[PQ] No admittance, except on party business

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Amalia’s excitement had been pervading the bakery from the moment he’d arrived, and persisted throughout her explanations. He’d managed to absorb the subject matter in between the exuberance, exhilaration, and outspoken plans: Remi and Ronin’s upcoming marriage. The Reaper’s experiences with marriage were extremely limited; Isilme’s had either been political or for love, dowries, lands, or devotion, rings exchanged, ceremonies completed, banners and singing, dancing and swinging, long into the evening until they all stumbled home. The rancorous drinking had always been his favorite portion. Before he could ever get a word or an inquiry in, his arms had been loaded with baskets and trays, and he’d followed her down the roads and avenues, straight towards the Artisan’s Guild. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with the whole ordeal: good for Remi and Ronin, to embrace their affection and attachment to one another, but he just wasn’t certain how he was going to be able to help with any of this planning business. He might’ve been one the last individuals to ever ask in arranging flowers or writing out vows. How did they even celebrate unions here? His monolithic form appeared behind Amalia, laden with more desserts, placing them on the table when he grew closer. Then he thought about scuttling away and disappearing entirely, as if he were never there, a ghost, a wraith, sneaking by and dissipating into the ether. But thereafter, he took a look at Remi, who seemed quite anxious, to Phoebe, who was squealing, and then Amalia’s nervous speech; perhaps he could be the one stoic individual in the crowd. “Congratulations,” he offered to the alchemist. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace