ciɳɗy (ciɳɗɛʀɛʆʆɑ) ѵɑkɑʀiɑɳ (silvershoes) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2015-10-17 12:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, cindy cendrillon (cinderella), garrus vakarian |
Who: Cinderbrations (Garrus & Cindy)
What: Sneaking away during the rehearsal dinner festivities at Oktoberfest
When: Today, day before their wedding
Where: OKTOBERFEST, YO
Rating/Warnings: Mostly on the low side
Status: Complete
As one could imagine, it was a little hard for a vegetarian to find something filling at an Oktoberfest rehearsal dinner - especially when brats, hot dogs, and pork were the main staples. Cindy stuck with the German potato salad (once she picked the bacon out), the apple strudel, and of course a delicious salty pretzel, managing to satisfy her rumbling tummy just fine. A couple finely crafted beers in, she was also delightfully flushed and tipsy enough to not even mind that her stepmother was actually in town, and consistently using her lace fan while looking down her nose at most everyone - though the whole ‘mingling families’ thing hadn’t gone as terrible as Cindy feared. It was actually somewhat pleasant though, again, that could be due to the beer. Even her stepsisters, Charlotte and Claire, were into it - they were pathetic lightweights, however, and only a few sips from ‘das boot,’ the $45 literal souvenir boot filled with authentic beer, got them stupid-giggly and hitting on the groomsmen. But anyway, they’d gone through the rigamarole, stuffed their faces, and were now all just a slap-happy drunk mess, listening to the various bands comprised of guys carrying tubas, wearing lederhosen, and oom pah pah-ing it up. If there was a better place for a rehearsal dinner, meant to break the ice between two very different families, Cindy couldn’t think of it. She wore a sundress similar to the one she had one last year, flat shoes, blonde hair swept up away from her face, and her nose and cheeks were a little pink from the sun and the alcohol, but she was keeping it mild because she didn’t want to be hungover for her wedding. In space. Edging away from the explosion of southern accents and militaristic stiffness that was the Cendrillon-Vakarian crew, she searched for her fiance to perhaps steal him. Only for a moment. It’d been coming down to the wire. Literally, the count was now several hours until they were packed into the enforced walls of the Normandy-SR2 and off into the stars, where lifetime vows would be expressed, families (which seemed cordially pleasant with one another, though Solana had words about Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum) would officially combine, and it’d all be followed by merry drinking and eating. Or none of that for the bride and groom, maybe - everyone had said those hours went by in a surprising blur and when it was over, they’d realize they’ve had barely half a plate for themselves. Garrus wasn’t nervous. Some men might be apprehensive about the old ball and the chain, but he was ready, had risked his ass during a demon fight to make sure she didn’t come out of that hell-scented club without a ring on her finger - and soon he’d have one too. But simpler. Less stones and such, obviously. His mood had been good; cool, casual, no awkwardness, and not even the nit pickiness of his parents about certain things (like the spaceship) could piss on his attitude. “Got you,” came his voice into her ear as he from behind, where he wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her elsewhere. Away from the madness to put a distance between them and the crowd. “And got you something.” In his other hand was a plastic cup of crisp Germanic beer, some kind of brew everyone had a hard time pronouncing. That was for him. But the bar of German chocolate he’d been holding with it, however, was hers. Garrus’s ring, which would be slid onto his finger tomorrow, had been picked out dutifully by his bride-to-be, something to suit him she thought - it was virtually indestructible, (very fitting for their lives), made of both aerospace-grade titanium and meteorite. A tribute to his other self, who had pummelled through an intergalactic planetary war and emerged victorious. There likely wouldn’t be a dry eye in the Normandy’s cargo hold, but Cindy wasn’t too proud to shed a tear. Not at her second wedding - this one meant something. This one was forever. Their families got along, worries soothed (even her father liked Garrus), but the wicked stepmother just really didn’t like anyone. Still, she managed to keep a civil tongue in her head even if inwardly she was probably judging as she did. That aside, throughout all the stress she was of course a chocolate-hound, which meant she had radar for it. And reached for the dark and decadent bar right away, turning with a squeee sound that she probably wouldn’t admit to making. “You’re my favorite fiance,” she grinned up at him, and rose on her toes for the purpose of giving him a smooch. “Everyone’s having a good time, huh?” Oh, the kiss seemed like an acceptable payment - he returned with a flair of dramatics, dipping her back to give her an obnoxious one with beer-flavored lips. Then he resurfaced, pulling her back with the strength of his arm, and cast his gaze over to the drunken crowd of family and friends. “No one’s had a meltdown, everything’s still in tact,” he observed, genuinely impressed. “I’d call it a success.” Even Orange County behaved. Those unpredictable metaphysics must have been shining down on them favorably. October had been hectic from the start, when it came to last minute ends and preparing the arrival of out of town guests. Predominantly their families, whom wouldn’t leave them alone, and it made Garrus realize he’d barely had a chance to sit back and breathe. Neither did Cindy. Eventually someone would notice the absence of the couple-to-be-wedded, but he’d take any spare second they could get. “And you haven’t gone Bridezilla once yet,” he smiled crookedly, pushing strands of blonde away from her flushed face - someone looked sorta tipsy. “I’m proud of you.” “You mean besides when I pointed a gun at you?” Cindy snorted, ripping open the chocolate bar to take a huge bite of the deliciousness. Though granted, her pointing a gun at her fiance hadn’t really been her fault - just like she didn’t blame him for purposely dumping red wine on her shoes and clothes. The OC worked in mysterious and oftentimes frustrating-as-hell ways. “But no, I didn’t actually expect to go Bridezilla. I can keep myself in check. Besides, things are running smoothly and no need to flip any tables yet because of cancellations or fucked up cakes.” It helped that most of the work for the wedding had been contracted to people from the network, so she knew them and trusted them to a degree. She also trusted her bridal party to be there for her - even if she knew things were especially tense with Leliana right now, and Cindy didn’t blame her Maid of Honor for that. “Still think the photographer’s going to pee himself. Bless his heart.” She meant that, as opposed to when step-mummy dearest uttered the phrase. Oh. Right. Can’t forget that domestic dispute of the century. Garrus rolled his eyes right before plopping his merry ass on a bench secluded from the festivities, and he made a point of pulling his not-so-tall fiance onto the comfort of his lap. All while making sure his beer didn’t spill, that was important. He’d keep the beer pouring down his throat. It was his wedding weekend; he’d get happily buzzed if he wanted to, thanks. “You mean the babyface who’d be in trouble if you weren’t getting married tomorrow,” he smirked, taking a chomp out of her shoulder playfully. “He’ll learn. There are worse ways to break someone into this place, and a wedding in literal space is a kinder way of doing things. Honestly he should’ve been pissing himself after the whole ‘someone’s girlfriend turned into a spider’ debacle last week.” Garrus’s not-so-tall-fiancee (hey, wasn’t like she was a midget or anything - well, not really) easily slid into the comforts of his lap, using his thigh as a perch to park her own happy ass upon. She still was enjoying the chocolate, ripping her way through this bar of decadence and it was just as good as any beer available here, at least to her. “Yeah, him, but I’d probably break him anyway,” Cindy giggled, sliding her arm around her handsome Turian to play with his hair and scratch gently. “So the Fates have done him a favor. But no, it’s true, wedding in space is a better way to ease into our cesspool of weirdness rather than...giant spider. That one is gonna look great in the reports.” There was really no way to spin it, but she supposed that thanks to the other giant spider it could be written off as some mutant animal lab experimentation gone wrong. “The girlfriend of the spider works in Shoegasm. For now, anyway.” Until things went bananas with that company inheritance situation, which Cindy was expecting. Midget-sized to him. It was cute. Not to mention the tall gene ran rampant in the Vakarian family - most people were short to him in comparison. A similarity they shared as Turians, and he was sure that wasn’t entirely a coincidence either. Coincidences didn’t really exist here. “Don’t talk about reports,” he sighed, right before grabbing the hand that was wrapped around the chocolate so he could steal a generous bite. “We’ll bullshit one after the honeymoon. Add all sorts of complex vocabulary to make it look legitimate and well-researched.” Shoegasm would hopefully stay in-tact too while they were on their overseas rendezvous; Cindy’s employees were reliable, and Leliana had offered a hand to help with operations during her absence. He abandoned his beer next to him, all so he could slip his hand beneath her thigh and hoist her even closer to him. “We’ll have our whole married lives to deal with government paperwork together. Life-long commitment making you nervous yet?” How romantic, dealing with government paperwork! Though Cindy didn’t mind - she loved her job, was good at it, and really wouldn’t want to do anything else. The life of an FBI undercover agent was what suited her - she wouldn’t want to live any other life, even if the similarities between that and her spy self in a rapidly shifting and changing Fabletown were very much ‘in her face.’ “No, not nervous. We go together like peas and carrots,” she drawled, slipping back into a southern-style accent, all sweet tea and steel magnolias. Perhaps a bit overdone too, in order to add dramatic effect. “No matter where we end up, I think we’ll be okay.” And since Garrus stole some of her chocolate, she reached down to steal the abandoned beer and take a generous swig from it. What was his was hers, and the opposite, all that good stuff. “I started dreaming again, weirdly enough.” Garrus could do without the paperwork. Dirty action, taking point, savoring the last shot before popping the heat sink. Or...not, because he’d heard that saying be used as a terrible sexual metaphor before, come to think of it. Anyway, point was, reports were a bitch and a half but it came with being in the fray of things - they’d never be short of excitement around here, and the important thing was that they were doing something good. Because having other government bodies sticking their nose in things they don’t understand would end badly. Very badly. Peas and carrots, though. He’d go with that vegetarian simile fine. His nose went into her neck, nuzzling, perfectly okay with sharing the beer as long as the chocolate was shared - and then he paused. Frosty blues blinked, and he craned his head back to give her an inquisitive stare. “Good or bad? It’s not often anything falls in between.” She left the rest of the chocolate for him, in fact, since Cindy had downed enough of it - and she did want to be able to fit into her wedding dress tomorrow, without any busted seams on the white frock-with-a-bit-of-blue-trim. Unlikely that she’d gain ten pounds overnight, but still. Best to play it safe - she’d indulge hardcore on the honeymoon, by eating endless tons of beans and rice and stuffed tamales. “Eh...probably bad?” she admitted, her fingers stroking the back of Garrus’s neck; they were slightly chilled because of her grip on the cup of beer, and the condensation. “We’re in the middle of a Civil War in Fabletown. Snow White against her sister, Rose Red. It’s a problem that’s been brewing for awhile. But Snow is Bigby’s wife, and a good friend of mine - I believe in her. She just sent me on a mission to assassinate someone.” Not that Cindy was too concerned. How many people had she killed over the years, working as a spy for Bigby? It was almost like second nature at this point. His fingers stroked too - lower, of course, on her thigh, creating nonsensical patterns with the lightness of his touch. To have dreams start up again after so long must be odd. His came to a bittersweet halt; galactic war over, Reapers eradicated, but they’d lost many on the way. Friends, people he’d even thought as family, and Shepard’s survival had still been up in the air. Garrus had done a surprisingly good job not dwelling on it, but sometimes the dreams cycled, and sometimes they came back to haunt him. War, even on the other side, had a habit of doing that. But there was comfort knowing nothing else would pop up after that. He’d taken comfort too, thinking that nothing else would pop up for her - they’d seen what kind of things could cross, they’ve experienced it first hand, and if something else crawled the line of realities they’d handle it. Together, like the always did. Partners in crime, the OC’s version of Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Still, it had Garrus very cautious. “Someone you can handle, I’m sure,” he said, his entire faith put in her abilities in both worlds. “It’s not like you can really die,” a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Right?” “Frau Totenkinder,” Cindy chuckled. “You know...basically your standard witch, the gnarled-looking woman in every fairytale. In the Homelands, she cooked and ate children. But in Fabletown, her alliances are very slippery. Sometimes she helps, sometimes she doesn’t, but even if she does help it’s always very costly.” True, Cindy had kind of bad feeling about it all - but she definitely wasn’t going to think about it very much now, on the eve of her wedding. All of that gloom and doom could wait until she and Garrus returned from their honeymoon - best thing about going away was that she wouldn’t have any new dreams, so that was a bit of a comforting respite from everything. “I’ll be fine though,” she promised, kisses returned, one left on his temple. “Takes a lot to bring the Cinderella tank down.” Lately his friends had been having shit luck with dream bagging creeping over and fucking them sideways. Things had worked out for everyone, eventually, but he’d keep his fingers crossed that their experience would be minimal. Everyone had already dealt with his version of dream baggage coming through (which was more of a cracked mirror, held to dream events), Cindy had paid the biggest price for it, and everything since has been relatively smooth sailing since. Garrus only hoped it stayed that way. “Burn the bitch, then,” he tacked on, chin propped on her shoulder, eyes nothing less than adoring. It’d be fine, he was sure of it, and that nagging voice in his head would fuck off at some point - because if two weeks of torture that was intended on offing the blonde bombshell on his lap didn’t do it, then nothing would. Garrus moved his hand to the back of her neck, closed the little distance in between them again, and this next kiss wasn’t quick and fleeting. Soft, warm, he took his time with it. “I almost feel bad for whoever does try to bring you down, if something comes to that.” Considering ‘Totenkinder’ literally meant ‘child killer’ or something similar, yes, Cindy had no problems bringing the bitch down. Or her dream self wouldn’t, rather. This particular witch did in fact draw her power and immortality from ritualistic kiddie sacrifices, so, that was something that was very much frowned upon no matter who you were. Then again, Fabletown was some severely fucked up shit. “Why, you feel bad because I’m scary?” she grinned, showing off those pearly whites - sharp and deadly as the knife she’d plunge into your back. Cloaks and daggers were very much the bread and butter of her world, of both worlds. “I guess I pretty much am.” She threw her arms around Garrus’ neck, boobs-in-his-face, death by suffocation, but it was all quite playful as she smooched the hell out of him. “I love you though, so you’re safe,” the effervescent princess teased. Death by breast suffocation. Not a terrible way to go, actually, and he might have reveled in the softness of her buxom chest pillows before an arm slithered between them, and he grabbed one for a honk-honk squeeze. What? No one was looking, piss off. He had dibs on Cinderella now and forevermore. “You being ‘scary’ is actually more of a turn on than anything,” Garrus snorted, before her breasts were abandoned and her rear end shamelessly cupped. He liked his women dangerous. “But thanks, I love you too. It’s nice to know you won’t purposefully knock me on my ass.” Well. Unless he deserved it. Him and Cindy didn’t argue much; they were both supremely mellow and levelheaded. It was probably why they worked so well together. “And whatever happens in these dreams, I’ll be here. With one of those really expensive bottles of wine I had to get you, after we hated each other for a week.” It’s all he could do. Be there if they took a wrong turn, and it was likely they would - it was hard not to take what happened there to heart. Dreams weren’t just dreams, not in the place they called home. It was extra baggage they were forced to carry. Grabbing the tits and the ass, of course. Garrus was special - only he had permission to get handsy. Anyone else, she’d break their fingers off one by one, and gladly so. But otherwise, her chest pillows and womanly curves were there for his enjoyment - Cindy was sure that, years from now, they’d probably still be going for the gropes in surprise attacks (she was pretty guilty of it too, when it came to his ass) but that was just a part of being in love and all that shit. “I know you will be,” she swished his dark hair with her fingers, fixing whatever she’d messed up with her petting. “I’ll be here for you too, with either the bread beer - “ Her fond reference to Guinness, the second love of her fiance’s life, “...or the good whiskey, no matter how many repeats of space war you have. For better or for worse, right?” The marriage vows pretty much encompassed everything, because when it came to where they lived the ‘for worse’ part often slapped them in the faces like it was a dead, smelly fish. “We survived this place just fine,” he chuckled, a low rumble. The bit of scruff on his face might’ve tickled as he gave her a nuzzle. “Marriage just means we get to survive this hell hole during the best and worst times of our lives with lower taxes and cheaper car insurance premiums.” Everything else, well - they’ve had it, even before tomorrow’s utterance of vows. But the car insurance and taxes. That was a perfect. Garrus was so very clearly romantic. Then, from the crowd, came a voice he heard far too much in his childhood. “Hey!” Great. “Dingleberry!” Fucking - really? “Unless you two are over there making me an aunt, show me what this whole Satan’s Piss thing is! It looks like shit!” Garrus groaned, then opted to faceplant into Cindy’s chest. “Your family must hate my sister. I hate my sister right about now. She’s been drinking too much.” Solana stumbled into a bush. Poor baby. Come to her bosom, Garrus. She snickered, finding Solana’s antics to be hilarious - well, until that foliage came out of nowhere. “Oops.” Cindy’s grin was of the shit-eating variety, it was true. “I’m pretty sure my dad thinks she’s funny, don’t worry, and you know my stepmother hates everyone. As for Charlotte and Claire - “ “Haaaaay!” Oh, speaking of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. They were of one like mind - one drunk mind. “Where’s Solaaaaana? I wanna post thiiiis on Inssshtagram!” Fuck. “Back to babysitting,” Cindy sighed, amused despite her better judgment. This was all one big happy family though - and that? Was completely okay. Surprisingly so. |