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It’s a lovely wedding. Maybe even the best wedding he’s ever been to. The actual ceremony has been over for hours now, and the guests are starting to wind themselves back up again. The music is lively but not too loud and the spirits (alcoholic, otherworldly, and otherwise) are in good humours. He can’t think of anything that could dampen the mood tonight.
Well. He’s always been fairly creative. Taking a hand off of his tankard (and now, it’s time for him to ask the real questions. Who has the resistance to ever require a TANKARD of any alcoholic drink? The insanity!) to fidget with the ring worn over his glove; a gargoyle tradition practised to boast the durability of their rings, worrisome thoughts fill his mind, and Callias hopes none of them come to fruition.
The image of gargoyles as dwarves pulled straight out of ‘King of the Rings,’ is amusing though, amusing enough to distract him from thoughts of doom and gloom.
Hold on. Dwarves as gargoyles, Elves as harpies… That guy is totally a creature.
As he’s stewing over the fact a creature-traitor has escaped judgement for over eighty years, someone slides onto the stool next to him.
“What are you thinking about that has you so wrapped up?”
The fact his knee-jerk reaction is to start talking about some geek book from the 30s in response to the most flirtatious tone of voice he’s ever heard is precisely why he’s usually single, he realises in the nick of time.
“You know how it is. The delicate balance of our world and the mortal world. Nothing too crazy.”
That earns him a bemused smile in response. The guy next to him is nothing if not earnest, a crooked grin stretched across his face, humming with a delighted energy.
“Alright. Okay. So, my next question-” He cuts himself off with something that sounds awfully close to laughter. But it isn't, because obviously, this guy is serious. Callias can tell by the way his face is drawn tight and stern, without even the slightest hint of a smile.
Really. Not even a little.
“Do you come here often?”
Wow. Out of everything he was expecting, he was not expecting to get hit on at his wedding.
“I’m going to say this now, I’m in a relationship.”
“One that’s worth it?”
Hm. Has he enjoyed this wedding so far?
-
The ceremony might be over, but the reception’s only just started. Gargoyle and Harpy cuisine is so drastically different, the only way to avoid turmoil is to christen the night with wedding games. First up is something from his side of the family, a tradition he’s always enjoyed spectating. It’s such a harpy tradition, he can’t imagine not getting to share it with Kro.
“We really have to make a full heart with our flight paths?” Kro whispers to him, crouched down to his height, a little unsure and feeling a little impolite just for asking.
He can’t help but grin at his slight discomfort.
“Actually we have to spin as many times as we are old first.”
Kro stares at him blankly as someone continues to explain the rules.
“When you say actually, you’re supposed to add helpful information.”
“Mhm?” He asks, smiling wide as Kro looks at him with betrayal on his face. Whoever’s explaining the rules begins to count down from three.
“That was not helpful.”
2.
“Pardon?” He asks, still smiling.
1.
“Not helpful !” Kro hisses, now growing slightly more disconcerted. “Not helpful, not helpful, not- whoa! ”
Whoever’s on the other end of the sashes that are wrapped around them begin to spin them. He catches maybe the first twenty numbers before he completely taps out. Everything is-
Spinn-
Spinning-
He catches words here and there as if they’re being thrown out of order, like flipping through a book really fast.
He looks-
-Forty-Seven…
…Gonna throw up-?
-Mom!...
-Eighty-two…
Is this the end? Has he finally ascended to the spirit realm? His stomach feels like he just gargled battery acid and the sock-flavoured mouldy cheese. Callias can hear his ancestors calling him. Finally.
Inner peace.
-Hundred and Twenty Four-!
Why does he have to be so fucking old?
After what feels like an eternity, he stops spinning. Groping around, he feels nothing but empty air. His head is reeling from the effort, and everything sounds like it’s being played back through a canyon and then shuffled out of order. Someone gives him a push, and he jumps into the air.
Opening his wings was a mistake. He doesn’t even know he remembers his name, let alone what half a heart looks like. Still, he persists carving what he thinks is a steep slope into the air before attempting a wide backflip. Absently, he feels the backwind of someone flying past him and hopes Kro’s having better luck than he is. At four years younger, he might stand a better chance of pulling it off.
At what he thinks is the dip of his heart, he decides not moving at all might fix his spinning vision.
Graceful as a swan, he crashes face first into a table.
Man. Not moving has never felt so good.
Unable to localise sound, he reasons the painful crash he hears from… somewhere around him is Kro breaking down a wall. He recovers quickly enough to maintain the upbeat spirit of the night and stumble to his feet to laugh at Kro, completely lost as he blends in with the debris of a stone wall.
It’s a little less funny when he’s laughed at in return for the wild way his hair looks after his flight, but seeing Kro’s smile makes it worth it in the end. The general consensus is they cannot walk in a straight line to save their lives, but they pulled off the flight thing pretty well.
Kro’s side of the family has their own flight-related tradition, but given the way they started off events with a twist- for lack of a better word- everyone thinks it’s fine to leave it for the end.
Or, everyone except for Jeb, who has some witty comment that he’s sure is very cutting, but at the moment he isn’t able to do much other than smile and nod eagerly to avoid throwing up.
Whilst he and Kro are recovering at their own table (i.e. sitting upright and trying their best not to drool or forget to blink) the reception cuts into the night, dancing and laughing and eating and a whole lot of gossiping, he’s sure.
They’re (relatively) young, so it’s a swift move onto the next tradition. A gargoyle approved footrace. Something about running toward each other. But also a race. He’s up for anything that gets him moving.
Formal shoes discarded carelessly off to the side, they line up at the starting line. A mean little smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and just before the referee can tell them to go, he’s tugged Kro’s tunic out from under his armour, over the back of his neck, and caught it on his horns.
He gives out a confused little yelp before tipping over backwards, and to a combination of cheers and boos, he dashes off towards the finish line, despite his dizzy attempts at veering off to the sides. After Kro’s finally untangled himself, he greets him at the finish line with a spirited and very intentional tackle-hug, laughing as they collapse into a completely un-serious tussle.
Obviously, a rematch is called, one where he cannot sway the outcome in any way, shape, or form.
Predictably, Kro presses a kiss against his cheek just as the referee tells them they can go.
Which he saw coming.
From a mile away.
I mean, of course he-
“Callias!” His niece yells urgently, and he realises he totally zoned off and Kro’s halfway towards the finish line.
So he wins that one too, but you know, he still has to haggle with Kro afterwards. Just for the audacity of trying to pull a fast one on him.
Breaking dishes is just as fun as it always is. Come on. Breaking dishes. It doesn’t need any additional selling points.
Finally? They try to replicate a fairly new tradition. True to gargoyle stereotypes, it has to defy death.
Because of course.
Fingers interlocked, they have to spin in the air, letting go at the last second so they don’t crash to their deaths.
Which does happen often. But it’s not like he’s worried. Since he’s not worried. At all.
Out of all the ridiculous things he remembers from that night, this will be the one he’ll always remember. In the sea of memories a creature holds over their eight hundred years of life, tons of little details crash on the bow of a large wave and shatter against a sandy shore of thousands of days crushed into little pearls of knowledge. General strokes of understanding, sentiments hold dear, and a few key things one holds close to their heart, the things they intentionally remember for those that they love. The worst ailment for an immortal? Loneliness. Although it was a great time, he won’t remember the way that Kro held his stomach on this particular occasion even though he appears so squeamish whenever they have to take his bike somewhere. He won’t remember the way his niece tried to bite him when he fell for Kro’s ingenious act of deception. Hell, he probably won’t remember the way Todd howled with laughter when Jeb got a little spooked when a shard of plate came a little too close to him and Alex obliterated it on his behalf.
Yes, he probably won’t remember any of those things, despite how sad it may sound. But he’s certain he’ll always remember the way Kro beamed at him all toothy, exhilarated as the wind swirled around them as they were, moments away from being pancakes on the floor, hands in his own. So, that has to be his answer.
-
“Yes, it’s absolutely worth it.”
Looking into Kro’s seaglass-green eyes, the answer is completely and utterly certain.
“Although it just pains me to say,” He begins, voice dripping with sarcasm as he holds his hand to his forehead like a maiden about to faint at the sheer indecency of a question. “Because you’re just so totally smoking hot- ” He continues, completely joking even as Kro basks in his compliments, rolling his eyes all the while.
“-But I’ve got this doofus of a husband who’s pretty alright, so, you know.” He gives Kro a cheeky once-over.
“I have to turn you down.” He explains.
“Bummer.” Kro responds, giving him an apologetic smile that didn’t seem all that put-off or even all that sorry. More like a shark smiling while making conversation just to keep you from realising you’re about to tip over into the drink.
“You see, I’ve also got this nerdy husband,” He admits, pulling out the silver wedding band hung on the chain around his neck- a harpy tradition that sets butterflies flapping in his stomach just thinking about it- out from his armour so that it reflects the warm lantern light.
“Oh? And he’s fine with you asking out married guys?”
“Well,” Kro begins, looking as though he’s trying to get on your good side so he can soften the blow of giving particularly uneasy news.
“I haven’t told him. So I’m short a wingman, you see,” He says, as if it is the most normal thing in the world.
“Bummer,” Callias echoes. “You want me to ask my husband if he’ll wingman you?”
Kro nods noncommittally.
Callias taps him on his shoulder.
“Hey babe?”
“What’s up babe? Our wedding’s kind of awesome, isn’t it?”
That’s where it gets to be just too much for Kro, and he bursts out laughing, elbows on the bar behind him, facing out towards the rest of the bustling tavern. Maybe he’s lost a few of those wedding games, but watching the crinkle of his eye fold up around his eyes makes it seem like no big deal.