orlaithrose

[orlaithrose]

"Shame we didn't get married in the dead of winter then instead of July. Can't exactly have picked a warmer time," Orlaith said, as more layers were only revealed once Tristan had taken care of his shirt. It had been worth it though, as she was quick to tell him. "If it's any consolation, you looked really good in it. I'd ask you to put one on more often if it didn't require five thousand layers and near boiling to death." That and the taking it off was more effort than she'd expected.

"Thanks, it's definitely a relationship I work hard on," Orlaith said, joining in on the joke. "It's important to have a fulfilling relationship with your parents," she added, lips quirking up slightly as she rolled her eyes. "I'll take the advice on board, though given what he does I reckon there's a hundred other people they'd consider before me. Anyway, now we're married you're legally obligated to provide me with an alibi even if we weren't really together." A joke too, but maybe they should have added that into the vows as well.

Orlaith felt overly sappy to say it aloud, especially when it wasn't really anything Tristan didn't already know; she'd alluded to the feeling before and had made it clear during the argument about the motorbike how she felt about the family they were making together. So instead she said, "Well yesterday I hadn't lain on this bed and today I have. Lifechanging."

“No, absolutely not,” said Tristan. He shook his head. “‘Ve never been offered a coupon that wasn’t already readily available by not speaking to someone to begin with,” He shrugged. 

“I dunno, this s’what a fucking tux involves,” said Tristan. “I reckon s’why men in suits are always running warmer than most because they’ve already got fifty layers on, so of course they’re melting.” He tilted his head, there was a smile of amusement as she mentioned that her father dying would be better sooner rather than later. “Think it s’nice you’re so close to your dad,” he said to tease her. Of course, it wasn’t a surprising sentiment coming from her. However, imagining someone hearing it out of context would be rather funny. “Don’t let anyone else hear you say that otherwise they’ll think you’re up to something,” he told her. He said it, once again, to joke, but it was also something of advice. He couldn’t imagine someone hearing her say that and then her father dropping dead the next day. 

“Yeah? How so?” asked Tristan. He was curious.

[orlaithrose]

"And you think nothing good can come out of small talk in a grocery store?" Orlaith said, just to have a counterpoint but she had to wrack her brain to think of something. "Like coupons!" she added, when she finally thought of something. "Free food is nothing to turn your nose up over." One example was all she had to give, wasn't it?

She subconsciously reached a hand out to help Tristan with his buttons, frowning when she realised and noticed the sheer number of layers he had on; she'd been busy getting herself ready that morning that she hadn't especially noticed. At least she'd only had one layer to put on, but then she'd had to suffer through heels. "Jesus Christ, why have you got like— fifty layers on? Anyway, I didn't say it was too far to look at houses, just that I personally don't like to so I don't see something I really want. Besides, I think it stops you liking what you have now, and sure I want a house one day but I also really like the home, the life, we have now. Whereas my dad dying couldn't happen soon enough, if we're being honest." No more strings. Orlaith couldn't wait for that day.

Did she feel different? Her snap reply might have been yes, but then she hadn't really had a second all day to think about it. She did now, also looking down at the ring on her finger that matched Tristan's. It was just a pair of rings and yet to her they meant more than anything material. They, along with vows, connected her to someone else who wasn't just a father who didn't really care and a mother who had left; they might not have wanted her, but someone else did enough to make those vows, to wear that ring. For the first time in a long time, her abandonment, her parentage— they didn't really matter. She had a family of her own now and greed or twisted obligation had nothing to do with it. "Yeah," Orlaith finally said, "I suppose I do a bit."

“I still think m’point s’valid, which s’that sure life worked out in this specific path, but who s’to say it wouldn’t have worked out otherwise,” said Tristan. “Also, I think trying to point out talking to you two specifically s’a bit of a cop out, because this started off as a conversation about making small talk in a grocery store, and I still stand by the fact that I hate it and it s’dumb. ‘M not looking for a lifelong connection when I go to the store. ‘D really rather not, anyway.” 

Tristan had already removed the jacket he was wearing and was now working on untying the bowtie he’d worn. He got that undone and then began to unbutton his shirt. He also still had an undershirt underneath that. There were so many layers involved with getting dressed up formally, and he hated it. 

“Oh, so I need to be more optimistic ‘bout your dad dying in some unnatural circumstance, but looking at homes s’a bit too far?” asked Tristan. Though, he was mostly teasing her. “Don’t people do that shit to have something to strive for, though? Find your dream home and have something to work towards, and even if you can’t have that specific house, you can find something better?” He shrugged out of his button up shirt now, putting it to one side. 

He paused at her question. He looked down at the ring on his finger, and then back at Orlaith and shrugged. “Should I feel different?” he asked. He didn’t feel different. Not in a way where suddenly he felt like a new or different person because legally he was suddenly a husband. Besides, any residual nerves or anxiety had long since melted away since all the official, ceremonial bits were done and over with. “D’you?” he asked.

[orlaithrose]

"My point was made perfectly," Orlaith was quick to disagree — she wasn't about to start conceding just because they were married. "You just didn't like my point. Which you're kinda helping make for me, actually. Sure you wouldn't know what you were missing, but that doesn't mean your life would be good. Or better, at least. Talking to people made your life go from something you were just getting through to something at least a little better than that. I'm not sure that qualifies as ignorance being bliss. Think you have to be somewhat happy for that— you know, the whole bliss part?" It was a lot of words, as was usual for her, but Orlaith thought she had made a point somewhere in there.

She shook her head. "No, I think it's a bad idea to look when you're not actually looking. What if you find your dream house but you can't actually have it?" Especially for her, having such a strong image of what would be a dream house for her; nothing fancy, she'd take a little two up two down, but with a garden and lots of light, somewhere warm and cosy to contrast the sleek sharpness of the cold house she'd grown up in. "I came up with those questions just now," Orlaith told Tristan. "I bet if I tried I could come up with way more."

Orlaith rolled her eyes as she felt Tristan slide the zipper down. "You need to have a little more optimism. He could be hit by a bus next week. You never know what could happen. We actually got married today, nothing could surprise me anymore." Even as she wiggled out of the formal dress to get a little more comfortable, even with the ring on her finger, she couldn't believe they'd got married. "Do you feel different?" she asked.

“‘M not sure other people can smell fear on me. Except maybe vampires or werewolves. ‘Sides s’not even fear,” he grunted. “S’more like annoyance. There s’a difference between those two.” Tristan tilted his head as if to grant Orlaith her point, but then said, “Well, ignorance s’bliss and if ‘d never talked to you, wouldn’t ever know what I was missing, would I? ‘Sides thinking about those what-ifs s’a cop out. Your point hasn’t been made.” He knew he had to say it out loud, lest she think otherwise.

“I dunno,” shrugged Tristan. “Obviously you’ve thought about it. Thought maybe you’d started looking at properties or something. People do that.” Tristan didn’t, but he knew people often scrolled through listings online like they did dating profiles. “See? You’ve obviously thought about it more because I never would’ve come up with a single one of those questions.” No, Tristan probably would’ve focused on price more than anything. “If that s’what you want, sure.” 

“Sure, when he dies and we’re also old,” said Tristan. “Rich people always died old. Y’know, just so we’re setting up realistic expectations where you’re father is concerned. Unless he’s somehow secretly already eighty years old or something.” 

“Yes, I know you’ll hold me to it, which s’why feels like a good thing to add onto those vows,” nodded Tristan. He sat up as she did, mostly just mimicking her motions. He nodded and went ahead and unzipped her. “Good idea,” said Tristan. He looked down at his own overly formal outfit. He could change into something more comfortable now.

[orlaithrose]

[orlaithrose]

"If that happens to you, it'll be because you're afraid of it," Orlaith said, somewhat sagely, as if she was trying to sound like some sort of expert, "like horses! They can smell fear, you know. Anyway, imagine if you'd never bothered to talk to Dante? Or me? You'd never have got to sleep in this big bed for one night, would you?" she thought to add, a hint of smugness in her voice, like that argument solved the matter.

"I don't know," Orlaith said again, shrugging. "I'm not a walking estate agent you know, and there'd be a variety of factors to consider and research. Like what areas are relatively safe for this island? How long would it take for us to get to work? Will the public transport still do or would we need to think about if we'd each need a car to get to work. I've never bought a house before, so it's not something I've looked into before. But if we start saving then eventually it's something we can look into it, yeah?" Or maybe Tristan preferred the thought of staying in the city. Some people liked things a little more busy, a little noisier, and to be able to walk out your front door and have everything you needed on your doorstep.

"Better than a lot of people, I'd say." They had a roof over their heads, and a comfortable one at that, they could put food on the table, and despite the difficulties they'd experienced in their lives had managed to make a happy life for themselves. "But when he dies—" Orlaith said, one eye raised, as she let the end of the sentence finish itself.

"Well— no. You can still make the promise, or the vow, whatever you want to call it. I'll hold you to it like a court of law would anyway. More so, probably." No one took food as seriously as she did. As much as it pained her to do so, Orlaith sat up at last, instantly lamenting the loss of the bed's mattress below her back. She hoped their bed wouldn't feel uncomfortable when they went back home. "Unzip me?" she asked, bookending the day with a similar request to how they'd started it, standing in that small room a few hours ago waiting to get married. Now they were married. Yes, they certainly were doing just fine as they were, she thought.

“Yes, in fact, that s’my exact fear,” said Tristan. “In theory, most of them don’t care, but it’d be just my luck to talk to the one that just wants to talk to someone and won’t shut up. Better to just be safe rather than sorry and avoid it altogether.” It had worked well enough so far, anyway. 

“So, where would we go to get this house?” asked Tristan curiously. Given that he had never considered it, he had also never thought about living anywhere outside of the city. Tristan never allowed himself to dream or think beyond what he knew or thought to be possible, so he hadn’t bothered to entertain the idea. And, unlike him, Orlaith clearly had given this thought, already picturing the animals with more place to move around and roam. It was a nice idea. 

“Then don’t take it,” said Tristan. “We don’t need him or his money. I know his presence in your life s’inevitable, but you’ve been doing alright so far, yeah?” he asked. “So, s’fine, don’t touch the money and we’re doing just fine as we are, aren’t we?” At least they had made it this far. 

He snorted. “I know that, but what? I can’t add on to them after the fact? Do I really need to have my modified vows to be witnessed in a court of law?”

[orlaithrose]

Orlaith's lips tugged upwards at that, and then her smile was turning into a soft chuckle that seemed too quiet for the enormous room; even Tristan on the other side of the big bed could almost be too far away to hear it. "Talking to people can actually be nice sometimes, you know. Besides, what do you think an employee is going to do, engage you in small talk? Because I can tell you most of them do not care about how your day is going, they just want to show you what you're looking for and then get on with whatever they were doing." It could be like in the hospital a lot. If she went in to administer some medicine she wanted to get in and out, not get caught up in a conversation she didn't really have time for.

"You can get houses in the city, but they're a bit more— compact. Smaller gardens. Out of the city you'd get more for the same money and bigger outside space for Cordelia. She'd like a garden, I think. Imagine just being able to open the back door for her on a warm day. Bernie could go out too and lie in the sun." Not to mention Orlaith could too— perhaps not lie, but sit, if they got some outdoor chairs. She liked being outside, especially if she'd been cooped up in the hospital for hours, with it's unnatural light and chemical smells.

"There's not really much I don't think he's capable up," she shrugged, "but I think he'd make a demand if he had one whether I'd taken the money or not. Still, it's never felt really right to take it. Sure, I could use it to buy a house or anything else I wanted but it wouldn't feel like mine. It would feel unearned. There are some things I don't want him to be a part of, as much as possible." If she bought a house with Tristan one day, she wanted it to be theirs, nothing to do with her father at all. It wouldn't feel like home otherwise.

"You know we already did the vows, don't you?" Orlaith rolled her eyes.

“No, because I always work as hard as possible to avoid talking to the employees even I actually need help,” said Tristan. “So, ‘m not sure the point you’re trying to make s’as strong as you think it is.” He gave her a wry smile. “Yes, see, ‘ll never understand the woes of being short, but you’ll never understand the woes of being tall, so, don’t think you’re the only who s’had a rough life because of their height,” he said jocosely, though there was a dryness in his tone as he said it. 

Tristan shrugged. “‘Ve just never thought about having more, I s’ppose,” he muttered. He looked over at her. “Where would this house be?” he asked. “Probably not here in the city.” 

Tristan understood. He also thought that if she ever did dip into the money, some mysterious strings might suddenly appear. Not that he knew her father well, but surely he’d find a way to hold it over her head if he really wanted to. “S’up to you. You really don’t think that if you try and touch it, that he won’t suddenly materialize in front of you with some demand that you can’t back out of because suddenly you’re tied to it because of the money?” 

Tristan gave her a look. “Have I ever wasted food since then?” he asked. “Just make it part of the vows. For as long as we’re married ‘ll never waste food ever again.” He rolled his eyes.

[orlaithrose]

"Spoken like a person who has never had to walk up and down several aisles trying to find an employee who can help," Orlaith said, triumph coating her voice, as though he'd helped prove her point for her. Of course they'd find something stupid to bicker about even on their wedding day. She let out a long suffering sigh. "You could never understand, since you're, y'know, abnormally tall and everything you want is always within your reach." She rolled onto her side so she was facing Tristan, though there was still an ocean of bed between them, her still being in the spot she'd rolled over to. "I don't know, depends on where we want to live, I suppose. But why shouldn't we have more? Why shouldn't you? There's two of us now; we save money together and why couldn't we afford an actual house one day? Somewhere that's bigger for us and the animals, a place we own, that's all ours, instead of renting?" Plugging money into rent felt like such a waste sometimes, though what other choice did they have?

Orlaith shrugged. "I don't know, although my gut says no. If he wanted more from me he'd take it whether I used the money or not. And he still sort of controls me whether I do or not. If he tells me to do something, I have to do it. The money isn't really the hook. Never has been. I just never used it out of— principle, I guess. But sometimes in this city that feels stupid. Pointless." Everyone else was doing whatever they could to get ahead, morals be dammed. If you can't beat them, join them, right? If they used the money they could have a house in no time.

"Subject yourself to me?" Orlaith repeated, indignant. "I wasn't that fucking bad. But," she added, "I think I can let the wasted food go, if it never happens again. 'Cause I think that's grounds for divorce. Irreconcilable differences, I think they call it."

Tristan gave her a look. “‘M sorry, I had no idea how difficult it was to be vertically challenged. Y’know, they do have employees in stores who can help you and even step stools you can buy for when those snacks are at home. Somehow, I think you’ll be alright.” He gave her a wry smile. “Oh, I dunno. I s’ppose ‘ve just never given it any thought,” he admitted. “‘Ve never really thought about living any other place than a flat that s’far too cramped for me let alone for other people.” It was how he’d grown up and Tristan had just never thought beyond the idea that he might be able to yearn for more. It just never also occurred to him that Orlaith might yearn for more, either. He felt even having this much and coming this far was already more than he could have dared dream for. Any more and he risked being Icarus flying too close to the sun. “Where would we find a house?” 

Tristan stared at her as she explained that it was a few hundred thousand that she had stashed away. He couldn’t even begin to picture that amount of money. Not all in one place and not all at once. He wasn’t even sure how he felt about it. He could barely wrap his head around the initial idea. “You don’t think he’d ask for more if you did touch it?” 

Tristan rolled his eyes. “Well, I didn’t want to subject myself to you any longer, of course I was storming away. I was the one being smart about it,” he grunted, crossing his arms. He really felt like he was never going to live down the discarded breakfast food. “You’ve got to let that go,” he sighed. “‘Ll never let another meal go to waste as long as we’re married, alright?”

[orlaithrose]

"Yeah, you might be alright sleeping on the same mattress, but the question is will I if you keep using it to moan about the downfalls of being tall? You have it far easier than those of us who are— well, vertically inclined. For example, you can always reach the good snacks they keep on the top shelves in the supermarket." What was a foot that hung off the end of the bed compared to that? Some people had much more serious snack related problems. Orlaith raised an eyebrow as she nodded. "Well— yeah. Is that really so surprising?" The flat was fine, more than fine, in fact; it was the first place that had ever really felt like home. But it wasn't necessarily what she aspired for all her life. More space, a garden, more peace and privacy— they were all things she wanted one day. Not just for herself, but for the pets. Bernie having a garden to spend time in, Cordelia too.

Orlaith's eyes narrowed in thought. Surely she had mentioned the money her dad deposited into a bank account every month and had since she'd moved out. Bar the cost of getting herself set up and school, she'd never touched it. Instead it had accrued month upon month, the interest getting more and more too and was now quite a substantial amount. But perhaps she really hadn't mentioned it, a testament to the fact she never talked about John willingly rather than her holding something back. "Uh, money, yeah. My dad puts it into an account every month. Haven't touched it in years. There's a few hundred thousand in there now," she said, trying to keep her tone casual. Almost five hundred thousand or thereabouts by now, she thought. "It always felt like being bought, so I never touched it, but sometimes I wonder if that's silly given I'm bought anyway. Have to go to those stupid dinners whether I use it or not."

She scoffed. "Oh crap. Alright, I did not like you, I won't suggest otherwise on that count, but it was always you storming away. You wasted a whole breakfast once. Which makes it a wonder we got here, really." If there was one thing Orlaith hated, it was wasted food.

“Somehow, I think ‘ll be alright if I continue to sleep in the same bed we’ve already got and in the flat we’ve already got,” said Tristan. “Sides, there s’a reason that this feels like such a luxury. ‘D be less impressed if I were already sleeping in a bed I fit in.” He glanced at her as she mentioned a house. Tristan, for his part, had never even let himself think of such a fantasy, even in an abstract way. “You want a house?” he asked, though he sounded amused. Even if he had seen the mansion she’d grown up with, it was still funny trying to picture them in such a domestic scene. For some reason an actual house just screamed domesticity in a way an apartment over a restaurant didn’t. 

He sat up straight suddenly. “Hang on, money?” he asked. He tried to think if this was the first time hearing about it or if she’d ever mentioned and Tristan had just chosen to tune it out. Perhaps, he was supposed to assume considering the fact that her father had money, she was an only child and that it only made sense she might have some funds lying around. 

Tristan nodded. “Yes, well, probably much less messy to let me just overdose, anyway. “M sure it’d be nice to get high as the last thing I did before I died.” He gave her a wry smile at the morbid topic, and all on their wedding day. He rolled his eyes, though as she moved on. “‘M sure stranger things’ve happened. ‘Sides, you couldn’t be in a room with me either for too long, so, goes both ways.”

[orlaithrose]

"You'll just have to hope we win the lottery one day. Either a boatload of cash with the real lottery or we strike gold with an affordable place one day that isn't box sized." That was the problem with living in a city; the places were small and there weren't a lot of houses. And the houses there were where overpriced because they could be. "Would be nice though if we could get a house one day. No one upstairs or downstairs, space for the animals, a garden." It wasn't a grand dream, but it still felt like it'd always be out of reach. Knowing she had an account full of money that was only growing made it sting more; it could be within reach, but only if she sold herself. "Do you think it's stupid, to let all the money from my dad just sit there?" Orlaith wondered why he still bothered to keep putting it in month on month.

Her lips twitched. "Okay, deal," she agreed. "Though I don't know about the shooting. Probably just steal a load of morphine from the hospital and give you that. It's a much nicer way to die. More peaceful, for us both." She wasn't sure she had the stones to end Tristan's life as violently as with a gun. "I wonder what give it away that my brain had been eaten by worms."

Orlaith shrugged. "Quicker now, I think. Hard to sit with something when you're with others. It was a nice day, though," she thought to add, lest it seemed like she hadn't enjoyed it. She had. And she was grateful for the friends and family who had showed up for them. But it had been tiring too and she was happy for it to be just the two of them now, quiet. Though it wasn't quiet for long as she let out a laugh. "Hey, remember when you couldn't be in a room with me for more than, like, ten minutes and now you're my husband. It's bonkers, if you think about it."

“This bed s’as big as our room, ‘m pretty sure.” It was definitely an exaggeration, but even if they could get this mattress into their room, they would have very little floor space left for anything else and Tristan wasn’t holding out hope that they’d one day strike it rich enough to get a house with bigger bedrooms. “But, I still say none of this makes me too tall,” he went back to the point that really mattered in this conversation. “S’not my fault the world was made for short people.” 

Tristan gave her a wry smile. “If I ever talk about shaving it off, just assume some worms’ve eaten my brain and you’ll have to take me out back at that point because ‘m too far gone, so you may as well shoot me.” 

Tristan looked at her. “How long d’you think it’ll take to sink in?” he asked. He still wasn’t sure he’d digested it himself yet. After all, everything up until this point, it had been theoretical. It had been words, but nothing official. Now, it was official, but it still felt like it hadn’t settled. Tristan had a wife. He wasn’t sure when it would feel real. Though, he still felt calm about it all. It had been a hasty decision, but the right one.

[orlaithrose]

Orlaith raised a brow, expression surprised as though she could not believe Tristan would even waste his breath on such a question. “Yeah,” she said, tone akin to how a person might say duh. “I would tell a left handed person that. I bet you could find specialist mattresses anyway that are made for obscenely tall people. The real question is whether construction companies make bedrooms big enough for them without needing to have a lot of money for a big house. I’d definitely doubt whether we could fit one in our room.” The rooms at the house she grew up in however could fit a bed the same size as this one easily. And yet, somehow, their room felt miles bigger than her childhood bedroom.

"Well that's the hope, anyway. You could one day get a shot at a second wedding, if you did something really stupid. Like shaving your beard off!" That example was a fair illustration of how serious she was about the second marriage thing. It certainly felt impossible to imagine ever wanting to not be married to Tristan, even if it was only a few hours she herself had been married to him.

Orlaith looked at Tristan's ring as he held his hand up. She had a matching band on her finger that felt brand new and comfortable all at once. "I mean of the celebration, the wedding bit, y'know? Just being on our own, no one else, in this nice room— it's the nicest part of the celebrating. Though I do think it's still sinking in a bit that we really did get married. First time since we did that we can just be alone to digest it a bit."

“Yes, that s’what I meant, obviously,” said Tristan. “You fit in your bed every night. Meanwhile ‘m hanging off the edge most of the time.” That may have been a slight exaggeration, but he usually had to either let his feet hang over the edge or lay slightly at an angle.” He shook his head. “Definitely not too tall. S’not my fault that mattress manufacturers make them too small. I mean, would you tell a left handed person they’re the ones in the wrong just because most products are made for right handed people?” 

Tristan agreed with Orlaith on that matter of how exhausting it was to talk to people and eat. It was more the social aspect of it all, of course. “Yeah, s’fucking tiring. Thankfully, we only get married once, otherwise ‘d say that we shouldn’t do this ever again because of the socializing.” And this was with people that Tristan actually didn’t mind considering his father and Dante made up half their guests. And yet, it felt like it had run his social battery right to the brink. Though that part of the day was over. 

“Really? Your favorite part of the day? Not even the fact that we’re officially married?” he asked. He then paused as he held up his hand which now adorned a single piece of jewelry: his wedding ring. 

[orlaithrose]

Orlaith turned her head so she was looking at Tristan, all the way across from the other side of the bed where she had rolled. "No," she laughed as she watched him get comfortable, head on the pillow, "this isn't what bed normally feels like for me." The mattress couldn't begin to compete for a start; once you'd tossed in the fluffy duvet and the pillows with perfect thickness it wasn't even close. "But I fit every night, if that's what you're asking." Unlike Tristan, who was simply too long. "I've been telling you you're too tall. Maybe now you'll agree I'm right at last." She wouldn't hold her breath though.

"Kind of weird how tiring talking and eating can be when it's something people do every day. Multiple times." Orlaith especially was well trained but she too felt like she'd sleep well tonight. Tristan likely just meant he'd sleep well because of how nice the bed was, but for her it was both. "But I might have to try out the bath before I think about sleep." It was enormous; one of the ones with jets. A far cry from the shower at their apartment. "With a beer." Minibars might be overpriced, but you only got married once. Hopefully. "I love this room. This might be my favourite part of the day."

It had all been nice; the ceremony, the food, the drinks, celebrating with the people closest to them— but here alone, just the two of them like was usual, in a nice room that topped the day off was nicest of all.

Tristan looked at Orlaith as she mentioned her feet and watched her kick off her shoes. “Should’ve worn flats. ‘M sure you could’ve found something without a heel that would’ve been comfortable and looked nice with the dress.” 

He looked amused, though, as she was pointing out the enormity of the bed. It was almost incredible just how big it was, he had to admit. He felt like it was nearly as big as their room in their flat. Certainly barely big enough that they’d had virtually no more space left for anything else, anyway. “My feet don’t even hang off the bed,” he said, which was the true testament to how big the bed was. “I can actually lay in it and fit.” he lay with his head on the pillow to demonstrate his point. “Is this what the bed normally feels like for you?”

Tristan nodded. “‘M good. ‘Ll definitely be having the best sleep of my life tonight, that  s’for sure.”

[orlaithrose]

"My feet," came Orlaith's reply, more whimper than words. She'd have thought she might fare better than others would in heels given how much time in general she spent on her feet running around a hospital, that they'd be more hardened, but apparently not. They hadn't even been particularly high. At least pure adrenalin and excitement over the food had helped her to not notice until the last couple of hours when the discomfort had kicked in.

Tristan had chosen to collapse on the bed before he did anything else; Orlaith chose to sit on the edge of it and kick off the shoes before flopping beside him, back to the mattress. She sunk into the fluffy duvet, its covers crisp white. A nice hotel always gave itself away by its bed— this one didn't disappoint. "This bed is enormous," she said, craning her head to take it all in. "We could pick a side each to stick to and it'd be like no one else was in the bed." She rolled over to the edge, as if to illustrate the point. "Look how far away I am from you. Imagine having one of these in your house."

All that to say she was feeling okay really, other than the feet and with the shoes off now she'd soon forget they'd ever been sore. Orlaith was still herself, prattling off nonsense and making her stupid suggestions. "You?"

The entire wedding felt like it went on for ages, but then it was over in the blink of an eye. It was small and it was far from the formal but it was also perfectly Tristan and Orlaith. It included only those who needed to be included and it didn’t drag on unnecessarily. By the end of it all, they were legally married, they had rings on their fingers and Tristan, even after all that, still felt like it was the right decision. He was married. He was a husband. None of it scared him. 

The rest of the day went by in a similar blur. There were times when it felt like it stretched on and yet when it was over, it felt like it had gone by so quickly, that it felt like they ought to still be in that room getting ready for the wedding ceremony. 

As agreed upon, they had booked a hotel for the night. His father was staying with the animals for the evening to make sure they were taken care of. Tristan collapsed on the bed now that the day was over. By now, he was glad that it was done. That they were married and now didn’t have to worry about the preparations or organization of the whole thing. “Thank fuck,” he muttered as he looked at Orlaith now. “How’re you feeling?”

[orlaithrose]

"Sometimes it's nice to get dressed up for the sake of it," Orlaith shrugged, though it wasn't something the two of them ever did. She stood, taking a moment to situate herself on the heels she was unused to wearing so she wouldn't be too much like Bambi walking on new legs, and smoothed down the dress that was already smooth anyway. As she had already admitted to Tristan, she was nervous. Their relationship had always been such a private, quiet thing. Now they were going to share it for the day. It wasn't an exaggeration to say she'd have done it completely alone if witnesses weren't necessary and of course it was different for Tristan, having a father who would actually care to miss it.

Although, as she headed for the door, she was glad to know Elias was waiting for her somewhere on the other side. He had always been a steadying force in her life and she didn't expect that to be any different today. And the nerves he couldn't soak up, the thought of the food they'd be having afterwards would. "Let's go and get married then," Orlaith said, opening the door.

“Oh, good, so that s’about ten more minutes to really think about this decision,” said Tristan with a nod. “Good to know. ‘Ll let you know if I do have a change of heart, don’t worry.” However, if being in this room with her, dressed up in wedding attire and moments away from the ceremony and that pivotal ‘I do’ still hadn’t given Tristan cold feet, he was pretty sure that he was locked in. 

“Well, no,” admitted Tristan, “but s’the sentiment that counts,” he said. He looked back at the photo. “Definitely a keeper,” he nodded. He followed Orlaith’s motion of finishing off the drink in his glass before he put it down. 

“Yeah, probably should. Otherwise it’d just be stupid of us to’ve gotten all dressed up like this for no reason.” Tristan said it as a joke, but he could feel tingling in his limbs. It was probably partly due to the hasty finishing off of the champagne, but probably in part nerves. It was real. They were about to be married in a legal ceremony, tied together in a much more real way. No longer just living together, but sharing a life. Not that Tristan didn’t think they couldn’t have accomplished that while never marrying, but this still felt much more real and solid. He had no idea why that was. 

“Let s'go.”

[orlaithrose]

Orlaith pretended to think, brows knitting together as she hammed it up. "I think up until the I do bit. Once you've said that you're fucked. Well," she added, cocking her head, "there's always annulment if you qualify or divorce, but that sounds like a lot of work. Better to change your mind before you have to say 'I do', I think. Then there's not any legal crap to deal with." It mightn't be a good omen to joke about divorce right before you got married, but apparently it wasn't to see each other before either and they'd thrown that right out of the window.

The picture surprised Orlaith, so heaven knew how it would turn out, but she didn't object to that, only rolled her eyes. "As if you're going to carry a picture around of me in your wallet." Tristan hardly seemed the type. Then again, once upon a time he hadn't seemed the type to have a girlfriend, let alone get married. She downed the remainder of her drink, suddenly hoping she hadn't made a mistake for her bladder to down a couple of drinks right before the ceremony. Thank goodness it wasn't going to be one of those long winded ones.

"Should probably get out there and do this," she said, putting her glass back down beside the empty bottle.

“Well, of course you did,” said Tristan. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him. Orlaith somehow had a mind full of a veritable field of information that he wasn’t sure what to do with most of the time. He supposed that was part of the reason that he was marrying her. There truly would never be a boring moment where she was involved, and they had become best friends in that way. Marry your best friend, right?

Tristan watched her as she went through the photos that had been taken. Some of them had been taken at rather inopportune moments, but he was sure there would be at least one or two they could choose for display, if Orlaith desired. 

“Oh, well, y’know, I was sure, but you asking me that just now, ‘m a bit shaky on it. How much longer do I have to decide to commit to this?” He looked at his wrist, as if checking for the time, though he didn’t wear a watch (he used his phone, like everyone else). He grinned at her, though. He took the camera from her, and held it up, so he could take another shot of her all dressed up for their wedding. "For the wallet photo."

[orlaithrose]

"Oh yeah," Orlaith said, rolling her eyes, opting for sarcasm as she often did with Tristan, "between organising a wedding in two weeks and my insane work hours I found loads of time to research historical facts about weddings. If we ever do a pub quiz and that's a category we'll win easily. Actually," she suddenly added, cocking her head in thought, eyes glazing as she got lost in the attempt to recollect, "I think I might have learned it on a pub quiz in the first place."

She shook her head, snapping out of it as she took the camera from Tristan to look through the pictures the camera had been snapping. "Anyway, no, I didn't research that just for this event. I just— knew it. From a pub quiz. Maybe." As Orlaith babbled on, she flicked through the pictures; it was only when she stopped babbling and took them in properly, focusing properly on she and Tristan in their wedding outfits that her eyes widened, as though realising for the first time properly that they were about to get married. It felt surreal suddenly, to be looking at herself in a wedding dress, him in a tux; to know that in a moment they'd leave this room to stand in front of their closest family and friends - few as they may be - and say vows. And then she'd have a husband. She'd be a wife.

Another sip of her drink was necessary— steadying. Orlaith blew out hard. "It's surreal, looking at us like that." It was different to looking at themselves in the mirror; she felt more outside of it, looking at the photographs. "Not bad surreal," she was quick to clarify. "Just— surreal. We're really getting married. If you're still sure, that is," she joked, lips turning up softly at the corners as she gazed still at the photograph.

Tristan took the refill of his glass, and nodded. Just as she had thought, this was all they had and they may as well take advantage of it. Not like they would be getting drunk off this single bottle, anyway. 

“Illiteracy?” he asked, his eyebrow raised looking dubious at the idea, but he let her go on. He looked rather amused by the fact. It made sense. It wasn’t all that different from the idea of consummating a marriage, except a kiss was more acceptable to do in the presence of witnesses. “You research that just for this event or is this the sort of thing rattling around the terrifying brain of yours?” he asked.

The camera had finished its round of pictures and Tristan picked it up to have a look at what had been taking as they had talked and exchanged a kiss. He clicked through some of the photos. “I think at least one of these should be good, right?” he said as he handed her the camera so she could look for herself.

[orlaithrose]

"I just couldn't imagine losing him, I think it would kill me too, which is funny 'cause at one point I couldn't stand him." One loss too many for Orlaith; if something happened to Tristan, she'd have lost every piece of her family. What else would she be able to do but give in? No wonder she'd got so upset when it came to the bike. She laughed too, though gently. "I suppose that's a good measure of how you're doing with your grief. Sounds like you didn't rush yourself, which some people can do."

Orlaith took another drink before she shook her head. "I'm going to stretch to a dress at least. Nothing too extravagant, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to put on a white dress on my wedding day. But otherwise— City Hall with some drinks and tacos afterwards. Most of the budget is going on a hotel for the night afterwards. I just couldn't really imagine getting married and then just going home. Felt a bit mundane, relatively speaking." That wasn't to say home felt mundane usually, she liked the life she had built had with Tristan in their apartment, but she wanted something that felt special and not every day after getting married.

Dawn offered a small smile. "It's okay. I don't mind talking about it." Fingers shifted around her wine glass. "He was the love of my life, y'know. We met when we were fourteen, I thought he was my forever. It didn't end up that way, but I -- I'm at a good place with it. Mean -- I was finally able to sleep with someone new for the first time in years a couple months ago." She let out a small laugh. Healing was a funny thing.

"I'm just saying, nothing else matters when you know it's right. Make a ring out of a rubber band, wear sweat pants to a court house if that's what works for the two of you. Because the two of you are all it's about."

[orlaithrose]

Orlaith caught the look on Tristan's face but she refilled his glass anyway, in lieu of having anything else. Prosecco wasn't something either of them usually drank but it was all that was in here. At least later at the reception - if you could even call it that - they would have what they actually wanted to drink. She took another swig of her own drink and refilled hers too. The camera had already been forgotten as she focused on the conversation and her drink.

"Illiteracy," she explained as she told herself to drink this second glass a little more slowly, lest it go to her head the way prosecco often could. "Back in Roman times most people couldn't sign a legal document, so they publicly kissed instead to seal the contract. That's where sealed with a kiss comes from." Only god knew why that fact was rattling around in her brain. Most things up there were nonesense, after all.

“‘M not giving you any look,” said Tristan, holding up his hands as if to show his innocence. He rolled his eyes. “You know that s’not what I meant,” he told her. And he knew if only because he could hear the playful tone in her voice. “‘Ll get over my own stupid nerves about it, s’what I was getting at.” Besides, maybe he would have that moment that people talked about, where all you saw and all you noticed was that significant other standing in front of you, and so nothing else mattered. 

“No,” said Tristan with a shake of his head as he was knocking back his own glass of prosecco. He made a face, never having been the sort of person who liked this class of drink. Too many bubbles and not even a good enough flavor to make up for it. He supposed there was a reason mimosas were a popular drink. 

“Why s’that?” he asked, looking back at Orlaith just as the camera went off again, taking another photo.