Scenes From A Destination Wedding Weekend, Part 7: Afterparty Time!

Kevin

“Mona, you owe me a BP. And several months of therapy after making me read that letter.”

Mona giggles as Kevin walks up to his best friend, his boyfriend, and newish friend Jenny. The hu-cow collapses into the sand, exhausted in more ways than one after the bachelor party wound down. Laura Black ran him ragged during both of those events. Felix shirtlessness was distracting enough that Kevin had to be vigilant about ogling him. He may also be a bit drunk.

Winter slips into Kevin’s lap like he has been waiting all day to take his rightful seat, then nuzzles into the bull’s broad chest. The drow leans in to whisper, “I’m not wearing panties,” which does things to Kevin’s belted cock, then, louder, “So how was the sportsball, my sexy bull?”

“And why do you think I owe you a BP?” Mona asks teasingly.

Kevin answers his boyfriend first, “There was an obstacle course where I kind of got into a fistfight, then I barely survived Mona’s letter over lunch, then a scavenger hunt with Laura Black as my partner and she kind of scares me, then whiskey tasting over dinner where at least I did not have to fake liking liquor, then a trip through the underworld for some reason? All in all, a very long, very strange day.”

The drow smiles, “So I made the right decision by sticking with the ladies?”

“You would have enjoyed the obstacle course and probably stealing a chew toy from some dogs?”

Winter laughs, then leans back into Kevin’s supporting arm. Kevin savors his boyfriend’s calm assumption that the bull won’t drop him.

Kevin turns to Mona, “And you owe me a BP because somebody decided to glitterbomb my reply to Sam. She made me buy her new sheets.”

Now all three of them are laughing. Kevin feels himself start to blush. Mona declares, “Son, you got played. Even if those sheets were ruined, wouldn’t they be magic Hotel sheets? You know, something that one of Arabella’s maid daughters would go cast Mending on to fix them?”

Kevin sputters, then collapses, “Wait... that’s... wow. I really did get played.”

Winter teases, both with fingers running through Kevin’s hair and with words, “My sexy bull is too much of a people pleaser.”

Kevin shifts into Caoimhe, then grabs Winter’s chin, gently but firmly. “What was that, my cute little sub?”

As soon as Caoimhe lets go, Winter squints towards a distance. He hops out of Caoimhe’s lap, “Sorry, Mistresses, but brotherly duty calls! Bye!”

Winter scampers off towards a different fire before the sometimes drow could grab him. Caoimhe grumbles, no heat in her words, “He can be such a brat some times.”

Jenny arches an eyebrow. “Some times?”

Mona chimes in, “And you wouldn’t have him any other way. We both like Winter’s brattiness.”

Caoimhe chuckles, “Yeah, you’re right. Winter is usually good at inducing some guilt-free funishment sessions. So, how was the girl party?”

“Fun! I picked up sooooo many party favor dildoes!” Mona exclaims, showing off her loot.

“They gave away sex toys? I thought Andy’s crew was classier than that...”

“Oh, they came from some exploding present that also had a blonde in a penguin onesie with big boobs!”

Caoimhe looks to Jenny, who just nods. “Like, that totally happened. First time watching cartoon antics in real life.”

Caoimhe shrugs, not particularly wanting to dwell on that bit of weirdness. She changes the topic, asking the dryad, “You okay? You were looking a little fragile this morning.”

Jenny nods, staring past the fire, “Most of the day was rough. I am not going to lie about that. I think that I am better now. It took a bunch of different women talking with me about my nightmares, but I just need to trust that they will be nothing more than bad dreams. I think I made some friends too. I survived having a bad day, despite the poor timing.”

Mona squeezes Jenny’s knee, smiling, “I’m happy that you’re feeling better. Sorry that I couldn’t help more.”

The dryad gives Mona a little rebuking stare, “You’ve done plenty to help, just by giving me the time to figure things out. I needed that more than you can imagine. I hope we can get to a good place together during our date.”

Mona nods. “Of course. Whatever you need, Jenny.”

“So, what else did you two get up to today?”

The sometimes drow listens as Mona excitedly describes her other shenanigans, with Jenny occasionally chiming in with her more subdued commentary. It sounds like they had a good day; that’s nice.

Soon enough, one of those creepy Mildreds appears, ready to escort them all to the guest room they are to share. All four of us sharing a bed together should be... interesting.

Harper

While that wasn’t her first trip to a realm of the dead (not that she should think about that trip to Minauros), Harper is still a little unsettled by the walk. She wasn’t in danger of getting lost or anything like that; Planeshift is a spell on her prepared list, after all. It is more dealing with the consequences of mortality.

So, when she finds Skye, the sea elf wraps her precious little drow wife in a hug. Harper murmurs into Skye’s ear, “How were the kids?”

“Mostly fine, my lady love. How are you?”

“A little tense, honestly.”

Skye turns around. She hasn’t noticed yet. Harper explains, “Herman decided to give us a walking tour of Hades, I guess?”

“Ah. See anyone you know?” Skye asks, open and honest. The joys of our lives being so cosmically complex...

“No. I followed directions.”

Skye smiles. Her smile always makes Harper’s heart go pitter-patter. Skye takes her wife’s hand and leads her to a lone lounge chair, almost as if she has already prepared a little private moment. Harper takes her seat; Skye takes hers in Harper’s lap. She still hasn’t noticed. Harper offers the first of likely many kisses tonight.

The sea elf listens to her wife gush about her day: making a fancy cake with Emi, catching up with Dinah while potting a tree, using maybe more body paint on Dawn that strictly necessary, tasting Harper on her lips as she drank a mermaid potion. All the while, Skye nuzzles into her wife, lightly playing with sea form green tresses.

Another kiss for her first wife, this time on the crown of her head. “I’m glad you had such a wonderful day, my sweet little drow. Is it just us two for the night, or are the others joining us?”

Skye giggles, “Just us two. I saw Scarlet drag Daphne to the Hotel by the ear, so I imagine that those three are dealing with something. Though I imagine that you already knew that.”

Something to check the footage for later, I suppose.

Skye rests her head on Harper’s shoulder, looking up at her wife. Sea foam green tresses wrap around to gently cradle Skye’s head. “So,” the drow begins, “outside a trip to the underworld, did you have a good day?”

“Pretty good. Still mulling over the implications of the best part, but I will manage.”

That piques Skye’s interest. She sits up to look Harper more directly in the eye. Harper’s hair still holds onto the drow. She asks, “What happened?”

“Andy used his Gifts for us, a bit. He must have done an excellent job, too. You still haven’t noticed that I turned Embarrassed Clothed Female back on...”

“You WHAT!?!?” Skye exclaims with more anger than Harper expected. Out comes Skye’s phone. She opens her long ignored transformation app to check the results, then immediately calms down, though she probably should have when she realized that she didn’t faint upon immediately seeing her wife. Skye asks rather pointedly, “What does this mean?”

“It means, my lovely little drow wife, you can see me in court. It means you can show up to the morning meeting without me needing to strip first. It means that, when Kevin marries Winter, you can walk our son down the aisle while he rocks a wedding dress.”

Skye doesn’t realize she’s crying, or she just doesn’t care. “I didn’t even think it was possible. To be able to fully participate in our family without having to worry about that cruelty from the hag... Thank you, my lady love. Thank you.”

Another kiss, this time as Harper scoops up her wife in a princess carry. “You’re welcome though you should be thanking Andy. He was the one to actually do the thing; I just asked for it when he offered. Now, is it time for me to tie you up for bed?”

“Yes, my lady love, unless you need to take a constitutional in the ocean first.”

Harper carries her first wife to their room for the evening. “About that...”

The Broadcast

{reveal "Author Citation"} The Weavers are a contestant on Harem Hotel: The Athanor {endreveal}

They’d found a pocket at the edge of the party. A half-moon of driftwood logs and white-plastic chairs sat out of the direct noise but close enough to catch the spillover of all the main fire’s warmth and light. The twins had taken the only space on the upwind log, left side closest to the embers, Autumn’s right leg braced against the sand, Summer’s left pulled up so the knee made a tidy ledge for her elbow. Autumn was hunched inward, a little, hair shading her eyes, but Summer sat tall, chin up, scanning the next group for whatever trouble she could talk them into. Her mood tonight had tilted toward the outward—safe room, happy crowd, nobody paying them particular mind—and it had left her in the rarest state: optimistic.

They’d just gotten through their first s’more of the evening (Autumn torching the marshmallow with all the restraint of a furnace, Summer assembling the rest with surgical precision) when she noticed the drow girl moving toward them. She must have peeled off from the main circuit only seconds before, but the way she picked up speed—like she’d just realized a limited-time offer was about to vanish—left no doubt about her next destination. Summer recognized her immediately: Copse-Wood, Summer Copse-Wood, the one who, based on her activities during the party, had apparently decided, at this wedding, to make the concept of “life of the party” her entire personality.

Summer gave Autumn a quick sideways look: Ready? Autumn gave the faintest, “what can you do” shrug, then smoothed their rumpled skirt down over the edge of the log and waited.

Copse-Wood didn’t hesitate. “Hi! Is this seat taken?” She was already sitting before she finished the line, perching right on the driftwood log, knees together, skirt arranged just so, the look both practiced and deliberately not what people expected from a drow. She beamed at both of them, head tilted, the perfect first-impression photo op.

Summer, of course, took the lead. “It’s yours if you can handle the smoke,” she said, gesturing at the log with a little flick of the hand. “I’m Summer. This is Autumn. We’re not as exciting as the main event, but our marshmallow-to-graham ratio is scientifically optimized.” She flashed a smile, big enough to invite a laugh, and was rewarded with one – the other Summer laughed with her whole face, lines at the corners of her eyes crinkling up, as if she’d spent her whole life doing this.

“Summer?” the drow echoed, and for a second her expression flickered, a real delight passing behind her eyes. “You’re kidding. We’re name twins.” She paused, just a half beat, then extended her left hand, the move so theatrical it would have seemed like a parody if not for the warmth behind it. “Summer Copse-Wood. Sixth in line for the Copse-Wood Throne. If you’ve ever seen anyone do a handstand on a twelve-foot ladder in heels, it was probably me.”

Summer took the hand, squeezing it once in a way that was more “we’re in this together” than “nice to meet you,” then released it with a matching flourish. “Summer Weaver. No titles, unless you count ‘Certified Cake Decorator.’ I can’t do a handstand in anything, but I did once eat a whole wedding cake with my sister in under thirty minutes. Does that count?”

“Absolutely,” the other Summer said. “I’m not here to gatekeep excellence.” Her eyes shifted from Summer to Autumn, who still hadn’t spoken, her attention divided between the drow and the s’more she was reconstructing. “And you’re Autumn, right? Sorry, you probably get that a lot—people talking to the louder one and just assuming you’re the silent partner.”

Autumn smiled, small but genuine. “I don’t mind. Summer does most of the talking for both of us.” She glanced at Summer, then back to the drow, and added: “If she gets it wrong, I step in.”

“Noted,” the drow said, with a grin.

Before anyone could toss another line in, a shadow fell across the log, and Winter Copse-Wood landed on it, dropping down next to his sister with the kind of grace that only came from good genetics and a century of training. He was about as tall as his twin, a little broader, but wore the exact same dress. He didn’t say anything for a second, just watched the three women, then nodded once at the twins.

“Sorry to crash the party,” he said, voice pitched low, almost as if he was aiming for the opposite of his sister’s energy. “Just wanted to see if she was collecting more new friends, or flirting aggressively.”

Autumn made a sound like a suppressed laugh. “You’re welcome to the bench. Marshmallows are first come, first serve.”

Winter took his spot on the log with both feet planted in the sand, arms crossed. “So, two Summers at one fire,” he said, deadpan. “Technically three, if you count the one from Hazel’s season. You ladies may want to pick a backup name before this becomes a thing.”

The drow Summer made a face of pure delight. “You’re right! I didn’t even think of that.” She poked her brother’s arm. “We’re so outnumbered, Winter, we need to unionize.” Her eyes flicked between the twins, real curiosity surfacing now. “You ever had someone with your exact name before? I haven’t.”

Summer Weaver shook her head. “Never. The odds in Wyoming are pretty wild. I thought the only other Summer in the whole state was a bull terrier that flunked out of the local shelter.” Her smile widened, then she cut a sidelong look to Autumn. “I always figured I’d be the only one. You?”

Autumn just shook her head, more reserved but clearly not disapproving. “Autumn has even wilder odds.”

The drow Summer laced her hands together, elbows on knees. “Should we do a Name-Off, or... do you just want to claim dibs?” Her voice was light, but she was absolutely living for it.

The human Summer giggled and shot right back: “You want to fight for it, or just swap middle names?”

“Sounds like a sensible idea,” said Winter, “yours is—”

“Leonora,” the twins said in perfect unison, the moment clearly rehearsed but still funny. The drow Summer let out a whoop and clapped her hands.

“I don’t have one, but I suppose you can call me Urinlaire,” she said, pronouncing it with a perfect elven roll that made it sound like something you’d find inscribed on a really expensive tomb. She glanced at Winter, eyebrow raised, waiting for him to object. He didn’t disappoint.

“You hate that name,” he said. “You used to whine about it every week.”

“Exactly,” she fired back. “At least now it can be useful. If anyone gets confused, just call me Urinlaire.” She turned to the Weaver twins, her expression shifting to patient instruction. “It’s Oo-rin-lair-eh – roll the ‘r’ just a little, like you’re clearing your throat politely. Go on, try it.”

Summer Weaver attempted it first, stumbling over the syllables with a soft laugh. “Ur-in-lair?”

“Close! The ‘eh’ at the end – like you’re surprised.” Summer Copse-Wood demonstrated again, slower.

Autumn watched her sister’s mouth, then said, quiet but clear, “Urinlaire.” The pronunciation was nearly perfect, the ‘r’ light but present.

Summer Copse-Wood clapped her hands once. “Yes! You’ve got it!”

Winter watched them, arms still crossed, but his smile had softened into something fond and exasperated. “I can’t believe you’re giving elocution lessons at a wedding.”

“Few humans have ever managed to say it without choking,” she said, beaming at Autumn. “So I guarantee nobody will mix us up now.” She said it with such pride that Winter just gave up, shaking his head and smiling despite himself. She looked at Summer Weaver, eyes sparkling. “Can I just say this is the best thing to happen all night? I mean, no offense to the wedding, but...”

“I’m just relieved you weren’t going to challenge me to, like, a footrace or a drinking contest.” Summer Weaver said, grinning.

At that, the drow lit up like someone had flicked a switch. “Oh, you do not want to see her drink,” Winter said, glancing at the twins with a small, private smile. “It’s the only sport she trains for.”

This time, both Summers lost it, laughing together in a way that made the space feel just a little warmer. Even Autumn was smiling now, the lines at the corners of her mouth soft.

Human Summer marshaled herself first. “Honestly, the drink’s nothing to worry about. You ever seen a country wedding with an open bar? That’s how we got our cake championship—no sense of pacing.”

“That’s a championship worth fighting for,” the drow girl said, reverent. “I am not kidding. You should see the disaster at our home set whenever a pie-eating contest happens. Drow are not built for carbs.” She poked her own waist, mock-tragic. “We burn everything too fast, it just goes straight to our thighs. Or, in my case, straight to my brother’s, because he always swoops in and steals half my plate.”

Winter held up both hands, placid. “Factually accurate. She leaves a trail of crumbs everywhere, like a lost toddler.”

Summer Weaver turned to Autumn. “Remind me never to let you and Winter hang out. You’d either kill each other or develop some new and terrifying dessert weapon.”

Autumn’s eyes stayed steady, but she reached for another marshmallow. “That’s fine. I prefer team-ups anyway.” And she speared the marshmallow with a stick, passing it wordlessly to her Summer.

Drow Summer watched this with something close to awe. “You two just – do that? Coordinate without talking?”

“Mostly,” said Autumn, with a soft note of pride. “It’s how we work best.”

“I respect that,” she said, and it sounded like she really meant it.

There was a lull. The fire snapped and popped, a little smoke swirling on the wind. Nobody seemed in a hurry to fill the silence; even Winter seemed happy to let it settle, gaze fixed on the flames.

It was Summer Weaver who eventually took the next step, gentle and real. “Can I ask you something?” she said, aiming it at the other Summer. “You ever get tired of being stared at? Not here, but...”

“...anywhere else?” the drow Summer finished for her. She didn’t even blink. “No, I just pretend everyone’s obsessed and get on with my life. Is it the same for you?”

Summer Weaver bit her lip, then shrugged. “Not really. I mean, yes, but it’s different. People stare, but not always at both of us. Sometimes it’s like they’re trying to decide who’s in charge.” She tapped the side of her head. “Joke’s on them. It’s neither of us.”

The drow Summer nodded, dead serious. “I get that. Half the time, people are looking for a leader. The other half, they’re just waiting to see if you’ll embarrass yourself. It’s exhausting, but also kind of fun.” She grinned. “I like you. Is that weird?”

“Not at all,” said Summer Weaver. “I like you, too.”

Autumn and Winter, for a moment, looked at each other, a silent negotiation of whether they should be policing the exuberance or letting it be. They chose the latter.

The conversation relaxed, drifted. They talked about the wedding, the food, the fire. About the games other people played, and the silly traditions from their own seasons. Winter asked Autumn about a book she’d noticed at lunch; Autumn described it in four words and then passed the summary to her sister, who told the rest with twice as many hand gestures. Summer Copse-Wood confessed she’d never actually been to a human wedding before, due to the lack of humans on their world. The Weaver twins pointed out this could hardly be considered “human” when the brides included a catgirl, a fox-girl, a plant-girl, a six-armed woman, a woman with two bodies, a bunny-girl, and the only human girl was unable to wear clothes.

Somewhere in there, the drow Summer paused, turned to Autumn, and said, “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Autumn shook her head. “Not unless it helps.” She smiled, small but very real. “Summer’s good at talking. I’m better at watching.”

The drow’s face went wide with genuine respect. “I get that. My brother, he watches. He always knows before anyone else if a thing is going to turn out good or bad.” She nudged Winter, who ignored it with practiced indifference, but she didn’t mind. “You should teach me that trick.”

Autumn’s voice was steady, almost gentle. “I think you already know how. You just talk louder than you watch.”

This time, the drow Summer put her hand to her heart, almost as if the line had gone straight through her. She let out a slow, delighted, “Wow,” and then added, with no hint of irony: “You’re really cool.”

Autumn’s eyes crinkled at the corners, her version of a blush.

The conversation faded back into the easy noise of the fire, and the four of them sat together, two pairs not needing to perform for anyone but themselves. If anyone had looked over, they’d have seen the Weavers and the Copse-Woods folded up in a private warmth, a little island of contentment.

“Hey, Winter,” said the drow Summer, out of nowhere. “You want to get cake with me before it’s all gone?”

Winter looked at Autumn, who nodded her approval, then at Summer Weaver, who gave a thumb-up. “Sure,” he said, and the two of them stood, a matched set.

The drow Summer, before leaving, pointed at Autumn and Summer Weaver in turn: “You’re my favorites,” she said. “No offense, Winter.”

“None taken,” he replied.

The two walked off into the dark, their voices trailing behind, arguing already about frosting and whether it counted as a meal.

Autumn watched them go, then turned to her sister and said, “They’re good people.” Her voice was quiet, but certain.

Summer Weaver just smiled, and together they watched the fire for a long time, no need for more words, no need to move or be anywhere else. The warmth of the night, the comfort of the company, was enough.