The lieutenant stands stoically by the altar, his hands folded in front of him. No, he didn't know why he was here. No, he didn't ask for any of this, nor did he feel ready for it, regardless of who came walking down that aisle. His palms are a bit clammy, and he hopes that it isn't too obvious how incredibly, incredibly nervous he is. He doesn't have his mask, either, so there's no security blanket to hide behind. ... He would have to kiss this stranger, right? That was how these things normally went...

Anxious, Pony shifts his weight from foot to foot. Where did he even get these dress shoes? It wasn't often that he dressed up; he isn't even sure where these things came from...

Suddenly, faint music begins to play. Here comes the bride indeed, because the doors of the palatial church swing open, and there is... someone familiar.

It's Isolde- or, as Pony knows her, Kari.

Pony tries his best not to react at all, but it's impossible to ignore that fleeting micro-expression: his eyes widen, his mouth dropping open just slightly. He is very, very still, and certainly not the picture of an excited groom. After a few seconds, he manages to force the most awkward of smiles. Unfortunately for him, it might be mistaken as that of a man who has no idea what to do with himself in front of a woman he's attracted to. And Isolde is certainly beautiful. But more than anything, he feels a deep discomfort and embarrassment.

Pony was supposed to be her occasional security, and that was that. He could detect a coldness coming from her whenever she addressed him, an iciness that only accentuated the chill of her beauty, and moreover she was of an entirely different strata than himself. She certainly wasn't the kind of person he found himself rubbing elbows with, not at all. And if he'd felt that glacial discontent coming from her before, that was nothing compared to the frigid wave that comes over him as she approaches. Pony can tell she doesn't want to be here. He wished she understood, then, that neither did he- through no fault of her own, of course. Suddenly, he finds that he cannot look into the oceanic gleam of her eyes, and he whips his head away a bit too fast.

...

The ceremony goes as well as it can. Pony finds himself sitting next to Isolde, though not too close. Not too close at all. A glass of champagne has been forced into his grip, and he holds it uncomfortably- he's not feeling very celebratory. It looks very delicate in his broad hands. It is very quiet between them. Pony is the one to speak up.

"I think... um," he begins. Words are cumbersome. "Obviously, we should just continue on as normal until we can get a divorce? I can tell you're not... well."

He pauses, not wanting to say anything that might come across as an insult to Isolde. He isn't of a mind to insult her at all. He can simply tell that she does not like him. There's a quick sigh.

"I don't really tell people this much, but. I think I'm gay? So. Just in case you thought that I... I don't know. I don't want to make you more uncomfortable than you obviously already are, so that's why I'm telling you." np: pony is gay but i don't mind any gender, it's a random crack marriage after all

As Quill stood at the end of the aisle, it took him a while to realize what was happening. He was, without doubt, in a church adorned with festive decoration. If his one eye wasn't betraying him, he saw Ferrin at the altar wearing an elegant suit. The same kind that Quill was suddenly wearing. He nearly didn't recognize him if it wasn't for that tall build combined with the unique eyepatch.
Bewildered by the strange circumstances, he silently stared at the groom for a long moment. And though confused, he stepped forward and-- Oh, wait. He ran away...
...
Well, thanks for coming to my forum game post. I'll see you-- There, he's back! Tied up with rope, two burly looking people dragged him back in and down the aisle. "No! Let me go! Aaagh!!" Whatever was going on in there, it seemed like Quill wasn't very enthusiastic about it. What would being legally bound to someone like Ferrin even mean? Socially AND emotionally speaking. Quill wasn't keen on finding out. Unfortunately, all struggling, thrashing around and biting were in vain. And he only stopped once he was at the altar, though he still needed to be held in place.
"What is this?!" he barked at Ferrin. "You had something to do with this, didn't you?!" How? Quill didn't know. But in his confusion and anger, Ferrin being the one to blame just made sense to him. Not even thinking about the fact that the soldier might not be on board with this either. And, oh boy, if the outlaw didn't have the most kissable face at that moment. If you don't mind the bared teeth and heavy, rage-induced breathing, that is.
When the priest started the speech, Quill started struggling again. What a happy day.

A wedding for public display? When she was already married? Kor hated the thought. It was so inconvenient, and she didn't even know how she ended up there. Furthermore, she didn't even recognize the groom, that she knew for sure. She would have certainly remembered someone so beautiful and yet so exhausted. She could smell an intoxicating blend of warm milk and honey from him since they were so close (was it wedding perfume, or was he always that way?) and he wore a suit that was dark as his eye over a shirt as bright as his hair; surely this groom would stand out to anyone, right? She couldn't forget a sight as him so easily, right?

Actually, that's bullshit. I'm losing my memory all the time. Although, I really don't think I would have met someone like this before.

It wouldn't be a legally binding wedding, luckily, but whatever the spectacle was, Kor realized that the groom didn't request such a thing either. How could he have, when he seemed troubled by the fact that he was there? He was more distressed about the ordeal than she was. She hoped he didn't think she set all this up, but she was grateful to know he didn't have anything to do with it. 

No, Kor recognized where she was when she realized the red snow that dusted the altar was fucking red snow. At once, she knew this must have been some attempt by the Council to get rid of her -- if they couldn't keep her dead, they'd marry her off to someone who wasn't from Curiah. But why did they have to involve Haneul? He didn't look like a wife beater, so she ruled out the possibility that they chose him to kill her for good. He just looked like a stranger.

It seemed unfair that a stranger would be caught up in this, especially since he looked like he was being eaten alive by worry. Worry for what she didn't know, but he looked so professional that she could only assume he would have a lot to explain to a boss or a supervisor. After all, no one seemed so anxious at a wedding if they weren't missing something important, and if her brother was an indication of what could consume someone's attention so, this man was likely an overworker, too. 

"Late for a shift?" she mused to Haneul, trying to lighten the mood. She regretted those words almost immediately; now was not the time to even suggest such a thing. As harmless as the wedding was, despite the group that planned it, she didn't entirely mind (she would never outright complain about being chained near a captive pretty man, let alone one decorated in the finest of wedding clothes), but it only was tolerable as long as said captive pretty man was also a willing participant -- Haneul clearly was not a willing groom.

"I know how to get us out of here, trust me," she whispered. "Do you have a knife? Or anything sharp, really? Or--"

Hey, cut that out. If I keep suggesting I die at every inconvenience, he might get it in his head that I'm trying to form a suicide pact with him. Problem is, with the sadness in that face, I wouldn't blame him if he agreed to one. 

"O-or... a way to, uh... cut the chains! That's what I meant, and..." Kor paused. 

Shit, I can't stop this, can I? 

She looked closer at Haneul, this time not to admire his features, or make a passing judgement about his mental state, but this time to truly attempt to connect with him. "Hey, I'm sorry. They shouldn't have brought you into this mess just because they wanted to get me out of their sight. I want to help you when we get out of here. I don't know how, or whatever we have to tell the person waiting for you right now, but I don't want to fuck up your day with all of this. Whatever you need to do to make it up to them, please let me do whatever I can for you."

After all of this, is there anything I can do that will be enough?

vvv Aaaaaa I love this so much!!! Thank youuu!!!

Merri had been leisurely trailing after a few souls under their watch, ones still waiting eagerly for their obol, the very thing that would earn them their passage to the other side. Unhurried in their pace, there was a confidence and comfortability ferryman’s gait. It was a nice day after all, and while one could assume their job was a busy one, they somehow had always found the time to get to everyone. 

At least, that is how it had always been. Where Merri had been was not where they were now. Where there had once been a forested trailhead that had left dust on their shoes, the sun running into twilight, there was now a mirror, with the ferryman themselves standing before it. 

They stare at the white clothing that had replaced their tattered robes, a fine set of formal attire that seemed a cross between a suit and a dress. It was rather nice, they had to admit. It wasn’t often Merri chose such fine clothing for their own disguises.

Perhaps it would’ve been more beautiful if it were not for the gilded shackles that laced their wrists. They seemed harmless, light but Merri could feel it. The way it sapped something from them… made it so they could not simply leave. Merripen is a patient being, and wouldn’t have been too worried if it weren’t for the souls that were no longer within their sight. Alone, wandering the living planes of existence. They feel sick to their stomach. 

Of course, their gracious hosts eventually arrive and drag the ferryman down grandiose halls and into a large room. A cathedral? A church? It looked something like that. Merri had been through many such places. But not to be on the other end of the altar. Roughly pulled and placed on one side, Merri glances to the other skeptically. Perhaps this was some dumb ploy, of someone wishing to escape death by marrying that which accompanies it. How foolish.

Instead, Merri sees a young monk, at least comparatively speaking. Similarly chained or at least shoved into place on the other side of the altar. They stare at him for a long moment, as if trying to place something they’d forgotten. That face was somewhat familiar… perhaps they’d seen him in passing before? After all, some who dealt with death frequently, were bound to cross paths with the ferryman multiple times.

As the officiator begins to speak, some typical wedding spiel if Merri was to assume, they lean closer to Onsae.

“Ah, I’m terribly sorry that you got wrapped into this little…” they sniff wrinkling their nose, “hiccup. I believe this may be an effort to get at me… or at least to stop the sort of work I do.” Merri grimaces, and gives Onsae a tired look.

“Not to worry though, I’m sure we can get this all resolved… I’m a patient being, after all.” They say, glancing down at their chained wrists with a frown. It was hard to say, though. Was time enough to give them a chance at escape. 

For once, Merri really didn’t want to wait and see.

@ NP: Merri is the ferryman and the horseman of death! They’re also asexual so they are really not interested. If Merri doesn’t float your boat, feel free to choose anyone else!

He hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going. Truthfully he never did, but it was always somewhere new to him. This time he walks into a glittering room. A familiar one to him and a scene he hasn’t seen in years. The marble floors are complemented by glittering pillars that lead down the corridor towards a large statue of a monali, the matriarch of his old life, the goddess Solara. The walls themselves seem to be made up of stained glass that allowed more light than color to pass through it.

One look at himself and he sees he’s dressed very differently from the rags he was in moments ago. The hood obscures less of his face, showing the full extent of exhaustion that is etched permanently in his face. The hood and clothes are a pristine white, an embroidered cavalier cape on his right side, allowing him the use of his wings. Similarly embroidered pants are now on him, and it’s a look he hasn’t worn since he was married the first time.

The most important detail was the presence of a single armlet on his left arm, the mark of an engaged monali. He checks his right arm to confirm he isn’t wearing the other one… that would be given to him by his partner at the altar of Solara.

The other individual waiting for him at said alter he recognizes as death itself. No matter what shape or form they take, death always seemed on his trail. Thorns assumes that with Merri symbolically dressed in a similar white and gold suit that they’re waiting for him. His approach is about as hesitant as someone walking to their execution.

“Well old friend… you’re never that far away are you…?” His laugh is airy and raspy, like he’s parched, “I can’t say that I’m surprised that we’re meeting like this… you’re probably aware that this will not convince me that my time has come.”

“The irony is not lost on me… though there is no witness when we offer a prayer together to the matriarch, what matters is the effort you put in it.” He says as he pulls out another armlet one meant for Merri it seems.

—————

NP: go wild, he’s an old moth who’s run away from one marriage owo. Or if you want to pick a different character else you’re welcome to do so!

The click of heels echoed throughout this endless walkway. Only slightly muffled by a dress that covered them, covered in pink and gold colored flowers with silver feathers. The clicks of the heels were louder than the haunting yet familiar music that played. Very little could be seen besides the floor beneath him and the bright white of the dress.

 He wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing here; with his hair used to tie up his hands and a veil over his face that slightly covered his vision. His only option was to walk towards a soft light in the distance. Thinking whatever it had could answer what this odd predicament is.
Although when an alter with a moth was visible to him, he believed he knew the answer already.

It was a dream. Must be. A very odd dream, as he’s never dreamt of being in a dress before- nor did this moth resemble the one he often saw. From the distance and first impressions this one looked quite tired. Very unlike the lively twisting moth he was use to, with those deep-set eyes only cementing the difference.
Only thing he could think to do was to try and make a good first impression.

As he stepped up to the altar, he flashes Thorns a smile, settling into place. The music quiets down.
“Hello,”
He greeted a little bit nervously. Watching Thorns carefully for any sort of movement. Maybe he had some answers for what this is all about?
“Do you know where we are? This place feels almost never ending. Like a loop in a story.”
He joked slightly, trying to gather a positive reaction, or just a response. Yet even if Thorns did respond Eden was quickly distracted.
On a second thought, Thorns looked.. far too real. Almost grim looking too, as Eden would put it. Was it because he was trapped here too?

On second glance, at the clothes and where the monali stood… The color started to slowly drain from Eden’s face. A slow realization dawning upon him. He’d hope it would go unnoticed by the monali, who was clearly a groom, but today seems to want to put on a show.  
It all made a little bit of sense now- Not only was this not a dream; this was a wedding. A very monochrome wedding, judging by both of their color palette’s. A wedding in which they didn’t even know each other! They haven’t even have had a proper conversation or at the very least knew each other‘s names.
Then there is also the fact that if the monali beside him was a groom, then according to the dress… he was…

Eden quickly looked at Thorns with a shocked look. Almost disbelief at the situation. Somewhat amused.

”…Am I your bride??”
——————
Np; He probably won’t realize it’s a wedding at first. Do as you will with him lmao