---Esme’s perspective---

---Friday, 11th of May, 2683 Terran Calendar---

---Southwestern Scotland---

“You’ll be sleeping separately, kids!” says the grey haired man, sternly.

I’m pleased to see Oskar looking a little disappointed as he starts “Oh… of course, Sir… That’s…”

“Don’t tease, Rabbie!… Oskar’s a robot(!) He can’t tell you’re joking!”

His face creases with laughter as he says “Yeah… we don’t have the space for you to sleep separate, lad!… Honestly, Mimi’s lucky her rooms still up for grabs… I was just pulling your leg!”

Oskar gives an uncertain smile in return but says nothing.

Rabbie turns to me and raises an eyebrow “You remember where you’re going, lassie?”

Sarcastically, I answer “Nooooo… funny thing about being in the army, they hate when soldiers are good with directions(!)… I’m afraid they’ve made me such a disorientated pillock that I’ve completely forgotten the way to the room I slept in for 4 years(!)…”

“On you go, you sarky sod!” he laughs.

I gesture Oskar to follow me.

We walk up the four flights of stairs to the fourth floor.

Coming to my door I open it and gesture inside.

He steps in and I close and bolt the door behind us.

Out the window is a not bad view of the twilit sea where the Firth of Clyde joins the North Channel.

“Sooo… how did you find it?”

“Worse than bootcamp…(!)” he answers, despondently, flumping himself down on my bed.

“What?!” I ask, extremely confused “What are you talking about!?”

“I looked like an absolute cretin in front of all your friends today!… Did you hear what Quinn said when I told her why I don’t speak Scots even though I can?”

I think back to that interaction.

“Didn’t she say it was interesting?”

“Yes! ‘An interesting take’ she called it!” he says, miserably.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” I query, eyebrow raised.

He sits up and frowns at me, lips pursed “If you’re not a Stateser, Esme… then you know that calling something an ‘interesting take’ or a ‘brave idea’ like that is a polite, phatic code for ‘you’re a twat and the thing you’ve just said is stupid’(!)”

I giggle “I’m… pretty sure she just thought it was interesting, Oskar!… She’s not that clandestine or backhanded!”

He grumbles at that.

I walk over to where he sits on the bed and put my hands on his shoulders, kneeling between his thighs with my right knee.

I lean down to kiss him.

“Trust me, Oskar… I’ve known them for years and I can tell when they like someone and when they’re just humouring someone they think is a twat… They like you!”

He looks unconvinced.

“How about… now we’re alone together… I find some way to thank you for all your hard work today, hmmm?”

His eyes narrow, not meeting mine, as the ghost of a smile touches his mouth “How might you do that?”

Distraction achieved!

“Weeell… I remember you being… very interested when I told you I went to a school that had school uniforms… My uniform’s probably still in that wardrobe over there… How about we see if it still fits…?”

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His face flushes red and the edges of his mouth curl upward in an irresistible grin.

---Oskar’s perspective---

---Saturday, 12th of May, 2683 Terran Calendar---

---Southwestern Scotland---

The thing about being at War… is that it makes events like this prone to being quite sparsely attended…

The proportion of 18-45 year olds who are off fighting, preparing to fight or… well… ‘done’ fighting, leaves a substantial demographic gap.

My parents’ funerals were the same way…

The bride’s side is more full, being populated by everyone from Esme’s orphanage but… the groom’s side is looking so bare that I’m almost tempted to move there myself just to fill it out!

By all accounts, he was a popular and well liked guy at school… it’s just… most of the Human classmates of his have been drafted since he graduated.

The groom doesn’t particularly seem to mind as he stands at the pulpit of this church in Stranraer’s Old Town.

He’s just anxiously looking down the aisle while his bushy, blond tail wags, slowly and nervously, back and forth behind him.

The slim Canis has a vulpine looking face, bright blue eyes and has chosen to wear a suit in scarlet red, denoting passion.

Behind him stand what I presume to be his best man, two groomsmen and a groomswoman.

Organ music starts and every head turns rearward.

Through the doors come the bridesmen and bridesmaids, Esme taking up the rear in her service uniform (now the second sexiest uniform I’ve seen her in in the last 24hrs(!))

It would be a little pompous of us, as Privates, to have come in dress uniforms, even if either of us actually owned dress uniforms!

The simplistic elegance of her service uniform suits the bridal party well, in my view!

The group move to the altar and take their place opposite the groom’s party.

Following after are a boy and girl, both around 8 years old, the girl holding a pillow with golden bands tied onto it, the boy merrily scooping handfuls of petals out of the basket he holds, to scatter them around.

Christians have some weird wedding traditions!

Then, they appear…

An enormously stocky, grey bearded man with wild hair (that he seems to have tried and failed to tame for today) and, on his arm, a grey furred Felis in a royal blue dress and veil…

Serenity is what she thinks defines her it seems from that choice.

When you see photos of weddings from centuries ago, the brides almost always wore white!

I know it wasn’t a funerary colour at the time but… imagine… a woman in a white wedding dress! They look like Vampires!

The bride’s dress fully covers her chest, coming up to form a ring of cloth around her neck with a wide gap between there and the top of her sleeves, leaving her grey furred shoulders exposed.

The effect is quite tasteful…

My imagination runs wild for a moment, showing me Esme in a red version of the same garment…

The pair slowly process down the aisle.

The large man looks, from his quivering lip, like he’s trying to fight off tears.

The Felis on his arm looks like the embodiment of her chosen serenity colour as she walks with a subtle smile adorning her snout, visible through her veil.

I hear a strange flapping sound.

Turning my head, I see that the groom is now wagging his tail so hard that it might be more accurate to say that it’s wagging him!

The momentum change of every swing is, not so subtly, swaying his body side to side as he watches his bride approach.

The two of them finally make it to the altar.

Quinn turns to Baird, allowing him to lift her veil.

They embrace and she whispers something in his ear before they part.

He takes his place in the front row on the bride’s side, and, though I can only see him from behind, I see his hand surreptitiously move to both eyes in a clear wiping motion and I hear very quiet sniffles from where I am.

Quinn turns to the groom, still flapping his tail, seemingly entirely out of his control!

The cleric raises his hands “Dearly beloved…”

---Esme’s perspective---

I stare, dully, at the bundle of blue flowers in my hands.

I caught it…

I didn’t mean to catch it…

It was as if my left arm and I had different ideas about what was a desirable outcome of the bouquet being tossed…

I was thinking that, as I don’t believe in superstitious nonsense like bouquet tossings indicating the next person to get married, I should let someone catch it that it might be more meaningful to…

My arm unilaterally decided that the bouquet must be acquired at all and any cost, shooting up, with reflexes honed by six months of initial training, to snatch it from the air.

“You gonna stare at that thing all night, Mimi…? You don’t maybe want to have a dance with that man of yours?” asks Tommie’s smug voice.

I look up to see her smug face.

“I didn’t…” I start, gesturing at the flowers.

“I know, sweetie, I know… don’t worry about it…”

“I… I need a drink…”

“’Scuse me, could my maid of honour get a whiskey on the rocks?” asks Tommie to the barman behind me.

“Could you just confirm your age for me, Miss?” asks the barman, apologetically.

“Does the uniform not confirm her age?” she queries, wryly.

“Sorry, Ma’am… 17 and a third year olds can join the army for initial training… I can’t sell anything over 5% to an under 18.”

I pull my holo from my pocket, get up my ID app and touch it to the counter. There’s a little jingle that I take to be the bar confirming that the ID just scanned belongs to someone over the age of 18.

“Thank you, Miss… I’ll get you that drink.”

A glass is placed on the bar beside me, ice balls rattling against the side.

I pick it up and take a sip.

“Oh… that’s nice…!” I say, looking down into the amber liquid.

“OK, now you’ve got your dutch courage… go and talk to Mr Tall-Dark-and-Handsome over there!… You don’t want to strand him talking with Rex and Rabbie all night, do you?”

“You’re right…” I turn to hug the Felis in the gorgeous blue dress “…thanks, Tommie… or…” I smirk “…should I call you ‘Mrs Cailean’, now?”

“Shush!… None of that, Mimi!… Not even sure I’m going to change my name… Rex says he wouldn’t mind if I wanted him to become ‘Rex Quinn’…”

I giggle “That sounds like the name of an adventure novel protagonist…(!)”

She chuckles back.

We break from the cuddle and she tilts her head toward where Oskar sits “Go! Ask him to dance!”