a file to the agent, who caught it quickly. "I take it that you're familiar with the man known as Dusk..."

"No-- no, you're not getting me here. My point isn't that the dress is wrong, it's that-"

"Nonsense! I understand ye perfectly, lass, now if ye'll just stop makin' such a fuss, we'll get ye sorted out with somethin' that'll make ye look just as fabulous as anyone else!"

Lyra's complaining was, once again, cut off by Harriet's cheerfully authoritative rebuke, before she could even finish it. This was ridiculous; you didn't go shopping for a dead girl! They didn't make sizes that small, unless Paris Hilton was having them tailor made! You couldn't make a bag of bones, with greying flesh and straw-like hair look good! It was a stupid prospect, and this was a stupid shopping trip. The only reason Lyra had come was...

...well, it certainly wasn't because Harriet was a scary, scary woman. Nope. Nothing like that at all. What made you think that? Oh, you didn't? Never mind then...

The bustling noise of Wing City Mall echoed around them as they stood in the shop, metaphorically up to their armpits in beautiful gowns, dresses and accessories - everything to make a normal woman look 'fabulous'. There was a small child crying a few rows of hanging clothes over that Lyra was considering kicking, just to distract herself from...

"Here's a nice one, I think that black suits ye - I like the patterning on this one, don't ye?" Harriet had found yet another supposedly beautiful dress to offer forwards. It wasn't that Lyra didn't like the dresses, it was that she knew that they really made no difference. An eyeless, skeletal, rotting zombie wasn't going to look nice whether she was in a beautiful gown, or practical slaying gear. And practical slaying gear was what Lyra was comfortable with. The dead girl surveyed the latest offering (apparently able to see it, despite her state of eyelessness), to at least give the impression of caring. It was black, as Harriet had said, with a number of silver flowers patterned onto its breast.

"Look, Harriet... none of these dresses are going to do it, because you see; I'm dead, my arms are bones, I'm not pretty-up-able." the slayer insisted, scowling.

"Ahh, I get what ye mean now, dear..."

"So you're going to stop trying now..?"

"Not in the slightest! I just know to alter me searchin' accordingly."

"No, you don't... I mean... you're not... aaaahhhhg. Whatever! Go, do it! See if I care! I'll just take the next one, if you're going to bully me into wearing a stupid dress anyway. And no, I am not stropping! I may be giving the impression if it, but I am not stropping!" Lyra exclaimed, shaking her head. This was a losing battle, it only made sense to give in now rather than four hours later. At least this way maybe she could get some drinking in before the day was done...

---

...Harriet was not discouraged, the plump woman bustling off into the distance to root around further. She'd already picked out what she wanted, a wonderful crimson red piece that perfectly complimented her golden hair, and her ample curves. Because that was how you referred to it - ample curvature. You never called a woman 'plump' to her face. That was like giving the wrong answer to the 'does my bum look big in this' bombshell. Lyra was such trouble! The girl was set on the fact that she hated wearing dresses, and was using being dead and not entirely pleasant to look at as an excuse. Well, Harriet had seen undead that were far more hideous than Lyra, and she was determined that before the day was done Lyra would be suitably beautified. Harriet wasn't into girly shopping trips as a rule, but sometimes these things had to be done -- weddings were one of those times.

And then, Harriet saw it. It was a magnificent dress, as all of them had been - pure black silk, with a wide line of glitter leading up the side around to form a swirl on the right side of the chest, like a shooting star, and with several other sparks dotted around the left. The difference between this and the others was the sleeves. Wide, billowing silks that would perfectly conceal Lyra's fleshless lower arms, while looking perfectly elegant all at the same time! It looked something like an evil queen might wear to a ball, but that was little matter - Lyra was undead, anyway. The evil look tended to suit dead people.

Turning around on heel, the dress in hand, Harriet returned to find her companion staring rather intently at a small child several rows over. "Ahem." Harriet coughed...

---

...Lyra looked up with a start. "Oh, no - I wasn't..." she fumbled, before deciding that speech was only going to get her in worse trouble, and so she simply made an excellent job of looking everywhere else. "So, um... what have you got now, dare I ask?"

Harriet proffered the dress forwards; and truth be told, it was nice. It did seem to be of that style that screamed 'I kill people in my spare time, but you don't hear about it because you're busy drinking wine at my snazzy estate in the best part of town'. The first part was Lyra's style, the second part... well, a girl could dream, right? She idly wondered what a jacuzzi would feel like to a dead person. Lyra wasn't about to get excited about it, of course - a dress was a dress, and she much preferred her usual gear... but Harriet looked ready to clobber her if she rejected this one, and so Lyra forced a smile. "It's, ah.. delightful? Let's go with that, yes? Yes, good. Can I go home now?"

Harriet chuckled, folding her arms. "Nonsense lass, we have your hair to do yet!"

"...oh good grief..."

"Vhat? I zhought it looked perfectly fine, myself. Ah.. no?"

Kastner stood admiring himself in a mirror - well, admiring was a strong word; surveying, or observing was perhaps more appropriate, conveying the rather... passive role he had in this affair - and examining the garment which he had on. It was a dress robe, royal purple and covered with golden marking, lace and embroidery... all the over-the-top nonsense that a practical robe avoided. Apparently, however, it was not extravagant enough for someone...

"No! It's awful! Can't you see it, the red there clashes with that purple! It's ugly! Take it off!" Elaina instructed, standing arms folded behind the exiled mage, glaring at him in the mirror over his shoulder. Turning with an exasperated sigh, she walked to a nearby chair and picked up on of the many bundles strewn across its back, gathering all the folds of the fabric up before marching over to Kastner once again and shoving them into his arms. "Here, try this one on." she ordered, "Go on, back in you go, mush mush mush! We don't have all day here!"

"Uh, yes dear. I ah, I shan't be long..." Kastner murmured, bustling away into the changing rooms once again. "Goodness, zhis is all such a stressful affair. Here I zhought zhis would be a quick, in-and-out trip, but nein! Vhat is quite wrong vhiz ze ozher robes, I have no clue!" he muttered, pulling the curtain to behind him and setting about undoing the many clasps and clips that held the complex robe together.

As Elaina paced back and forth outside, arms folded and eyes directed at the ceiling, a small crowd of shop attendants observed her from just out of sight warily. They had gathered slowly over time, to observe what appeared to be a rather volatile situation. The attendant that had tried to approach and offer aid was nursing bruised pride after this obviously very important mage's - if the robes he was considering were anything to go by - partner had de-manned him and belittled any knowledge of fashion he might have thought he possessed, sending him on his way in short order with a string of criticisms a mile long.

Kastner was not, in fact, a lord amongst mages; quite the opposite. But it was Elaina's intent to rub it in the face of all the snobs at the wedding that the man they had exiled by merit of the types of magic that he practised (whilst allowing the likes of Godeaux to remain accepted, after the tales of torture that had carried even as far as the Academia Everia) was in fact far more important than any of them in the world of magic. He had made far more advances in his lifetime than they could have even hoped for, and if Elaina had her way he would be garbed to suit it. The politics behind robes were rather intricate, she found, and observing circles of mages it was clear that one only wore a robe that befitted your station - it was incredibly insulting to wear a robe more extravagant and luxurious than your superior, and a matter of great amusement if a more powerful and influential mage wore a robe that was below their status. Elaina had every intent of dragging Kastner to that wedding wearing a robe suitable only for a Lord of mages, just to deliver a kick to those slimey bastards' shins.

As Kastner emerged from the curtain, Elaina turned to survey the latest choice, the attendants watched on in anticipation, and Kastner let out a sigh.

And so the cycle began again...

"So what are weddings like for -- for your people?" Though it was nearly ten years ago, Liesha could still recall the voice just perfectly -- low, quavering, not quite willing to believe. "Dances? What are the vows like? The minister? Does the bride have magic woven into the dress, or something? Do your people even get married, or .. "

"We have normal weddings. We use normal bridal shops." Special Agent Kennicot was fresh from the Academy way back then -- smiling patiently across a desk at her first Know-Nothing witness. "We say normal vows. We're really just normal people. Like you."

"Except .. magic?

"Except magic."

Liesha opened her eyes, pushed past the memories, and was brought back to Kleinfield's Bridal on the corner of W Clark and Houston.

A flurry of attendants had Gina Tedrick swarmed up on her pedestal. The slender slayer had her arms stretched to the side, an expression of intense concentration multiplied by the tri-fold mirror. Aubrey, the seamstress, took in the bust while Chloe, Jessica and Margot -- (the former their lead sales consultant, the latter two being trainees) -- commented on the fabric, the folds, and how best to accent Gina's heart-shaped face. They were speaking in very fast, loose, disconnected sentences. There were a lot of tape measures, and shaking of heads.

Liesha had been standing, arms crossed against the far wall with her attention wandering. She caught herself wishing there was more color in the room. Everything was white, fluffy, and exceedingly expensive. Needless to say, Liesha wasn't looking very cheerful at the moment, and those poor sales girls kept glancing over at the SCD Director -- not sure if the blonde woman was a disgruntled mother, an aunt, or a sister.

But the mother was there. Marie Tedrick hovered at the heels of the Klienfield staff, a bit sour and cranky after being told for the eight time to put out her cigarette -- but otherwise sweet and nonthreatening. Her eyes teared up either from joy, or from the price tag poking out from the bottom furls of Gina's current dress. Liesha had been watching closely. Marie didn't look any more psychotic than, say, her own mother.

'If I look like I swallowed a lemon before coming here .. ' Liesha felt like clarifying after one-too-many curious glances -- though she said none of it aloud -- 'It's because when I said I had a war to organize, I did not mean the war of cycling through every size zero your warehouses have to offer.'

'Also .. ' She would mentally continue. ' .. it is not because of jealousy. I could be married now, if I wanted to be.'

"So if you're normal .. except for the magic .. then why aren't you married?"

" .. let's just review your statement for arraignment, okay?

As the nostalgia swirled again, Liesha gave a snort.

The snort was a bit louder than what she had planned it. Instead of just the new girls, Liesha found herself attracting five complete sets of eyes -- one of them a glittering, narrowed shade of violet.

Alright, make that eight. Jadeling, Jacey, and Cloasse weren't too far away, safely staying out of any strike zone while Gina glided back and forth. The three girls knew each other by name, by face, and watched Liesha expectantly.

"What?" The witch scowled. She seemed to slouch further into the wall. "Carry on. Or something."

"You know .. " Jadeling leaned in to the other two girls, grinning. "Liesha's so pretty. I wonder why she's not married .. ?"

Scowling seemed to be on the agenda today, for this had to be the fifth time that Cloasse had been forced to look up from her book to direct a look that could freeze the warmest people. Unsurprisingly, the Rune Scrit had little taste for the frills and thrills of shopping, finding it far too frivolous and time-consuming.

"Probably because she has far more important things on her mind," the girl replied sourly. "Like working. Or existing in a way that benefits the rest of the world. Miss Kennicot isn't interested in this... whatever this is," Clo said, flapping a hand at the group of women around Gina.

So Cloasse wasn't in the best of moods. There were several possible reasons. One was glaringly obvious: she still loved Fletcher. Why the hell did she want to be involved in his wedding? Because Gina, despite being a sweetheart, was terrifying for the poor girl. She still had the marks on her wrists from that mishap with the slayer twine. Of course, another reason could be that she just did not like hanging out with Jacey. The Galletti daughter had never liked the other 'woman', and that wasn't about to stop just so that Gina's wedding could take place.

Not unless Gina asked, anyway.

Finally, it could be the simple fact that Cloasse had wanted to sit at home to read, carry out her research (which had to be done, as she kept reminding anyone who would listen) and mope over the various chances she had had with Fletcher that never came to anything.

She wondered if Gina would let her take Thermometer to the wedding. Cloasse had never been to a wedding, so she wasn't exactly sure what was and was not allowed. The Scrit had watched TV now and then (usually when forced to by Thermometer, who, despite being 'just a paper cat', was incredibly into Emmerdale's plotline), so she did know that sometimes people had dogs as the ring bearer, but... would Thermometer be allowed?

Cloasse sighed, returning to her book. It was one of Vogler's various texts, a book she treasured above most for a very silly reason; it'd been the first book she'd ever bought after meeting Fletcher. With one last sour look at Jacey and Jadeling - too many 'J's; it was something that they could bond over, and Cloasse had never been good at making friends - Cloasse ('Asse', as Fletcher liked to call her), turned the page.

She rather wished that she could turn the page on this depressing excuse for a story and skip to the end.

Jacey watched the whole scene with an air of indifference. The attendants hurried around the room, showing ridiculously priced garments to the future Mrs. Godeaux. Her lip curled up with disdain. Gina Godeaux? she thought. It sounded stupid. Now, Jacey Gode-

She felt a pang of guilt shoot from her stomach into her feet as she watched the bride’s face. Gina was practically glowing with pride at the aspect of her wedding. How could someone think like that when a lovely girl (albeit a rather crazy one) invited a practical stranger to be in her wedding party? It was an honour.

Jacey turned to look at Jadeling, a small smile making its way onto her face. “I haven’t the slightest idea.” Cloasse had replied with something depressing and mood-ruining (as usual). She rolled her eyes. “Just because you haven’t thought about marriage, it doesn’t mean everyone else hasn’t.”

It was true, Jacey had dreamed about that big white wedding all her life. What little girl hadn’t? Picking out the cake, flowers, food, and dress. The whole idea of a special day between you and the one man you loved more than anything in the world was just beautiful.

Tired of the depressing atmosphere that circled around Cloasse, Jacey walked forward and leaned on the wall next to Liesha. She didn’t speak; she simply enjoyed the quiet companionship that Liesha offered. A quiet sigh escaped her tiny body as she watched Gina.

Even though she had made a promise to herself to keep her daydreams in check, Jacey couldn’t help but wish the bride standing up on that platform was her.

While Jacey and Cloasse appeared to be in some high foul temper, Jadeling couldn't stop grinning. She was done with school (thank Aramei!) and would (hopefully) be off to the SCD Academy in the fall -- once she passed the entrance exam, and once she explained to her family that she would not be pursuing her studies in applied Runic cryptography.

None of that mattered now. She was in New York City on a fine summer's day -- only a few afternoons from what was going to be the most exciting wedding on the face of the planet!

The memories of the Hollow Men, Rita, Malachi, and Saen's murder were still fresh in her mind, but for the most part things had settled down, right? Zane was no longer under Rita's control, and wasn't too bad once you got to talking. Ignore the fact that there was still no information on who had controlled the Hollow Men, and things were just hunky-dory! Jadeling reached down subconsciously, her pack of throwing cards always at her side. Alright, since Aramei had collapsed, she was a little jumpy ..

.. but it was nothing she couldn't handle. She was, after all, going to be an SCD Agent someday. Hopefully.

As Jacey had wandered off by Liesha, now, this left just both the scrit girls. Jade cast a curious eye at the spine of Cloasse's book.

"Vogler's work, huh?" Jadeling grinned, and wrinkled her nose. "God, that stuff is boring, right? I endured four years of it, you know. All his talk on single-base figures and differing sets droves me abso-freakin-lutely insane. The worst part is I won't even be using any of that theory stuff, since I'm going to the SCD Academy anyways. Hopefully."

She spoke flippantly, but not in an intentionally cutting way -- more like, 'I'm a fairly average American teenager who hates a lot of studying. Never midn the fact that the relations of High Wizardry are hinging on my being successfully sworn in as the first classroom-taught scrit'. She was pretty, and out going -- turning eighteen on the day of this charmed, chaotic wedding -- and besides the fact that her friends had been wanted dead for half a year, the world was her oyster!

The cluster of women in their pointy, pointy heels suddenly withdrew. Gina stood fettered and fixed up with her hair down, eyes bright. The dress hung elegantly, short enough for a June wedding, the cut of the neck matching her chin. The train billowed just slightly, and now that the attendees were done fussing it looked like a cloud behind a radiant, violet-eyed beam of sunlight.

"Well?" Gina glowed. "What do you think?"

Amid the cries of 'beautiful!' and 'perfect!' there came one very flat, very unamused -- 'Terrible."

Liesha's reply was as brusque as she was. The witch hardly looked up, more intent in her phone and its recent text. "You think you'll be able to fight anyone in that?"

Gina gazed steadily at the witch, who gazed right back, eyebrows raised. Those aware of Gina's more .. ambitious abilities knew that in the blink of an eye, she could have been off the pedestal, and a stiletto heel could have been growing out of Liesha's chest.

But the slender slayer only clicked her tongue, and turned -- still beaming -- back to the group of very confused Klienfield's employees.

"She's right. Absolutely right. I need something a bit shorter, I think, either that or can you alter the train so that it rips right off? This isn't .. no. This probably isn't fire proofed .. " Gina gathered the folds of the dress, swished them around.

"We .. " Aubrey, the seamstress, blinked. " .. we'll see what we can do, Miss Tedrick?"

"Excellent!" Gina was nothing but smiles and happiness. She spun a dangerous pirouette on the pedestal, and Mrs. Tedrick almost lunged to catch her daughter as she danced off and onto the floor. "Now .. let's talk bridesmaid dresses .. "

Tables wiped down, floors swept, dishes stacked and neatly put away. Just a part of the usual routine. Dom stood behind his counter, hands on his hips with only a handful of minutes remaining before it was 'officially' closing time.

He had learned his lesson the last time he had tried to shoo the book girl away. She had her nose in those pages, and probably wouldn't look up until he started his final sweep, smacking the broom against things unnecessarily, to indicate that he wanted her out then.

It wasn't like she was there every night or Dom would have made a bigger deal out of it. She came and she went, looking more and more annoyed each trip. If he didn't want her to stop hanging around, he might go up and ask her what it was that made her look so sour.

As Dom threw his final rag into the sink, there was a rattling at the door. Someone wanted in -- ? Well, they'd just have to find their alcohol another place, he wasn't --

To Dom's surprise, the door clicked open, and in stepped none other than Fletcher Godeaux.

"We're closed." The gnarled bartender snapped, in way of greeting.

"Cheers." Fletcher was dressed for summer in khaki shorts and a DC shirt, circa 2004. He made his way to the counter, hair still mussed as ever, teeth still fangless, like always. "I'm turning in my key, old man. Glad to see you're still so much of a people person."

"A key, huh?" Dom swiped the thing from Fletcher's grasp. The vampire had no issue giving it up. "Thought you'd be begging me to come to your wedding, you know. In person, like."

"Now why would I wish that on another person?" Fletcher gave a laugh, and it was an odd laugh. A hollow one. "Or whatever the hell you are." He nodded at the beer cooler. "I trust that I get former-employee benefits? An odd drink, now and then?"

"Not likely."

"Aw." Fletcher pouted. He pulled himself up onto the faux-leather seat, and looked around, and that was when he turned around and saw Cloasse.

The Rune Scrit stubbornly turned a page when she heard Dom begin to clean up. She was going to finish this book, and that included fifty more pages of complex text that needed to be deciphered perfectly before she could move on to the next block of symbols. Still, Cloasse didn't feel at all sorry for Dom. He was a nice enough bartender, but even she got irritated with the ways that he tried to get across the message that he wanted her out already.

The only reason that she even turned up here was because Fletcher was... sometimes there too. He didn't exactly talk to her all that much, but Cloasse liked to know he was still okay. Now, however, he appeared to be turning in his key if her nosy glances at the pair of bartenders was anything to go by.

It would be strange, not to have Fletcher standing behind the counter with a beer and a stupid grin after he had made some comment on how great he was. Weirder still would be the definite knowledge that he wasn't going to be much of a friend any more. What decent man would hang around with the stupid twenty year old who loved him, anyway?

As if to be purposefully contrary to Fletcher's casual beachwear, Cloasse still wore the same strict 'uniform' she'd imposed upon herself. A pair of black trousers, a plain blue shirt and a further more lifeless hair style: a simple bun that was so strict and severe it may have impeded her ability to frown.

She wasn't going to talk to him, she decided. Not unless he did so first. Dom was right. She had been becoming steadily more upset and tense as the days dragged on and on.

She didn't want Fletcher to get married. Not to Gina. Not to someone she was still too afraid to visit...

"How about just one beer."

"No."

"Come on, man, I'm getting married!"

"Only if you tell Liesha to stop sending people after me." Dom scowled. "If I've told her once, I've told her a thousand times. I'm retired, by Aramei. I can't be bothered with whatever it is her lot are getting themselves into these days."

"Deal. Sooo .. beer now?"

"Lock up. Finish sweeping." The gnarled bartender slipped Fletcher's key in his pocket. He bent, cracked open the cooler and passed the vampire his alcohol. "Don't touch the dishes, I've stacked them the way I want them, and you always mess them up."

Fletcher took the bottle gratefully, kissing its glass face before twisting the thing open in one go. "We both know the plastic plates go first."

"They don't fit in the washer that way."

"Yeah, but you still do them first; they take the most hot water to get clean."

Dom was halfway to the bottom of the stairs by now. He shook his head, and turned to face the fangless vampire. "Fletcher .. you're sure something' else, you know that?"

"That's what they say." The vampire made an imaginary toast before taking a sip of his beer.

"But you're stupid." Dom grinned ruefully. "Enjoy married life."

Fletcher did not audibly reply to that one. He just tiled his head back while the door snapped shut behind the old bartender. Once the vampire finished his swig, sagging against the counter, he wiped his mouth, set the empty bottle down on the wood with a thud and caught sight of Cloasse.

"So." The porch-lights, and the lights directly above the counter were the only ones on. The fireplace had long been turned off, leaving the bar bathed in patches of shadow. Fletcher's teeth were no less bright, however, as he gave an easy smile. "Looks like this'll be my last time closing up shop."

He didn't appear to want to get around to it very fast, hopping up cross-legged onto the recently wiped-down counter. Fletcher patted the space next to him. "C'mere. I bet you got horror stories to tell me about your shopping adventure in Manhattan .. "

Just listening to him argue with the old bartender was painful... and all for one stupid bottle of beer. Cloasse looked down at her open book with a sigh. She was never going to finish this now that they had started talking and -

"Looks like this'll be my last time closing up shop."

He was going to talk to her. She didn't think she could handle it, God, no...

"I guess so."

The reply was hardly enthusiastic or excited, but it was a reply nonetheless as the Scrit went about shoving her book (now bookmarked and closed) into her bag. It was quite clear that Cloasse had decided she was leaving.

"Is the front door still open?" she asked; the girl hadn't been paying attention to which door was locked and which wasn't. "I have to go home and... feed my cat."

The only Galletti child had yet to smile at the object of her affections. Sure, there had been the odd quirk of her lips so far, but it seemed more like a pained grimace than a bright grin.

"The shopping was shopping." Cloasse had walked over to Fletcher now, bag slung over her shoulder. "It was just a distraction. Ask Gina abut it, or one of the other girls that were there. You're more likely to get more interesting talk out of them."

With a firm nod, she shifted awkwardly on her feet, as if waiting to see if Fletcher was actually going to respond to that or whether she could leave. Cloasse finished her speech rather eloquently.

"Um..."

"Good lord, woman! Will you get over here?" Fletcher windmilled his arms, and he was suddenly animated like the old days. "I remember ole Thermonuclear. He's made of paper -- he'll be fine."

The vampire reached behind him comically, bending way out of his center of gravity to find another beer. His legs angled up like the arms of a crane, and if it weren't for his inhuman balance, he might well have just toppled over and off the counter with a heart-stopping but hilarious crash.

With a sigh of relief, Fletcher found his second beer. He was a bit light-headed now, after his acrobatics, but just that first sip soothed him again.

"Yeah, I could ask Gina about it, but then she'd tell me about the dresses. I could ask Jacey, but she'd just tell me how boring it was. I could ask Jadeling, but she'd just tell me about how she's going to the SCD Academy, hopefully." Fletcher rattled off his list, like things he needed to pick up from the store. "But I'm asking you how it was because you know what I want to know about how it went. None of that other shit." Fletcher wave his hand. "Not to mention the fact that I haven't seen you in ages."

Another drink. Fletcher licked his lips. "Ahh .. that's good stuff." He lowered his bottle, and smirked. "Look at you, bag on your shoulder all ready to go charging out that door. What, do you want me to chase you down?" He swung his legs out over the bar almost like a child. "You know you've been missing this face. Who can resist this face?"

He pointed to himself, slate-gray eyes bright and toothy (fangless, mind) smile firmly in place.

"Awww .. really? You'd pick a paper car over flesh and blood me?"

"Thermometer."

The correction was absent-minded. Cloasse didn't want to be here, she wanted to go home and sit on the couch with a box of Ritz crackers, Thermometer on her knee whilst they watched Emmerdale together and the cat tried to explain what was happening to the hapless Rune Scrit.

"Nothing happened. It was just shopping. Gina chose all of the dresses whilst that Jacey girl stood around being less than helpful, Jadeling whined about getting to go to school and Miss Kennicot grumbled and played with one of those cellular mobile phones..."

The reluctant bridesmaid sighed.

"I just read my book the entire time - it was one of Vogler's ones, so I didn't have much trouble tuning everyone else out, but I had to listen to Gina because... she's Gina."

She watched him take yet another sip of beer and dropped her bag onto the floor. The thump indicated that nothing breakable had been in there, but instead a large quantity of heavy books. It was surprising that the scrawny woman had managed to carry her bag wherever she went in the first place.

Who could resist that face..? Who indeed.

"Not me," she muttered, nudging her book bag with a foot. "I'm tired, Fletcher."

That and she felt like she was going to cry, which just was not acceptable. Crying would mean he had won, and God forbid Fletcher ever find out that he unwillingly still held her affections so close to his wedding day...