Creating the "Memorable" [Guests!]

[Ryan D'Alteau]

If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I'd like to do...
...is to save every day 'til eternity passes away just to spend them with you.
If I could make days last forever, if words could make wishes come true...
...I'd save every day like a treasure and then, again, I would spend them with you.
______________________________Jim Croce - "Time In A Bottle"

Ryan and Darron Alcroft
Near the Quai de l'Epi, Saint-Tropez, France
The previous evening...

"'S it really been five years?" Whether it was bathed in sunlight, showing off the Mediterranean backdrop, or shrouded in darkness and lit by nothing but whatever the streets and buildings could muster against it, Saint-Tropez was a beautiful if slightly sedate place. The yachts and other watercraft were moored in the port which dominated the town's section of the coastline, mostly unattended and lifeless with their wealthy owners elsewhere, giving residents and tourists alike an unhindered view of the opulence for which the French riviera had been known for decades.

For Ryan Alcroft, the town was rather more than a symbol of a lifestyle made popular over twenty years before he'd even been born. The Maignys were an elderly couple who owned a large beachfront villa a short distance away from the main body of the town. More often than not, they lived out their respective retirements alone but, as summer rolled around, they hosted the occasional guest or two; usually friends of friends who had been informed of their existence through word of mouth and allowed to stay after polite discussion. However, despite not being biologically related to Zosime and Marguerite, they were Ryan's only ties to the country.

Ties which, as maddening as it sounded to him even now, were going to be strengthened in a little under eighteen hours time. "Since I pr'posed up in Paris? Yeah." He doubted that the memories of silver-tonguing his way into a performance of Un Ballo in Maschera in one of the most prestigious opera houses in the French capital would ever leave his mind. Adele had challenged him to make his proposal of marriage 'creative and memorable' and, like any twenty-year-old would, he'd well and truly stepped up to the plate and, judging by how she'd reacted, knocked the proverbial ball out of the park in the process. "Though, actually..." His mind compared the dates in his head. "It's more like six now."

It had been precisely that fact that had spurred Ryan and Adele to finally take action. Now twenty-seven years old and as far from the naïve teenager he'd once been as Earth was from the sun, they had decided that enough was enough and, after a long-distance call to the south of France which lasted the better part of ninety minutes, they were officially planning their own wedding. The location had been finalised years ago - the beach near the Maigny's villa - but everything else had been a mixture of fantasies and logistical nightmares. Would whoever was officiating speak French or English? How much would Adele's wedding dress cost? Just how the hell would they get all of the guests to Saint-Tropez?

A lot of the challenges they'd faced had, at times, threatened to drive him mad but, at long last, the wedding party had more or less assembled. Even now, with the sun having left to bother the other hemisphere, Ryan knew that Villa Patricia was still going to be abuzz with various forms of activity. Marguerite and Zosime, for example, were no doubt still tackling the colossal amount of catering required to feed all the guests at the reception; a task that, even with the help of Ryan's mother and whoever else they could rope in between them, would take nothing short of a miracle to get done on time.

"And the fact you've stuck together this long's gotta be a good sign, right?" As per tradition - something on which, surprisingly, he had insisted upon more than his wife-to-be - Ryan hadn't seen or spoken to Adele for most of the day since arriving at the villa. While he knew how she often preferred to buck any trend she could find, Ryan had wanted to at least adhere to some tenets of prenuptual convention before the big day. The main one had been the superstitious notion that the bride and groom weren't to see each other until the moment of their wedding; a measure which had "necessitated" some degree of partying on the part of both of them.

For Adele, gathering companions for her night out had been pretty easy. With Las Vegas hotelier-turned-revolutionary figure Dakari Johessman as her maid of honour, Ryan's ex-girlfriend Michelle Flynn as her bridesmaid and Darron's now-fiancée Jessica Bryce tagging along for good measure, she had no shortage of people with whom to enjoy good food, conversation and expensive wine. For Ryan, however, things were a little more... sparse. With his father and future father-in-law both ineligible and pressganged into helping out at the villa by their wives, the only person able to accompany him was his elder brother.

Now at thirty-three and a fully-fledged lawyer, Darron Alcroft was a far cry from the abrasive high-school student Ryan remembered. He'd altered the course of his life rather drastically over the course of half his life and, right now, was sitting pretty in a nice apartment in London with a steady, well-paying job and a woman he, like Ryan, would eventually marry. With his life so good and his little brother now getting married, he wasn't really able to ask for anything more right now. Spotting Ryan's brief nod in response, Darron clasped a hand atop his shoulder. "C'mon, Ryan! Chin up, as Dad'd probably say. You've got our parents, Adele's parents and Adele's fuckin' grandparents taking care of everything back at the villa, 'kay?" For most of the evening, the brothers had been touring downtown Saint-Tropez, stopping off at as many bars as their bodies could take. The pair of them were pretty drunk already but, as clearly evident to passers-by, still very much able to walk and be (mostly) in control of their faculties. "All you've gotta worry about in the next day or so is nursin' your hangover and remembering your wedding vows."

"And hopefully drink enough to forget that you stuck me in this," he added with a grin. As both his best man and elder brother, Darron had been unable to resist the opportunity which had been dumped in his lap. Just as Ryan himself had certain traditions to follow, Darron had set about following his own before making the trip out to the south of France and, when he'd sprung his surprise, the look on Ryan's face had been priceless. He recalled, years ago, how Ryan had hinted that he didn't want to wake up on the morning of his wedding "naked and tied to something" and, in that case, he had respected his wishes.

But if Ryan thought that he was going to escape tonight without any form of mild humiliation, he was sorely mistaken. On the other hand, the big-headed chicken costume made his brother incredibly easy to spot in a crowd and, over time, they'd simply got used to the amused looks that came their way. "Least you're prob'ly warmer than me right now." Depending on how much Ryan was wearing beneath the layer of bright yellow foam and fur, he would have been somewhat insulated from the sea breeze gently caressing the Mediterranean shore.

"Yeah. Y'mind explaining to me again why you're not dressed up?"

Darron cackled as they made their way across the road and onto the next street, "That's easy, Ryan," he explained, not breaking stride as he dodged his way around the other pedestrians, unable to keep the smirk off his face as many of them stopped in their tracks to wonder why there was a drunk seventy-four inch chicken strutting along the streets of Saint-Tropez. "Three reasons. One, I'm six-five. They don't really make any kinda costume in my size. Trust me, I looked. Two, it's your wedding. And three? I'm the best man. Right now, this is my fuckin' job."

Eleven hours (and numerous drinks) later...

Ryan's groggy reaction to the alarm clock in his room going off at a little past nine o'clock the next morning was a languid barrage of expletive-ridden groans. After realising that berating and insulting the small machine wasn't going to shut it up, the next course of action his exhausted mind conjured up was to beat it into submission. However, in his current state, his assault amounted to little more than a bit of near-aimless flailing with one arm with his face still buried in the soft and slightly fuzzy confines of his bed. Eventually, he managed to knock the alarm clock from the bedside table and, in the process, hit the snooze button.

The sound of it hitting the carpeted floor was enough to jolt him awake and, as he slowly rolled himself over, he could feel something stuck to his hands, bumping against the backs of his palms whenever his limbs moved. It might have been his wedding day but, with the ceremony itself not taking place until late in the afternoon - mostly a gesture of mercy in case the bride and groom got utterly hammered the night before - Ryan knew that, while he was still forbidden from seeing Adele, he could at least afford a lie in. In order to help with that particular rule, Marguerite and Zosime had effectively split the villa into two halves, using its layout to determine where the border between Ryanland and Ville de Adele would sit. Only the Maignys and a few other guests were allowed to freely move from one half to the other.

A short distance away, Ryan could see the pair of dark blue cargo pants he'd worn the previous afternoon slumped over an armchair. After noting its location, he shuffled himself over to the edge of the bed and, without leaving its warm confines, he squeezed his eyes shut and stretched his right arm out as far at it would go, clawing at the air until his index finger grasped one of the belt loops and tugged the rest of the garment into range. With his pants collected, he brought them under the covers and, in a display of laziness, simply threaded his legs into his pants without getting out of bed.

It took a few attempts and some contorting of his body at the waist but, once the pants were up to his waist and fastened, he hauled himself out of bed and trudged almost zombie-like into the next room. Looking a bit like a conservatory had been bolted onto an open-plan living room/kitchen, Ryan had happily plumped for what he assumed was some kind of self-contained guest apartment over whatever the Maignys had set out for Adele. With the wedding preparations for her, Dakari and Michelle to take into consideration, he'd conceded that they needed a lot more space than he did. Rather than fetch himself breakfast immediately, Ryan slumped himself down into the couch in the centre of the room and allowed his body to gradually awaken.

"Hey," Darron's voice rang out almost a quarter of an hour later, prefaced by a stifled chuckle. "Is the sky falling and y'just haven't told me?"

"Wha..?" Glancing over, Ryan instinctively set his elbow down on the arm of the couch and brought his hand up for his chin to rest on. However, when he felt fuzzy cloth as opposed to his clean-shaven skin, he froze and, for a moment, realisation flickered across his hungover features. Glancing down, Ryan spotted the upper half of a familiar bodysuit, made entirely out of fuzzy yellow fur and unzipped almost to the top of his stomach. Held in place on the back of each hand by way of an elastic loop was a pair of fake foam hands, topped in the same bright yellow and looking a lot like the tips of a set of wings. Sticking out from the bottom of his pants were a bunch of misshapen orange which covered his bare feet. And, as his eyes flicked back up to regard his brother, he could see the twin points of an open beak in the top and bottom of his periperhal vision.

And, after that less-than-a-second's worth of investigation that led Ryan to realise that he was still dressed in his costume from the night before, now coupled with a pair of cargo pants, Darron could take the sight no more... and burst out laughing. "Oh, shit. I've gotta get a picture of this..!" As he reached into his pocket to find his phone, the laughter could only grow. Ryan, on the other hand, didn't even bother to fight it. He had a hangover and he was too tired. Yet, despite all of that and watching as Darron held up his phone, primed to take an embarrassing pre-wedding picture, Ryan felt himself doing something that, were this years earlier, he never would have done in response to something like this.

He smiled. And, as though it were contagious, he started to laugh, too.

[Adele D'Alteau]

Inside angel, always upset
Keeps on forgetting that we ever met
Can I bring you out in the light?
My curiosity's got me tonight

She's a lot like you
The dangerous type
She's a lot like you
Come on and hold me tight
______________________________Letters to Cleo – Dangerous Type





†††
۵ ۵ ۵

Villa Patricia
Saint Tropez, France

For the months leading up to their wedding, she'd balked at Ryan's insistence that they at least follow some modicum of tradition, such as bachelor and bachelorette parties. She'd, surprisingly, had a rather enjoyable night sleeping on the beach with Dakari, Felicia, Amalia, Nireva and her girlfriend, Ryan's ex-girlfriend Michelle, and Ryan's brother's fiancée Jessica, and at least a dozen other women. Probably closer to two dozen. Honestly, aside from the Rahals and their extended family, Dakari, Michelle, and Jessica she had no idea who half the people were. She'd taken her father's advice and had left Felicia in charge of inviting everyone whenever Dakari got overwhelmed with “First Lady things.” Since her father could see the future, she figured it wasn't a bad idea. He wouldn't purposely sabotage her wedding day which had been—what? Five years coming?

Her mother and grandmother were in charge of her wedding day wardrobe, make up, and hair, though they occasionally allowed one of the other assorted female guests get their hands dirty, as it were. Their morning-of-the-wedding preparations were anything but traditional, and included smoking copious amounts of God's Gift being smoked out of a hookah of indeterminate origin. The base was definitely antique Persian, but the other parts were more modern—probably Turkish or Armenian in manufacture. More than likely Armenian, as that was where most of her ancestors hailed from before they inevitably settled in Albania, and later into France.

The reason why they'd scheduled the wedding for late in the afternoon was because Adele knew her family. Her father would likely be spending the day with her grandfather, making final touches around the estate. Everyone in her immediate family would be in some form of altered consciousness (it was difficult to ignore the thick, invisible haze of THC-infused air around the large estate, care of her grandfather and his rather unusual green thumb), and would likely have a screwed up sense of time.

From what she was able to gather from the family members who had the ability to filtre between the two halves of the home, Ryan and Darron had had a rather interesting night. She wasn't privy to all the details, but she knew it involved drinking a massive amount of alcohol, and someone being dressed in a chicken outfit.

“Ow!” she winced, blowing out a copious amount of smoke from her mouth as the exclamation left her lips.

Adele's mother pulled another lock of her daughter's hair into the French braid. It was a miracle that she was able to be dexterous at all, given the nearly impenetrable gray miasma of spent marijuana smoke in the room. “This wouldn't be as difficult if you'd just sit still.”

“Je suis assis immobile! You keep moving my hair!”

Evelyn sighed. While her future didn't hinge on that of her daughter's, and she did her best as a mother not to live vicariously through her child, she was so happy that the day had finally come when her daughter would be married. Adele and Ryan were married in everything but name, but the ceremony made it more official. “Je connais. I just want you to look your best.”

It was two hours before the actual wedding procession was set to begin, and they still hadn't settled on a hair style. Probably because they kept getting side-tracked by important, life-changing questions like “If two mind readers read each other's minds, whose minds are they reading?” and “If you drop soap on the floor, is the floor clean, or is the soap dirty?”

Ultimately, they'd finally decided on a partial French crown braid, accented with bat orchids and red roses from her grandfather's garden, whilst the rest of her hair was styled in a simple, classic wave from the 1940s.

Her grandmother Marguerite busied herself pinning the flowers and the braids in place, as much as her drug-addled mind would allow. “Who decided that roses were red? Who determined that the sky was blue? Did you know that a word for the colour blue didn't exist until the ancient Egyptians? Blue is really a phenomenon of the modern world.”

Most of the preparations had been completed for the ceremony and the dinner that would follow. Adele hadn't bothered picking out a pair of shoes to go with her dress, because what was the point if they were just going to be walking on the beach? She hated the feeling of sand in her shoes.

They also hadn't set a strict dress code. As long as people came clothed, it didn't matter what they were wearing. She'd told everyone to pack a little of everything, as even the mostly predictable climate of Saint Tropez could change rather suddenly. Her father had assured her that this date would be the most favourable weather-wise, and so she'd listened.

“I think we're about finished here.” She set the last portion of the braid in place with a pin, making sure that everything was snug and wouldn't fall apart in the slightest breeze.

“Yes, you look splendid.” Marguerite stood back to admire their work, though making Adele look even more beautiful was a simple task. They just had to accentuate what was already there.

Adele admired herself in the mirror. Considering how high the three of them were (the whites of their eyes were all about as red as the fabric of her dress), everything had come together very nicely. Not a hair was out of place. The only piece that was missing was the bridal veil. “C'est magnifique “ She glanced over at her grandmother who'd retrieved the simple red tulle veil from where it lay on a chair, expertly fixing it into place with a handful of small hairpins. It was a short veil which flared out around her face like flames, though it wasn't ostentatious enough to detract from the beauty of the dress. “Thank you.”

She took one last moment to regard herself and composed her features into some semblance of sobriety. “I think it's almost time.” Adele quietly but hurriedly padded toward the door which led out of the large bedroom-turned-impromptu-dressing room, and opened it. A cloud of thick-scented, nearly intoxicating smoke flowed out into the arid hallway, preceding her approach.

She touched Dakari gently on the shoulder. Dakari had been keeping watch, making sure anyone who wasn't allowed to be in there, well, wasn't. “We're finished here. Shall we go see if Khalidah is ready?”

As much as Ryan wanted to be a stickler for tradition, Adele refused to have a priest or any denominational authority figure preside over the ceremony—unless said someone was a high priestess, which Khalidah had been in several past lives. Who better to officiate their ceremony than someone who'd quite literally been performing pagan weddings for who knew how long?

†††
۵ ۵ ۵

† Word count: 1243
۵ Outfit: Wedding dress
† Other: Nothing!

[Felicia Soler]

This is who I am
This is what I feel
Every time I dream
A rain falls over me
This is how it feels
I'm starting to see
Can't you see it's all about me?
______________________________Amaranthe – Rain

Villa Patricia
Saint Tropez, France

He'd designed several wedding dresses in the past for some of New York's rich and famous, but oddly enough, he'd never actually been invited to any of the events which featured his bespoke garments. To say that he was surprised when he received a personal invitation from Adele to attend her wedding—followed by an informal invitation that had been sent by Felicia Rahal-Soler, whom he assumed was the doctor's impromptu wedding planner—would have been an understatement.

In the months leading up to the wedding, he and Felicia had developed a friendship. He'd wanted to move out of the city for a while, and was content to live in a small-ish double-wide trailer just outside Cazenovia Lake in the neighbouring township of Nelson. It was close enough to the woods and various nature preserves where he could run around in other forms, if he felt the need. He'd set up a small boutique in Nelson's downtown section. If anyone required his services, they could pay to come see him. He'd long since tired of the New York hustle and needed to move somewhere more like Redding, California where he'd settled when he'd first moved to the United States from Ireland.

When Felicia found out that he was a shapeshifter, she introduced him to her daughter, Ildiko, who had also manifested the same sort of ability—minus the tattoos. If Lilka wasn't available to help Illy hone her abilities, she could always rely on Conall for a hand.

He picked up a glass of wine from a serving tray someone had left on the dining table which faced a large panel of floor to ceiling windows, revealing the estate's ample backyard beach. Felicia had her hands full with the children, whom she'd allowed to spend the day swimming in the ocean. By the time the wedding rolled around in the late afternoon, they would have tired themselves out, and wouldn't be a bother to anyone. Both of the children were going to be the flower children and ring bearers, and then they could go to bed.

Conall let himself outside. In spite of the wedding's dress code (or, rather, lack thereof), he still wanted to appear presentable, and had a spectacular sunset pink tuxedo, blouse, and shoes ready for the occasion. But it was still hours before the wedding was actually supposed to happen, so he was still walking around in his signature pink boxers with hearts on them and a stained and holey nightshirt that he probably should have gotten rid of years ago, but it fit him so well that he couldn't bring himself to part with it.

Almost as soon as he stepped outside, both Tivodar and Ildiko stopped their splashing and came running up the beach toward him, attaching themselves to his legs like little humanoid leeches. “Oh! Well, g' mornin', then.”

“Uncle Connie! I want to be a dolphin! Teach me to be a dolphin!”

“Yeah, I like dolphins! I can't be a dolphin but I'd sure like to swim with one.”

“Please help me be a dolphin! Can you do a dolphin? Aunt Lilka taught me how to do a barracuda. They go like this! Rawr!” She bared her teeth and play-bit him on shin.

“I don't think barracudas sound like that, but I'll take y' word for it.”

“Why d' y' talk like this? Y' mouth sounds are funneh.” Tivodar did his best to mimic Conall's thick Cork drawl.

“I'm Irish.”

“Can you turn into a leprechaun?”

Conall shook his head. “Nae, I can only change inna the animals on my skin. I ent much like y' sister or y'aunt.”

The twins relinquished their grips from his legs and allowed him to move freely once more. He hadn't noticed the large sun umbrella set further up on the beach with a few large beach towels splayed out under it. Felicia started walking towards the small set up and Conall met her there. “So where's y' wife?”

Felicia glanced over at him and then at her kids as they ran back into the water again. “Helena's in the kitchen getting some wine. I think she wants to be drunk before the ceremony starts.”

He took a sip from the wine glass in his hand. He didn't know a merlot from a chardonnay; most all wine tasted the same to him. Like vinegar at various levels of fermentation. “Oops. Think I might've stolen 'er glass.”

“Eh, I'm sure she'll find another. Either that, or she'll hole herself up in a room and ignore everyone, but good luck with that. The Maignys seem to be the type to enjoy their privacy and I doubt they'll let guests wander around on their own without at least socialising a little bit first.”

“So how'd y' come t' be their weddin' planner? Seems a bit odd, 'dele askin' yeh.”

“Oh, she didn't ask me. I volunteered, she accepted. She knows that I know how to put on a good party, and I've got a lot of good connections with everyone. Mutual acquaintances and whatnot.” Although she and the doctor didn't get along all the time—well, most of the time, really—Felicia had decided it was time to soften up a bit and try to make friends rather than amass an even larger army of enemies. Adele was definitely someone she wanted on her side.

“Well, it seems t' be sizin' up t' be a good time. 'opefully no one'll get killed.” Conall grinned. He wasn't all that familiar with the doctor and her soon-to-be husband, but he knew enough to know that death had a tendency to follow on the couples' coattails.

“Eh. My mom can resurrect them later. It's no big deal. But I'm sure it'll be a good time.”

♂ ♂ ♂ ♂ ♂

♂ Word count: 1064
♂ Outfit: Idk a swimsuit, w/e.
♂ Other: Ildiko's CC is Ashlyn Faith Williams and Tivodar's CC is Sal Pandolfo, Jr.

[Dakari Johessman]

I…, I…
I…
I mighta got way too high...

Dakari Johessman
Saint Tropez

She was considering the dove that appeared to have gotten into a fight with a cloud on the ceiling.

As a rule, Dakari Johessman did not usually get high. She preferred to avoid anything that could put her mind in an altered state, including copious amounts of alcohol. But then, Dakari’s heightened paranoia meant she was usually surrounded by enemies, and as such, she had to keep observant in case of trouble. Here in Saint Tropez, though, Dakari found herself surrounded by friends and acquaintances (and more than a few strangers), and could be enough at ease that she did not constantly have such dark thoughts. In fact, she was enjoying herself, and had passed a pleasant night on the beach with Adele and her friends. And other people.

She had, then, not passed on the hookah when the opportunity arose. Contrary to stereotype, her Jamaican upbringing had not included very much consumption of marijuana, but she had been around it enough to have grown accustomed to it. So the haze that lingered on the air in the villa did not bother her, aside from keeping her nestled in a comfortable state of just-barely-high even though she had not touched any of it since the night before.

As the self-proclaimed “head of security” for Adele’s part of the villa, Dakari was standing - or sitting - guard, to ensure that Adele and her guests had the privacy they wanted and that no one violated the strict no-contact rule between Ryan’s camp and Adele’s. The idea to follow that tradition had apparently been Ryan’s. That had surprised Dakari a bit, but then again, she had somehow never had the opportunity to get to know Ryan as well as she had Adele.

Their unlikely friendship had begun years earlier, before Ryan’s proposal. Of all the strange things to happen to her, having a close enough friend to be invited as maid of honor fell second only to the fact that Dakari was engaged herself. And actually in love, at that. No one she knew had expected that to happen, least of all Kari herself.

Her fiancé, Lucius Kilvayne, was meant to be present as well, but whether he was already there or would join them later Dakari did not know, thanks to the seclusion rule. Also, Lucius’ schedule had become a touch more full after taking on the role of President of the United States. As his unofficial-but-expected-any-day-now First Lady, Dakari had her own duties, but it was much easier for her to get out of them and spend a couple of days in France.

Indeed, it was her role as one of the Dominion of Jamaica’s “princesses” that put more stress on her. She was not a literal “princess,” but she was one of the heirs to the Dominion’s rulership, which also put her relationship with Lucius on an interesting light. The Caribbean had seen relative peace and prosperity since the Jamaicans’ takeover; things in general seemed to have fallen into a lull, as far as Dakari knew. That always disturbed her. She was very much an “other shoe will drop” sort of person.

At the moment, though, none of that mattered. She was a maid of honor at her closest friend’s wedding; her fiancé would join her at some point, as would part of her family - Ana and Andrea for sure, and possibly others. She had a beautiful dress to wear for the ceremony later, and apparently excellent ammunition for a few chicken-crossing-the-road jokes courtesy of the groom’s camp. In the laziness and the haze of THC she was fulfilling her security role well by protecting the women from ceiling paint that was dancing to a distant dancehall riddim. Then a fresh cloud of the stuff blew out from the door and a tap on her shoulder broke her reverie. She blinked and looked around to find Adele with newly braided hair, asking about Khalidah Rahal.

“Yes, we should.” Dakari sat up and then got to her feet, ready to follow Adele through the impressive villa and find their officiating high priestess. A question occurred to her as they walked in that direction. "By the way, did you ever settle on what to do about your last names?"

Words: 690.
Attire: This, currently.
Excerpt: Jhené Aiko, “WTH.”
Comments: RyDele wedding, FINALLY.

[Devon Ridgeman]

(I go home! When we meet your god, we go home!)
(I go home! When we meet your god, we will...) Say goodbye! You know I've tried!
But now the time to mourn has died!
It's cold inside the worm. Nothing ever bothers me now!
______________________________Devin Townsend Project - "Juular"

Of all the things to get himself invited to since working his way back onto the straight-and-narrow - albeit with a shitload of help from numerous people mostly named Rahal - the one occasion Devon Ridgeman had been expecting the least was a full-blown wedding in the south of France. With the prospective bride having turned over the honours of sending out the invites to Felicia, it hadn't been all that long before one such friendly request had found its way to Amalia and, once that had been accomplished, he was being dragged along as her customary plus-one. Beyond his girlfriend and the rest of the Rahals - from whom he was quickly separated as per the rules of pre-wedding convention - Devon had come to realise just how few people he actually knew.

With the Maigny villa effectively split in two until the moment the guests were expected to assemble on the beach for the wedding ceremony, Devon hadn't seen hide nor hair of just about anyone he'd arrived in France with. Like many of the invited guests who resided in the States, Felicia had roped Khalidah into breaking out a couple of Intellitouch jets to fetch them all and ferry them over en masse. He'd scored a window seat with Amalia by his side and had shared the occasional bout of conversation with a guy with dyed red hair while Nireva and Jenna spent most of the trip sleeping in their seats a few feet behind him. There had been other people on that flight but, for the most part, he'd shied away from disturbing them.

While he had managed to mostly escape being lumbered with tasks to help out with the wedding preparations, he had been unsuccessful in escaping the previous night's festivities. The freakishly tall British lawyer - who Devon soon realised was Ryan's older brother - had, as well as being previously appointed Ryan's best man, inserted himself in the role of ringleader and, after ducking into the room in which he was sleeping to rummage through his belongings, had thrust the plastic packaging for a garish yellow chicken costume into the groom's arms. They'd all laughed at the expression on his face when it became apparent that he was to change into it for the evening.

The drink which had flowed as a result of Ryan's temporary change in wardrobe had been partly to serve as the beginning of his bachelor party though, as Devon quietly observed, perhaps mostly to make Darron's younger brother more willing to venture outside while wearing the costume. Although the brothers had invited him along with them to the streets of Saint-Tropez, Devon had politely declined. He had taken the "quiet" part of Ryan and Adele's "quiet beachside wedding" to heart and, once Darron had strode out of the door with his brother in tow, Devon had found himself a quiet place to sit, some more booze and sat out on a patio on the men's side of Villa Patricia, from which he could see the beach. The rules clearly stated that Ryan wasn't permitted to see his bride and her similarly female guests before the wedding, after all. It said jack shit about him.

It was only as he sat there that night that he realised just how many women Felicia and Adele had invited between them. Being so high up, he could barely tell the difference between one guest and another, but it wasn't really them he had sat there to see. Saint-Tropez was the jewel of the French riviera and, with almost no real opportunity other than this that he could think of to actually see it, Devon wasn't about to waste the opportunity. Unlike most people, that had been precisely how Devon had spent the night before Ryan and Adele's wedding day. Alone.

Not that he particularly minded either way. He, like anyone in his position, would have loved to spend yet another night with his girlfriend but, as had been explained to everyone else upon their collective arrival, the rules governing who was permitted to go where in Villa Patricia were not to be broken. The awkwardness that arose from the revelation that none other than Dakari Johessman had made herself the "head of security" for the duration certainly wasn't lost on him. While he doubted that she even remembered who he was, he could quite clearly recall the afternoon he'd spent in her domain at the time - the Hotel Angelis in Las Vegas - where he'd stolen her wi-fi to look up news articles about April 4th, ordered... some kind of drink flavoured with strawberries and trashed half of the ground floor men's bathroom with his ability before passing out and being tossed into an alleyway.

That had been... a long time ago in more ways than one. Had he even met Khalidah back then? He wasn't sure, just like he wasn't sure about a lot of things during the period he was still a Valium addict and just about unable to control the unfathomable power that lay quite literally within his grasp. Now, however, he was quite literally a changed man. His ability was a useful quirk as opposed to a murder weapon, the only pill boxes and bottles he'd seen in five years were the ones Amalia or Khalidah broke out when he got sick and, for the most part, his violent impulses were elsewhere. He'd even started running again. New York had more than its fair share of just about everything and, with an athletics centre a couple of miles away, he'd made a new habit; one where he went there a couple of times a week and ran until his legs ached. That was something he'd missed.

His parents might not have been in it anymore, but life was actually good again. When he awoke the next morning, having simply grabbed a blanket from inside and slept out on the patio he'd claimed, just about everyone, including himself, was hung over. But not even that was going to dampen the collective mood. Ryan had fallen asleep still wearing his chicken suit - something which would no doubt haunt him for a while - and Darron was slightly less burdened by the booze he'd imbibed the night before. Devon, though, was just... Devon. He hadn't drunk nearly as much as many people, meaning that whatever ill effects he'd sustained would pass rather quickly.

Hoping that one of the few people at the villa he knew was similarly unburdened, he fished his phone from the pocket of his cargo pants and, after navigating through the fancy touch-screen menus - something which came easily to him now - began to type out a text message to Amalia.

can you get to the big garden from your side of the villa?
wanna meet up with me?

Meeting up with the woman he loved while it was technically forbidden for him to do so. Shakespearean it might have been, but he wasn't going to be stopped. After eating breakfast which, like everything else, was done separately to the women, he snuck his way out into the Maigny villa's colossal garden. The wedding party could have split the men and women up as much as they liked but, when it came down to simple geography, there was nothing stopping the two groups from mixing other than courtesy. Amalia, he surmised, likely had an easier job of sneaking away than he did. While he had to physically walk around the house and dodge whatever "patrols" Dakari and the other women in charge might have mustered, his girlfriend could quite easily pop from one place to the other in the blink of an eye.

"Hey, you," Flanked on both sides by colourful plants he didn't know the name of, Devon offered Amalia a subdued wave as she made her way into view. Adele could have made whatever entrance she liked for Ryan that afternoon. To him, it wouldn't compare to seeing Amalia for the first time in nearly thirty hours. "How're things on your side? Don't worry. I'm not gonna tell."

[Helena Rahal]

Wait 'til you're announced
We've not yet lost all our graces
The hounds will stay in chains
Look upon Your Greatness and she'll send the call out

When was the last time she had traveled outside the country for something other than one of the two organizations she ran? Life had been all business for some months now and it was having an obvious effect on Helena, who even her closest confidants could tell was stressed and strung out worse than normal. The opportunity to travel to France for something other than a contract negotiation or scouting some potential new asset or enemy seemed awfully tempting. However the occasion for the invitation was not something that sat well with her, thus it provided the problem of choice.

It was assumed she would be there since somehow her wife had been roped into being part of the event. Helena would not question the how or why, it had gotten tiresome and frustrating to do so with Felicia. The ruse of their marriage was kept floating along by the sheer fact that Helena was too busy to do anything about it. Maybe not appearing for this farce would have been the first step to demolishing the ruse, though she believed that would only have brought more questions and stress than what it relieved.

Still, she found herself in France, though she was staying in a separate room than Felicia and was not going to be fussed with the events prior to the ceremony itself. Helena did not count Adele or Dakari among he friends in the slightest, the only reason she was even here was because she knew the time away from work would do her some good. Maybe she would end up getting drunk and finding some friendly guest or French woman in a local dive to get lost in for an evening, it sure beat the ruse of her current arrangement.

Staying holed up away from all of the hassle was fine enough for her, as was the long hours of sleep that she was partaking in. This was probably the first time in a year she had managed to get eight hours of sleep in a night. Sitting up on the bed, resting her head against the headstand, she had not even bothered to change out of her pajamas yet. There was a scarlet sequin dressed that made her look like some bottle of wine that she was supposed to wear for the event. However right now she was totally content in lounging about and giving anyone who dared bother her a death glare.

[Christian Moynahan]

Are you insane like me? Been in pain like me?
Bought a hundred-dollar bottle of champagne like me
Just to pour it down the motherfucking drain like me?
Would you use your water bill to dry the stain like me?

Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me?
Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?
Do the people whisper ‘bout you on the train like me
Saying I just shouldn’t waste my pretty face like me?

-Halsey, “Gasoline”

Christian Moynahan
Saint Tropez, France

He had been due for a vacation.

Even a visit that would last less than a day counted as a “vacation,” at least to him. He would be leaving the country and doing something unrelated to work, mostly. That was a getaway if nothing else.

Christian stepped out of the small storefront and onto the street. Alain had developed a talent for teleporting into open doorways so that it looked as though he had just walked out of a shop. Hr could do that as long as he knew where he was teleporting to, and Gabriel Constant’s scrying ability allowed Alain to see exactly where he was meant to land. In this case, it was a shopping plaza not far from Villa Patricia - because while Christian was perfectly fine with bypassing a country’s foreign entry controls such as customs and border patrol, he was loath to abuse the hospitality of the Maignys by appearing randomly on the villa. He arranged transportation via limo to their destination instead.

His party included Jordan Mercer, Rayden Bishop, Sonia Dempsey, and Cameron Moynahan; the last being his sister. Alain himself did not stay after teleporting the group into Saint Tropez; he had a wife and child and therefore no social life. Drew Moynahan, Christian’s cousin, had also declined the invitation, citing some vague “business” he had yet to complete. Christian suspected the man just did not want to go through the hassle of attending a wedding.

Also missing from the group was Maurelle Lacroix. At the suggestion that they attend the wedding, Maurelle had said something about the bride not particularly liking her. Christian had never picked up on that, but then again, he was not fully aware of Maurelle’s connection to the couple. The extent of his knowledge on that ended as far as himself, as was often the case between them.

Any decently observant individual would notice the ring on Christian’s left hand. Beyond that, anyone familiar with the general points of Christian’s personal life - which, thanks to his status as a national hero and the paparazzi’s unusual interest in him, was pretty much anyone - would surmise that he was married to Maurelle, which would be mostly correct. He and Maurelle had been in an open marriage since January, a fact he never belabored upon but also never troubled to hide. And, as it turned out, most of the country was not comprised of decently observant individuals.

The limo pulled up to the front of the villa and stopped; Christian was out of the vehicle before the driver could come around and open the door. Even after five years of being “famous,” Christian had never gotten used to such attention being paid to him. “Merci beaucoup,” he said to the driver while pressing a considerable tip into the man’s hand. His marriage to Maurelle had done wonders for his proficiency in French.

He and the others gathered their overnight bags and ventured into the villa. They had known beforehand that they would be separated by gender, with the women staying on Adele’s side of the villa and the menfolk on Ryan’s. So there they parted ways for the evening, unless any of them went for breaking the rules. “See you later, Cami,” he said to his sister, who was outside the States for the first time ever. “Sonia, take care of her, please.”

“Will do,” Sonia answered before hurrying off after the over-excited Cameron.

That left Christian with Jordan and Ray, both young men who had come under the tutelage of another - Jordan to Gabriel Constant, Ray to Christian. In Ray’s case, the young man was present because Christian wanted Ray to spend more time around powerful and influential Specials. After his research into the disappearances had led him to Ray, and resulted in him foiling a kidnapping attempt at that, he had come to respect Ray a good deal and was helping the young man with his ability while trying to sort out what Ira Reier had wanted with him.

But that investigation was set aside for the day. This was a time of celebration: Adele Couteau and Ryan Alcroft were finally getting married. Hell, Christian could name several couples in their circle who had beaten them to it, including himself. Of course, one had to consider whether marriage really meant anything in the present-day aside from a new tax-filing status, but that was something Christian, in light of his own unconventional marriage, was not prepared to give any real thought to at that moment.

“This way,” he said to Ray and Jordan. He had spotted a familiar face not far from the entrance, not surprisingly since Dakari Johessman had all but taken over security. Manning the front door was Dakari’s longtime right-hand woman, Katie Cho.

“Bonjour, Katie. Who’s here so far?” Christian asked.

“On Mr. Alcroft’s side? A few guys. On the Doctor’s, half the female population of the States.” Katie grinned and handed Christian a list. “Felicia's work. Take a look.”

Christian studied the names of the arrivals. “And half of them Rahals,” he joked before turning to Ray and Jordan. “Everyone who’s anyone, just about.” Indeed, counting a few people who were yet to arrive, the list included three heads of state, five CEOs, two lawyers, several doctors and scientists, and many others with societal pull. Many of the same were also seasoned and talented Specials. Just the sort of people Christian wanted Ray to be around, even if only for a day.

“Sure is. It should be a good time,” Katie said, nodding. “And apparently, this happened last night….”

Katie took out her cell phone, flipped through it, and then raised it to show a very tall man walking next to an only slightly shorter man. The latter was dressed in a bright yellow, felt-and-feathery chicken suit.

Christian squinted. “Is that Ryan?”

“According to my sources….” Katie raised an eyebrow.

“And they’re crossing the street.”

“Ayup.”

Christian glanced at Ray and Jordan. “The jokes should write themselves, gentlemen.”

(Tag: Ray Bishop, Lucy, possibly Ryan)

[Lucius Kilvayne]

It's a nice day for a white wedding

Lucius Kilvayne had to admit that this event was a long time coming, as was his own upcoming wedding to Dakari Johessman. Their engagement was not nearly as long as that between Mr. Alcroft and Dr. Couteau, but it was perhaps in danger of becoming so if they put it off much longer. There had been no shortage of distractions from the advancement of their personal lives, though. Wars, unrest, crisis and a near death experience had something to do with that. The job of President was a demanding one, but Lucius handled himself well. Dakari's support had been a critical foundation for that.

His future plans had become somewhat more fluid over the last few months, considering that his current position required a degree of finesse to manage. He was not going to get anywhere if he overplayed his hand, especially when he couldn't tell how the deck was stacked. Gabriel's role in that had long been essential and he now realized that he had relied on it more than on his capacity to make his own luck. But it was more than that. If there was nothing he could do that mattered, it put Lucius in a bad spot. He was used to knowing the nature of the game, and he was used to having the endgame strategy clear in his mind.

He would have to just take it a day at a time, until the answers came to him. He had been in similar situations, particularly with Lilith. In the end, everything was revealed and he had come out on top. He needed to have faith that would be the case now.

He had arrived in Saint-Tropez by way of Air Force One. His car and driver were waiting at the airport and he wasted no time getting himself into the vehicle. The drive to the villa had been a nice scenic affair allowing for much contemplation on matters great and small. He was the leader of the most powerful nation, and he was trying to piece together something like the meaning of life. His natural tendency was to lean on his concept of a grand purpose. His grand purpose. By the time he reached the wedding venue, he had resolved to enjoy the present, as long as he could.

He entered the villa and saw Christian's party preparing to divide into the Ryan side and the Adele side.

" Hello, Chris." Lucius said when his friend's attention was available. "Glad you are here. And likewise to you Mr. Mercer.I don't think a more perfect venue exists than this villa. Quite an auspicious locale."

[Jordan Mercer]

A toast to starry nights,
seeking comfort divine
Celebrating life,
swimming circles in light
And I look to the sea and hear you calling softly
-Bitter:Sweet, “Don’t Forget To Breathe”

It was time to move on.

That was what people kept saying. Jordan would have let it all wash over him like so much rainwater if one of those people had not been Aunt Lilka. Over time, Jordan had begrudgingly come to accept and respect the crazy shapeshifting woman. She had taken good care of him in her own way, and really she was the only tie to reality Jordan had left.

Despite the years that had passed since Evie’s death - the death he had carelessly caused - Jordan had never become any less morose, had never adjusted, had never returned to being the capricious life-of-the-party he once had been. And now, having turned thirty years old, he was starting to accept that he would never be that man again.

Perhaps that was all right. Change was good, wasn’t it?

“Shit.” Jordan’s head bounced against the side of the limousine as the vehicle drew to a stop. No one seemed to notice. That was probably for the better. He closed his eyes and leaned his head right back where it had been before looking up when he heard Christian Moynahan thank someone in decent but accented French.

He was in a limo cruising through the south of France, on his way to a wedding. That was a strange thing to get used to, especially considering that not fifteen minutes before, he had been in Los Angeles. Teleporting was a hell of a thing.

The bags were unloaded, the group alighted, and the two women split off. Unlike Christian’s sister, Jordan had been away from America before; in fact, he had been born in London, England and has traveled as far as Moscow while investigating his family history. He was technically a Rahal by descent, although he did not expect to be as long-lived as some of them had proven to be.

He was fine with that.

Jordan closed his eyes and breathed in the sea air. Around him, people were talking. Yes, there would be bigwigs at this affair. The happy couple had attracted far more than their share of influential friends, as they seemed to be quite influential themselves. Felicia had reminded, or informed, Jordan that he had met both the bride and groom years before - they had rented the couple’s South Padre Island home for an entertaining experiment involving Halloween and some mental manipulation.

If Jordan had been paying attention, he would have recalled the epic mental battle he had engaged Ryan Alcroft in not long after that Halloween. But, as usual, Jordan was in his own space, paying little heed to the people around him.

That changed with the influx of thoughts that cascaded on him as a handful of photographers who had followed Lucius’ car or the limo descended upon the villa. Without really responding to Lucius’ observation, Jordan turned to the paparazzi, who were chattering in English and French and preparing to snap photos. Reaching out with his ability to change the suggestion in their minds, Jordan lifted a hand and gave a little wave. “You don’t need to take any photos.”

“We don’t need to take any photos,” the paparazzi chorused.

“This is not the President you’re looking for.”

“This is not the President we’re looking for.”

“We can go about our business.”

“You can go about your business.”

“Move along,” Jordan said.

They lowered their cameras and shuffled back the way they had come.

Jordan turned back to the group and shrugged.

(Lucy, Ray, Ryan)

[Alice Taylor]

Compared to everyone else she knew, Alice's problems she had to face were just so small. But, she was not in charge of a country, or a company, or world-changing schemes. All she had was her friends and her family. That was it, that was her entire world.

When Alice received the invitation for Adele and Ryan's wedding, she was a bit perplexed to how this event would even include her. The good doctor have had very few run ins with the young former-actress. There was that time when they trained together as Company agents, and at that time Alice thought Adele and Ryan had no respect for her whatsoever, possibly due to her age and inexperience with the world. That was what Alice told herself anyway. The other time was in Kingston, where the two fought on opposite sides of a needless battle. They had a very close and personal encounter with each other, and while Alice was sure Adele would not have fared any better, Alice herself was found half-dead on a beach, recovered by a special team that was only looking to retrieve her, and her alone. After all, her involvement with the Allied military was on the condition of their ability to keep her anonymous. Dead or alive, she would not stay in Dominion territory.

None of it matters nowadays anyway. Not for most people. Lucius Kilvayne was in charge with Dakari by his side, and this union had brought forth a peaceful time. Everyone was happy again, and the tragedies were slowly forgotten.

Alice did not forget. No amount of peace or war was going to bring Sparrow back...

She kept herself busy enough. Helena was a demanding boss, and Christian wanted nothing less than perfection. Alice tried her best, essentially constantly reviewing the financial well-being of both Vital Energy and Ark Industries, and reporting her findings back to the heads of the companies in short form. Time was valuable to CEO's, and Alice's value came from just that: saving time for her employers. She was good to have around to keep track of relevant facts and appointment schedules, and while she was only working part-time for both companies (the salary was generous enough that she only needed to work a few days a week), it was getting difficult to assist both Helena and Christian at the same time. At least with Christian, he always seemed to have it together, and if emotional support was what he needed, his gorgeous wife was there for him.

On the other hand, Alice had always worried about Helena. It wasn't just because she was Claudia's sister. Helena helped her see that her life was not eternally tied to Alessandro and the Company's will. Under Helena's care, Alice became her own woman, and Alice wanted to be there for her whenever Alice was needed. Every time Alice brings Helena her weekly reports, or a coffee made to Helena's liking, Alice always asked "Is there anything else I can do for you?", and she had always hoped that Helena would open up to her. Alas, Alice was waved off almost always.

Alice had always been very respectful of her friends and family in regards to her use of telepathy. She believed that people are entitled to their secrets, and this included Claudia and Helena. Alice was happy to finally be married to Claudia last Christmas with a small ceremony, and they were still very much in love. However, Alice sometimes felt there were things that really bothered Claudia, but she preferred to not talk about it, such as how she really felt about Sharon. But, as much as she wanted to know everything, Alice was very afraid of dealing with the consequences. What if Claudia hated Sharon? What if Claudia demanded that Alice never saw Sharon or Charlie ever again? How would Alice respond?

Then there was the matter of Fiona, someone that was much closer to Alice than when they first met. Fiona Kingsleigh was cut from the same Company-custom cloth as herself, and while Fiona's forbidden memories, along with her powers, were sealed away, Felicia found a way to bring it all back. Alice and Fiona spoke often, trying everything to reconcile their past with the present. Fiona did get Alice shot when they were still teenagers, but Alice didn't hold a grudge. Fiona was strong enough that even after 10 years of captivity, her only goal remained to break free with her little sister from the Company's grasp, while Alice simply let Stockholm Syndrome take over. Not surprisingly, Fiona would not attend an event that involved the Rahal family.



When Alice received the invitation, she immediately booked weeks of vacation, thinking it a good opportunity to take some time travelling all over France. Wine tours, castles, cathedrals... there was so much to see and do. She wanted Claudia to go on this adventure with her, but her wife seemed a bit reluctant. Alice didn't question her further, just that if Claudia wished to join her, she could at anytime. That night, Alice boarded a plane and took off for France.

Despite travelling alone, Alice had a lot of fun. Taking nothing but a backpack with her, Alice journeyed everywhere without ever sleeping in the same bed. She took a lot of pictures to send to her friends and family, and spoke on the phone (the cellphone given to her courtesy of Ark Industries, that worked EVERYWHERE, no matter how remote) with Claudia every night. By the end of the first week, Alice was beginning to really miss everyone back home. A young French couple Alice met at the Louvre in the afternoon invited her out for dinner and drinks in the evening. As it turned out, there were about three more couples that had joined them. They were fascinated by Alice, recognising her from various films a few years ago, and didn't mind repeating themselves or even trying to speak some English when Alice's limited grasp of the French language began to show. After the third glass of wine, the blonde found herself sending out a text before being ushered to the dance floor by the gleeful locals.

I miss you so much. Wish you were here.

[Nireva Hale]

When he was young, you'd not find him doing well in school!
His mind'd turn unto the water!
Always the focus of adolescent ridicule, he has no time for farmers' daughters!
Alienated from the clique society, a lonely boy finds peace in fishing!
His mother says, "John, this is not the way life's s'posed to be!
Don't you see the life that you're missing?"
And he says..!
______________________________Primus - John The Fisherman

"Wait." With a number of hours to go before the wedding ceremony actually began, Jenna and Nireva were still in their regular street clothes as they strode along the streets of Saint-Tropez, their hangover-addled eyes stinging ever so slightly from the Mediterranean sun. The night before, they had been two of what had seemed like a couple dozen people enjoying a subdued bachelorette party on the beach which sat beneath the Maigny villa. Drink had flowed like the sea and, with the weather on the French riviera being so clement even at night, a mass of blankets had carpeted the sand, enabling the women to sleep under the stars.

From what little she knew of how Ryan and Adele wanted to get married - mostly stemming from the occasional party they'd mutually attended - Jenna had her metaphorical money on the ceremony being a quiet affair, with little more than the immediate family on both sides and a few close friends serving as witnesses to the vows they were set to share late that afternoon. As well as not expecting to see many people who weren't biologically related to the happy couple, she hadn't expected an invitation to fall into her lap, either. It was only when certain things had come to light regarding just who had been given what duty that matters were slowly starting to make a great deal more sense. "Your mom was in charge of the invites?"

"Apparently." Having all risen at various times in the early morning, the women - who had all (somehow) been sequestered in one half of the villa to help keep the future husband and wife apart - had mostly been roped into helping out with the last-minute wedding preparations. Adele's mother and grandmother had assumed the role of the bride's make-up artists and, following advice from her father, the wife-to-be had allowed Felicia Rahal to become something of a party planner. Having quickly deemed thirteen guests woefully insufficient for something as important as a wedding, especially for a couple who, unlike her, weren't immortal, she had quickly drawn up more invites and sent them to whoever she could think of. The sole criterion, it seemed, was simply that the guest didn't want to see Ryan or Adele's heads separated from the rest of them.

"She's done a pretty good job, though. Gotta give her that." Many of the extra people Felicia had seen fit to invite down to Saint-Tropez had been her own relatives and, after allowing them all to bring a plus-one with them, the number of guests had swelled rather nicely while still keeping the whole wedding a relatively small affair. Like many of the others who had "invaded" Villa Patricia, Nireva and Jenna had also been asked to lend their assistance. With Marguerite unable to be in two places at once while she tended to her granddaughter's hair, she had asked around for someone who could make a run into the centre of town to pick up some more ingredients. Being one of the few people present who could fluently speak French, Nireva had quickly volunteered, which in turn had led Jenna to tag along.

"Yeah, but that still doesn't explain how she got the President to show up." Like her girlfriend, Jenna wasn't an avid follower of politics, whether it was at the local or country-wide level. But, like many things, the appointment of Lucius Kilvayne as the country's latest Commander-in-Chief was something that was impossible to miss. His face was all over television and the internet and there likely weren't very many people on the planet who didn't know his name. Having caught a glimpse of him making his way into the male side of the villa as they'd left, surrounded by a few other guests they - with the exception of Christian Moynahan - mostly didn't know, the odd image had stuck in her mind for the duration of the stroll so far. "It's not really someone you write down on a guest list for a random wedding in France!"

"Oh, don't worry. Mother'll have thought of some kind of tenuous, six degrees of separation way to make an excuse to ask him over." Dakari was someone she'd... sort of encountered in passing at some party or another. They hadn't officially exchanged names face-to-face, but she was someone Nireva recognised. With her being Lucius' wife - or fiancée - and, as such, technically the First Lady of the United States, it might have been easier to invite him by asking her; getting past the social barriers in a roundabout way. "Or maybe she met him before he took office. Wouldn't put it past her, really."

Their main port of call, according to the shopping list Marguerite had relayed to them, was a well-known local staple in Saint-Tropez; the biweekly open-air fish market situated on the Place des Lices. It was a venue that she often frequented, especially during the summer when they were expecting guests who wanted a taste of southern French cuisine. Although she had done her best to keep the multiple-course menu varied, the Couteau matriarch had been compelled to prepare a bouillabaisse; the fish stew she had fed to Ryan back when they'd first met. While the villa had more than enough of the ingredients to prepare the soup base, most of the seafood was woefully missing. Unable to rectify the tragedy herself due to other pressing matters, Marguerite had entrusted the important task to someone far less burdened.

"What're we after first?" Craning her neck to one side, Jenna tried to steal a glance at the shopping list in her girlfriend's hand. However, their constant motion made reading the syllables difficult. Combined with her relative ineptitude with French, her attempts brought a smile to Nireva's face within seconds. "Ras-.. uh.. a rassa..."

"Some rascasse rouge, a few big monkfish, some grondin rouge, enough velvet crabs - or etrille as they call 'em out here - to round out the twelve pounds of fish-..."

"Twelve pounds?!"

The mild incredulity couldn't help but burst out of Jenna's mouth. To her, twelve pounds of any foodstuff was the talk of Man vs. Food-esque challenge dishes; something only consumed by the truly insane. Of course, she momentarily forgot that Marguerite was catering for a wedding, a fact of which Nireva was quick to remind her. "It's gotta feed nearly thirty people, Jen." With a small oh, her girlfriend's objection was quickly withdrawn. "Anyway, as well as all that, we're getting some urchin roe too. Anything else on here, we can pick up on the way back, I think."

"Urchin what?" Jenna was definitely not the culinary expert of the duo. Neither, really, was Nireva, but she at least had four centuries of general-purpose experience backing her up. "Roe. It's ripened fish eggs. Caviar's the same thing, just from one particular kind of fish. Anyway, for the bouillabaisse, the roe goes into the soup. Don't worry, you won't see it by the time it's all done. And, apparently, we've gotta 'stick to the middle'. That's where all the seafood stalls are."

As part of a back-up plan in case the market didn't have everything they needed, Marguerite had also given Nireva the address of a harbourside fishmongers; one she trusted just as much as the market to have the ideal ingredients. Although she hadn't mentioned anything regarding punishment or any kind of ill fate to befall them, she had made it rather plain that, if at all possible, nothing was to be omitted from the list. The wedding - and the culinary spectacle the reception was planned to be - were to be as close to perfection as possible. "Hey, who knows? I might have you try asking for a couple of these things. Like, uh... the crabs." A tiny crackling noise in the back of her throat, accompanied by a desperately stifled smirk. This was not a laughing matter. "Try this: 'Avez-vous des etrille, s'il vous plaît?'"

"Av-ay voo..."

"Don't worry, Jen." Nireva chimed in with a reassuring grin. "We'll kick the crabs down a few places on the list, 'kay?"

[Ryan D'Alteau]

By the time I got to New York, I was livin' like a king!
Then I used up all my money! I was looking for your ass!
This way or no way. You know I'll be free.
Just like that bluebird. Now, ain't that just like me?
______________________________David Bowie - "Lazarus"

Shane and Caitlin O'Hara
Villa Patricia
The day of the wedding, shortly after noon

Shane and Caitlin O'Hara were - with their combined age of 153 - one of the most long-lived mortal couples who were set to be attending the wedding; only a few collective years younger than their hosts, Zosime and Marguerite. Having been a fixture on the guest list long before Felicia Rahal got a hold of it, Ryan's maternal grandparents were the true source of the Irish half of his DNA and, as the young husband-to-be had adamantly stated, a pair of people who would be present even if they had to find a special capable of erecting a temporary bridge across the Channel to ferry them there by car.

Although they had a fluent grasp of English between them, due in no small part to the necessities brought about by encroaching modernity, Ryan's defining memory of the infrequent childhood visits to their house in the village of Rahan - just a few miles away from Tullamore, right in the middle of the Republic of Ireland - was their preference for speaking Gaelic. It was a language they'd imparted on their daughter, just as she had tried to impart it onto Ryan. Now, however, he was only able to recall a couple of phrases on a good day; most of the knowledge overwritten by his relatively adept grasp of French.

For the duration of their stay in Saint-Tropez, however, they were happy to make a compromise. "Tá tú ar an eolas nach féidir liom a léamh aon cheann de na comharthaí seo?" As with their flight over from Ireland, the comfortable rental car had been fully paid for in advance as part of the colossal logistical nightmare that was ferrying the guests from their homes out to the south of France. For Shane, learning two languages was far more than enough, especially when one of them was likely set to be a casualty of obsolesence within the next century. In order to get them to their grandson's wedding, they had little more than the car's GPS system and the driving prowess of a seventy-seven year old Irishman.

It was more than enough. The signs be damned. "Agus cheapann tú gur féidir liom?" An amused dry cackle rose from the passenger seat as Caitlin glanced out at the road ahead, just in time to see yet another incomprehensible road sign rush by; one which, were Ryan present, would have been easily revealed to show nothing more than the distances to nearby towns. "Chomh fada agus a íocann tú aird ar an loingseoireacht satailíte in ionad dul ar strae, beidh orainn go breá!" The GPS, mercifully, had been preset to emit an English-speaking voice and, up to now, hadn't put a single foot - or wheel - wrong since their departure from the airport.

In hindsight, however, Caitlin would have argued that the car's GPS system was largely superfluous. With the number of cars parked at the side of the road on the Route des Salins; the nearest one on which they could legally park once Villa Patricia's driveway had met its capacity, it was abundantly clear that something was going on. The limousine which languidly rolled out from the junction and joined the other side of the road before heading away from their destination was their prime opportunity. If a car twice as long as their own had just left, then it obviously stood to reason that there would be at least one parking space available somewhere. So in the car went before any other latecomers saw fit to ruin Shane's plan.

"Dammit, I think this ice is starting to melt..!" As the car slowed to a stop, having laid claim to a parking spot mere feet from the near-untraversable driveway, the air was filled with the low murmur of activity. Although they were both in their seventies, Shane and Caitlin could clearly hear smatterings of conversation flowing out through one of the open windows, a mixture of voices and accents which formed a nonsensical jumble at their current distance. Two voices which were prominent enough to be clearly audible, however, were those of a pair of dark-haired American women, clutching a collection of clear ice-filled bags between them.

It had taken them a while longer than planned but, after some perseverance, Nireva and Jenna had finally succeeded in their mission and retrieved everything on Marguerite's shopping list. As they had elected to head into town on foot rather than borrow a car from one of the guests, the fishmonger by the harbour had tightly packed all of their purchases - both from his shop and from the market stall - in a series of plastic bags filled almost to bursting with ice in order to help keep everything fresh on the way back. As they approached the villa, it didn't take long for the immortal to spot the elderly - though still much younger than her - couple popping the trunk of their rental car. Ever the polite one to always show respect to her (aesthetic) elders, she took the opportunity to delegate some important duties. "You know your way to the kitchen, right?" Handing over the small bags to her girlfriend, Nireve flashed Jenna a smile as her hands took the strain. "Get these to Marguerite as quick as you can, okay? And, whatever you do, don't drop anything!"

"Son of a-... hey!" With little alternative, Jenna let out a weary sigh and made her way on towards the villa's front door, leaving Nireva to stroll over to the car. With Adele's elder relatives already inside, it didn't take much deductive energy for her to decide which language to lead off with. "Hi!" With a friendly wave as cheery as her voice, she took a second before gesturing to the bags in Shane's grasp. "You need a hand there?"

"Yeah, that'd be grand. Thanks!" With the journey over, Shane's frustration at the road signs faded in seconds. While Shane had grown up in the rural parts of Ireland, his thick accent was far from impenetrable; a little broader than Conall's, perhaps, but not to the point where the whole wedding party would be constantly asking the O'Haras to repeat themselves. Taking the overnight bag from Shane's right hand, Nireva slowed her pace to match that of her new friends and began to slowly lead them towards the elaborate beachside residence. "My name's Nireva; or just Niri, if you prefer." While their accents made it obvious, she thought it polite not to make assumptions. "The girl who just went inside is Jenna. So, who are you two happy for? Bride or groom?"

"M'name's Caitlin O'Hara an' this is my husband, Shane. It's nice t'meet ya, Niri." The names weren't familiar but, at a wedding, that was going to be the case for most people. She could only imagine how someone like Layton - who hadn't met anyone bar Khalidah until last night - was feeling. "And we're 'ere t'see Ryan! We're his gran'parents, y'see? On 'is ma's side."

"Oh. That explains his accent!" O'Hara must've been Rhiannon's maiden name, she surmised. Again, she held her tongue for a moment, thinking it best not to pry and ask where Leo's parents were in all this. Dampening the mood of a wedding was frowned upon, if not outright forbidden. "Right now, we've got the bride and groom split up on opposite sides of the villa." Gesturing with her free hand, she vaguely denoted each half of the house in turn. "That way, they don't see one another before they head down the aisle. You two, though? Seeing as you're the, uh... grandparents of the groom, I think we can get you a pass to move around the whole place as much as you want."

"That's good. We wanna at least get t'meet the nice girl our Ryan's got himself bethrothed to before they get their vows said! Wouldn't be proper, otherwise!"

They hadn't met Adele yet?! This was going to be interesting. Electing to omit the unsettling vibes she got from Ryan's fiancée, Nireva stuck to whatever laudable qualities she could recall from overhearing conversations in the villa. "Well... her name's Adele Couteau. She's... a bit older than Ryan is." Fuck that, she thought. She wasn't gonna be the one to tell Shane and Caitlin about the fourteen-year age gap. Even if she was three-hundred and seventy years older than both of them. "She works as a doctor and she and Ryan both live in a nice beachfront condo in the south of Texas. Far as I'm aware, they've both been really happy together for about six years now." Their differing personalities did seem to gel with each other very well. As... crazy as rumours made them out to be, there was no denying they were both made for one another.

"Ryan and Adele, hm?" As a hobby, Caitlin had enjoyed reading various books on the intricacies of language - its history, etymology, evolution and the like - and, when Rhiannon had become pregnant with both Ryan and Darron, she had been on hand to offer her expertise when it came to suggestions for the names of the newborns. It was an interest she had only allowed to grow as she entered her well-earned retirement and, as well as a way to keep her mind active, it was also just plain interesting to read where certain names had come from. "The king and his princess. Almost sounds like a fairytale, wouldn't y'say?"

Yeah, like the Brothers Grimm. "It would've been a beautiful sight if they dressed like a king and princess for the wedding. But... I don't think that kind of aesthetic's really their thing. I still have no idea what Ryan's wedding suit's gonna look like. Guess we'll all find out together, huh?"

[Ryan D'Alteau]

Are you hoping for something, waiting for some sign?
It's time to jump in or simply get the hell out!
I think you'd better make up your mind!
______________________________Celldweller - "The Best It's Gonna Get"

"Right, I'll bite." Upon his arrival at the villa, the elaborate outfits that were to be worn by the bride and groom - perpetually kept separate so as not to risk either of them learning what the other would be wearing on the big day - had been taken away from the rest of their belongings by their respective parents. At Marguerite's urging, Adele's dress and Ryan's suit had been sent to be cleaned and generally fussed over until they were guaranteed to be immaculate before being placed into garment bags and returned to the wardrobes in the rooms in which they had chosen to sleep where they would lie undisturbed until the time came to finally get changed.

After taking off his chicken costume, having breakfast and spending more time in the shower than he had likely ever had before, Ryan had finally retrieved his clean suit from the bedroom wardrobe and set about putting it on. "Why blue?" Having been made aware of the proviso prior to making the trip out to Saint-Tropez with Jessica, Darron had got himself a navy blue suit, complete with a matching tie and pants, accompanied by a silver waistcoat. The black formal shoes he had on were almost a cop-out choice. Black shoes at a wedding. There was no way in hell that it was a wrong answer.

However, it was when he saw Ryan stride out from his bedroom, finally decked out in the expensive outfit in which he'd be marrying the love of his life, that Darron realised just why Ryan had foregone the usual choice of a black suit. However, unlike his own suit's subdued navy blue fabric, the suit Ryan was wearing was formed entirely in an eye-catching shade of royal blue that was almost garish in comparison. The white dress shirt and black bowtie and waistcoat helped to offset how striking he looked and, like his brother, he had settled on wearing a pair of black shoes. For better or worse, nobody was going to forget his outfit in a hurry.

While Adele was getting her hair played with and decorated just a few rooms away, Ryan had taken the less stressful route and simply got his hair cut the previous afternoon. Unlike his soon-to-be-wife, his appearance - well, his masculine appearance, at least - was the dictionary definition of low-maintenance. Because his hair hadn't had the chance to really start growing again after less than twenty-four hours, there was no need for him to do anything beyond making sure it was washed and combed into a state of decency. It was something he could do in his sleep and, given how hung over and tired he felt, he probably had.

To fully explain why he chosen the colour, however? That would take some doing. "Have mum an' dad actually told you about... what I can do?" Having been so long ago since he'd first introduced his brother to Adele, Ryan was struggling to recall if they'd ever discussed the subject of his ability. Following their harrowing incarceration in Level Five; an event which still sent the odd chill down his spine every so often even now, he knew that their parents had been let in on the more... negative facets of living with a superhuman ability as granted by one's DNA. What he didn't know was whether they'd then gone on to discuss things with his brother. "You mean... like how Adele fixed my kidney?"

Ryan exhaled quietly through his nose at the mention. While the rift between them had healed by now - no doubt spurred on by the fact that the Alcroft siblings were a now a pair of grown men - it had definitely not been the case nearly eight years ago. Having decided to take a fortnight away from their shared burdens - from encounters with the Company to their then allegiance to the Rogue Society - in order to visit family, the first destination had been Darron's old apartment in the middle of London. The brothers had definitely tried to make amends after six years apart but, after a few poorly-chosen remarks from the both of them, they had descended into a brawl in the kitchen.

The fight, while short, had ended up with Ryan pummelling his elder brother until he slumped down against the kitchen wall. The punches had done their expected damage; a split lip there, a collection of bruises there but, when Ryan had decided on ramming his knee into Darron's stomach as a coup de grâce, he had managed to tear open his brother's renal artery with the sheer force of the assault. Had Adele not been present and been merciful enough to use her ability to repair the damage, Darron likely wouldn't have lived long enough to show up for work the next morning. "Kinda. I can't do what she does, though. As well as doin' stuff with body chemistry, she can manipulate blood pretty much however she wants. That's how she fixed you."

Just as they had explained away his school suspension to Ryan by saying he'd contracted the flu - quite the feat in the early summer - Darron did remember Rhiannon mentioning that Ryan had been on a sabbatical to get over 'severe work-related stress'. He knew his mother had been bullshitting him at the time, but he'd respected both her and Ryan enough to not press the issue any further and left the matter there. Darron had no idea that his little brother had been hauled off the street by a shadowy organisation and imprisoned against his will for a month simply because of the fact his DNA was a little different and, barring any extenuating circumstances, Ryan would've been content if his brother never knew. "And my brother's a badass superhuman too?" A smirk flashed across Darron's face as he worked to lighten the mood. "Go on. What can you do?"

"A few things." And, with that, Darron's right leg languidly extended until the sole of his foot rested against the edge of a small chair situated in front of what looked like a vanity desk. A moment later, his foot pushed forward, causing the chair to topple over and noisily land on the floor. Darron himself, however, was slightly stunned. As far as he was concerned, he had no rhyme or reason to kick the chair over but had seen himself do it regardless. Confusion set in as he tried to make sense of what had just taken place. "I didn't-... I didn't wanna kick over th-... woah."

Then he looked over at Ryan.

And saw just what had happened to his eyes. Deeming his brother off-limits when it came to the full extent of his ability - just like Adele and his parents - Ryan had decided to come up with an alternative way to demonstrate what he could do. Exerting his will on someone without the aid of a projection wasn't something he could do to whoever he wished and, when he did, it was never as powerful as anything he could do when he abandoned his physical shell. It could easily be resisted and, were someone cognizant of what was going on, his "puppetry" could quite easily be shrugged off as a mild nuisance.

Ryan chuckled quietly as he caught sight of his brother's reaction. It had been quite a while since anyone had been surprised at the sight of his eyes whenever his ability came to the fore and, with the oily sheen ever so close to matching his wedding suit, things were finally making sense. "You've... heard of astral projection, right?" Darron slowly nodded. Their mother was definitely into all that spiritual stuff. "Well, when I was getting those headaches and weird dreams all those years ago, it was actually that manifestin' itself."

"You were... growin' into your ability?"

A transhuman form of genetic puberty? That was one way of putting it. "Pretty much." A few blinks of his eyes later and the uninterrupted deep blue layer across his eyes - and his vision - began to rip apart, swirling away from his pupils and irises until his eyes returned to normal. "A lot of what I can do is pretty hard to explain, 'specially in the space of one conversation, but... y'know how mum's books talk about unshacklin' your consciousness and goin' off as a ghost-like entity, able to see things that you never would be able to, otherwise?"

"What about it?"

"It ain't bullshit." Ryan smile widened. Had he ever actually shown off his ability before? "At least, not for me. I can even make other people do... things. Y'know... possess people." Now, he was straying close to what regular people would have considered his dark side. Possession was how he'd taken the lives of multiple people over the years; fourteen in all, if memory served. And one of those was a former President. "Makin' you kick the chair over? That was... just me pushing against your mind. T'do anythin' else - like... really take you over? - it takes more effort. Like... 'the physical me wouldn't be awake' effort."

"Right. That's it. 'S official, now." It was taking quite a lot for Darron to make sense of his brother's revelation. It wasn't every day that someone learned that a person they'd known since their birth had an unfathomable power at their disposal. "I'm never gonna piss you off again!" Other than the confusion and slight weirded out feeling he was getting at Ryan suddenly controlling his actions for a brief moment, Darron felt he was taking this quite well. "So what's it like? Being an astral projection, I mean."

"Y'mean, what do I see?" Ryan shrugged as he started to make his way over towards the door which led out into the hallway from the living room. "Usually, I see what you're seein' now. Only everything's tinted blue. It's not really that special, I know. But I'm probably doin' something subconsciously to make it look like the physical world. I dunno." Gently rubbing his eyes, Ryan glanced down the hall in either direction. "I'm gonna go wander about for a bit; pass the time, eventu'lly start getting nervous."

"Alright. Don't go sneakin' a look at your wife now!"

Just as she had been yesterday, Dakari was still on guard, doing her best to be both sociable as Adele's maid of honour and keep tabs on the border which bisected the villa. To the latter end, she had brought Katie Cho - a longtime... something. Friend, colleague, bodyguard, general right-hand woman? Ryan didn't know - and given her the task of helping maintain order at the villa's front door. A cynic might have likened the duty to directing traffic but, with Villa Patricia being unfamiliar territory for everyone except half a dozen people, it was a necessary duty. As he neared the entrance of his side of the villa, he caught sight of a quartet of newcomers.

The last time he had seen Lucius Kilvayne had been four years ago, back when he and Adele had found their way into being members of GEIST, the secret organisation that had tried to change the world by commanding him to assassinate a world leader. Back then, Lucius hadn't even been a politician (as far as he knew) and had just been a run-of-the-mill businessman. Now, though, rather than change the most powerful nation in the world, he pretty much controlled it. Did that count as success?

Ryan was a lot less familiar with Christian Moynahan, only really having seen him at a couple of parties and never really spoken to him at length. But the Ark Industries CEO was a hard man to miss, given the media frenzy which had surrounded a great many of his exploits since his appointment. "More guests, huh?", he said, announcing his presence with a friendly smile. "Been a while, Mr. Upwardly Mobile." In terms of career advancement, Lucius had them all handily beat. "It's great that you were all able to make it." As his gaze shifted to face Jordan and Rayden, his mind momentarily froze as he locked eyes with the former.

Jordan Mercer had thrown a Hallowe'en party at Ryan and Adele's condo a few years ago; one which had ended in something of a fuzzy blur for everyone. However, after the number Jordan had done on his mind following their last encounter, Ryan's memories of both the party and Jordan himself had been considerably fractured. He knew that he'd attended a party that year and could clearly remember that he'd been dressed as Batman. But, when it came to Jordan, all his mind got was an unaccountable sense of déjà vu as it drew a blank. "...even if I've not actually met two of ya. Ah, well."

[Adele D'Alteau]

Put your heads in the sand, there is nothing there to seek
No discovery of mine will be safe in these seas
You feel a bitter taste on your tongue
Swallow your every wrong
Let yourselves be in your arms
In it are worries now for you
______________________________Iamamiwhoami – Chasing Kites





†††
۵ ۵ ۵

"By the way, did you ever settle on what to do about your last names?"

“That's probably part of the reason why it took us so long to decide.” Adele chuckled lightly. Who was going to take who's last name had been a bone of contention between them for a few years. There were a few names that they'd settled on, and if they so chose, they could always change it later.
“We decided on combining our two last names into d'Alteau. It has a nice ring to it, I think.” All the other names they'd chosen just . . . didn't sound right. Too much alliteration, too awkward.

She led the way out of the room and made her way across the villa with Dakari in tow. At Khalidah's request, Adele's grandparents had set up one of their stately rooms with a large sliding glass door which led out onto the beach. Adele knocked on the closed door, annoucing their presence, and heard Khalidah answer from the other side.

“Come in. I'm decent.” State-side, she'd cobbled together an outfit befitting the occasion, and had included some embellishments from past millennia.

The small French woman turned the handle and pushed the door inward. Khalidah was slipping her hand through another gold bangle and looked in their direction. She was wearing a thin chiffon gown embroidered with gold vines and red roses. Her chest was covered in a halter made of bronze scale mail, and she was crowned with an ornate falcon headdress with its wings flared out over her temples.

“You should probably go ahead and start telling everyone to go outside. They can sit where they want, though I'm assuming you'd like your family sitting in one of the rows up front.” It was a perfect day for a wedding. The weather was mild, and the sun was only just starting to make its crest downwards towards the western horizon. “You look lovely, but you already know that.”

“Thank you. We just wanted to make sure that you were ready.”

Khalidah approached them at the door, each footstep bringing with it the sounds of hundreds of tiny bells from the metal charms that were affixed around her ankles. “Let's be on our way, then, shall we?”

†††
۵ ۵ ۵

† Word count: 478
۵ Outfit: Linked in post.
† Other: None

[Amalia Djanescu]

No more champagne
And the fireworks are through
Here we are, me and you
Feeling lost and feeling blue
Its the end of the party
______________________________Tarja – Happy New Year

With all the media talk of different cities on the French Riviera banning modest swimsuits--burkinis--when she heard that she and Devon had been invited to a wedding in Saint Tropez, she wasn't sure whether she should bring hers. When told that it wouldn't be an issue—at some point, the Maignys had hosted several Muslims at their home—she packed it without a second thought. She would have packed it anyway, but having dealt with her fair share of stares in the States due to how she dressed, it would have been a lie if she said she wasn't self-conscious.

When she read the invitation and noticed the date, she was concerned that it would coincide with her family's celebration of Eid al-Adha, which meant that she was going to have to turn it down. Her parents were the ones who talked her into going, using the line that Felicia was family, and that she was in desperate need of a vacation. Although her job as a flight attendant allowed her to visit cities all over the world, she never really had any time off. All of her time off was spent studying in her hotel room or in the attendant's lounge at whatever airport she happened to be waiting at.

She changed into her blue and purple swimsuit and a pair of flip-flops, then did her best to navigate around the Maigny's villa. For people whom she didn't even know, they'd been incredibly accommodating and non-judgemental. Not that she expected them to be judgemental, but life experience had taught her to generally be wary of meeting new people. Meeting Devon had taken her way out of her comfort zone, because she'd been worried about how her parents would see him. They weren't extreme, reactionary Muslims; in fact, she was probably the most conservative of them all. Her mother had never worn an abaya, a jilbab, or a hijab, and yet Amalia owned several of each. They observed all of the major Muslim high holy days, but she was the one who carried her sajjada with her in a satchel everywhere she went.

Amalia didn't need to pack anything, but she packed nonetheless. She didn't like to rely on her ability to do things unless it was absolutely necessary. If she'd wanted, she could have just created a portal, and jumped from one location to the other as it suited her. There was just something about the process of packing and unpacking that made her feel calm.

While everyone else had been drinking whatever alcohol the Maigny's had stashed all over their home, she'd opted to drink the homemade rosewater lemonade that Zosime had grown and distilled and squeezed by hand. It reminded her of the rosewater iced tea her paternal grandfather used to make when she was a child and she visited him.

She looked up from what she'd been doing when she heard her phone start to chime on the nightstand across the room.

can you get to the big garden from your side of the villa?
wanna meet up with me?

نعم، أعطني دقيقة.

“Ugh, stupid phone.” The last person she'd texted had been her mother, and they always texted in Arabic. She'd forgotten to switch the keyboard back to a traditional QWERTY keyboard.

Sorry. I texted my mom last. Yes, give me a minute.

Amalia tossed her phone onto the bed and left the room, stopping briefly at the room next to her. The door was slightly ajar and she peered inside to make sure that whoever was on the other side was dressed. She knocked softly to announce her presence and gingerly opened the door.

Helena and her grandmother had a somewhat contentious relationship, but Amalia had no problem with the head of Company. “Hey, I'm heading out to the beach. Would you care to join me? I imagine everyone will be gathering out there soon anyway.” She smiled at Helena and left the door open behind her, allowing Helena to determine whether or not she'd follow. Amalia was just trying to be accommodating.

She met Devon outside, seated amongst a plethora of flora that she didn't recognise. Zosime had told her in passing of his ability, so she assumed much of the gardening around the property was of his design.

"How're things on your side? Don't worry. I'm not gonna tell."

“Things are fine on my side. A bit boring, actually. I've mostly just been studying. I think I may have just created a theorem which proves that gravity is really a pushing force rather than a pulling force, but other than that, I haven't been up to much.”

✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄。*。¨¯`*✲ ✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄。*。¨¯`*✲

ƸӜƷ Word count: 867
ƸӜƷ Outfit: This.
ƸӜƷ Other: Nothing to add.

[Devon Ridgeman]

Were it not his girlfriend sending the message - and were it only the first time it had happened - Devon would have been a little confused at the nonsensical jumble of puncuation marks and random letters which popped up on the screen of his phone upon receiving Amalia's first response. But, rather quickly, he had learned that, with both Amalia and her parents practicing Islam to varying degrees of adherence, it wasn't entirely outside the realms of possibility that she would be conversing with her parents in Arabic. While his girlfriend's phone had been specifically bought due to its ability to both display and have messages typed in the Middle Eastern language, Devon's phone was still devoid of many of the optional language patches that users could download to allow for non-English characters found in other languages. He spoke none of them and so didn't see much point in obtaining them.

Just as her second message had informed him, Amalia strolled out to meet him a short time later, with a pair of flip-flops accompanying her long, body covering, blue-and-purple swimsuit. Devon didn't pretend to know much about the various rules which his girlfriend followed; the clothes she had to wear, the practices which religious convention deemed obligatory or facets of her diet. In his own mind, he had deemed it comparable to something like vegetarianism or abstinence from alcohol. It wasn't a restriction, per sé. It just... was. Occasionally, he would get reminded at how certain things were off-limits - whether perpetually or due to the observance of one holy day or another - and, after a sheepish apology, their day proceeded as normal.

It wasn't as if he, as a recovering drug addict, could really take the high ground anyway. So he didn't. "Things are fine on my side." Devon remained seated on the conveniently positioned bench as Amalia sighed her initial response to his inquiry. "A bit boring really." One thing he loved to do these days was to lounge around and listen to Amalia talk. Even when she strayed into her university work and tried to explain the latest chapter of her thesis to him, he just tuned out the mind-boggling rationales surrouding universal mathematic reality (whatever the fuck that was) and focused on the seemingly endless string of soothing syllables that swam out of her finely sculpted face.

"I think I may have just created a theorem which proves that gravity is really a pushing force rather than a pulling force but, other than that, I haven't been up to much."

"Aaaaah..!" A brief, frantic wave of one hand signalled his exaggerated desire to avoid the confusion from... whatever she'd just said. To him, gravity kept pulling things on Earth towards a giant ball of magnetised molten metal, with the ground stopping everyone from falling into the fiery abyss. It stopped him from floating away. That was all he needed to know. "Please, Mal. This is a wedding. Not a study camp." A grin soon appeared on his face as he shuffled down to one end of the bench; a wordless invitation for her to sit beside him. "Besides, I was only with you up until 'gravity', anyway. It's a wonder my brain hasn't boiled and started running out of my nose with how little I understand of that thesis of yours."

While other people at the villa were entertaining the notion of getting changed into their wedding outfits, Devon - like Amalia, he assumed - hadn't yet done so. Although there hadn't been any real mention of a conclusive dress code, Khalidah had brought a suit matching his measurements along with her regardless. Having not requested anything special when it came to his formal ensemble, the immortal had plumped for a traditional black tie outfit, though had left out the shoes in case he wanted to wear something else or go barefoot on the beach. Which begged the question... "How close do you think Adele and the others are to being ready?" While there was still a lot of the day left to get through, the smell of food being prepared and the near-constant influx of guests had led Devon to wonder if there was something he should be doing, if only to keep fitting in. "With what Ryan woke up in this morning, he's bound to have got dressed in something more fitting by now."

[Amalia Djanescu]

But we are clones and we pretend,
This world is not about to end
How do we love when it all comes falling down
We make a stand in disbelief
How did we die? How could it be?
______________________________:LOR3L3I: – Reprochuman

Much like his other relatives, Caleb had also been invited to the wedding. It was odd, being around so many people he didn't know, but it didn't bother him. Everyone had been incredibly warm and welcoming, and he and Conall had hit it off rather well once they realised they shared similar abilities. He found it fascinating that Conall could only shift into the animals he had tattooed on his skin, and they'd both already made plans to get at least one matching tattoo if they found an adequate tattoo parlour during their visit. Caleb could turn into a falcon at will, but that wasn't a skill Conall had been able to master, given the lack of a falcon on his skin. With France being such a bastion of creativity, it wouldn't be difficult for them to find a suitable artist to design the bird and essentially drill it into Conall's flesh.

Conall had made himself scarce, and so he was presently wandering around the large villa, trying to find at least a semi-familiar face. For the wedding, he was wearing a black sherwani embroidered with gold which had a matching scarf, black cotton cargo pants, and a white and gold embroidered kufi on his head. His hair had grown a few inches since he'd last seen the rest of his family, and the ebony curls now terminated a little below his shoulder blades.

He didn't feel at all out of place amongst all the Westerners who were present. The Maignys had done a superb job of making everyone feel like family—which they probably were somewhere down the line, considering how much his family had gotten around over the years. They were essentially all his cousins.

Caleb immediately recognised the President of the free world, dressed quite sharply in a tuxedo. Much to his surprise, there weren't any Secret Service around—at least none from what he could see. He imagined that they were probably off hiding somewhere ensuring everyone's safety. His eyes passed to the tall, pale man standing beside the President. “Mister President,” he offered a brief bow and extended his hand out to both of the men for a handshake. “I believe your name is Christian Moynahan.” Both his mother and his aunt had done their best to provide him with at least a brief background of everyone whom Felicia had invited. Leave it to his sister to invite what had to have been at least half the U.S. population . . . okay, so that was a slight exaggeration.

He heard the distinct clicking of a pair of boots on tile, followed by a familiar voice. “Caleb! So glad you were able to make it. It feels like it's been a century since I've seen you.”

“Ah, what's a century between immortals?” He smiled at Lilka and brought her into a hug. “But it has been a while. I'm glad you were able to make it to Haitham's graduation.”

“I've actually never been to Tunisia before, so getting to see all the sights and sounds in Gabes was pretty incredible.” Lilka had come to the villa at her sister's request. Khalidah had told her not to upstage the couple who was on their way to getting married, but who was she to listen to her older sibling? She'd rarely done it in the past, and she certainly wasn't going to start now. For her ensemble, she'd cobbled together a mish-mash of clothes from various eras, including a black felted buccaneer hat, decorated with red lace and a large black feather of unknown origin, a red vested jacket, matching black leather riding pants and gloves, and a pair of thick skinned crocodile boots which added an inch to her height.

“So, Lucius and Christian—this is my Caleb. He's one of Khalidah's sons, so I'm guessing that's why Felicia invited him. It's like a mini-family reunion here.” Jordan was around somewhere. Then there was Felicia and her three children—Niri, Ildiko, and Tivodar. Khalidah and Caleb, and a handful of other individuals with whom they probably shared very faint family ties. “Speaking of my family, do any of you know where Helena is?” She honestly didn't understand what Felicia saw in that woman, but who was she to judge? She'd all but given up on relationships. Maybe she'd have a fling here and there, but nothing serious.

✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄。*。¨¯`*✲ ✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄。*。¨¯`*✲

ƸӜƷ Word count: 831
ƸӜƷ Outfit: All mentioned in the post.
ƸӜƷ Other: Lilka is Khalidah's sister, Caleb is Khalidah's son, Haitham is Caleb's college-age son.

[Amalia Djanescu]

Seed
Plant it and watch
It grow into a cure
To catch up with evolution
You can't defeat the change
Such simple things...
______________________________The Hollow Earth Theory – Rise of Agartha, Part II

"Please, Mal. This is a wedding. Not a study camp."

“I know, it's just a habit.” Honestly, she should have been a little more social—probably. No one really understood what she was studying. Hell, there were times when even she had no idea what she was studying. Some nights she felt like she was on the brink of making a huge discovery . . . and then she'd fall asleep, and would forget where she left off when she woke up. She'd heard stories about famous scientists having the answers to questions given to them in dreams; how come that never happened to her? Or if it did, why could she never remember her dreams?

Amalia sat down beside him after he made room for her on the bench.

"Besides, I was only with you up until 'gravity', anyway. It's a wonder my brain hasn't boiled and started running out of my nose with how little I understand of that thesis of yours."

“It's pretty fascinating stuff, but it's really hard for most people to get their head around, especially if you're a layman.” Growing up, her parents had instilled in her a passion for learning and education, and she'd excelled in the sciences, much to her own chagrin. “Sometimes I wish I'd gone into a field that was a little easier to understand so that I could talk about it with everyone, but that isn't where life led me.”

She paused, looking out at the large expanse of the Mediterranean in front of them. In her years of working as a flight attendant, she'd been to many places, but Saint Tropez had never been a prime destination, mostly because she knew she'd never be able to afford it. At least not until she became a famous mathematician who unlocked the numerical secrets of the universe and put them all up on Wikileaks.

"How close do you think Adele and the others are to being ready?"

“I'm assuming that they're still in the process of getting ready. It's not supposed to be happening until later in the afternoon.” Amalia pulled up her left sleeve and checked her watch. “It's only one right now.”

Unlike Devon, she'd opted to go out with the women for the bride's impromptu bachelorette party. Normally she wouldn't have partaken in such frivolity back home, but seeing a side of Saint Tropez that was usually reserved for the rich and famous, she certainly wasn't going to turn it down. Even with Felicia at the helm, they hadn't gotten into very serious trouble, as in no one had been arrested or seriously hurt. She felt safer travelling with a large group of people in a city she was unfamiliar with, and she'd definitely made some fantastic memories. Never in her life could she have imagined that she would have spent a night out with the First Lady, her grandmother, a French surgeon, her aunt, her aunt's girlfriend . . . probably some other people she was forgetting. Helena hadn't been among them, which she thought was odd, but she didn't bring it up.

Devon, from what she understood, hadn't joined Ryan and Darron for a night on the town, instead opting for the comforts of home. She couldn't blame him. "With what Ryan woke up in this morning, he's bound to have got dressed in something more fitting by now."

“Yeah, I heard about that. It had to have been quite a night.” Though she hadn't seen the pictures yet, she'd caught wind of what had transpired the night before for the groom, and it brought an amused smile to her face. “Poor guy. This is why I don't bother with drinking too excess. I'm afraid of what I might get talked into.”

The sound of a loud, familiar voice behind her caused her to turn her head. Through the tall pane of glass which separated her and Devon from the interior of the Maignys estate, she saw two of her other relatives—Caleb and Lilka—exchanging pleasantries with Christian Moynahan and Lucius Kilvayne, known to the rest of the world as the President of the United States.

“Wow. I didn't know Adele was so well-connected.” She blamed a majority of the people currently in attendance on her grandmother, Felicia. Amalia wouldn't have put it past her grandmother to make thousands of copies of the invitations, fly a blimp over Times Square on New Year's Eve, and drop them like confetti on the crowd below. She was the Pinkie Pie of their entire family, always looking to have a party for no other reason than just to party.

✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄。*。¨¯`*✲ ✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄。*。¨¯`*✲

ƸӜƷ Word count: 869
ƸӜƷ Outfit: Mentioned in other posts.
ƸӜƷ Other: I hate the Rahals. Too many family members to remember.

[Layton Ranta]

No reason why I can't understand it.
Open your mind! We can understand it!
Please let me know moshi kotae ga aru nara! (...if you know this is the end of the world!)
Let me know oshiete hoshii! (...if you know the truth!)
______________________________BABYMETAL - "The One"

In hindsight, maybe he should have gone out drinking with Ryan and his brother. As well as making his bachelor party a little less awkward by turning the duo into a trio, Layton would have also done himself a favour by getting the hell out of Villa Patricia for a few hours. His invitation to the seaside villa - and the wedding being held there - had come, like many things recently, from his connection to Khalidah Rahal. Although it had been her daughter who had taken charge of the guest list for Ryan and Adele's wedding, she had seen fit to accomodate her family's acquaintances; or as many as she deemed feasible.

He wouldn't have considered himself Khalidah's official plus-one, but he appreciated the opportunity for a vacation nonetheless. With the exception of the "housewarming night" in Los Angeles when a special had broken into his new home and tried to rob him, his life had continuted to be mostly boring and mundane. Other than the sporadic occasions where Khalidah had paid him a visit, whether to check up on him or to offer him avenues for further insight into his mind-boggling ability, she had also invited him to a Hallowe'en party in New York last year. There, he'd met quite a few people who were lucky - or burdened - enough to possess an ability like he did.

It was only upon his arrival that he'd actually realised that both the bride and groom had been at that very same party. Although he hadn't seen her since arriving in Saint-Tropez, he knew what Adele Couteau looked like. He doubted there was going to be much in the way of marked difference between her turn as Lady Macbeth and how she'd look when she began her stroll down the aisle. Ryan, on the other hand? Layton had no idea what the man actually looked like until Ryan's brother Darron began the customary round of introductions. Given that, the last time he'd seen Ryan, the taller - and younger - man had been dressed from head to toe in blue latex, a PVC two-piece, a pair of substantial fake breasts and some elaborate paw boots, it had taken more than a few moments to tie the name to the now normal looking twenty-something husband-to-be.

Beyond the party, however, Layton's life had been very little more than the daily grind, albeit an unusual one. Having learned that Khalidah was essentially comping his whole house behind the scenes, he had worked out that he didn't actually need to get paid that much in order to earn a "living wage". Food, clothes and enough other random shit to keep both himself and the house clean and in some semblance of proper order. That was all he needed. At first, he had simply bounced from one short-term temp job to the next, trying out as many different fields as he could find in which the employers would take him.

The most recent of these short-lived jobs had been for a high-end department store. But, rather than working in one, whittling away his sanity by helping vacuous socialites determine which dress would be best to separate them from an overinflated amount of money, he had actually landed himself a one-off gig as a clothing model. While he had needed to get the garish dye and super-strength gel out of his hair in order for it to conform to what the company was looking for (red spikes were definitely not under the purview of haute couture), the team of photographers and make-up artists had seemingly taken a shine to his rugged Nordic looks. He was no Alexander Skarsgård - he wasn't even from the right country - but he doubted that there were that many Nordic men in their early thirties living in LA. So he took the job offer. He let them dress him up for a couple of weeks and gladly took his payment at the end of it.

That was what he'd wanted when he moved out to America. Not the modelling, per sé, but a life that wasn't monotonous; one filled with ways he could break up the usual routine so he wouldn't end up being driven insane from boredom. For the past year or so, he had been signed up with a promotional staffing agency that was based in California. Whenever a client of theirs needed extra promoting power in and around Los Angeles - whether it was showing off their products while dressed in a branded uniform or being part of the hospitality staff at a formal event - the agency had sent word to anyone who lived close by and, by taking part in whichever jobs took his fancy, Layton had been keeping comfortably afloat with regards to money and, if he ever wanted to take some time off, all he had to do was say he wasn't available. It was perfect!

That was just what he'd done with the emails which had entered his inbox in the days leading up to his departure. Unable to be on two different continents at once during the last few days of August, he had ruled himself out of a couple of fun paydays in favour of attending the wedding. Though, almost as soon as the Maigny villa had hoved into view, he had been inundated by the people who had arrived both before and after him. Or, to be more precise, their abilities. Although he'd had a little bit of practice at mentally tuning out Khalidah's colossal ability whenever she'd deigned to visit, there was no way in hell he could have been adequately prepared to do the same with over a dozen abilities at once.

As far as he was concerned, it had made him, for the most part, a pretty crappy wedding guest. And so, with Ryan greeting some newcomers out front, his elder brother wandering around the sections of the villa he was allowed to wander around and everyone else he encountered seemingly busy, Layton elected to make his way out into the garden at the villa's rear. It was the most peaceful area he'd found that didn't involve heading down to the beach or in any other way leaving the premises. Even here, however, he wasn't able to escape the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that someone with an ability was present.

The first one was instantly familiar. Having spent over twenty-four hours around Devon Ridgeman, he had long since tied the mental image of rotting metal to him. The "metal" in question wasn't rusting or being tarnished in any normal way, as far as his mind could tell. Whenever he dwelled on Devon's presence, he got the sense that a block of metal was wasting away from the inside out; as though its very molecules were being torn asunder. It was... chilling, to say the least. The one beside it, however, wasn't. It felt like a nagging knot in his head that wouldn't go away, no matter how much everything else in the world told him that all was well. A glitch in an otherwise pristine landscape.

"I didn't know Adele was so well-connected..." Amalia Djanescu, like a few other people, had been present at last year's Hallowe'en party and, like those other people, her face had been disguised by her creepy costume. Some kind of possessed chicken. He couldn't be expected to remember everything. She and Devon were a couple, that much he'd been able to gather back then from how they'd acted around one another and from how the other Rahals had spoken about them. With it being the early afternoon, Layton had thought it prudent to change into his wedding outfit; a dark grey tuxedo similar in style - though not colour - to the one Devon would be wearing.

His tendency to dye his hair had been somewhat subdued for the wedding, manifesting as a few crimson highlights here and there on the odd frond of otherwise flat brown hair. There wasn't even any hair gel in there! Even he could smarten himself up if need be. "Oh... hey, Devon." he sighed, gently rubbing his eyes. Like many, he was slightly hung over; a condition exacerbated by suppressing the natural signals of his own ability, stopping them from fully playing on a loop in the back of his mind. He really had to ask Khalidah for some more help the next time he got a chance. Maybe at the reception. "Not interrupting, am I?"

"No." Like himself, Devon's responses were often short and to the point. "You're hung over too?"

"It's a wedding, man." Rather than force his way onto the bench, he stood across from it, ensuring his back was facing the sun. "Everyone's fucking hung over." Flashing a brief smile - a mixture of a friendly greeting and apology for barging in - in Amalia's direction, Layton decided to be a bit more sociable while he was here. Though, cunningly, dodging her name in the process. He... couldn't actually remember it. Yet. "You, uh... you looking forward to the reception later on? I've been smelling these people's cooking for hours!"

[Amalia Djanescu]

Sept 19, 2016 22:34:52 GMT -5 Layton Ranta said:

Damned
I feel nothing at all
As time hold my frozen soul
Doomed
I suffer in the ice
Under the black winter sky
Deep beyond the permafrost
______________________________Skeletonwitch – Beyond the Permafrost

"Oh... hey, Devon." As Layton announced his presence, Amalia glanced up from where she was sitting beside Devon. She recognised Layton from somewhere, but she couldn't quite place his face. She'd probably met him through her great-grandmother at some point or another. "Not interrupting, am I?"

“No,” they replied simultaneously.

"You're hung over too?"

"It's a wedding, man." He made no move to sit beside either of them on the bench, and she had to look around him to get a glimpse of the sea at his back. "Everyone's fucking hung over."

Amalia looked up at him. “Not me. I don't drink. Not for religious reasons or whatever, but it doesn't react well with my ability. I've only ever drank to excess once and I ended up briefly sending an entire frat house into a different reality. I was able to bring them all back, but they were never really the same afterward. No idea where I sent them.” She needed to have all of her wits about her just in case she needed to use her ability in a pinch. “The hangover the day after was worse. I ended up manifesting a few tulpas into this dimension—ideas come to life like Slenderman, that sort of thing. Most of the time when I manifest them, they're djinn since those were the stories I was raised with.” She extended her hand toward him, seeing the confused look on his face as he fished for her name in his mind. “I'm Amalia. Felicia's granddaughter.”
"You, uh... you looking forward to the reception later on? I've been smelling these people's cooking for hours!"

She was about to answer when she saw four people approaching them from the beach. Well, two large people, and two small people running ahead of them. As they came closer, she was able to make out their faces.

“Mali!” the twins shouted in unison, changing direction and running towards her. Tivodar climbed up into the small space between Amalia and the other end of the bench and gave her a hug. Ildiko plopped down in her lap and grinned. “We missed you!”

Amalia chuckled. “You missed me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, terribly!” Tivodar squeezed her even tighter.

“We just saw each other yesterday.”

“Yeah, but that was like forever ago already.”

“So I guess Devon is chopped liver, eh?” she gestured at Devon, sitting next to her.

“No, we see Devon every day.”

“I like Devon. He's a good person.”

Amalia feigned shock. “Illy, do you have a crush on my boyfriend?”

Illy's cheeks flushed a deep pink.

“It's okay. It'll be our little secret.”

Tivodar, however, did not feel like he was beholden to this secret. But since he didn't want anyone to know what he was saying, he yelled at his mother in Hungerian. He thought it was funny that someone had made a language about being hungry. “Anya! Ildikó szereti Devon!”

“Ne mondd titkot!” Amalia replied and Tivodar gave her a frightened look.

“Amalia also knows how to speak Hungry, stupid.”

“Don't call your brother stupid. It's hurtful and rude.” Felicia scolded Ildiko who looked down at her feet. “What do you say when you do that to someone?”

“I'm sorry.”

“For?”

Ildiko looked up at her brother, who was smiling at her, probably because she'd just gotten in trouble. “I'm sorry for calling you stupid and hurting your feelings.”

“Good girl.”

Thus far, the tall blond man who quite literally towered over her grandmother—he had to have been at least 6'6” by her estimation—hadn't said anything. Like Layton, he looked familiar; like someone famous whose name she couldn't remember. “Pardon me, but I don't remember your name.”

Conall extended his hand toward her. “I'm Conall Saint Albans. I don't live too far from y' grandmother.”

Something about the name clicked. “Oh! You're that one clothing designer! Sorry, I can't afford any of your stuff. Way too expensive for me.”

“Yeh, I know. I'm workin' on that.” Everyone deserved to have nice clothing, and he honestly didn't know why the products he designed were so over-priced. He'd tried to work with the individuals who marketed his products, telling them to lower the price. He mostly made all of his clothes by himself; he didn't have a warehouse full of workers, and he hadn't gone into the clothing business to make money. He'd gone in it first to clothe people, then to make money.

“Anyone seen Adele? Y' should see the dress I made f' her. One of m' crownin' achievements.”

“I imagine she's probably inside with Dakari making sure everything's done up.”

“Eh, I should probably see to that as well. Get the kids bathed and dressed, which is a four hour ordeal. Come on, you two.” She gestured for the twins to follow her and they did so obediently. She figured she'd hunt down Helena and get her help to get the kids ready. Like most children, they hated getting baths. Illy would usually change into some kind of small sea-faring animal or bird and would try to flop or fly her way out of the tub. Tivodar seemed more tolerating of it. “See y'all in a few hours then, I guess.”

⋆ ✢ ✣ ✤ ✥ ✦ ✧ ✩ ✪ ✫ ✬ ✭ ✮ ✯ ✰ ★

ф Word count: 979
ф Outfit: Mentioned.
ф Other: None

[Helena Rahal]

So sleep soundly in your beds tonight
For judgement falls upon you at first light

Helena frowned as there was a knock on the door, as he peace and quiet was no doubt about to be interrupted. She was surprised to see that is was Amalia, one of Felciia's relations of some sort, and apparently the girlfriend of Devon. She had no real relationship with the woman herself, having not actively sought her company or talked much outside greetings at family gatherings. Helena suspected that Amalia had been sent since Felicia probably knew that showing her own face would result in quite a few sparks flying.

"I think I will just sit here for awhile, thanks." Helena did not feel like going and associating with a bunch of people she for the most part was not happy to see. The quiet and serenity of sitting alone was far preferred to that of the riff raff and cluttered noise of such gathered crowds. Merely making it through the wedding was going to be hard enough, no point in further excursions of the social sort that would weigh her down even more.

She was surprised to know that Alice had been among those invited to the wedding and that the woman had decided to come. Alice had a contentious and contested relationship with Felicia, the latter forcing the former to move across country, nor did Helena think she was fond of the Doctor. That Alice had decided to attend the event was nearly as stunning as her own decision to attend, though perhaps more stunning was those who had decided to decline the invitation. Helena had it on good authority that Maurelle had decided not to attend and instead went to Marseilles while her husband would attend, though the reason for that she had not been made privy to.

Helena stretched out and let all her joints pop as she idled about. It was just a matter of time before Felicia or Lida would show up and she would actually have to get moving. For her own sake, she hoped that it would be Ma and not Felicia, she could just not deal with her wife at all right now. Though from the voices she could hear coming from the rest of the house, it sounded like she might not have the luxury of avoiding her wife for the entirety of the trip.

[Devon Ridgeman]

I'm the hand of God! I'm the dark messiah! I'm the vengeful one!
Look inside and see what you're becoming!
In the blackest moment of a dying world, what have you become?
Look inside and see what you're becoming!
______________________________Disturbed - "The Vengeful One"

"No, we see Devon every day!"
"I like Devon. He's a good person!"

Was that even meant to happen?, Devon asked himself, his gaze only turning to follow the conversation once Felicia's almost-five-year-old twins namedropped him. Although he'd been under the wing of the Rahals since before Tivodar and Ildiko were born, the fact that a pair of children weren't actually put off by his mere presence was still a jarring concept for him to get his head around. Having spent so long forgetting what a normal life entailed, there were still things which, after half a decade, made him feel slightly off. Having a pair of twins explain to their... niece that they saw him every day and thought he was a good person was nearing the heights of unusual.

"I can't really fault their logic," he eventually remarked, prompting a smile from Layton, who had reciprocated Amalia's introductory gesture moments earlier. Having moved out across the Atlantic alone years ago, Saint-Tropez had been the closest he'd been to his family in Southampton for some time. Although he'd done his best to check in with them on the holidays or other such important annual occasions, the fact remained that return tickets for flights that long were a sizeable dent to his bank account, which severely limited him with regards to how often he could go and visit.

"Hey, kids're the worst critics." Perhaps, after the wedding ceremony, he'd ask Khalidah to alter the plans for his return trip. From here, hopping the Channel for a surprise visit didn't really seem like that much of a stretch. "Take it from a guy with a kid sister. If you don't get on their good side quick, your life'll be full of pranks and petty arguments. But... looks like you've already got it covered, so no worries there." After a brief flurry of Hungarian - likely less of a surprise to Amalia and Devon than it was for Layton - the twins scurried off to amuse themselves for the moment until Felicia was ready to leave.

Having spoken to everyone else already, it wasn't long before Amalia's attention shifted to Conall; the colossal tattooed man who, up to now, hadn't said a thing. "Oh! You're that one clothing designer!" Conall was a fashion designer? This guy? The guy who, despite his pink clothes, looked like he was on the verge of getting drunk and picking a fight with someone? Then again, Devon felt like something of a hypocrite just thinking about assumptions like this. So in his head they stayed. "Sorry, I can't afford any of your stuff. Way too expensive for me."

"Yeah, I know." Even when sighing his agreement to a complaint, his southern Irish accent hit everyone's ears like a cannonball, making Ryan sound decidedly English by comparison. "I'm workin' on that." No matter. If Conall was here, then that meant that he'd been vetted by Felicia and Adele hadn't taken issue with his presence. Enough for them was, by extension, enough for everyone else, too. The walks of life from which everyone had originated were about as numerous as the seats at the reception. Entrepreneurs, doctors, heads of state, scientists... there was certainly going to be no shortage of variety when it came to conversation. "Anyone seen Adele? Y'should see the dress I made f'her. One of m'crownin' achievements."

"Nope." As far as he was aware, the "travel restrictions" inside the villa hadn't been lifted yet, leaving most of the men confined to a corner of the villa utterly devoid of the bride. "We've all been stuck over in this side of the villa with Ryan and his brother." Space had been a little tight in places, but they'd all managed. How Zosime and Marguerite had managed to make a villa that had originally had enough sleeping room for eight accomodate this many people for the wedding, he had no idea. "Then again, I think Ryan's been the only one who's complained even slightly," Layton added, recalling how Ryan had been after the first couple of hours "imprisoned" on his side of the villa. No videogames, a rule against Adele and him sending pictures via their phones, a limited choice of what to watch on TV... it had almost been unbearable until his brother had dragged him out to get drunk.

Almost as abruptly as they'd arrived, Felicia was ushering the twins away, remarking that they'd all see each other again in a few hours. "You two better behave!" Devon shouted, prompting Tivodar and Ildiko to whirl around and get at least one enthusiastic wave each before Felicia coaxed them into following along further with a gentle pat on their shoulders. "What about you, Mal?" With the twins gone, the duty to lovingly hug Amalia fell back to him and, after leaning over looping an arm around her, he shuffled the rest of his body over until they were sat side-by-side. "You gonna go get ready with the others? Or do you wanna stick around for a while longer?"

[Nireva Hale]

It's just gone noon, half past monsoon on the banks of the River Nile.
Here comes the boat, only half afloat; oarsman grins a toothless smile.
Only just one more to this desolate shore; last boat along the River Nile.
Doesn't seem to care, no more wind in his hair as he reaches his last half-mile.
______________________________Madness - Night Boat To Cairo

"Niri, don't laugh!"

The sounds of food being slow-cooked in time for the wedding reception that evening - an auditory fixture which, along with the associated smells, had been present for a good few hours already - had been joined by peals of raucous laughter. Having left her girlfriend to deliver the mountain of bagged seafood to the kitchen while she busied herself with rendering assistance to Ryan and Darron's grandparents, Nireva had been completely unaware of the fate which had befallen her in the meantime. Over the course of the numerous hours since the guests' arrival, Marguerite had roped in a good few people to help out with the wedding preparations to some extent.

Khalidah had been asked to be the wedding's technically non-denominational officiator; although that had been more at Adele's urging than anyone else's, Evelyn had helped as best she could with her daughter's hair and, for a little while, Ryan's mother Rhiannon had helped out in the kitchen. But, when Jenna had strutted her way in with the entire shopping list bought and paid for, there had been nobody else in the kitchen except Marguerite... and a near-maddening quantity of pots, pans and trays. All of them were laden with food in various states and, ever the dutiful hostess, the Couteau matriarch was hell-bent on ensuring that every single dinner course and snack item was ready for the reception that evening.

In addition to a few other people at the villa - mostly newcomers or those too closely tied to the bride and groom to make requesting their assistance inappropriate unless they offered - Jenna had, until her return, managed to escape having any pre-wedding duty thrust upon her under the pretenses of camaraderie. Marguerite may have been over twice her age, but there were swords less sharp than her wits. After plucking the seafood bags from her guest's grasp, she'd been unable to hide the smile on her face when she returned moments later and draped an apron over one of Jenna's still extended forearms.

Her protests, mostly revolving around how bad a cook she was and how she would have hated to ruin the reception, were weak at best. Once Marguerite had swiftly countered her by explaining that the house wouldn't burn down and she would be issuing easy-to-follow instructions, Nireva's girlfriend had relented and, after slipping the apron over her head and tying it at the waist, took up her temporary new post in the kitchen. "Hey, don't let me distract you!" Nireva was loving this and, with a decidedly helpful-but-not-really point of her finger, she watched her girlfriend fluster with a wide grin on her face. "Gotta make sure the bouillabaisse doesn't get ruined, 'kay? It's gonna be the big centrepiece of the whole reception. And I bet most people here are lookin' forward to trying it."

"F-...!" Catching her impulsive and very much impolite default response before the end of the first syllable, Jenna settled for grumbling as she turned her attention to one of the large pans sitting atop the cooker. With Marguerite no doubt going through all of the seafood the couple had bought and preparing them as needed, there wasn't actually that much bouillabaisse-related stuff to do at that moment. Before Nireva had passed by and found out just where her girlfriend had been, Jenna had been instructed to keep an eye on the vegetables; various forms of accompaniment to the other dishes Adele's grandmother had planned. Most of them had been chopped up and were in the process of boiling or grilling. Whatever could be set aside for later and reheated nearer the reception was but, being no stranger to cooking large meals for larger groups, Marguerite had no shortage of measures to balance out the entire process. "I bet you knew this was gonna happen and sent me on ahead, didn't you?"

Yes was the answer to that one. While she'd stopped laughing, the smile on Nireva's face wasn't going anywhere. "Hey, I was busy too. I was out front, helping Ryan's grandparents carry their stuff inside." After finding a spare bedroom in which they could reside for the duration of their stay, Shane and Caitlin had mostly stayed in Adele's side of the villa. With both their daughter and their grandson's future wife both being there, they'd elected to kill multiple birds with one stone and meet the Couteaus for the first time while catching up with Rhiannon and Leo. Knowing that they were attending a wedding, they'd arrived wearing their formal outfits and had little else to do than to get to know whomever they encountered over the next few hours.

"Convenient, much?" Jenna glanced up from the pot of steaming cabbage - which she had just lightly seasoned at Marguerite's request - and smiled. "Don't worry. I'm not mad. You, uh... you gonna get changed soon?" As Jenna lazily stirred the cabbage around with a wooden spoon, Nireva leaned against the door frame and sighed. "I think I probably should." Glancing at the clock hanging on the wall above one of the kitchen windows, she quickly calculated that there was a little over two hours to go until everyone was scheduled to start gathering for the wedding. It may have only been quarter-to-two, but the time was going to fly by. She could feel it. "I'll set your dress down on the bed too, once the Mademoiselle sets you free." And, with little more than a wink, Nireva whirled around and headed off towards her bedroom.

In order to help conserve space, Nireva and Jenna had been more than happy to share a spacious, but normally single-berth room between them and, having done a lot worse than a carpeted floor over the course of her storied lifetime, Nireva had insisted on Jenna claiming the bed; not that that had stopped them trying to cuddle in it together the previous night. Although the dress code wasn't strict by any stretch of the imagination, the two of them had, like just about everyone else, packed a formal outfit in with the rest of their belongings. Quietly, they'd both hoped that their choice of clothing wouldn't overshadow Ryan and Adele, but they weren't about to half-ass theur presence. They were, after all, attending a wedding.

Having grown up around people who deemed red to be a lucky colour for a wedding, Jenna had picked out a figure-hugging sleeveless dress in precisely that colour. It was a simple formal thing that, in any other situation, she would likely never wear. The cleavage-showing cutout at the front was just her personality trying to break free through the medium of her choices and, with Nireva expressing mild concern, she'd tried the dress on before they set out for Saint-Tropez just to prove her chest wouldn't spill out of it in the middle of Ryan's vows.

As she wasn't either the bride or a bridesmaid (she'd been both more than enough times already), Nireva had done her best to pick out a formal dress that was more subdued in nature. Although strapless, she'd elected to go for a rather unusual - at least in modern times - purple dress, hoping that the bride and groom would settle on brighter colours for their attire. Rather than spend more money on a pair of matching heels, the two of them had foregone the ritual entirely. With the ceremony taking place out on the beach and the main path linking it to the villa being tiled with smooth paving stones, they'd simply decided to go barefoot when the time came.

Abandoning both her street clothes and her bra, Nireva wriggled her way into her formal dress and, after pairing it up with a simple necklace, made her way back out of the bedroom barefoot. Having memorised much of the villa's layout over the past thirty hours, it wasn't long before she encountered people she recognised. As she reached the rooms she remembered Adele frequenting, the sound of tiny bells acted as a siren's call, gradually drawing granddaughter to grandmother as she succumbed to her curiosity as to where the errant noise was coming from.

With her skull adorned by a headdress incorporating a gilded eagle and her chiffon gown augmented by scale mail of all things, Khalidah definitely stood out. As the one who was set to officiate the wedding and make the whole ceremony official, she was really the only one who social convention permitted to even slightly outdo the bride and groom when it came to their outfit. As unusual as she looked, the fact that neither Ryan nor Adele subscribed to any kind of religious belief made her the perfect fit. Just how did a pagan wedding play out, anyway? Would they borrow anything from the more traditional church weddings or just go with whatever seemed right? This whole day was going to be full of surprises.

"Only you could think up a way to include armour in your wedding ensemble, Grandmother." She was never going to get out of those naming habits. Not entirely. The only reason she'd succeeded in calling Felicia "Felicia" after four centuries was due to her constant nagging. Khalidah, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind. As it had often been at formal occasions - or her cosplaying, when doing so was necessary - Nireva's normally dreadlocked hair now fell in an arrow-straight fashion down her back. "Jen's helping out in the kitchen, so it'll be a while 'til she's able to get changed. How're things going?"

[Alice Taylor]

"Why are we carrying our dresses, Mommy?" asked Sharon, hopping down one of the many halls of Villa Patricia, towing behind her the little wheeled luggage she had brought with her, all the way from L.A. to Saint-Tropez. The little one was still in pajamas, and certainly not ready for the ceremony. Then again, Alice was only steps behind her, wearing only her underpants and an oversized white t-shirt and no shoes, and carrying a hanger with her actual dress for the ceremony. Not to say that France didn't have an influence in the matter, but Alice knew she was on the half of the villa where only the women were allowed, so she really didn't mind how little cloth was draped over her slim body.

"Because we're going to play dress-up and do make-up with Aunt Lena. Don't you think that would be fun, Sharon?" Alice replied, beaming a bright smile.

"Yaaassss! And then can we go dress up with Illy and Daro?"

Knowing that it drove Alice crazy that she didn't get to see her daughter for so long, Charlie was kind enough to fly over to France with Sharon for the last couple of days prior to the wedding. The three spent most of this time at Disneyland Paris, where Sharon exclaimed that it was the best day of her life.

"I am happy because Mommy is happy, and Daddy is happy, and we are all happy together!"

In the end, Charlie wasn't up to meeting so many strangers in a day, and gently declined when Alice asked him to attend the wedding. Deep down, however, without even mind reading, the blonde knew he didn't want to run into Claudia should she decide to attend after all. And then there was...

"DARO! ILLY!!" Sharon cried out, spotting Felicia and her twins coming from the opposite side of the hallway, seemingly also heading for Helena's room. Of course they would be. She was Helena's wife, and those were her children. When Alice's eyes met Felicia, she felt a sensation that she hadn't in a long time. Alice suddenly felt very naked, and her free arm instinctive went up to cover her chest.

"Mommy said we should dress up together in Aunt Lena's room. It is going to be fun!" The three-year-old announced, before Alice had a chance to back out. "We can listen to music, and dance, and and and... umm..." Sharon was so excited to get to see her friends, she was talking faster than her brain was forming sentences, and she ended up running out of words.

"We can probably get the little ones dressed faster with more adults around, right?" Alice told Felicia, hurrying towards Helena's room so she could throw on a bathrobe or something, passing Helena's wife, the twins, and even her own child, to enter the open door to Helena's room. There, she found Helena stretching out, along with another woman whom Alice had never met before. She waved to the woman and to Helena, mouthing the word "hi" while watching carefully for the bedroom owner's reaction.

As the rest entered Helena's crowded room, Alice couldn't help but joked, "Any chance we can get Adele and Ryan to just have the ceremony on Helena's bed?"

Tag: Felicia, Helena, Amalia

[Lucius Kilvayne]

Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name

“You don’t need to take any photos.”

Lucius smiled as Jordan Mercer deftly convinced the paparazzi there was nothing to see here, and it was every bit as masterful as the allusion to Obi-Wan Kenobi the rake was making in his conversation with the gathered press people. It was always delightful to see his friends using their talents with a quality of brilliance and innovation that never failed to amuse him. Lucius nodded to Jordan, and simply said, "Thank you."

This wasn't about him after all, and he didn't want to make Adele and Ryan's wedding a media circus just because he happened to be the President of a particular country. This was about relationships that were forged way before that came to pass, when so much of the present was an uncertain but well planned for future. But it was now a time of things coming to fruition, of culmination. Lucius loved these moments, where everything was coming together just right.


"Been a while, Mr. Upwardly Mobile."

"Yes, too long, I think," Lucius said with a smile.


"It's great that you were all able to make it."


"Glad to be here, old friend," Lucius answered, in a jovial tone he hadn't heard in his own voice in a while. Not since he proposed to Dakari, now that he thought about it. He felt a certain kind of way when he achieved that which had been goal for so long: control of the most powerful nation on Earth. But it was joy, it was more like a dark sense of fulfillment. This felt pure, if he was even allowed to feel anything pure.


“Mister President,” Lucius shook the hand of the man that had greeted him quite formally. Impressive manners, he had to admit. The gentleman next regarded Christian with a greeting. Then entered a woman Lucius had not met in person, to his recollection, but she was quite important in the networking of influential people, of that much he was aware. The man and woman were immortals, apparently. Much like his own ancestor, Brogan. He wondered if they had ever met Brogan in the distant past...he knew quite little about that, despite the many conversations he had with Brogan. Something like four thousand years can't be discussed in a few hours, after all. There was still so much to learn.


“So, Lucius and Christian—this is my Caleb. He's one of Khalidah's sons, so I'm guessing that's why Felicia invited him. It's like a mini-family reunion here.”


"Nice to meet you, Caleb," Lucius said, " I definitely recognize the importance of family. And I am not just saying that because I am politician now." Family had always been the most important thing, next to the drive to be stronger, more powerful. It was really Dakari that mattered most to him, now.


"This is going to be a good wedding," Lucius said to no one in particular.