lucetilogs | The first step is the one you believe in

The first step is the one you believe in

Who: Pepper Potts, Tony Stark, and everyone who has gathered there today.
What: A wedding and reception
When: Sept 14, All Day
Where: Cherry Blossom Hill / The Battle Dome
Summary: Pepper and Tony are getting married ~~finally~~ ~~officially~~ finally.
Rating: PG/PG-13 max? There's at least one kid here.
The decorations on the hill are simple ones; they've chosen this spot because it's naturally beautiful without the need for embellishments. Chairs have been set up for the expected guests, with a clear path laid out for the wedding party. And of course up front there is a place for those people to stand, in sight of everyone gathered so Tony won't be able to tell Pepper "I told you so" as color commentary won't be necessary.

After the ceremony everyone will be invited to go to the Battle Dome for the reception. There Tony's programmed an expansive hall with tables and seating enough for everyone. There's also a dance floor, which everyone is encouraged to take advantage of. The atmosphere is warm and vibrant, clearly intended to help all in attendance have a good time. Dinner will be served, and there's an open bar, with rum by request of the officiant.

Just don't get too rowdy, okay kids?

{{ooc: Visual references and details can be found here. Link is very image heavy. There will be separate threads for before the ceremony, during, and the reception.

EDIT: Now with a sign up to catch the bouquet!}}

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"You...escaped?"

"It helped that the entire place had devolved into chaos."

There was no way that he would have managed his way through a mental asylum otherwise.

"But before that?

Was it bad?"

Silence. He simply gave Buffy a long look before a faint, strange smile flitted across his face.

"It reminded me of my first year in Luceti. The abductions back then. The screams, the fear of the unknown, the lack of sleep."

His smile caught her off-guard. She frowned, in return, and gave her arms a quick rub -- friction to induce warmth.

"Gee. Could you try and sound a little less nostalgic?"

The smile was quick to fade.

"Yes, I suppose that tone is a bit ... strange, under the circumstances. My apologies. I just found myself thinking about how long Zompano seems to have had an influence over Luceti."

"...How bad did it used to get?"

Never a question she'd have outright asked anyone else -- and not just because there were so few people who'd been here longer than her.

"Sleep deprivation. Food deprivation. Unnecessary breaking and amputation of limbs in the name of research." His voice is calm and detached, for a moment. Then there is genuine bitterness in as he continues, eyes focused ahead at nothing at all. "Apparently they have done the same experiments to me in two iterations."

But did you know who you were...? -- the question died on her lips. It didn't seem to fair to ask. After all, such a reality was still very harsh. Harsher, one might easily argue, than all these loud changes to their core personalities. Harsher because you couldn't simply pretend that being deprived of sleep was you not being yourself.

Her steps sped up.

"Maybe the third time'll be the charm..."

"Perhaps." He repressed the urge to sigh and quickened his pace alongside Buffy. "I suppose things would be different if those experiments were not what they were. I imagine I would be gambling more."

But what was the point of dwelling on things like that? "Do you think this place changed you much?"

"...Absolutely. I--"

There was no easy way to tell a person -- a confidant, normally, if not a dear friend -- that Luceti had taken a broken shell of a woman and filled her with life again. That it had taught her how to live for herself, and not for the faceless other. That just by being here, she'd transformed. It was all well and good, except for the part where Buffy Summers was convinced these transformations were a mistake, as far as the Slayer was concerned.

"I don't think anyone can be anywhere for this long and not change a whole damn lot. You. Me. Average Joe."

It seemed strange to look back at the way he acted in the past and see what would likely have been a meteoric rise and fall in career and-- well, existence. He was by no means safe with his own life, but he wasfar ahead of himself now. Beyond himself and what he would reap as a matter of the actions he had taken.

For all of his foolishness in Luceti, he was sure that he was assured a longer life than what he had in his own world.

...There was that morbid humor again.

"I don't know about 'a whole damn lot,' but I agree that everyone changes by being here. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse."

"And sometimes -- often, maybe -- for the both. Two big forked branches of change: one blossomy and better, the other gnarled and worse."

Another faint smile.

"Such a poignant description. A tree is a good way to showcase what could be dichotomous qualities on a single entity."

"And there you go, making it sound so...

Academic." She said it as though it was a four-letter-word, and yet couldn't contain an indulgent smirk. Affectionate, really. "What do you think you're more of? Blossom or gnarl?"

"I am an academic, in part." He responded with a knowing tone, the slight turn in conversation appreciated. To her question, he seems to give it some thought, even though he finds it easy enough to answer. "Gnarl. Definitely a gnarl."

"You don't look all that gnarly to me..."

He hummed faintly, as if in agreement with her observation. "I hide my twists well." Quite well, considering how few knew about him after all this time. "And you? A blossom or a gnarl?"

"I might have been told, on occasion, that I make for a very thorny rose. So -- what's that? Half blossom and half gnarl? Not to be confused, of course, with an actual Gnarl demon. Those things are just ugly."

"I can believe the rose comparison. Full blossom with built-in armor." He glanced along the street to place where they were before continuing. "The additional mystery of our situation is that few in the enclosure can contrast how they have developed here to how they may have been back in their own worlds."

"Is that something you worry about?"

Once said, she realized that worry was the wrong word. She couldn't imagine Albert being worried about anything. Her eyes flitted from the path to him, trying to impose some notion of anxiety and concern onto that steady expression. He was rock-like, certain, and -- to her, at least -- reliable.

"I had a plan, but in my world. A certain ... schedule I intended to keep, if you would believe it. I don't doubt that I would reach those milestones as I intended to."

It wasn't an exact answer to Buffy's question, but he didn't see the need to say that he wasn't concerned. He had convinced himself that he would either meet his goals or die in the process -- such was his life.

"But I do find myself wondering what that version of myself, 30 years old and never having experienced Luceti, would have to say about me."

She dug a key out of her pocket. How novel, really, to be wearing formalwear with pockets. How convenient. In that moment, she almost envied men. Buffy tossed the fob from palm to palm and rotated the problem in her mind. Would her own corresponding self, back home, approve of this quieter and more domestic Slayer? A woman more apt to spend her evening drying the dishes Jack Sparrow washed instead of patrolling graveyards. On some level, she knew that doubtless her other self would envy all this peace. But she'd look down upon it, too. Down her nose. And know in her heart of hearts that one of them was doing the better work.

"Jack's pretty fond of one simple yardstick: that we should simply be able to ask whether we can live with ourselves, and the choices were making. Everything else is gravy."

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The first step is the one you believe in

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