A Wedding Here, Funeral There

     "Why are we throwing Kitty a wedding again?" Kearna Tierney looked up from her notepad, the fountain pen held loosely in one hand. She lifted a brow at her roommate, Sierra, who was frowning at a glossy catalogue of bridesmaid dresses. The cowgirl grunted, turning a page and wrinkling her nose at a frothy concoction of lavender tulle.
     "Because she wants one, and you know Slate when his ‘little girl’ decides on something," Betre said, looking over Sierra’s shoulder, his brows raising a few inches. "Oh Jesus Christ, please tell me the ones with red checkmarks aren’t the ones you’re supposed to choose from." Sierra looked up at him, her nose still wrinkled, and then grumbled as she flipped another page. Betre himself turned back to the open wedding planner on the table and jotted a quick note. "I personally cannot wait to see this fiasco come through," he said, smirking.
     "You’re not baking the wedding cake. Of course you’re enthused," Kearna snapped, frowning at another set of measurements and scratching them out.
     Betre smirked. "Having trouble with the proper vitae to flour ratio?"
     "It can’t have flour," she fretted, elbowing Sierra when the cowgirl rustled the catalogue’s pages rather loudly. "It has to be a single ingredient, with possibly a few liquid additives, and that is what is making the whole issue so difficult."
     "Why don’t you simply mold it?" Betre pointed at a couple of gowns, jabbed at one with his pen. Sierra eyed it, then slumped in defeat. She dog-eared the page and shoved the catalogue away, then rose to her feet. Grumbling faintly the whole way, she stalked into the restaurant’s gleaming stainless steel kitchen. The demon watched her go, then chuckled as he drew the catalogue over and began noting style, fabric and colour.
     "…I could," Kearna said, gnawing lightly at her lower lip. "I suppose that might work. A bit of corn starch and syrup, some vanilla flavouring…" Her pen flew as she jotted notes, but the cat did pause to eye the catalogue. "Which hell did she finally decide on? Please not the one with the bustle, that was horrific."
     "No, even Sierra has better sense. It was the Edwardian-style with the puffed sleeves." Betre tilted the catalogue to display the chosen dress, and Kearna shuddered.
     "Why the hell Kitty picked pink and purple for her wedding colours, I’ll never know," she said, her expression clearly disgusted.
     "Not everyone has your taste, my dear." Betre eyed the gown and made another note or two. "Be grateful I offered to be the wedding planner. I did manage to talk her out of the unicorn theme."
     Kearna snorted. "Like it’d be that damn appropriate anyway. I still can’t believe she’s going to wear white."
     "Oh? And you wouldn’t if you were being wed?"
     She shook the handle of her pen at Betre. "Ecru, eggshell, ivory and desert sand are all socially acceptable alternatives to snow-white in a wedding gown." A dimple flashed as she smiled wickedly. "I simply need to choose one of those alternatives."
     Betre laughed, shaking his head as he flipped a page and made another note. "Shall I be your wedding planner as well, then? Give me plenty of notice; I’ll need to keep my schedule open."
     Kearna rolled her eyes as she resumed writing the developing recipe. "Naturally. It’s such an impending thing, no doubt."
     "Oh, I don’t know," the demon said, pulling his card case out of his jacket and flipping it open. "What was this I heard about Matsui showing up unexpectedly a week or so ago?"
     The blush would have been unattractive on anyone except Kearna. She darted a look at Betre, her green eyes narrow, and then jotted a measurement. "He was in the area, so he visited," she said, her tone deliberately even.
     "Mmm-hmm…" The demon looked through a few business cards, and began taking down numbers.
     "Mmm-hmm, what?" She pursed her lips, raising a brow. "I am not married, nor am I promised. I *am* allowed to have a few male visitors, you know."
     "And an attractive were-panther shinobi-no-mono is one of the most persistent. Do I hear silver bells chiming in the distance?"
     Kearna shuddered. "Oh gracious no. Certainly not silver." She paused, then smirked. "Perhaps brass."
     Betre laughed, returning the case to his pocket. "I’ll take note of that. No silver bells."
     "Or plate, or anything else, for that matter," she said, flipping to a fresh page. "I despise silver. It doesn’t do me justice."
     "Only gold would be good enough, hmm?" The demon glanced at his watch before reaching for the pitcher of iced tea Kearna had made an hour ago. "When was it that your Ulryk was supposed to come to lunch, anyway?" He watched her carefully as he poured his drink, gauging her expression.
     She methodically capped her fountain pen, closed her leather-bound notepad and looked at her watch. "In forty-five minutes. I did hide lunch, so Sierra can’t possibly be picking tid-bits off of it right now."
     "And what do you think of Ulryk as choice of husband? He looks stable enough to counteract your temper."
     Kearna’s brow rose haughtily, and she stood up with great deliberation. "I will thank you to cease that kind of speculation," she snapped, her green eyes blazing. "Ulryk was brought here for a purpose, and he is going to fulfill that, not chase women about the city." Tossing her hair, she turned and stalked into the kitchen. Moments later, a confused looking Sierra was booted out of the swinging doors. Betre chuckled as the cowgirl glared over her shoulder, then shrugged and walked back to the table, pushing at her blonde hair.
     "So when’s the funeral, anyway?"
     Brought back to more sombre business, the demon frowned. He turned to a different page in the planner, this one with closely written notes and listed phone numbers. "In three days. We’re hoping to have Briar back for it."
     Sierra sat down, crossing her arms. "I don’t know what’s more fucking weird. A play wedding for a vampire, or a funeral where we’re buryin’ an empty coffin."
     "It’s for closure, Sierra," he said, gathering his things. "No one can move on withoutclosure."
     "But we don’t even know if she’s dead!" The cowgirl looked at him, clearly exasperated. "First it was ‘she’s alive and we can’t give up!’ Now, just as quick, it’s ‘oh somebody killed her, so we bury a coffin and move on.’ How the hell does that make sense?"
     "Ask Jonas," Betre said, rolling his eyes a bit as he tucked his pen away. Sierra didn’t reply, only frowned. It was too true that Jonas had sprung swiftly from agonized grief to acceptance. It was even more unusual that he’d refused any offers of revenge or reprisal from the vampires. Coming from the man who had done what Betre knew he had once before, this kind of attitude was…surreal.
     The demon shook his head and picked up his briefcase. "I’ve been…looking into it," he said, nodding politely to Sierra. "But until anything is known for certain, we go along with his wishes. He was her adoptive father, after all." Betre left a bill on the table, complying with Kearna’s hatred of debtors, and nodded once more before leaving the restaurant.

     Sierra watched the door swing shut, then sighed heavily as she poured her own glass of tea. Sipping it slowly, she glanced around the empty restaurant, then laughed. "Go see the world, she said. It’ll do you some good, she said. Your family is weirder than anyone you’ll meet out there, she said." The cowgirl shook her head and leaned back in the chair. "Jeez, Mom, I wish you’d been right."