"Make it smaller."

"Awww but pumpkin, the best wat to eat it is by ripping through with your own bare teeth, feels the strain and tear as its muscles gives 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 eve 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 beautful. 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 beautifully in the wind she and the room rise to make another toast, the sunset framing this scene.

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. 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 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. Why sometimes, everything just makes a hell lot more sense. 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."

"Not yet!"

Meng 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 shoju. She was always popular at parties, pretty face to fuel the fun and the hype. A wedding is no different.

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

The lights overhead glow from pink, purple, and gold. 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 like a beast!"

"Right, I'm a beast. That's why even though I'm so pretty and successful" she flips the 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 to be single!? Am I right ladies?!"

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

"I know right?! Seriously? But today is not our day to shine! Today there is only one girl who matters, my sister Eun-Jung! 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.

Eun-Jung 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.

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 young teen in a much more normal tux. He still stood out in a brightly LED lit wheelchair, dramatically presses 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 bored 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!"

The girls 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 pops down a the table, shocking both girls.

"Hey there babycakes. I am currently the best man of 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 ivory pale 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 is 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 in 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 Shoju!"

"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 hisses 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. Mengmeng, you're already so red! How much have you had already?"

"I just have Asian glow you dweeb."

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

She smacks him on the other shoulder, harder.

"Yah, don't get mad? Your red face is sooooo cute, too cute to be single 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.

"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 w-->>

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