"Make it smaller."

"Awww but pumpkin, the best way to eat it is by ripping through with your own bare teeth, feels the strain and tear as its muscles give way before your-"

"Smaller!" I yell at grampa.

"Teeth! Train your jaws!" he chews back.

"Train my what?! I'm three! "

"When your mama was your age-"

I don't know if the oaf is serious or just teasing me. I don't want to think about it, the horrifying mental picture getting clearer and clearer in my head. Stop ruining what image I had left of mother in my mind.

A rib rack that makes grampa's enormous hands look small sits in front of me. Beyond that something I can only call a mountain of meat.

When skinned, dismembered, and browned, dripping in it's own juices, I don't have to worry too hard about the mosaic censorship animal things that it once was but over a day ago.

I remember all right. Skinned blood carcasses, unidentifiable, chopped up and piled high in a soaking brine of their own blood. It was practically a meat packaging house earlier. Hauls of deemed useless parts, pure meat and bone.

Then there's the uncooked grains similar to polenta stuffed into the clean empty chest cavities. A stuffing of dough and tiny sour berries in some parts. A scattering of bulb onion, artichoke and other barely in-season vegetables. More pales and budding green than any other color for vegetables.

Now here's the crazy part.

This mountain of meat, of death, with the barest hints of carbs and vegetables to make a complete roast. How should such a thing be cooked?

Well cover all that shit in mud. That's right. MUD! Just bury in mud. Preferably in a pit of burning coals and flames. Funeral prye it. Set the mud on fire and let it burn. Bury it in more flames and really let it burn. Maybe roast some potatoes for a snack as you let it burn all day and night.

Absolutely amazing.

I'm so glad this is a 'traditional' special cooking technique of the local land. Who needs a proper wedding menu when people just do this big ol mud pot? One that arose many decades ago when a young wandering hero saved an entire defeated army and the village it near laid waste to with this legendary meal made nothing but a hoard of beasts, wild grass and livestock calvery feed stuffed in.

Thanks, grampa. Thanks for the mud roast.

Thus was born the celebratory roast worthy as the grand main course of any banquet, even a wedding. Whooopeeeee.

Thankfully, things have been....improved, since the time of my grampa's.....introduction of this legendary dish.

"It was an accident! Tripped and set a trap on fire, turned out pretty good!"

This is not a great Ventrella secret to take to our graves or anything. Grampa bluntly tells everyone that, whether they believe him or not. Just like he did last night over the burning pit, roasting some freshly dug up overwintering blue potatoes.

Yes, we got blue potatoes in this world. Shame I can't say they taste any more magical than a regular potato. They're uh, a little earthier and a lot harder? Still a potato? It's not an ube or anything otherwise we'd solve some problems with the general lack of sweets. I miss ube.

I digress.

In front of me is the steaming stuffed meat, cooked long and slow in a baked bbq essentially.

At least it was fun to destroy it. The first crack is honorably given to the happy couple in the spotlight. Cutting the cake together? No, take a war hammer and just smash open the wedding roast.

That's right. It's the wedding roast.

Served outdoors in an open field outside one of the local farming villages, where the bride's family resides.

The wedding is already here and I hardly got anything to do with it. My wedding menu!!! I could hardly get a few dishes into the set. Well it is hard to plan when it's someone else's family wedding, especially when I've been buried in so much homework time with or without father. There were other priorities to juggle.

Like mother and her designer fussing over the dress.

Since the bride is a commoner, full of practical common sense, there were a lot of ideas and designs shot down. It's just too extravagant for Barbara's heart to take, and by that, I also mean too weird.

That includes mine, not that anyone really trusts a toddler. Booo.

We could have left it at that but mother needs to spend money on pretty things. Mother. Not me. Don't blame me, I'm only 3. She was just itching to spend after drab winter and I just....need to fix fashion. Just a little.

Barabara can have her pretty wedding gown without vomiting blood at the costs. Something that makes her happy because that's all that really matters. While mother and I ...work on the bridesmaids and groomsmen! Yes! How revolutionary! More things to make! More people to dress!

Unlike a modern wedding that I'm used to, there is no concept of bridesmaids or such. The married couple would have a 'witness' on each end, say the best man and maid of honor, but that's about it.

What a good promotion! Mother even somehow borrowed grampa's weird megaphone to make the announcements. A free outfit for the new bridal party!

Unfortunately Barabara and Nicola were swamped by their peers for the following days after that until they finalized their choices of close friends, relatives, and the lucky colleague. Yeah maybe we shouldn't have promoted it like that?

We bought lots and lots of the nicest locally produced fabric that we could. Which was honestly easier than I expected at this time of year. It seems my mother is quite the VIP customer. The driving force that keeps our local lace and ribbons market afloat.

Makes sense. They're high labor but really not considered necessary the way clothing cloth or shoe leather is.

Ribbons and small attachments are so cute and easy to wear though. The quality and designs of our territory's market are getting a lot better with practice and manufacturing. Sales rising as they become more in demand. I'm glad the market is stable enough that nice plain and pre-tied ribbons are beginning to be an affordable little luxury to many common girls. For cuteness rules all!

Ah no wonder mother always has so many ribbons for my hair. She's surprisingly good at bow tying and crocheting. I wonder if Gable taught her that?

I also seem to recall the original getting most of her clothes shipped and imported from the capital or other places known for their luxury goods. The best of the best sort of thing. So what changed have her shift her first line of business to the local markets, beyond just easy ribbons or accessories?

The banshee clown incident.

We all almost died for a good cause then. Mother's been rather wary of the mystery shipped items since then. For good reason!

Can people send catalogs or a sketch before they purchase and ship them over to my house? Mother's blind closet is full of enough ugly things! Just stop sending them to her! Or else they go in my recycle basket.

These bridesmaid dresses, of course, aren't from the recycle pile. That's just rude. I wish I had more of a hand in them instead of just trusting mother but I really was too busy with the groomsmen outfits. Tailored pants are a must! A full tailored may be too much but I can get away with pants and Alfonso's smart waistcoat and jacket. Oh and buttons. Luckily Nicola and his groomsmen are all some sort of nerd, who understood the appeal of these newly tailored clothes and leather loafer shoes. I didn't even have to threaten anyone! The problem was that in turn they have more refined and expensive tastes than the bridesmaids.

Oh well no problem for me! The cost of not having men in easter colored tights is priceless. Good taste beyond time and 'trends' is absolutely priceless.

Even though it was the women who were squealing and jumping up and down for free new dresses, it was the groomsmen who ended up shining. The cost of the mens' ended up being worth 6 times the ladies'....

Um...let's just...not ever show my parents that ledger receipt. I can bribe the accounting department....technically I already did... It was an apology gift for the earlier mob incident? My father doesn't have to know ok!

Well, at least the decor is good and everyone looks happy.

The wedding roast is more the tastes of the villagers I suppose.

There's only so much food you can make in advance and deliver this far. Even though my family has come to 'bless' this first wedding of the land, it still took us almost a full day's ride by our still too bumpy carriage.

Which is why I'm absolutely starving now. Thank you motion sickness, for destroying the contents of my stomach and general health.

With a sigh, I pull back my tiny sleeves and grab the smallest unattached bone. It's still the size of a slice of watermelon and I may have to eat it as such.

What unrefined manners for a little lady but when your grampa is....that, well it can't be helped. There's no way I can resist not getting any of this succulent roast, swallowing back the drool that moistens my throat.

I dig in like a beast. Or a hungry girl at a bbq. Same thing.

Oh my! Tastes like baby back ribs, yummy.

Ah it's much softer than it looks, probably from the slow cooking process of a day and a night. Still it's difficult for a child like me to eat. It's a good thing there's no bbq sauce covering this or I'd be even more of a mess. Munch munch chew chew.

"Thatta girl!"

Ack! I near choke as grampa pats me on the back. Hey! Did he get my dress dirty?!

Eh whatever, that's practically expected with grampa. Even more so because this is a village.

The sun is low in the sky. Toasts of mead and wine flow from crate after crate. A ring of locals girls and women with festive budding flowers and flowing ribbons in their hair dance in a ring, round and round. Their cleanest linen skirts flowing with their giggles and steps. The crowds clapping and cheering along to the funny lute music as they dine over the overflowing cracked bake, more and more food still coming from the seemingly bottomless pit

There's more than one village gathered around here. A good scattering of adventurers and troops members as well. Some people know each other, some don't.

It's like a festival. Not all commoner weddings are this grand but the cheer and sharing attitude are the same. An absolute stranger could come peddling right up and pull up a seat at the wedding feast.

It's a happy occasion, and such happiness should be shared. That the attitude around here when it comes to feasts and food. Maybe ribbons if mother is involved.

What generosity.

Hard to believe this land would ever starve.

It's just a simple wedding but it's as crowded as a fair. The good mood of the hunt, of the change of seasons, warming the air.

"Ahhhh I love a good wedding!" grampa makes a satisfying sound after chugging the contents of his mug. Something alcoholic I note with a twinge of jealously.

Weddings aren't just right without getting shitfaced. But I'm three, thus no drinking allowed.

"How come you never got married then?"

Even though I'm already mid chewing on some ribs, he drops a stuffed bird from the pile, surprising me. Then goes for another swig of his personal wine flask before some happy drunkard could refill his mug. Ah yes that's the right kind of wedding atmosphere.

"I was rejected," he whines into his drink.

"Ah."

"1,527 times!"

"Oh...."

As confused as I am, I continue to stuff my face. Half because that got ridiculously awkward fast, and half because this polenta bird is actually pretty darn good.

As much as I make fun of grampa, he's actually a very popular guy. I mean, he's the hero for god damn sake. And it's not like he's ugly or anything, there's a reason people keep making statues and busts of him.

Sure he never brought a lady home, or even had those scandals that powerful men his age tend to get into, but that's because he's THE crazy old man. That and he had my mother. No one ever talks about it but she had to have come from somewhere.

"That's uh....statistically really hard....after 1,500? times? You sure you counted right? No wait why did you even count that in the first place?"

"Hmmmmmm, you're right pumpkin! It could be more!"

"...What?"

" I'll check with Gable later!"

I munch on my meal, concluding that maybe he's just already drunk. No wedding is complete without a few old drunks.

"So uh, how many of those times were repeats? " I play along, because that's just what you do.

"All of them."

I maybe choke on a bone.

"I've been asking the same person all this time." he drinks.

That makes absolutely no sense and thus I fully conclude that grampa is already drunk out of his mind. Despite seeming sober but a moment a ago.

"That's a lot."

"Hmmm it has been."

"You should give up then. Really a big waste of time."

"Never."

I don't know how clean his hands are but the old man pats my head with a little too much force, messing up my ribbon with a mischievous grin that makes him look almost boyish despite being a damn grandfather. There's something about the light of a setting sun that does something to brown hair, making his glow with a warm halo. For a moment I'm reminded a bit why the original somehow admired this man.

"Never. I can keep going another 1,527 times no problem! Besides, I was happy. No time wasted at all. I was happy."

Oh look an onion, it must be the onion, probably undercooked despite the all night mud bake, that's making my nose twitch like this. Someone must be cutting onions nearby.

"You're weird." I state.

"And you, Rosa girl, are a bitter one ain't cha?" he grins, smile oddly Holywood perfect.

I don't like it. It reminds me of how much of an actor this man really is. How much I am supposed to be.

"That person. Can you still even ask them anymore?"

The sun is setting and it's beautiful. People dine and dance. The bride is dressed in a vibrant gown consisting of layers of spring pinks and red, complimenting her dark hair set half loose for the special occasion. It flows in the light evening wind as she and the groom rise to make another toast, the sunset framing this scene.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

It's so loud, so crowded, it's actually intimate.

"Are they from then or the now?" I speak normally, but it might as well have been a whisper in all the noise around us.

Which lifetime are you talking about you old drunkard? This person that made you happy. Which life are you remembering?

Maybe it's a good thing I'm so small I can't drink. Who knows the words I'll set loose under the influence. The worlds.

"Can I say both?" the man I call grampa smirks, eyes already twinkling.

He is but he isn't. My grampa I mean. He's not like my so called parents. I don't need to feel the peculiar weight as I do with the characters playing mother or father. He knows the truth. I don't have to play this game with him but we do. There's no one else like us in the world.

"No. That doesn't make any sense. But you never make sense. You're also drunk."

"Pffffft, Ha! Hardly! Going to need a good few more cases. The night is young!"

"The sun's still up grampa."

"Exactly! I'm still young, and you're even younger."

For a moment there's a breeze, another casket of wine pops open as people cheer. It's enough to drink in only the mood.

"I was never married in any life." grampa brings up, tongue as loose as ever.

"Me either."

It's the mood, I'm playing along with the mood.

"But I was happy. Against all odds, I found the person that makes me even want to be happy. I know I'd find them anywhere."

"Uh huh. You died though. Now you're here, had my birth giver, who had me, and we're all stuck in this."

"Yeah. Now we're here....Isn't it great?!"

Rule number 3 of a bartender: never ever take a drunk seriously. Should I cut him off at this point? Hmm steady hands, steady pupils, plenty of protein before drinking, ehhh he's still fine. This is just more grampa nonsense.

I'm beginning to think this is just a protagonist thing. Speaking crazy stuff no one ever really knows what to do with. Lilyanne is only three right now but it falls in line?

"Yeah. Reeeeeal fun. You're a hero. Whoopeee."

"I don't feel like it!" he cheers, clinking mugs with a passing group of burly men.

Big parties really are intimate.

"You don't feel like a hero? That's dumb, you're already one."

"The mind plays tricks little one. It tells you everything you did wrong, of everything you couldn't have. It gives you dead ends that look like paths to wander till you're dead, or worse."

He says all this wide a great big party grin, laughing and waving to anyone passes with cheers.

"You're drunk." I sip at some water before I can choke again.

"Not yet! Can't find him yet. I will when I'm drunker."

"What?"

"You sound like you could hold your drink, don't think I can't tell Rosalia. So then, you must know. Why we drink. Why we overdo it to the point of sickening ourselves. Poison to the body, balm to the soul. Why sometimes, everything just makes a hell lot more sense like that. The world clearer as much as it's blurry. Drunks lie a lot less, even to themselves."

"...You sound like an alcoholic."

"Ah I see him! Sit tight pumpkin, eat your dinner and don't follow after strange men!"

And there he goes. Running off into the sunset to who knows what. Really now, who is the baby sitter here? Me or grampa?

I munch and pick at my food, wondering where everyone has gone.

Last I recall, Lilyanne's safely being attended too. Maybe in a baby sling in father's jacket as they admire the fields of artichokes. Mother was off to change her dress, ruined in a spilled wine accident.

I want grampa back. I need to prod him more. I hate to admit it, but I need his help. I need to learn how to shut down all the lives swirling around inside me. I can't afford any more breakdowns, especially as I age. Nor can I shake the questioning gaze that father sometimes lingers on me. It's too dangerous, all too dangerous.

I am left alone at a wedding.

How familiar.

My throat is dry, dying for a drink of something beyond water or kiddy juice.

"You're drunk." a different voice comes through, high and out of place. Friendly but off.

"Not yet!" I-she laughs back.

A girl twirls with a waiter, smoothly picking up her 7th? Yeah, 7th glass of champagne. This does not include the reception cocktails or the cheering shots of soju. Meng was always popular at parties, pretty face with more fuel to the fun and the hype. A wedding was no different.

Another pale but lively woman in a flapper curled pixie cut laughs, taking her other hand to spin her, stealing the champagne glass for her own. They're wearing almost the same dress, just slightly different cuts to flatter just right. The pearly satin material shimmers as they move, revealing smooth shoulders and revealing dips in the back.

The lights overhead glow from pink, purple, gold, and dreamy blues. Onlookers attracted to the scene might have mistaken the giggling bridesmaids as fairies, sprites, if they didn't know them. The diamond clips in their dark carefully curled hair sparkling with each and every move.

"No fair, Sunny get your own."

"Nooooo you had too much already."

"The night is young, how can I have had too much?"

"Exactly! The night is young and we got soooooo much more to drink and do. Keep up! Don't die on me!"

"No fair, don't compare me to your drinking standards. You're a beast!"

"Right, I'm a beast. That's why even though I'm such a catch" the taller woman flips the imaginary hair she doesn't have with a dramatic wave. "I'm still siiiiiiiiiingle."

"Saaaaame." laughs Meng, stepping fast as if she was walking on clouds. The girls still holding hands and giggling as they slapped and snarked on each other. Bouncing up on stage in an almost dance, a hazy spotlight following them on.

"Ugh, shut up."

"Sunny~ We're just too cute for that!? Am I right ladies?!"

The audience below whistles, some brave tipsy souls yelling out they could fix that single problem.

"I know right?! But today is not our day to shine! There is only one lady who matters, fine fine make way for my sister Eun-Jung. The bride! Drumroll please!"

Together the smiling girls clasp their hands, making an exaggerated heart as they announce in the bride, changed into yet another dress for the ongoing reception.

The bride steps onto the dance floor, glittering in an elegant white mermaid gown. Her every step looking like seafoam crashing on the shore.

Though that could have just been all the special effects lighting up.

The crowd still goes wild, immersed in the scene, the show. Even the ones running it in the back.

"Give it up for my guuuuuuuuul!!!!" screams a particularly loud tech, gorgeous dark skin popping in his purple suit.

"Thanks Niles." announces Meng.

From where Niles wildly waves, in tune to the playing special effect, sits a young teen in a much more normal tux. He still stood out in a brightly LED-lit wheelchair, dramatically pressing a button, sounding out an obnoxious air horn.

"Thanks Henry." waves back Sunny, the girls taking turns speaking back and forth.

"I'd like to call up a very special man to the dance floor, someone who I'm a huge fan of his work" Meng winks to the blushing bride, whistles and jolly jeers sounding from below. Some of it snarky and inappropriate, though lost in the roar of the audience.

"No it's not the groom. He has the rest of his life to spend with her." waves off Sunny, acting unimpressed to the hype of the audience.

"No. Instead, everyone please warmly welcome....."

"Daddy!"

The crowd breaks out into cheers and clanging champagne glasses too soon.

"No! The father of the bride! Oh same thing for you I guess!"

The bridesmaids make their exit, scampering down in their long dresses at the lights dim to focus on the bride and her approaching father.

Mr. Park was already an aged man, with hair a salt and pepper white. It was a touching and emotional scene to have the bride shyly fall into her father's arms amidst the sparkling special effect, the pair full of unshed happy tears.

Something catches in Meng's throat, the showgirl smile just on her face faltering, falling.

In the shadowy dark, she somehow manages to make her way back to her seat, lead by the bride's younger sister. Even as she moves, she can't take her eyes away. As the music starts, she feels herself slowly freezing in tune. Legs locking.

A selfish part of her starts crying. An unreasonable part of her whispers in waves, that she'll never have that. Can never have that.

Like a masochist, like a decent person, she watches on. Because it's her friend's wedding. Because it's important. She's happy for her, she's happy for them all on this special day.

So why does it still hurt?

A wet bottle suddenly pops down at the table, shocking both girls.

"Hey there babycakes. I am currently the best man at this wedding. Want to be my best lady?"

Well.... that was sobering.

Meng grimaces, even as Sunny nudges her, a sign to play nice to the guests. A small crowd of party-ready young men from the groom's side eager to play the age-old tradition of trying to flirt with a bridesmaid for the night.

At least the liquor they brought was flowing. Something strong and coconut scented.

Meng snorts, rolling her eyes when she cooly brushes someone's approaching arm away from her shoulder. Her legs crossed to kick away another from getting too close. All such cheap moves. But she accepts the shot glass with upturned eyes and a charming smile. There was a technique for handling drunks and keeping the party mood going.

Before she can tip the glass back, it's stolen from her the same time the man closest to her stumbles out of his seat. Almost as if he was suddenly kicked off of it.

All she sees is smooth ivory hands, so much larger than her own. Long elegant fingers, the veins running slightly raised with a small simple black tattoo that stood out all the more on the smooth inner wrist. Their hands only brush as they steal her drink but she feels a different sort of chilling shock right through her.

The surrounding men boo as he takes the shot and Meng doesn't even need to look up to know who it is, even if his cologne smells different today. Something spicey, another layer and edge.

She does anyway.

Her throat feels dry watching his adam's apple bob. Long lines, because that's what a good tailored suit can do for a man. Any man. It's not just him she tells herself. Long lines and strong broad shoulders, tapered in tight at the waist. Good suit, a very nice suit. Not looking lower. But looking back up also feels like a mistake.

Ink black hair, gelled and coiffed for the occasion, already beginning to messily fall into loose strands over his smiling eyes. Rather than unkempt, it gave him a sexy look, mature. As did the popped open top button to his fine suit. The lines of his jaw sharp and smooth, lips red from where they lick at liquor.

He gives her a sly wink with those black night eyes before turning to address the crowd, pretending to cough and choke.

"Ahhhh this stuff is strong! What the hell?!" he plays.

"Ahahaha this ain't your piss ass Soju!"

"Shot shots shots!"

"Ha, a hero trying to save the beauty! Don't be a buzz! Another shot for what you've done! Keep it coming boys!"

He does, takes the shot and jeers. Hisses dramatically after he throws it back to everyone's laughter. Sunny smacks her brother on the shoulder as he takes a seat, someone already pouring him a third shot.

"Hey, why didn't you sacrifice yourself to drink mine?"

"Because you're literally my sister? You're fine, fine hand it over. Mengmeng, you're already so red. How much have you had already?" Jung-Joon asks, taking down the shots and a chaser snack.

"I just have Asian glow you dweeb."

"You went up on stage looking like that?" he feels at her too warm face.

She angrily smacks him on the other shoulder, harder.

"Yah, don't get mad? Your red face is sooooo cute. Too cute to be single, that for sure." he teases, that caressing hand going from her cheek to sliding slowly down her bare back, referencing to their earlier joke.

The electric chill goes through her again and for once Meng agrees that maybe she's had too much to drink for the time being. She's drunk. Obviously drunk!

That's why she allows it when Jung-Joon easily slides her into his solid lap, leaned into the long lines of his chest, much to the heated whistles and disappointed groans of nearby onlookers. The men previously shoving shots their way the loudest with their complaints.

"Hey, I'll take all her drinks and mine. How's that?" he grins, holding another full shot up for a toast. And the partygoers just can't say no to a toast.

Drunk drunk drunk, she's already drunk. That's why she's reacting this way.

She hides her shameful red face into her hands, wishing either for another few drinks to really black out or to just disappear in this very spot. It's as comfortable as it is shocking. That hot hand still tracing slow where his arm kept her supported, fingertips playing notes against her ticklish spine.

"Shut up and gimmie that." she groans, dropping her shield to reach for a shot. Instead a glass of lemon water ends up hands instead. When did that sober shit get there, she wants to ask. Maybe she does.

"The whole time. Drink it down Mengmeng, it's good for you." he pats, taking another shot in her honor.

It's teasing, it's routine between them. But somehow the currents that shock through his touch feels so much worse tonight, as bad as the special effect beach waves that Niles and her brother played earlier. It must be because she's already drunk.

"I like your dress." J.J. hums close, feeling from bare skin to the smooth slinky material against her side. So close she can almost taste the shock of coconut vodka in his breath.

"You've been saying that all day." Meng groans out.

"That's how much I really like it. Specifically, I like it on you...It looks like the kind of thing you should wear to bed."

"And I'd like the whole bottle of that, yes. Thank you!" shouts Sunny, reminding everyone that she exists and needed a ton more alcohol to put up with this pair.

After chugging down the water, Meng goes back to hiding herself in her own hands. Waiting for the shame and drunkness to be over with. Of course fate is not that kind.

An obnoxious air horn sounds out on the P.A., the spotlight turned directly on their table for all eyes to see.

"And next up on the itinerary is my J to the J, Jung-Joon. Oi lover boi! Get yo sexy ass up on stage!"

Time to slide under the table and plot murder. Yes, Meng was now willing to not only murder Niles but her own younger brother for his participation. No mercy. Right after she recovers from this shame, she'll just kill them. It's so crowded, no one will notice.

Which was a solid plan had Jung-Joon not so quickly hopped out of his seat, carrying her off with him.

"JJ! Drop the girl." announces Niles on the PA system, followed by a judgemental young boy side speaking over the mic "Jiejie, get off. You're embarrassing."

Murder, she's going to murder them all in cold blood. Who cares if it's Eun-Jung's wedding, people need to die. They needed to die 3 minutes ago.

"Awwwww, I can't just do that." the cheeky brat, deceptively charming in a suit or not, complains back to the PA system. All with Meng still dying in shame in his arms.

"Yes, you can!"

"No, I can't."

"Yes!-"

"Jung-Joon." comes a very different voice on the mic, calm with just the right hint of threat, "put her down and get up on stage."

Meng thanks all the stars and strobe light on this ceiling for Jung-Soo, the only likable Park brother. That is until he finishes that announcement.

"You can pull off this shit at your own wedding. Worry not everyone, bets are still taking place. Please report to the table by the registry at zone 3 to place or update your bets. Thank you."

The spotlight goes out to direct curious eyes to said bet counter, headed by her old bossman. The crew and set up looking far too professional to be a joke. Oh god she even sees her project manager behind there? What the hell?!

Back in the dark, Meng can feel the hot blood coursing, unfreezing her paralyzed limbs. She screams in Jung-Joon's chest, the younger laughing out loud as he cradled her head, muffling the sound as he ran.

"Put me down you-!!!"

"Okay okay. Just this once, alright?"

"I can't god damn believe you!"

He plops her down into a seat alright, scooting the chair safely and patting the top of her head before making his way up on stage. The problem was that Jung-Joon put her at not only the wrong table, but it was the very worst table imaginable.

No, not a table full of rowdy drunk guys. That she could actually handle.

It was the head table, with the parents of the bride.

She slowly turned her head, awkwardly but respectfully bowing to a glower and a gentle smile of a Mrs. and Mr. Park respectively. Tonight, everything really was worse. She needs another drink. ASAP.

"....Pardon me." she tries inching away towards escape, or the champagne.

"Mengmeng, I hope it hasn't been too hard to on you these days." starts Mr. Park, fixing his glasses and still looking teary from his earlier dance. It guilts her to stay put.

"Oh no....not at all." she waved off.

She didn't know how to say the hardest part was dealing with their youngest son. She was still reeling from what just happened, though it was easier to just...pretend, it was all a drunk hallucination. So awkward....

"I hope you know then," the gentle older man continues, completely unaffected "that in the future, if...even if there was someone else....I would be honored to have a dance with you at your own wedding."

"?!!" Meng makes a strange noise, perhaps the sound of an animal dying. It's something she doesn't know how to respond to. Already overwhelmed. She's been overwhelmed. Helping plan a wedding does that to you.

That's the only reason she feels like crying.

She bows her head low, lost on how to answer. If she's even supposed to answer. She hopes he doesn't mind.

She's used to the hurting, but she doesn't know how to identify this other strange feeling. Only that she doesn't hate it, even if it overwhelms her, washing over like ocean waves. Again and again, the water lapping at the shore somewhere inside of her chest.

It stings.

She doesn't hate it at all.

"Who is cutting onions!"

My sudden outburst gets some attention from passerby troop members but for the most part everyone leaves me alone. Drunken pink sighs and cooing of "aww it's the little Miss Rosalia" and "where did she come from?" "No no no She was here this whole time with the general?" and even "now where did he go?"

So annoying, I swear someone is cutting raw onions around here!

This outdoor feast is just so messy. It can't be helped. I suppose local commoner weddings have their own rustic charms.

Munch munch. Without any legal drinks for me to have, I'm back to eating. Grampa is right, I need to train my jaw. Very satisfying to tear the muscles and tendons. I need to eat lots and grow lots.

I need to grow up well. Only then do I have any chance of escape.

Escape where? I'll burn that bridge when I get to it. I'm only three right now so it's too far away.

It's all so very far away.

Sniff.

Stupid onions.

"Yeah! Stupid veggies, meat is a lot better. Oh this thingy is good!"

"It's okay. Chews funny. There are onions here? Where?"

"I don't know, Rosa said there was. Maybe she ate them all!"

"But they would be all cooked? They still can't make you cry. Oh, Rosa? Are you awake yet? You should blow your nose or you can't taste anything. Ah try this one, there are lingonberries and rice inside."

"*noms*Good! I like that one!"

"Is that an oxen tail? I can't tell from smell since they're all cooked together. "

"I don't know but it's fatty and yummy!"

I feel a twitch in my temple despite my young age. In annoyance to the sudden chatter, just the sudden appearance of my minions in training, I aim and stuff a roasted blue potato in each of their mouth holes. That should buy me at least 7 seconds of peace.

"When did you get here?"

"Mpff awwaw agoof Shw!"

"....how about you chew first? Yeah just chew and then answer."

The boys munch down, looking very much like fluffy pet hamsters or something with their cheeks full. They've been freshly bathed, with Gable's herbal soaps scenting their kiddy soft skin and hair actually well brushed. Lukas' flaxen blond flat down and freshly trimmed round his kiddy radish head. While Amar's dark little waves still looked enviously softer and easier to manage than my own now natural curls.

Curses. I blame mother's genes, and thus grampa for this.

They're not in any of my recycles clothes, but Gable must have cleaned them up for the occasion. With soft tied linen and dark frocks, the collars embroidered with a line of something nice all around.

Clean children are the cutest.

I sure hope that means Gable is here!

I also sure hope mother doesn't come back around any time soon. Worst case scenario I sacrifice one or both the boys. That's their most useless purpose at this point in time.

"We came awhile ago! And we saw Barabara in her red dress and new fancy hubby Niki and we ate candy and we gave out more candy and we ran under the tables. Your da' is kinda scary picking veggies with the stupid baby and I first I thought it was you in there but the baby isn't very smart with words or red. Then we came back and ate some more. Then we hear you screaming about bad onions and so we came here and ate some more while you cried about those onions and then you attacked with a potato-"

A special treat, Lukas you get another potato. Bigger potato. Chew on that for a minute longer, please.

When I turn back to Amar, he's already well stuffing his little face with the berry rice. Which is reasonable but at least I can get shorter answers from this one.

"Where's Gable? Did he drop you off for the feast?"

Both boys with full mouths point in the same direction, towards the low setting sun. It's getting dark as the lanterns up in the trees and posts light up romantically. Yes very good wedding decor.

Not bad mother.

"He's with your grampa." Amar answers between nibble like bites. Slower but steadier paced in his black hole eating tendencies compared to Lukas. Yep, it's a hamster, or a rabbit. Something like that.

"What? Where?" I squint towards the distance.

"There." the boy points again to the horizon, tilting his head.

How helpful. Gee, thank you oh so much.

Nope no Gable, I do however see my grampa making a silly fool out of himself. Somehow he irks the ire of a hunchback old man with a medium length beard, receiving the wack of his crooked cane. Even as the brave old man keeps hitting the world-renowned hero, grampa still keeps attacking.

I think he's trying to hug him?

Now he's on his knees, now he's saying something, aaaaand he gets whacked with the cane again.

Grampa is weird, with or without alcohol. That just may be the only truth I can rely on in this world.

"Ohhhh darling just look at this lovely little dress they let me borrow! Ohohoho it's so thin and spinny and ties with so many ribbons! Darling~ Frederick darling, where did you run off to now? My darlings? Papa?...."

Okay, and my mother being scary too. Absolutely a universal fact.

At the sound of her voice the boys and I all jump to various degrees of fright. It is then, after catching our breaths, that we all silently nod and agree on the safest plan for children our size.

Under the table! Come on everyone, we're bringing this feast downstairs.

Bringing this, and that. Whatever the hell that is, sure let's try it. Oh another of the stuffed birdies. I like those. Hey take that jug of juice from over the other table, we're gonna need that. Some wedding candy? Can someone cut this steak smaller? My jaw is getting sore. Make it smaller. Thin but not too thin.

Smaller I say. Smaller!