[PQ] No admittance, except on party business

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Remi had likely chosen correctly in not hastening Deimos towards music or candles; though it was the first time the Reaper had ever been called creative in his life. He was quiet again, hushed, as the alchemist inclined his skull, invited private conversation, and for some reason the warrior expected measures of duplicity and speciousness, cloaks and daggers; the way his mind concocted, schemed, and machinated. However, his calculations aired on the side of errors, because instead of some ruse, some scandal, Remi held out his hands to produce two rings. In between, nestled in the stones, were flickers of constellations and galaxies, and he narrowed his eyes to study, examine, the finer bits of art – swallowing down some apprehensive distinction again when his task came to fruition. “I can,” he insisted, even though it felt like irreverence, like it wouldn’t be enough, but the fiend caught the band of colors and hues again, scrutinized quickly, then nodded his head and went back to where he’d been working. Amalia disappeared on a flutter, and he snorted at her tiptoeing, her billowing kiss, not enough time for him to return the gesture before she was gone. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves, paying far more attention to detail and design than he had with the notice board sign. He was reminded, intertwining in old memories, of days spent beneath moons and open skies, of mountains rising into the heavens, of the Aurora Basin and all the hues sizzling against it. From those aspects, combined with the colors of Remi’s already created rings, he began to frame two boxes between his hands: both had similar design, with a darker landscape of shadows and rising twilight, ignited, glowing stars scattered in between – with the northern lights like brushstrokes across the brim. Ronin’s had streaks of blue, some like the ocean, some like speckles of rain. Remi’s had more garbs of gold and green, curls and coils like lion’s mane. Down the sides were the hallowed valleys of the horizon, with more and more fronds and plumes of the lights feathering their way along the threshold. By the time he’d finished, the baker had returned, so he sidled up alongside her, eyes lingering on the lanterns for a moment, the boxes tucked carefully, safely, in his hands, to show the final product. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

PHOEBE

Phoebe grinned, glad Remi approved of the bouquet and flowers. But they weren't finished yet. Amalia piped up for finding appropriate lighting and so she was on music duty. She thought for a moment, realizing she didn't really know many musicians, but an idea came to mind and she quickly headed out to see if it was a viable one.

She beelined it for Rexanna's home again, a happy pep in her step. First she told her about Aoife's dress, and dropped off the fabric she would need. But then she asked her another favor, regarding a music box she had a vague idea about. Her friend was happy to help again and assured her she and Bastien would make sure it was set up to play beautiful melodies for the wedding.

With her sincere thanks given, the young midwife hurried back to the guildhall. "Rexanna said she and Bastien would bring the music box from the Artist's Guild. It'll play any song you can think of." she informed Remi brightly.

I gotta find my place
I wanna hear my sound
Don't care about all the pain in front of me
'Cause I'm just trying to be happy

and if all we've got is what no one can break

"I am absolutely lucky that you like me so much." Remi agreed, popping the last morsel of one of the cakes into his mouth and then flashing Amalia a full-cheeked smile. Watching with a bright and boyishly pleased expression as the leopardess leaned up to affectionately kiss the reaper, the alchemist couldn't help his playfully raised brow in Deimos direction. The man didn't seem much for PDA, and that Amalia's love for him was so overwhelming made him endlessly pleased.

Falling silent as Deimos began, the alchemist chewed his lower lip utterly lost in the creative process he saw unfolding before him. Chills raced up and down his arms as flecks of light and colour appeared (dimmer in Remi's vision, but he could imagine the vibrancy), the swirls, the composed rhythm of it all. "Deimos I..." The alchemist's voice was shaky and tears had appeared in his shattered stare. His smile trembled with emotion as his fingers ghosted over the boxes with feather-light care, his breath hiccuping in his throat as he took it all in. "I cannot even begin to thank you...this is beyond..." Slowly Remi shook his head, the words eluding him. "Here, ahh—" Pausing, Remi searched through the drawers of his desk for a moment, before pulling out a relatively mundane looking bag. "I was meaning to give this to you anyways, and as a thank-you it is hardly worthy, but.." Shrugging, Remi offered the bag of holding to the reaper with a boyish smile. "It will hold anything you place inside a hundred times over.

Looking up as Amalia returned, Remi wiped the tears from his eyes only to find them refreshed as she explained the glass-creations. "A hundred?" He breathed, awe and joy colouring his face and his words. "You two—" Remi said, looking between them. "It is so much more than I could have asked for."

Phoebe's news while unexpected (a music box that played anything you could think of?) sounded precisely like the final sort of addition to round off the wedding plans. "Any song? I hate to think what Ronin will come up with." He added with a boyish grin, running his hand through his curls with a softly bemused smile.

"Thank you all so very much. I could quite literally not have done this on my own. I am forever in your debts."

---

PQ over! Thank you wedding planners! Leave a closing post if you want!

Also Remi has given Deimos his bag of holding!

i know i love you if that's all we can take

Coding base by Sky!

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Very rarely had Deimos composed or created something that moved anyone to tears – and his heart lurched a little in his chest, either confused, befuddled, or something else entirely, as Remi reacted to the ring boxes. But he was content, pleased, that they’d been enough, that they were worthy of the upcoming nuptials, that he hadn’t ruined or marred their outlook, that he’d concocted it all correctly for a change, instead of leaving rubble and ruin in his wake. “You are very welcome,” he started, handing over the constellation hues and the beams of light, but didn’t expect Remi to go rummaging through drawers. He tilted his head, scrutinizing, curiosity getting the better of him, glancing sideways at Amalia, before the alchemist pulled out a satchel. For him. The Reaper wasn’t a stranger to gifts – the baker and he exchanged them – but outside of those who held his devotion and affection, they’d been a rarity at best. The soldier had loomed tall and proud, unattainable and unreachable for too long, and though he had never had it all, the world didn’t press their efforts, their appeasements, their warmth on him either. Remi’s offer completely surprised the heathen, extending his hands out to feel the material, his turn to stammer, to meander along in silence. Stunned and moved, his gaze didn’t know where to go, as he lightly took the bag, hold anything you place inside a hundred times over beating against his brain; machinations toiling away while he was overcome. “Thank you – I doubt I am worthy of such a gift,” because he wasn’t, never had been, never would be, but it was like a beatific grace in his grasp. “I will put it to good use.” He bowed his head, and then didn’t know what else to say, what else to convey. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace