You can have your cake and eat it too! [Valentine's Day event]

---

  Vera had been ok with looking at people from a certain range and she had thought that considerable enough, but as she knew humans by nature craved attention she could never have been expected to enjoy the silence when she was so close to a walking advertisement. She did not speak a word at all, in fact, and as she was a petty adult she hogged her own considerations to herself, as she had always done when she could not bring herself to care for the person or the topic in question. If she had been a child she would beyond a shadow of a doubt have been very charmed, practically bouncing up and down, at being chosen for whatever it was the woman was talking about, but she was a bit too jaded now, and as she had always been wary of the deceitful appearances of people, she supposed she would always be dealing with some of the venomous snakes in the darkest pit called life. She grew up with plenty of them, dressed in every color and just as beautiful.

She understood that the preppy woman was not going to stop talking. She had missed every social cue under the sun, even the infamous nose twitch. Vera did not want to stay. The dark-haired associate was intolerably energetic and it seemed as though she had rehearsed this pitch for nearly every waking moment of her life and she wouldn’t let anyone in her vicinity go until her goals were met. Vera could be just as inflexible and found her voice so disagreeable that after she tried to walk away the woman followed her like she was the last soda pop in the desert. By now she had put on some shades which gave some the impression of her being there and listening, the nodding of the head quite convincing and pleasant. How terrible of her that she should find peace in sleep. All this and still standing, too.

“We do host bridal show alternatives wrapped up with an emotional vow renewal ceremony, plenty of food for everyone to enjoy, and a dance-party reception that’ll blow your mind. You’ll be swept away, too, if you would just give us a moment of your time. An hour or two could just be the magical start of forever!” the excitable brunette pleaded, surprised that no one seemed remotely interested in a test wedding until now. It was practically Valentine’s Day!

For a moment Vera looked thoughtful, and then her head began to drift to the left until it touched her shoulder.  The posture alone, with just a look, would give anyone a stiff neck for days. She was nodding in her eyes. Vera muttered food and with a horrid gaping mouth, her head rolled back. It was a natural tilt but it still raised eyebrows. Was she at all there? Helen was the woman’s name, made the mistake of assuming her consent and cheerfully clapped for the small crowd. “Thank you for helping us put together our first trial wedding service. Your willingness to do whatever it takes to ensure our future success made it happen. By the way, we might have a complimentary cake for you to try. Without you, kids, we never would have gotten this far.”

Helen was starting to think Vera was not listening because she was not following her as the others had begun to. She was dreaming of the good dream, but in it, she was feeding carrots to a certain magical unicorn and rewarding him for passing strawberry-scented gas in the direction of that desperate girl from the chocolate factory. There were pastures of green and a very complacent horse with a horn coming out of its forehead. .She wrapped her arms around Chester’s neck, or at least tried to, and rubbed her cheek against his wild mane. Vera Jayne felt as if she were in heaven, tears of folly streaming down her roseate complexion. “I know you won’t ghost on us like that portable toilet dweller.” Vera cooed, the statement of her dream bubbles now hearable to the company she surrounded herself with.

 “How sweet,” Helen stated briskly, uncomfortably watching the purple-haired woman’s public display of affection. “I just love it. Excuse me, ma’am, I think you’ve dropped your sunglasses.” but Vera clung to the person beside her like a leaf-nibbling koala and mindlessly stepped on the fallen object, the cracking sound loud enough to startle Walden out of her slumber.  She was cuddled up with the victim of her platonic advances, and she came out of her sleep to the fact that the friendly beast of myth looked a little too much like Dela. She was a trifle surprised and gave an involuntary jump. She blushed. Hard. Everyone saw this, and as she knew of Blondie’s attraction toward Cillian she pulled away with more awareness and stepped on her shades once more. They were beyond repair. This was one way of getting Vera to talk, at any rate. She had spoken sparingly to the twins and Dela, but her wrath was reserved for Cillian. She hadn’t spoken to him at all since a monster named  Krampus rolled into town teaching his naughty kids a lesson.

 Perhaps she was privately confused by her obvious embarrassment for her foolishness. Then, cooperative in a manner that was very left field to be regarded as normal, Vera dismissed her loss and followed Helen into what looked like the banquet hall. “Your free samples should be here any minute. Feel free to provide feedback. Your suggestions are important to us. If you can’t remember my name, just say ‘Miss’ and I’ll turn around. The children will have a field day after they’ve had their slices, I bet. We’re the same people behind Rose Garden’s astounding Chocolate Factory.” If only Helen could stop talking, that would give Vera a reason not to give the world a major stink eye.

“Free samples?” inquired adventurous Vera and just as abruptly as she had begun to be willingly enticed for the cake she began to ponder what any of them did to deserve sweets.

---

Even though my life hasn't been all that great

I figure that if I live long enough, something good might happen.

---

 Could it be that by chance they had been invited to something grand, the graciousness of strangers opening their doors to feed the pathetic and dupable? It may be well imagined that they were being led to the banquet hall for a lavish celebration, a cult ritual or perhaps something darker. Her madcap guesses, mounted upon the copious pile of mental rubbish and noxious levels of cynicism, remained unspoken.

But Vera was riveted by the prospect of cake.

She started to look forward to the time when they should all have a bite to eat. Here, she should have expected not to fantasize for long, seeing that with Cillian and Dela, there was never such a thing as quietude. To prove her point further,  there was no back and forth, no sass for her to laugh at, especially now knowing that it all might have been a cover-up on Blondie’s part for something more. She was no expert to assume but liked to think so.

Tortuously so, near a full bouquet of roses, and at the mercy of Helen, Vera made no effort to smile back, and the manner she seemed to explain the beauty of the bouquet was overblown. Vera opened her mouth, seemed to want to say something so eagerly, then she thought against it, and the infomercial of a woman swore that she was hooked because Vera said nothing as she held the amorous flourish at the base. Everything about it was beautiful. If only she cared enough to show it the interest it deserved. Did Ms. Cartigan predict their arrival and donate a small part of her garden to their services? The roses were clearly taunting her now.

Without warning the lush ensemble almost fell apart in her hands, very nearly leaving them like a heap of ruins, but they were caught by the hands of the much faster lady. Dedicated Helen had been quick enough to prevent the aesthetic tragedy, and for once that day she might have brought Vera some relief; more so when that all served as a lovely distraction for her.

So, there really was a reason to smile today!

She turned aside her satisfaction at the right moment. Her suspicion of the silence from earlier was renewed upon hearing the dubious tone of Cillian’s voice. There was the classic buddy-buddy touching involved, and Vera used that to exert her god-given right to slide Dela a half-lidded, I-smell-shit glance. The intensity of her annoyance faded upon seeing, not the agreeing nod of her equal because she couldn’t, but his rippling muscles pressing firmly against her cheek and giving her a partial view.  

The unintended rubbing continued its ruthlessness upon her scarlet face with sorrowfully droll sagacity. It really was great. A great way to die. “What do you think you’re playing at, Cillian?” she said between her teeth, speaking to him with this as an exception to the silent treatment. She sounded her disapproval and fought the direct contact with an awkward little nudge, as she vehemently tried to convince herself that she was blushing for another reason, every other awful reason than that.

Like...

What absurdly hot weather they were having.

In the heart of an otherwise finely ventilated banquet hall.

T-Today?

She slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. He was thoroughly pleased in having to announce a very special day shared by two. What a pair of unlucky sods they were, that they had to invite total strangers to their flower power parade.

But what was she still doing there, experiencing a severe case of jelly legs with rising intervals of guilt? She was actually taking Dela’s feelings into consideration. The bizarrely conflicted traitor felt a desperate need to remove herself from his side, and some seconds later she found herself verbally paired with her perhaps just-as-flabbergasted companion and was pushed forward with more enthusiasm than she could possibly handle in her wobbly state.  And without meaning to, her body crumbled into dust and onto the velvet carpet, and in its place was a small spectral powdery mass where a lackluster gray should have been. This was her way of saying she wanted to disappear.  Forever.

The filth incarnate bristled, every fragment of her airy form anticlimactically being swept into a dustpan by a smiling pretend wedding hostess that sighed in a manner so wistful and hopeful. Already, Biddy, the eldest of the hostesses, had excused Vera’s flaring for that of excitement; and if at that moment, the furious faux bride-to-be (or groom-to-be) had begun to implode, or scatter viciously, she was likely flustered and coming to terms with her feelings.  If only Vera knew of her silly assumptions! she would have objected to that nonsense and enlightened her.

Nothing could be more natural than that inclination of his to bring trouble. There were motives in abundance to make her want to grab him and take turns with Dela in punching him. It seemed that the youngest hostess dragging Dela away felt something intensely similar, minus the slight bursts of anger since her eyes were fiercely glued to his pert backside during the time he spoke to the twins like he hadn’t thrown the girls into a pretty makeshift prison cell which involved a lifetime of commitment.

Even if it was most likely fake, and she was sure it was, her beliefs wouldn’t change so drastically as to make this circus work because loyalty was becoming just as mythical as a dragon. While brooding about this needlessly, Vera cast her entire focus on the female guiding Dela away. Was she so distracted by his bubble butt that she felt the need to aimlessly push the blonde along? She was going to dust her for eating him up with her filthy, filthy eyeballs and, as a much-added bonus, for pushing her future pseudo wife around like some hot delivery package.

Vera was going to give her a pink eye! not just in one, but in both eyes!

The puerile soot-textured lump was about to jump her.  Then came his half-promise of cake, ending it all there when he disappeared into the crowd. Rising from the teal-colored dustpan, it was hard for sweet Biddy to control the presence of something like a typhoon of dust, albeit a small one, and coursed through the throng in search of him. Many thought she was just a refreshing blowout of rainbow glitter until one too many people started sneezing and coughing. Vera was not unlike a virus at this point, and Helen started spraying the air around her like it was holy water, accidentally spritzing the disinfectant right into the poor girl’s eyes (the one with Dela).

She reverted back to her less malleable form; on her knees, crawling to his side, pretending to at least be one of the twins. “Gee, Mister, what gives?” she said, keeping her voice a  helium pitch, “You invite us for a good scheming and expect us to do all the work?  What kind of freeloader are you? It’s like you’ve done this before!”

She grabbed his ear, dropping the act and smiling in a deranged manner. “Oh, wait, you have!” Vera would have tortured him some more, but old Biddy found her foot sticking out from under the table cloth. This prompted her to lift the sheet and investigate, what with her being in charge now. Helen was too occupied with an incident report to bother with them. So, Biddy had to think about this carefully. The flaxen-haired youth and the twins had to run, which left just Cillian, Vera, and an idea. A desperate idea.

“Are you still interested in cake, kids?” she asked, a little too sweetly.

---

Even though my life hasn't been all that great

I figure that if I live long enough, something good might happen.

---

Vera Jayne rose to her feet with a struggle, set in play the fingers pulling at the delicate cartilage, and the vexation she felt brewed upon her mind something wicked. She marched next to him, scattering the crowd as she passed through the cloud of the idle and curious like a flash of lightning.

She then allowed herself the chance to sweep her eyes over the main entrance and back to the open dressing room and followed the latter destination with a smile, setting him free not, small, annoyed, excited, plotting, enjoying his discomfort.

At that moment, the ivory tapestry of the dressing-room window was raised and permitted the passage of sunlight to illuminate the fashionista in a sort of theatrical splendor, the mere sight of whom suddenly stopped Vera in her tracks, and made her wonder how long he had been waiting for someone to beautify.

He was in luck! for his pantomime presentation was not in vain because Cillian would be nothing but a pile of muscle by day, transformed by this chosen outfitter into an honest-looking pseudo husband; all this would take place in an immense dressing-room, mirrors everywhere, where he could see every angle of himself and let the gravity of his actions sink in.

The two were left alone, to the great satisfaction of the now frolicking thirty-year-old schemer. For several seconds, she had been looking for the dressing-room of the bride and when she was sure she found it there was no use in knocking. She was incredibly silent, and, in the midst of this self-created suspense nobody else but she really felt,  she swung the door open and bounced right in with her hands clasped behind her back and did not hide the smile playing on her lips. The first person she expected to see matched the pretty, short, slender, rosy, blond, and young type so Vera did not bother to verify her identity.  It was obviously her divorcee. The fool started talking without thinking per usual.


“The man of your hormonal dreams isn’t coming on a white horse. He’s clearly riding a sloth somewhere, really confused and questioning where he got the fancy suit from. He’ll meet up with you eventually with the help of his sweet animal forest friends. Are you ready to play some serious tonsil hockey with Abs? If you feel so obliged to reward me, I’d like food and, uh, more food.” She said, in a little rush and skipped out of the room without another word or an explanation for her sudden change of heart.


She wasn’t gushing over the fake union, she was celebrating the distraction.


She first walked with that shamelessness so signature to her, ignoring everyone in the banquet hall for what had been beautifully stacked up under the table and desperately waiting on her to devour. In the meantime, in all of this, Vera had grabbed herself a napkin and the most basic utensils needed to engorge herself on the hopefully untouched treasure trove of cavity-inducing delights.  With this in mind, she carefully crawled under the same table she had pulled Cillian from, with one or many of the people making faces at her strange behavior. Was she visiting another magical world they weren’t aware of?


In an instant, she had become good friends with the corner and the plate on her lap full of sugar. The gluttonous ball of happiness beheld the piece of cake she brought to her mouth which, in her humble opinion, tasted like a slice of heaven. In a twinkling, Vera Jayne gathered up the time it would take to eat everything herself, gave a mental memo to herself that she’d have plenty of time to do it what with the occupied Dela as the bride and the moping Cillian as the groom, and decided to check on the pair she was thinking about by lifting the sheet over her head for a picture-perfect view of the altar.


Cross-legged and comfortable, she was incredibly proud of how smoothly things went — more like were going because she was still enjoying her spoils — until the same blonde she had once mistaken for Dela gave Walden a scare and a very valid reason to scream. The more she looked at her, the more she realized the girl looked absolutely nothing like Dela. Maybe from behind, she did, but everything the cover had to offer was a whole different story with a bunch of chapters that all ended in a big fat ‘nopes’ for her. But that wasn’t the reason why she was startled enough to nearly leave her body. See, this was not part of the plan at all so she had to improvise the next step, somehow.  


She had to be intuitive, clever and careful or risk losing it all at the drop of a hat.


“Oh, you’re not Dela.” came the less than brilliant response, no cricket present to sing of the awkward silence that ensued as she dropped the sheet and scooted right back into the darkness. The outfitter audibly sighed and seemingly left her alone.


Vera soon relaxed and picked jovially at the array chocolate balls. A cool air grazed her back; there was even more lighting, but she paid no mind to it. All at once she was pulled out kicking and screaming like the day she was born. The young lady dragging her along had assumed a tranquil air; she explained sweetly, and with a pleasant giggle, “The bride’s having cold feet! It’s ok, sweetie! You’ll be fine.”


“You’ll never take me alive!” Vera cried, silenced by the door slamming behind her.  When they reached the dressing-room, she no longer saw anything except the tailor cross-armed at the door with a neutral smile; Vera had just stopped her tantrum and learned of her own embarrassment. She could fight a woman nowhere near as petty as herself, that face of serenity was enough to shame even the most petulant of beings. Vera picked herself up quickly, tossed her head a little to get the hair out of her face and rolled her eyes.


Now she was just dejected.


She raised her eyes to the ceiling. She was there in front of the mirror, in the same miserable disposition. She appeared dead inside; then she planted her back against the wall, determined to wait until Marianne should settle on a dress. The dressmaker saw that Vera refused to look down, so she took it upon herself to make the best decision for the client. She would finally settle with the whitest, fluffiest wedding gown of the many she poofed up because she knew Vera was not in a talkative mood.


In the grandiose wedding to come, the people beheld the false husband-to-be. They also beheld the crowned bride enter the scene, but no trace of joy to be found on her dolled-up face. She cast a glance towards the people from time to time; she was just as dejected as Cillian had been. She supposed she could find comfort in knowing she was able to at least savor the goods, so this couldn’t have been a total loss. It was enough to lessen the apathy and cause her to wonder why she felt like a cake with arms and legs. What did he think of her?


The bride looked at him through her veil, then threw back the thin face covering with a flourish of the hand. She was dazed, breathless and ready for their honeymoon. Good gravy, where did she get that nonsense? She blushed as though a flame had mounted into her cheeks, and, trying her very best to keep her eyes off his broad, covered pectorals and perfect waist, she made her way through the curious spectators towards the small rise where he was slouching, waiting for her. She reached the tipping point when she raised her eyes to meet his bespectacled gaze and glowed all over. Cillian broke the hot tension with an inquiry, and Vera inwardly thanked him for the distraction.


“Oh, good question, four-eyes. She’s supposed to be the one marrying you, not me. But here we are,” she whispered faux happily, “not letting ‘Jayne’ have the other half of her cake.” She tentatively reached out and started buttoning up his shirt and adjusting his tie. The source of all her bodily disturbances would no longer torment her if she could stand to make him presentable. So focused were her hands and her mind on the matter, that when the priest sounded the proper cue for him to take, she took no notice of it until it was too late.

He gave her a modest peck on the lips, and although it felt like the kind you would give to your doting mother on the cheek, it didn’t disappoint her because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

She, however, felt a little relieved; it was straight to the point, she also still had his tie in her hands. But it was not over; a special guest had protested and demanded that he do it again with feeling.


Vera would have liked to counter that protest; anticipation, denial deprived her of words. He made her an apology with his hands around her waist, pulled her in for another kiss, and caused her to nearly die on the spot. Not wanting to make him look bad by doing nothing, not that it was possible, she pulled him firmly by the tie and pressed her lips to his with some gentleness. The seconds felt like minutes, hours and days for her; but she physically resonated with a bowl of jelly the instant they parted. And when their rather convincing public display of affection ended,  Vera became increasingly aware of the audience.  Cillian redirected her attention once again. She listened and agreed, but there was something in the way he said it that threw her off her cool.


“This is actual torture? Hold the phone, I am a great kisser.” Vera snapped, suddenly defensive, but then remembered her place and recollected herself. “Think they’d go berserk if we grabbed Dela and waltzed our sorry butts out of here?”

In order to leave they had to move across the dance floor, but when she did a song played softly in the air, guests were riveted, all beaming; and, prettily, when Vera danced first, to the shrill cry of the violin, with her two rounded arms raised above her head, not of her own free will,  she whirled for the pleasure of all.

Marianne, seating herself, magically replaced Vera’s wedding dress with a less frilly alternative, the latest choice a thousand times more proper for something as intimate as the waltz. The outfitter experimentally threw a rose for her to catch with her mouth, but because Vera struggled to regain control of her body it smacked her dead in the face. She was made a puppet today.


And she was furious.


She was especially boiling mad when her leg wrapped itself around her dance partner. “I came into this world covered in someone else’s blood. I am not afraid of going out the same way. I will shut this place down!”

---

Even though my life hasn't been all that great

I figure that if I live long enough, something good might happen.