ABANDON ALL HOPE

It is well known that Penacony has a reputation for hosting the most extravagant of parties, and weddings are no exception. From proposal to reception, every wedding related function is planned and executed with the same kind of exorbitant opulence that the Planet of Festivities advertises as its signature brand.

And while Sunday had never given much thought to his own wedding personally, there was part of him that figured it would be much like the countless soirees he'd attended during his tenure as a member of The Family— a glimmering and glamorous occasion fit to celebrate a union that was meant to last, as the vows often say, until death do they part.

But, as he's found time and time again, Nikki has a knack for subverting his expectations.

"Is there anything you want?" Sunday asks, his journal open, pen in hand and ready to jot down anything his fiancée might have to say. "Of the wedding, I mean."

"The food has to be good," Nikki says automatically, earning her a chuckle from him. She pouts a little as she adds, "I won't forgive you if it's not."

"Of course." Fondness saturates his voice as he jots down what she's said despite there being no need to. Something like that is an obvious given with her. "Anything else?"

Sunday looks up from his journal and Nikki immediately averts her eyes. The way her mouth is twisted is a clear indicator that there is indeed something else. Something she is likely too embarrassed to say. He waits, and when she doesn't say anything, he reaches out to touch her hand, ready to tell her that she can think about it more if she wants when she finally opens her mouth.

"I think," she starts out hesitantly, still looking away from Sunday, "that it would be nice to get married on the beach."

"The beach?" Sunday repeats. It hadn't occurred to him at all— every wedding he's ever been to has been held indoors, though he has heard of outdoor weddings; they were just basically nonexistent on Penacony. Thinking about it though, it makes perfect sense that Nikki would consider it given where she is from.

"Yeah, it'd be romantic, don't you think?" Nikki gives Sunday a shy, lopsided smile, but then something in her eyes shifts and she hastily says. "Though, I don't know, maybe it'd be better to get married somewhere else like Penacony or even the on the Express."

Sunday stares at her before fully grasping her hand, his fingers firmly wrapping around hers before squeezing gently. "No, I think getting married on the beach sounds perfectly fine."

Nikki blinks and her eyes flit around nervously. "Are… are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

ah yes, the roast wedding for a june july bride theme. i actually have a lot to say about this HAHAHA. but i will do that in a separate post because i have the 'talk too much disease.'

commission from the always amazing and wonderful chaocolait on vgen. i cannot sing chao's praises enough, even though they are always teasing me (and hsrku for always bullying sunday— which she does NOT). they always take my requests (even though they are sometimes outlandish) in stride with the promise that one day Nikki and Sunday will be doing something cute and normal in a commission one day. also i want to add, i actually did not think about a ring for this commission initially, but they asked me and so during my search for a ring i brought back a stuffed buffalo chicken wing ring and—

He'd hobble alongside you as he guided you back down the hall to your bedroom. The room would already be lighted by your table lamp when he sat you on the edge of your bed, then leaned over you to insert earplugs into your ears. Once the siren's song was muffled, you always came back to your senses, fully, often sheepishly, because it didn't take much thinking to understand what had happened.

"Again?" you'd ask, out of habit more than anything at this point. You didn't like to sit in silence while the old man watched over you. "How far did I get tonight?"

"That old bell I kept from my days on the homestead sure came in handy. Didn't even make it outside tonight," said the old man, smiling and stamping the blunted end of his harpoon gun into the hardwood by his feet. His expression sobered. "But, that's only because I was already havin' some trouble sleeping tonight. Who knows how long it would've taken me to come around to the sound, otherwise. My hearing isn't as good as it used to be."

"Yeah, I know," you said. "I'm so sorry this keeps happening. Have you considered hiring someone else to do this job? Maybe—maybe the siren will go away if he realizes that I'm not here anymore."

The old man shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe you're right, and the siren will go back into the deep when he realizes you've gone. Maybe he'll just try to lure the next poor bastard to come along. I've got a feeling that he'd still try to call for you, though."

"Why do you think that?"

To this, he gestured all around him with the wave of his hand. "Just—all of this. He's relentless. Whatever it is about you that he wants, he wants it badly. I don't think sending you packing is going to fix the problem. For you, or for me, unless you'd like to leave. I won't stop ya."

In truth, you'd thought about trying to leave in the middle of the day several times over the last several months, since the siren kissed you on the docks and tried to drag you into the black water. It had terrified you just how easily you'd lost control of yourself; your own choices and autonomy gone to a voice, but what had frightened you the most was how much you had anticipated the siren's touches across your body, just how often you think back to the siren's lips falling passionately over your own.

There was a part of you who wanted to confront the beast. You wanted to throw things at him, kick him, and scream with all the power of your lungs and frustration. What did he want from you? Why wouldn't he go away? What had you ever done to deserve this besides take care of a terminal old man and sip wine on the dock on a random night?

Perhaps the answer was nothing more than that you were simply unlucky.

The old man had turned to leave when you spoke again, "I'll think about what I want to do. It was already hard enough to find work and get this job. Besides, what will happen if the siren turns his attention to you?"

"Oh," he wheezed out a laugh, "that old bastard doesn't want anything to do with me. Pretty sure he's still pissed and sore about the last time I shot at him. Works for me because I'd rather not see him up close again."

But, that's not how things unfolded. As the days went on, his mental state had started to deteriorate as the chronic pain throughout his body worsened. Once, he had described it as "the ultimate betrayal" because the agony came from within. It was as though there were vises inside of him tightening around his muscles, nerves, and viscera, making the pain unreachable; something he couldn't knead away with his own hands like he used to be able to with his legs.

He claimed that the medications didn't help anymore, that they were all just sedatives to numb him for a few hours so he could ignore the inevitability of the suffering that was soon to return. In hindsight, perhaps it would've been a kindness to give him the extra pills when he'd begged for them, knowing that the dose would've been unsurvivable. Emergency services wouldn't have been able to reach him in time, not with how far out he lived from the nearest town. You suspected that he wouldn't have wanted to be resuscitated, anyway.

When you had refused his request to double the dose, all he had said was, "There is no dignity being in pain like this, you know?"

And then, that night, you awoke to the clank of the cowbell and shortly after, the explosive power of the old man's harpoon gun echoing into the house from down on the docks. You plucked the earplugs from your ears and lunged out of bed, head still wrapped in sleep as you clambered along the walls through the darkness. Your breath caught in your throat upon seeing the back door fully open, the tarnished cowbell now resting silently overhead, while the world outside the house resounded with the lull of chirping crickets and the sweet peals from frogs.

You stumbled down to the docks with bare feet, thinking it unimportant despite the razored stones cutting your soles, and the flat nettle stinging your toes as you went.

Lights already illuminated the docks as you approached, at once noticing the harpoon gun lying discharged and halfway over the edge of the water. Not far from there, the wood was darkened and wet with water as if something had created a great splash. Your heart leapt into your throat, and a cold void opened in your stomach upon the realization that you hadn't heard or seen the old man since leaving the house.

You called his name uselessly time and time again, arms wrapped around yourself as you paced the dock, carefully leaning over either side in hopes of finding something down there. Each pass you made, you fully expected to see his back float up to the surface and his skin already turning cold and gray. Perhaps a part of you wished that for him, a death as supposedly serene as drowning, as opposed to this not knowing where he had gone.

Just then, the dock underfoot began to sway, and the inky water sloshed against the wooden slats underneath. You were able to steady yourself and keep the harpoon gun from falling into the water by catching it with your foot and picking it up. There was nothing to launch from it as the harpoon had already been fired, but it felt better to have something in your hands than to be exposed to the darkness.

One long arm shot out of the water, followed by the other, and then the siren's beautiful and terrible face emerged from the depths. His deep-dark hair clung to his body like a silky veil, and you were reminded of all of the wrongness of his body: how his limbs were just too long, how his shoulders and face were simply too sharp to be human. His purplish lips were raised into a familiar smile, greeting you with softness despite the unloaded gun pointed at him.

"Where is he?! Give him back!" you demanded of the creature, already knowing that it would be fruitless. You didn't know how much of your spoken language you could understand, and even if he could, the siren was unlikely to reveal his secrets to you. These black waters were his domain, and whatever fell into it became a part of it.

The thought then crossed your mind to run. You could have dropped the weapon and left for dry land. You could have returned to the house, gathered as much as you possibly could in your arms, crammed it into your car, and left for the next town. There was a diner on the highway about an hour away, where you would stop and call the police to report the incident. It would've been labeled an accident, even though you'd be investigated thoroughly, you would just be placed with another client.

Life would move on. So would you.

Yet, when the siren called to you, those thoughts fell away, and your problems felt so minuscule. If you could listen to his voice for the rest of your life, then you wouldn't think you could ever want for anything else. The gun clattered on the dock as it slipped from your grip, and you stepped over it to reach the edge where the siren now sat. His long arms reached up towards you, blackened claws slowly beckoning you into him while he continued to coo and sing sweetly to you.

Nothing mattered more to you now than to finally answer to his patient desires after depriving him of them for such a long time. There was something so lonesome and desperate in his voice, an urgency to continue the song lest he lose you again. You were nearly there, then you were on your knees right in front of him, and then your hands were on his face as you kissed him.

His lips were wet and freezing, and just touching his skin made you shiver. There was no warmth to be had when he embraced you, holding you flush to his naked body as the kiss grew in fervor, in glee, in selfishness of having what he'd worked for so long and could now possess. He felt around inside your mouth with his long, narrow tongue and groped your body before shucking the clothes off of you, leaving you bare to him and the balmy summer night.

Then, in one swift motion, the siren tightens his grip around you before throwing your bodies into the black water. The cold water surrounding you was not enough to break your trance, but you saw the moon shimmer above as you were submerged and pulled deeper into the black depths.