RORY
Rory didn't have a very extensive wardrobe: he was a worker, with little need for finery aside from the odd festival, but he had done his best for the wedding. He wore his best blue shirt, nicely complimenting his eyes, and his best dark linen pants, and his best, well-worn and nicely polished boots. And as usual, he had opted for braids and feathers. Both he and Rory was happy to let Jigano take the center stage when they arrived, hanging back himself a little, but offering waves and smiles of greeting to everyone, and congratulation the husbands-to-be on their day. In the hustle and bustle, anxiety robbed him of the courage needed to present his gifts to them now, but there would be time later.
When Amalia stepped forward he gave her a warm, encouraging smile—suspecting she might need it, but also suspecting she would be perfectly fine. She was braver than she gave herself credit for, and seeing her holding the ceremony, hearing her speak, praising the Gods at her prompting... He felt his heart swell with pride, tears pricking at his eyes; half joy for Remi and Ronin, half love for this found sister of his.
He remembered how wrong it had felt at the Festival of Lights when the Outlanders had come to it, yet now, seeing two of them bind themselves in a ritual of the Old Gods just seemed right. Rory hung in silence next to Jigano as the ceremony continued, inhaling in a soft gasp as for the first time in his life he properly laid his eyes on Safrin. Blinking, he looked aside, focusing on what was happening again, cheering with the rest once it was completed—and laughing as the sky exploded into dicks.
as if you were on fire from within,
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.
