A Warm Reception

Rated K+

By Cheezey

 

A week after the wedding ceremony of Doom’s high fleet commander Cossack the Terrible to his bride Lady Kuryaki, high seat of house Tonorm’oith, the grand mountaintop estate of the house was decked out in lavish splendor for their wedding reception.  As was the custom among the nobility of planet Doom the reception had been planned jointly between immediate family members of the newlyweds and scheduled upon their return from the honeymoon.  Although other planets generally held the reception before the honeymoon, on Doom the custom was to do that in reverse.  A Doom “reception” was more of a homecoming celebration for the newly married couple than anything else.  In actuality, their society adapted the custom as little more than a formal excuse to throw a really big party—and fortunately for the newlyweds, few threw more memorable parties than Tadack and Visycka, the high seats of house Aldar’ach and Cossack’s parents.

 

Though the party was held at Kuryaki’s estate, it was Visycka who planned most of it.  Other members of Cossack’s family contributed ideas, funds, and booze, but the lady of the winery house was the one in charge of the deal.  Ordinarily more close relations from the Tonorm’oith side would have been involved in the reception planning as well, but Kuryaki’s closest family was spread both thin and out.  Her parents, though still alive, were far from young and energetic and quite content to let Visycka handle things.  After all, they were from a different house altogether as Kuryaki had married into Tonorm’oith years ago in her first marriage and in their opinion, that left them off the hook.  She had several siblings, but only one—her sister Corrian—was still close enough to her to voluntarily to do more than show up with an appropriate gift.  Of Kuryaki’s children, the only one still living was doing so on planet Azuit, located on the opposite end of the galaxy, and neither she nor her husband and children had been able to make the trip back to Doom for the wedding itself, much less the less formal reception celebration.  There were a few relations from her first husband’s side of the family that would have been willing to pitch in, but when they heard that the Aldar’ach clan was going to do it, they too backed off and let Visycka handle it.  It was well known that the winery family threw the best parties anyway.

 

True to that reputation, Visycka outdid herself in throwing the big bash.  She was so pleased that Cossack was finally married off after over a decade of scheming, conniving, and just plain pleading with him to do so that she was willing to go the extra mile to make it perfect for her oldest boy.  Every eligible member of the nobility for the most part was invited, as well as a number of Cossack’s fleet associates.  The witch Haggar was also on the guest list, and even King Zarkon planned to show up with his new bride Merla.  That was somewhat rare in an of itself as the king rarely had the time or inclination to attend most wedding receptions, but he supposed he should at least put in an appearance at Cossack’s since he was his fleet commander, and he could not order Lotor to do it in his stead given that he had gotten himself captured and imprisoned by the Galaxy Alliance.  That and he also knew that if Aldar’ach was throwing the party, if nothing else, the booze would be first class, and Zarkon did enjoy a good party.

 

Cossack and Kuryaki had both expected there to be some sort of reception when they returned, but they were surprised by the magnitude of it all when they stepped through the door and saw the place decked out in full splendor.

 

“My,” was all Kuryaki said as they walked in.  She blinked as she took in the sight of her elegant and formal manor glitzed up to the rafters with glowing party lights and expensive decorations.

 

Cossack let out a low whistle as his parents came over to greet them with Kuryaki’s sister at their side.  “You guys did this?”

 

“Of course!” Visycka exclaimed, and drew her son into a big hug.  “Only the best for our terrible terror!”

 

“Absolutely,” Tadack agreed with a nod, and then smiled at Kuryaki.  “Though I guess he’s more your terror now, isn’t he?”  He then took a hearty swig from the goblet in his hands, a heavy skull shaped vessel that held enough wine to fill at least two bottles.

 

“I hope you two enjoyed your interplanetary cruise,” Corrian greeted them.

 

Visycka nodded along with Kuryaki’s sister, but cut in before Kuryaki could answer.  “I hope you didn’t mind, but your sister and I stayed here the last two days taking care of the last of the arrangements and getting the place suitably decorated.”  She grinned.  “So what do you think?”

 

Cossack shrugged good-naturedly.  “Looks like a fun party.  Thanks, Mom!”

 

Kuryaki on the other hand tried to think of the proper answer as she took notice of a lush ornamental vine interlaced with multi-colored blinking lights wrapped around several pieces of her art collection.  “It’s… it’s very festive, Visycka.  Thank you.”

 

After taking a drink from a Berbil passing by with a tray of them, Cossack followed his wife’s gaze and burst out laughing when he saw what in particular had caught her eye—the grand life-size portrait of her son Yurak in full dress uniform, complete with light sword, that to Cossack had always seemed to overpower the hallway with a stern and gloomy presence, was surrounded with a particularly obnoxious string of blinking neon party lights.  Before he could catch himself, a quip of, “It’s disco doggy,” popped out of his mouth.

 

Immediately Kuryaki whipped around and glared at him, while Tadack snorted with a barely controlled guffaw.  “Careful, boy, or you’ll wind up in the dog house.”

 

Sighing heavily, Visycka stepped between her husband and son.  “How about we all go in and join the rest of the party while the servants bring their things in, hmm?”

 

“Yes, let’s,” Kuryaki said, and followed the hosts down the hall toward the guests.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, after all the greetings and introductions had been made, the party was truly in full swing.  The honored couple circulated sociably throughout the crowd while the guests enjoyed fine music, food, and drink.  Especially the drink.

 

In fact, King Zarkon had just a touch too much of the drink and was on his way looking for the little monarch’s room when he passed under an archway and felt his crown clang against something.  Grumbling, he looked up and saw a wiry pre-teen Doomite boy with a gag on his mouth, hanging from a balcony above by his ankles.  With a frown he reached up and pulled the kid’s gag down.  The scowl on his face vaguely reminded him of someone, but he could not instantly place it.

 

“Thanks, King Zarkon!” the purple-faced youth exclaimed.

 

“What are you doing there?” the surprised king asked, wondering which noble was drunk enough to hang his kid from the rafters and what the boy had done to earn such treatment.  As an afterthought he wondered if it was effective discipline that he should try on Lotor if he ever managed to escape his imprisonment and return to Doom.

 

“My stupid brother did this to me.”

 

It was then that Zarkon placed the child’s resemblance.  He had the same indignantly dumb look that his fleet commander often wore.  Eyeing him curiously he asked, “Are you Cossack’s brother?”  Though the notion of Cossack tying his little brother to a balcony was hardly something that he thought Cossack would be above doing, it did surprise him that he managed to find time to do it on the sly at his own wedding reception, especially since last he’d seen him, Lord Dasavar had bent his ear.  That generally meant that one was trapped for at least ten minutes or more, depending on how far into his story he got before the old man started forgetting details and started over.

 

Squirming uncomfortably Tadran answered, “Yeah but it was my other brother Stryck that did it.  Somehow he figured out it was me that put fart powder in his beer.”

 

“Flatulence inducing alcohol, you kids have no creativity these days,” Zarkon said, shaking his head.  “When I was a boy, we used all out bowel twisting bombs.”  He grinned, flashing his sharp teeth.  “My nanny never was quite the same after too many cups of that in her cocoa!  But speaking of the bathroom, even kings need to go about their business, so have a nice evening.”  With that Zarkon walked away leaving Tadran quite literally hanging.

 

* * *

 

As the party wore on, more of the guests found their way into various parts of the estate.  Haggar was among the first to wander, as she found keeping social company with most of Doom’s nobility comparable in fun to spending an afternoon at the dentist—and there was a reason that the old lady had only two fangs left.

 

She was halfway up the stairs with Coba at her heels when she heard a growl behind her.  Not unlike Cossack had done more than once in his time at that house, she turned around and found herself face to face with the Disco Yurak painting, which glared back at her with a resentful intensity that seemed to pulse in time with the neon blinking lights.  Unlike Cossack, however, she was attuned enough to the supernatural to immediately pick up on a ghostly presence. 

 

Halting her pace for a moment, she stared back at the painting.  “I didn’t recall seeing your name on the guest list,” she sneered at it, and then after giving a dismissive up-yours twirl of her staff at the offending artwork in parting, she went on her way once again.  Following his mistress’ suit, Coba stuck his tail straight up in the air and padded along behind her.

 

* * *

 

After finally managing to excuse himself from Dasavar, Cossack helped himself to a handful of cocktail weenies off a passing servant’s tray and walked right underneath Tadran, his helmet nearly giving him an impromptu ear piercing.

 

“Hey watch it!  You could put someone’s eye out with that thing!” the youngest member of Aldar’ach squawked indignantly.

 

When he heard the voice from above, Cossack blinked and tilted his head upward.  Upon seeing Tadran he immediately started laughing.

 

“It’s not funny!” Tadran whined.  “Get me down, you jackass!”

 

“Who put you up there?” Cossack asked, still snickering.  “And why didn’t they invite me?  It’s my party.  I should’ve had the honor.”

 

Tadran scowled at his oldest brother.  “Shut up!  It was Stryck.  Want to go kick his ass?”

 

Cossack let out an agreeable laugh.  “Sure, why not?  I think I owe him one for Yaklitz anyway.  He ratted out the details of my bachelor party to his wife and got him in hotter water than Quakers in a jacuzzi.”  He shook his head and then started down the hall.  “See you later, Tadran!”

 

“Hey Cossack, wait—” Tadran called out, but he was too late for Cossack had already wandered into the next room.  Letting out a weary sigh, Tadran’s body went slack while his lanky arms flopped down, still hanging there in miserable defeat.

 

* * *

 

On the other side of the estate, Cossack’s long time friend Yaklitz was also wandering, partly out of curiosity as he had not been in Cossack’s wife’s place before and partly because he was hiding from his own wife.  If she had her way, she would have him being babbled at by boring people, and given the choice Yaklitz would much rather be bored on his own than be bored chained to her side with no steady supply of drink refills.

 

He found his way to a room in the east wing that was dark but not locked.  Upon switching on the light he saw it was an indoor training room of some sort.  One wall was all mirrored while half the floor was covered by a bright red mat.  Two racks lined a nearby wall, one with weights of varying sizes right next to him and a second on the opposite wall with weapons.  “Nice,” he said, letting out a whistle.  “Who knew Cossack had a gym in here?”

 

He shivered slightly when he stepped inside, as the temperature in the room was significantly colder than the hall from which he had entered.  “He should turn the A/C down though.  It’s colder than a frost planet in here.”  He took a step or two further in and leaned against the weight rack.  “Good thing I’m an admiral these days and I don’t have to hit this two hours a day anymore, like those assholes in boot camp made us do,” he said aloud to himself, shaking his head.  “They probably had us do all those push-ups, chin-ups, pull-ups, and sit-ups because they couldn’t get it up and that’s how they got their kicks.”

 

A second after he finished his sentence, a twenty pound weight rolled off the rack and landed squarely on his toe.  Yaklitz let out a decidedly pained yelp and hopped around on his good foot in a most undignified manner while letting out an impressive string of obscenities and curses in four different interplanetary languages.  He had just stopped to catch his breath when its partner rolled off and with amazing precision, nailed the big toe of his other foot in the exact same way.

 

“This gods-damned bench needs a screwdriver more than I do,” Yaklitz muttered through an agonized wince as he hobbled out of the training room in search of his liquid painkiller.

 

* * *

 

Carrying a towering fish-bowl style glass full of Doom punch, Lady Visycka hurried through the hall after a Berbil carrying an appetizer tray.  “No no no!” she exclaimed agitatedly.  “That’s a Phase Three appetizer.  We’re only halfway through Phase Two!  It just wouldn’t do to serve things out of order, not with all the work we put into this affair!”

 

“MOMMMMMM!”

Visycka stopped short, the entrée emergency forgotten, when she heard the plaintive whine of her youngest child above her.  “By the gods… Tadran, what happened?”

 

“Stryck got pissed and hung me off the balcony because he’s a big loser and Cossack went to kick his ass and forgot me and left me hanging here and it really sucks so get me down!” he complained in one big long breath.

 

“I really wish you boys could quit fighting long enough for us to have Cossack’s wedding reception in peace.”  She shook her head and sighed.  “Promise me that when I let you down, you won’t go and do something disruptive to the party to get even with Stryck.  We can hash this out after we head home.”

 

“Ok Mom, just let me down!”

 

“All right then.”  Visycka set her drink down and walked toward the stairs that led to the balcony that Tadran was tied to.  On the third step up however she was distracted once again when she saw two Berbils walk by with desserts on their tray.  “Oh for the love of the gods, that’s Phase Five!” she exclaimed in utter exasperation.  Shooting a quick look at Tadran she said, flustered, “Just hang in there a bit, Tadran, I’ll be right back!”  She then chased after the servants full speed ahead.

 

Tadran meanwhile pouted sulkily.  “What else am I gonna do?”

 

Less than a minute later, Tadran’s older sister Cassri passed through the same hall where Tadran was suspended.  “Boy, what an ugly piñata,” she remarked as she took notice of her younger brother. 

 

“Ha-ha,” he snapped back irritably.  “How about helping me get down?”

 

“Why should I?”

 

“Because I’m your favorite brother and you want to help me out?”

 

At that Cassri burst out laughing.  “What makes you think you’re my favorite brother?”

 

“Because of all the fun times we had growing up together?”

 

Cassri made a face.  “Fun times?  You’re a huge pain in the ass.”

 

“Aw, you don’t mean that, sis.  Remember how much fun we had placing bets on why Cossack wouldn’t get married?”

 

“Yeah, and I also remember you putting potato flakes in my shampoo to make it look like I had dandruff the last time I had a date,” she retorted, tapping her heel against the floor.

 

Tadran flashed her a fake smile.  “But I did it for you!  You didn’t want to go out with that guy anyway.  He was a loser.  Stryck thought so too.”

 

“What does Stryck know about anything?  He’ll date anything that returns his calls… and probably beg from a few that don’t anyway,” she retorted indignantly.

 

“See, I did you a favor!  And I probably saved you from an early trip down the aisle.  You know how Mom is.  Sulestri only dated Zalik twice before Mom had the ink dry on the marriage papers, and look at what a dork he turned out to be.”

 

“What does Zalik being a huge dork have anything to do with you being a little weenie?”

 

“I saved your beautiful virgin innocence from being defiled by and shackled into eternal matrimonial dorkdom,” Tadran said in a fantastic display of bullshit for an eleven-year-old.  “So pay me back by letting me down, okay?”

 

Cassri snorted incredulously at her brother’s line.  “Wow, you’re laying it on thick enough to gag a robeast.  How long have you been up there?”

 

“Long enough!” Tadran whined.  “Now hurry!”

 

Smirking deviously, Cassri strode with deliberate slowness toward the stairs.  “Poor little Tadran… just hanging around...”

 

“Oh come on Cass, move it, will ya?”

 

She stopped on the second step.  “What’s it worth to you?”

 

Tadran let out an intense grunt of frustration and wiggled some more.  “Anything!  Come on!  You can help me kick Stryck’s ass, since Cossack seems to have gotten lost doing it.”

 

“Why would I want to help kick Stryck’s ass?”

 

“Why wouldn’t you?”

 

Cassri leaned against the banister.  “Come on Tadran, you can do better than that.  What can you offer me?”

 

“I won’t tell Stryck that you were the one that put the dent in the new transport craft that Mom and Dad blamed him for and was too drunk to remember for sure.”

 

“You don’t have any proof of that.”

 

“I do so,” Tadran insisted.  “I have photographic evidence.”

 

“You weren’t even home when it happened!” Cassri protested.  “How can you possibly have seen me do anything?”

 

Still wiggling in the ties, Tadran replied, “Maybe I didn’t see you crash it, but I did see you trying to touch it up with your ugly black nail polish when you thought no one was looking.”

 

“What?  You spied on me, you little twerp?  And my nail polish is not ugly!”  She pouted and examined her fingers, still impeccably polished in a fine glossy black.

 

“Yes it is,” he shot back, “and why else would you be sneaking out to the crafts late at night, unless you were going out… which is what I thought you were gonna do, but then I realized you were too lame to do that and you probably couldn’t get a date to sneak out with anyway.”

 

Cassri narrowed her eyes.  “I’ll get a date sooner than you get down, Terd-ran,” she snapped in a huff, and turned sharply on her heels.

 

Tadran meanwhile realized he had just wisecracked himself out of a ticket back to the ground, and flashed his sister a desperately apologetic look.  “Aw Cass, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!  You’re not that ugly!  Honest!  I’m sure some guy will love you despite how you look!” 

 

“And I’m sure someone will let you down, but it won’t be me!” she shouted back angrily, and stomped toward the end of the hall.  “And I hope they drop you on your head!”

 

Scowling, Tadran shouted back, “I lied!  You are that ugly!  You’d give witch Haggar a run for her money!”

 

Unfortunately for Tadran, said witch just happened to be within earshot passing from one room to another when he made that declaration.  Casting the boy a withering glare from where she stood, rather than speak to him she simply raised her staff and zapped his gag, magically sliding it back into place.  “If only it worked that well on Cossack,” she muttered, and wandered into the next room full of party guests to look for better company.

 

* * *

 

Cossack was seated on a couch beside Kuryaki enjoying being waited on hand and foot as the guest of honor at his reception when Yaklitz limped by.  “You haven’t seen my wife, have you Cossack?”

 

The commander shook his head.  “Nope, no robeasts in here!” he exclaimed jovially.  “Kuryaki, you remember my pal Yaklitz from the wedding, right?”

 

“Yes, I believe so,” Kuryaki said, and smiled at the admiral.  “Cossack speaks very highly of you.  He’s told me a few stories about your service together in the fleet.  You were in boot camp together?”

 

Yaklitz nodded cordially.  “Yup.  I’ve known him for years.  Did Cossack ever tell you how much fun we had pissing off your son and his buddy Vardash back in the day?”

 

Frowning as he realized Yaklitz was navigating a dangerous course that could very well land him a night on the couch his first night home with his new wife, Cossack maneuvered for a quick subject change.  “So, uh, speaking of boots, Yaklitz, why are you limping?”  He pointed at the other man’s feet.

 

“Oh that,” Yaklitz said, wincing as he remembered the unfortunate incident with the weights.  “I was wandering around and found my way into the gym downstairs.  By the way, I didn’t know you had your own workout room set up.  Please don’t show my wife that, or she’ll insist I put one in our place.  As it is she buys enough exercise crap that she thinks ‘we’ should use even though her ass never gets any smaller anyway.”

 

Cossack meanwhile frowned and looked quizzically at Kuryaki.  “I have a gym?”

 

Kuryaki sipped at her drink and set it down on the end table beside their loveseat.  “You must have found your way into the training room.  In the east wing, right?”

 

Yaklitz shrugged and pointed in the general direction of the weight room.  “Down that way?”  After all he’d had to drink at that party he was lucky to be able to tell right from left, much less guess at which part of the manor was east, west, south, or north.

 

With a nod Kuryaki replied, “Yes, that’s it.  Sevakor had it put in when Yurak was a boy.  He taught us both how to fight in there.  Of course I don’t bother much with that sort of thing, but it’s handy to know how to fight back if they corner you or try to pull a fast one just in case.”

 

“Yeah well, the weights in there do the dirty work on their own,” Yaklitz remarked.  “That’s why I’m limping.  I walked past the bench and two of the damn things rolled off and nailed my toes.  Figures I didn’t have my fleet uniform boots on, and my wife had to insist I wear these Gloomite leather things she bought me for my birthday last year,” he said, gesturing to the thin leather footwear he wore with a pained wince on his face.

 

Kuryaki frowned.  “Oooh, I’d better have a Berbil look into repairing that bench.  My apologies, Yaklitz.  Thank you for bringing it to my attention.  If you’d like I can have a Berbil set you up on a couch with a cold pack for them.”

 

The admiral shook his head.  “Nah, not necessary.  My wife might find me that way.”  He smiled affably at the two of them.  “Anyway, I’ll let you two get back to what you were doing.  Thanks for the party, and good luck with the whole marriage deal, you two.”  He then gave a wave and wandered back into the crowd.

 

* * *

 

Still steamed from her encounter with Tadran, Cassri decided to head outside and found a set of double doors leading to a garden courtyard on the north side of the manor.  The evening air was warm and the patio was lit up to show off the splendor of the ornamental plants cultivated there.  Many off-world species of flora flourished under the careful care and landscaping meticulously tended to by the Berbils, and the entire area was a gorgeous display that had needed no further decoration for the reception aside from the centerpieces on the tables set out for guests.

 

Relatively few guests were out and about outside, however, save a few that like Cassri had ventured there to get away from the crowd.  One couple sat at the far end together at the table having a quiet and private conversation, and a small group of three others chit-chatted with drinks in hand against the wall.  “Little jackass,” Cassri grumbled in grouchy reference to Tadran as she wandered along one of the paths through the garden.  She paused to sniff at an unfamiliar but pretty flower and then continued on her way.

 

As the path twisted around a corner she found herself in the shadow of a large lit stone statue of Commander Yurak.  “Oh, Cossack must love this work of art,” she snickered out loud as she looked it over.  She then noticed a plaque on the side of it and a quick read of it told her that it was actually the commander’s grave.  Her expression changed to a more serious one and she looked at it sheepishly.  “Well at least it’s quiet out here, right?” she said out loud as if to apologize for her earlier remark being in bad taste, not that she really thought anyone was listening.

 

Therefore she nearly jumped out of her skin when a moment later she heard a voice behind her.  “Did you know my nephew?”

Cassri spun around and saw Kuryaki’s sister Corrian standing there.  Relaxing slightly she shook her head.  “No, not really.  I mean, I met him once or twice at a nobility function but he probably wouldn’t have known who I was.  I was only fourteen when he died so I didn’t get invited to many parties then.”  She frowned and added as an afterthought, “Kind of like how my stupid little brother should have been left at home for this one.”  She met the other woman’s gaze again.  “But no, not really.  It’s a nice statue though.  We don’t have any art like this back at the Aldar’ach estate.  The only paintings and statues Dad likes are ones of naked people in kinky positions and Mom doesn’t care much for those, so we have a lot of abstract art instead.  Except for this one painting of my great grandfather, but that’s in a guest room.”

 

“Ah, well, Kuryaki loves her artwork.  Your brother had better get used to that.  She’ll probably commission paintings of him to add to her collection before long,” Corrian told her.  “She spends a lot of time and money on her art pieces.  This statue is one of her favorites, even if it is a bit macabre to gawk at it as such considering what it is.  Did you know she commissioned it from some intergalactially renowned artist on Zyrene?”

 

Cassri nodded in polite acknowledgment.  “No, but it’s nice,” she said, and then smiled a bit.  “But I always thought he was good-looking anyway.”

 

“That’s because he was,” a nasal voice cut in on their conversation.  Both Cassri and Corrian turned to see the large hulking form of former-Admiral Vardash standing beside them. 

 

“Ah Vardash,” Corrian greeted the other noble pleasantly, “what brings you out here?”

 

“It’s stuffy in there,” he answered brusquely.

 

“Yeah well when you cram too much of the nobility in one spot, that’s bound to happen even at a good party—at least that’s what Dad always said about high profile nobility get-togethers.  Still the same hot air, it’s just got alcohol on its breath,” Cassri remarked nonchalantly.

 

Leering down at her with a critical look, Vardash surmised, “Heh, you must be one of the Aldar’ach kids.”

 

Corrian nodded.  “Yes, she’s one of Tadack and Visycka’s daughters.  Cossack’s sister.”

 

A sneer crossed Vardash’s lips.  “I see the resemblance.”  Although his façade was polite, given how he felt about Cossack it was clear that it was not meant as a complement. 

 

Put off by his snooty attitude, Cassri decided that the air inside was decidedly less stuffy than outside, and decided that she’d go get herself a drink and insult Tadran again if no one had cut him down yet.  She would certainly be happy to do it, although the cutting down she intended to give her little brother was not exactly one he wanted.  Plastering a smile on her face, Cassri then politely excused herself from Corrian and Vardash’s company and left the two of them behind in the garden. 

 

After a brief exchange of small talk, Corrian did the same and Vardash was left alone out by Yurak’s statue, which was fine with him as that was what he had initially hoped for when he had headed out there anyway.  The gravesite was the closest he got to being able to visit his dearly departed favorite former commander.  “Oh sir,” he sighed, “you must be rolling over in there, aren’t you?”

 

Of course there was no answer but the night breeze, but Vardash was certain that Yurak would have agreed with him. 

 

With a wistful shake of his head, he continued to speak.  “Cossack marrying your mother, oh that poor woman!  She deserves so much better.  It’s bad enough that idiot wound up in your job—and I’m still not sure how that happened,” he mumbled, scratching his head, “but to marry into your house on top of it and shack up with your mother… how disgusting!  I mean, the only way it could be worse would be if that fool Yaklitz married your sister.”  He paused and made a face.  “Then again she did marry my cousin Ryton, so maybe that’s not much better.”

 

Flopping down onto the bench beside Yurak’s grave, Vardash continued to ramble.  “Speaking of Ryton, did you know that he and your robeast of a sister didn’t even bother to show up?  Really, sir, I don’t know what’s the matter with that branch of your family.”  He sighed again.  “Be glad you aren’t here to see this travesty, sir.  It’s horrible!  I’m sure the astral is much better these days.”

 

As if to accentuate Vardash’s melodramatics, one of the Aldar’ach clan—Sulestri’s husband Zalik, stone drunk but not letting that stop him from further intoxicating any of his brain cells—stumbled out onto the patio wearing nothing but a linen curtain wrapped crudely into a toga around his waist.  He climbed up on a chair and took hold of one of the flaming ornamental torches and struck a dramatic pose for all of two seconds before he let out a hearty belch and toppled over, crumpling in a drunken heap on the stone patio where he subsequently passed out.

 

Vardash glanced from the drunk to the statue and sighed one more time.  “I rest my case.”

 

The End

 

 

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