Introductory Set

On a fine Monday morning, a pleasant chatter has already occupied a sumptuous living room.

Specifically its burgundy velvet sofa.

Jasper’s black hair bounced with every animated gesture he accompanies his words with, shamrock green eyes wholeheartedly stuck on his better half, whose sugary smile occasionally turns into candied laughter, Nina’s own attention swaddling his entire body with warmth.

Their sunny bright aura eclipsed a third party’s sour frown.

Leaning precariously on a side table and pointing a sleepy glare at an open window alight with warm beams, Viorel’s head yearns for a padded surface aside from his robed shoulder to lay on.

Being awoken at the barest touch of sunrise by severe poundings in his cranium nearly had him biting at his pillow like an agitated chihuahua.

The mornings were his solace.
Sleepy blues and feathery amethyst paints the sky, with splatters of cotton-like clouds stretching across the horizon. A dewy chill would linger still, warm sun-rays barely peeking through, not yet its hotter, more gruelling midday counterpart.

Everything is fresh, new, and so, so quiet.

On a normal day, he would drink up those panoramas like a dehydrated man in an oasis.

If only he wasn’t already full.

No longer was the choir of sparrows out on the yard a pleasant alarm, they added spikes to the terrible anvil of his headache and worsening an already compromised mood.

It manifested firstly in the way he ambled past rows of windows without caring to pause and marvel at the panes’ foggy surface, sipping his warm caramel macchiato only to spit it out after, insulted how jolly the drink tasted on his vinegary tongue.

With a freshly brewed mug of hot black coffee, Viorel riffled through the fanned out letters stacked on the Victorian console table.

A single envelope stood out with it’s crisp off-white color, slightly grainy surface and vague saltwater scent.

With the return address being an unremarkable hotel in Santorini, Greece, he could only guess it’s sender to be his parents.

Last he heard of them, they sent chocolates and novelty scarves from an airport in Belgium. Probably spotting a souvenir shop and suddenly remembering they had 2 children they haven’t talked to in 6 months and seen in person for 15.

Viorel never cared for their embarrassingly short and vague words of longing but always made sure to open them, if not for them, then for his sister’s peace of mind.

Unfortunately for the old coots, he was snappy, which is why the unopened letter was chucked to the dirt right by their backyard deck and completely doused with the contents of his mug.

He watched the piece of wasted paper become saturated with caffeine water, turning brown and melting away, akin to how he wished every discomfort he was experiencing at that very moment would just disintegrate.

It didn’t help that when he arrived, the living room was in a state of chaos.

There were only two people, but their incessant blabbering might as well be wailing sirens perched on his shoulders like a bad thought.

Ignoring their merry good mornings, Viorel had forced his body to still against a table, as any more sudden movement will surely jumpstart him into gathering rocks and throwing them at the annoying ball of bright hot gas in the sky like a madman.

The loud, echoing double click of heels signalled the arrival of their final company.

A flash-bang of confetti and violet smoke went off on the opposite loveseat, preluding a tall and colourful woman’s appearance.

Bombon stood atop the comfy cushions, brushing off both glitter from her lapels and Viorel’s pointed disapproval at her sharp shoes’ assault on his couch, her toothy grin present and ready to work.

The demon dropped down to a sit, swinging a long leg over the other, the hardcover book she held temporarily floating in the air before following gravity and landing on her lap.

“How nice is it to see fresh faces this early in the day!”

The blonde nearly scoffed when a pair of impressed clapping welcomed her inordinate entrance.

“You’re late.” He jabbed.

“And you’re hungover.” She fired back without pause.

Viorel is a good liar. He didn’t know if it resulted from his cutthroat job description or Nina’s incapacitating sensitive streak as both a child and an adult, but he is a bonafide fibber.

No amount of guilt-tripping could get him to talk.

So why was it that a random, albeit magical, but still random woman could casually accuse him and reduce him to blatantly grasping at straws for excuses like a meagre flounderer?

“You are?”

Now that he noticed both Nina and Jasper’s eyes had diverted to him, the man stops his string of bullshit and throws them a glare, daring them to look a second longer.

He didn’t care if Nina’s concerned that he rarely drinks so much to result in a hangover, or that he did in fact finish half a bottle of wine by himself, he feels like a human can of worms and anyone hoping further explanation will not get anything but snark.

“As if I could get a good night’s sleep after what you pulled. You should be glad I’m still here and not halfway across the world right now.”

Nina’s diverted stare and fallen smile became significantly despondent after that.

A reassuring hand on her knee luckily assuaged some of that ill-feeling climate into a calmer temperament.

Bombon waited with a forbearing simper, examining her gritting nails, sharpening one another’s points and pretending that she wasn’t covertly regarding a particularly morose looking guy boring holes into his home slippers.

After the sixth tick of a distant grandfather clock, she made everyone flinch from the sudden firework pop of a pompon pen in her hand.

“Never-mind that! Let’s just start.” She used her thumb to quickly skim by pages of crossed out names ranging from people’s in their 20s in the 90’s to some in their 50s as recent as 3 months ago, bits and pieces of memories darting in and out of focus with every picture they’re associated with.

Landing on a blank pair, the fluffy pompom end pointed at a timidly invested, puppy-eyed man. “Your name and role for the record, please.”

Jasper gladly took centre stage with a giddy beam, scooting closer until he’s literally at the edge of his seat.

“It’s so good to finally meet you! Nina told me everything— only great things of course, and I’ve been really anxious to finally meet you— did I say that already?“

“She asked for your name.” Viorel piped up, dampening the boy’s infectious excitement.

Bombon huffed at the Debby Downer. Her vibe is at its peak today, and good responses fuels it and her very soul!

Jasper recovered with a shake of his shoulders, straightening up like a show dog in attention.

“I’m Jasper Richmond! The groom-to-be.”

She wrote down his name and the rest of his data bled into the page below a picture of him.

Besides time spent overnight in jail for driving under the influence and underage drinking, he was pretty clean.

That, and Bombon had to hold back a tickled smile reading his medical history; the boy was admitted to the hospital because he ate pistachio ice cream, not knowing it’s a type of nut and had his allergy kick in right in the middle of a date.

Knowing Nina still wanted to marry him after that fiasco warms her black, beat-less heart.

After the page filled itself, she looked up and swung the pompon to the brown-haired cutie sitting like she’s in the principal’s office.

“Ah— Nina Diamanté, the bride.” Nina answered.

The pink pen looped cutely, forming her name, her book automatically registering the girl’s history and letting words splotch to existence until they form rows of sentences.

She was born on the 21st of April and her favourite color is a soft lapis blue.

Not much is publicly known about the girl, with her family keeping a tight reign over her image. But because her client book was no gossip magazine, it did let slip the fact that she was caught nearly eloping with a mega pop star when she was 16 and the little mole below her lips is actually a tattoo.

Finally, she let the pen gravitate and land in the direction of a blonde man.

He noticed the offending stationary and raised a brow, “Me?”

“You are helping with the wedding, right?”

Viorel crossed his arms, avoiding eye contact when he spoke.

“Viorel. With a Vee. Best man.”

Bombon watched his flat stare appear on the bottom half of Nina’s page.

The short description told her he rarely leaves the house, rarely interacts with anyone aside from immediate family or hired help.

Nothing she hasn’t already known.

After finishing the introductory set, she closes the book with the pen inside, stuffing it inside her suit and feels it fall in the pocket dimension that lies there, leaving her clothes snug and free.

“Awesome. Now let’s talk details.

Tell me, how do you picture everything?”

She tilts her head at Jasper only for him to lean heavily to his bride with a sheepish grin.

“I’m great with anything. Nina’s better at details than me!”

Jasper is… not helpful.

The only other thing that frustrates her more than gloomy days are moderated creativity.

Bombon’s excited smile wavers but she stills looks to the woman of the hour.

“I’d really like it to be magical, y’know. Oh, sparkly! Like that thing you did with the purple smoke, that was so pretty. There should also be a lot of flowers— if you could get ones that glow, that would be amazing. Maybe we could have fairy lights or like, bright, colourful candles. But I want it to have like a sleepy, fairytale princess feel to it, like soft, elegant but bubbly—”

Nina’s ideas are more all over the place than the aftermath of a man with a gun to his head.

This one has a mind that runs a mile a minute, it wants to stop but the crackling high of a new idea is far too addicting!

Bombon leaned her chin on her hand, disenchanted with the couple spewing random ideas and blindly agreeing to them in front of her.

Almost unconsciously, her eyes drifted to a quiet observer.

Viorel quickly threw away his gaze, fussing with the drawstring of his sweatpants, flustered that he was caught staring.

Bombon curiously reared her head up, attention now fully on him.

“How about you, blondie? any thoughts?”

His lips wrought as if conflicted, and the demon truly hoped he was holding back a totally tubular suggestion for her to work with.

But then he spotted Nina and Jasper’s eyes, and that same superfluous pride washed over his idle glare as he tilted his chin up.
Instead of an idea, he looked like he was readying his gun with two particular bullets loaded.

“We could let the groom wear a clown costume to the reception because he’s a joke."

That was one bullet.

"And give the bride some drinks because she seems to have too many great ideas sober."

And that was two.

Viorel is still bitter, it seems.

Even she could taste the unpleasant, pungent spike in her mouth.

Bombon sighed. This isn’t working.

Fortunately, she isn’t called the best for nothing.

“How about we try something else.”

-------------------

“Since discussing your… preferences, didn’t work, I’m going to try another approach.”

Bombon had herded the three stooges to the backyard deck, hoping that the change of scenery would get their brains pumping and leading it to the right direction.
Aside from the random gunk of wet paper she accidentally stepped on, the garden is filled with charming frivolities.

Mild chirping, cool breezes, and the smell of dirt and flowers. It was the perfect condition for a little mind game.

The demon took Nina’s wrist and put a palm over her eyes.

“Breathe… and show me.’’

When she lowers her hand, her lids had covered her hazel orbs and a wave of calmness loosened her shoulders, allowing her hair to fall more freely about them.

A single forefinger is raised, Viorel ignored the strange discomfort in his own temple when she placed the tip of her black nail on Nina’s forehead.

Images wizzed through their connected mind.

Bombon watches them fling to and fro like a cluster of bouncing balls, until she forces them to still with a forceful press of her finger, equivalent to the sudden appearance of a wall in the middle of rushing traffic.

Colliding with her magical block, a clearer plane of thoughts blundered through it and presented itself in her own emptied head, displayed like a miniature diorama she’s free to observe and pick apart as she pleases.

She sees colors, fluttering fabric and more details than she’s gotten from their earlier interview.

“Pearl coloured tables, accents of blue and green— no, aquamarine.” She listed with her eyes closed, canting her head as if rolling a taste on her tongue.

Blooms grew around her feet, a beautiful cake that towered over her on its pedestal like silver platter, carved skilfully into curls and dotted with edible diamonds.

“Gardenias, lilies, a really elaborate black forrest cake, and…”

Beyond the greenery and elfin charm of Nina’s vision, she could hear water, a large body of water, could taste salt and hear the brushing of palm trees against a fresh zephyr.

When the silhouette of a couple walking hand in hand across sandy piles, it clicked and Bombon retrieved her finger, reaching out to hold the stunned woman’s arms tightly with an insolent smirk, rapidly wiggling her eyebrows in good fun.

“A honeymoon suite in Oahu!”

A bright peach coloured Jasper’s face, and Viorel had it in him to not make a show of gagging, instead scrunching up his face in disgust, cringing at the way they were avoiding each other’s eyes like some awkward teenager with a conspicuous fancy.

But they don’t have any time to waste, it was the 3rd of July!

The demon woman turned to the groom.

“Your turn!”

Jasper stiffened when he saw her finger at the ready by her side.

“Huh? Oh— uh…”

He took stuttering steps backward, raising the brows of everyone in witness of his unusually deflective demeanour.

“I—I don’t think that’s necessary—“

He didn’t get to make a case for himself when a thick arm circled around his neck and another puts his head in a firm hold.

Jasper’s eyes flitted up in vain, unable to tip his neck to see his captor.

It was a good thing because Viorel’s determined glare was only slightly worrying.

“He’s hiding something.” he gritted, tightening fingers the barest hint of movement from the steel clamp that was Viorel's arms.

Jasper struggled, only to find he was unable to break free, then he realised he was being held hostage and proceeded to bargain for his dignity when he spotted Bombon approaching him without a care in her springy steps, sharp finger reared like a knife to his face.

“No, wait— hold on—!“

Her nail slightly pricked the skin of his forehead and his eyelids closed themselves.

Colors are always the first thing she sees.

“Bright and earth tones— you two like similar things, that’s good.”

Then bright flashes of neon beams and echoes of meaningful songs emitting from a screen.

“A light up dance floor. Karaoke machine? He’s got taste.” Bombon grinned in approval.

Viorel watched with muted interest as everything happens inside the terrifying and fascinating enigma that is the human mind reflected in the twists and changes of their expressions.

Bombon’s nose scrunch and one sided smirk was a returning feat, spotting them in the span of a few seconds nearly made him forgot he was wrangling his sister’s husband like a cow.

There was a new tilt in her lips, a rare smile that displayed an odd sweetness.

It stayed when she lowers her finger and allows Jasper some breathing room with a short pat on his bicep, which surprisingly complied to her gesture and promptly released the man.

“He thinks about you, a lot.” She throws a teasing cheshire smile towards Nina, the girl engulfing her other half’s waist with a poorly held back beam.

“Sorry.” Jasper muttered, cheeks warm and puffed up.

The short brunette gave him a quick, but very affectionate peck to his nose. “Don’t be, it’s really cute.”

“Really?”

“M-hm!”

The closer they grew, the louder their coos and giggled became, until they were cuddling wildly like a pair of bunnies in winter, padding and hugging for warmth.

Viorel’s agitated scowl radiated with nauseated ire.

“You two are getting married, this is not news for either of you—“

His rant skittered to a halt when Bombon’s face gradually neared his own in an alarming pace.

He barely steered away from her chartreuse tresses in their literally neck and neck situation.

“What are you doing?” He hissed.

Her smile has never been and never will be reassuring.

She straightened back up and raised a menacing finger.

“Want me to do you?”

Jasper saw an opportunity for banter with his brother-in-law and snatched it up with an excited grin.

“He probably does, huh Vi?”

The wide eyed glare Viorel sent him bordered on threatening.

Jasper figured as much and shrunk back, a tiny sorry at the turn of his lips, Nina’s hand on his back rubbing circles consolingly.

Viorel shook his head with a sigh, facing back the source of his recent bouts of head pains.

“No, thank you. I already have you traipsing around my house and invading my personal space, I don’t need you in my mind either.”

Bombon nodded in understanding, relenting with a shrug.

But the vivid sights she did manage to gather when he laid unconscious in his bed 2 days ago were still kept safe at the back of her head.

She could still recall it like a short movie replayed over and over beneath a sordid smile.

The blonde man in his best man suit, delivering his sister to her husband, watching them leave in a regal chariot, departing from the dark and decrepit manor that was their birdcage.

The manor rots along with his body when he ages, alone, watching from a sea’s distance away as everyone stays young and happy.

He tries to reach out but the chasm between them grows further and further each time he breathes. He doesn’t move when the dark opening reaches him and the ground sunk from underneath his feet.

He falls in, every version of him following suit; one from his happier years, with rosy cheeks and a soft blonde trim, one from his adolescence hugging his lanky body, face half hidden behind a longer fringe, the adult and present Viorel shed tears uncharacteristic of his big body as their last iteration welcomed the void.

This guy has issues.

She’s be double damned if she didn’t take advantage of that.