These darned characters need to leave me alone, they really do. I think. (I'm not sure, it is fun being able to sit down and bang out a lot of text)

Anyway, I think I can ignore this story for right now and work on the things that come earlier. Since that means this'll likely get ignored for a year or two I'm splatting it out here, well, just because. Probably splat out the beginning of the third chapter soon as well, since that's close to being set-aside-able.

This is uneditited, even by me, just a rough first draft, so don't be surprised if the punctuation's odd or parts read a little funny. I tend to bounce around and sometimes reuse phrasing inadvertently.

Wedding Bells, part .5

The Crown and Stone respectfully require, on this the one year anniversary of your betrothal, the presence of you and your intended, for the recognition of your union, in the presence of the symbols and kingdom of Ventania.

William looked with bemusement at the parchment in his hand, before he burst out laughing, tears streaming down his face. The messenger looked on with bemusement, wondering if perhaps he'd delivered to someone who'd gone mad.

William? What's so funny? William could feel Ben's puzzlement in his head.

We've just received an invitation to a wedding, William replied, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Whose?

Ours, love.

"What?" Ben's voice rang out from behind William. He turned and saw Ben, standing midway down the stairs, looking surprised. The long leather apron he was wearing showed signs of recent scorching, the goggles dangling from around his neck had spatters of orange glowing goo on them. His face was spattered with goo as well, leaving him looking owlish, the tan skin around his eyes showing in dark contrast to the fluorescent orange on the rest of his face. Strands of long black hair escaped from the braid he wore and arched forward, a few of them stuck to his cheeks by the slime he was wearing.

"We just got our wedding invitation," William said with a grin, waving the paper at Ben. He'd managed to stop laughing, but just barely. "I like the orange," he added. "It suits you."

Ben scowled in response. "It suits you better," said Ben, reaching down and leaving a smear on each cheek and across his forehead. Ben was right, the glowing orange streaks setting off the lavender of William's eyes and the white of his hair, pulled back like Ben's, though held together by a strip of leather rather than a braid.

William caught the scent of citrus and sniffed. "What were you brewing back in the workshop?" He frowned suddenly. The orange slime bore a striking resemblance to fire daemon ichor, and Ben had been working on bottles to hold reactive potions in stasis. "This stuff won't burst into flames or explode, will it?"

"No, it's