March goes out like a lamb, April is the cruelest month, May exists, and then June! The month for weddings, somewhere out there, but for wedding-themed alts among those who farmed New Eclipse Dragon for Ralarum set pieces. Not all mobile games in the cluster enjoyed recurring bridal-themed events, which is as much as to say that not all mobile games were good.

Relaxed speculation ruled Freegate a month out. Grumbles and sniping usurped it a week later, and in the fortnight before the announcement, the tension agitated all officers enough that they vibrated in their chairs at dinner and shot out the moment Cadmos tried to deliver a speech like chunks of metal from a railgun. They ought therefore to have pierced through the very walls, but instead they bounced around like pinballs, for which reason that should have been the simile in the first place. But too late for that, and too late for any of them to invent transdimensional bribery technology capable of reaching the developers' bank accounts. They could but designate one among them to oversee the dining hall decorating, go over their lists, and tremble.

“And they didn't want to fail to entrust the job to someone who would do it right and not, for example, rig ejector seats for her rivals in case she gets out-alted.” Gaelvry Bride hesitated, unsure whether she had to build that last bridge herself. “Someone like me. Because I'm already a recipient of this particular distinction.” She was speaking to Rares, after all.

“Oh, I understand that, and really, you couldn't have explained it more beautifully,” said Sindze U. Radalo. “I'd say there's not a single officer who doesn't understand your reason for being here. Right, single officers?” She looked around at all 14 other silvers, four per element barring the Eclipse one that was too good for them and minus one centaur, saw neither agreement nor disagreement, and continued. “But this one little question comes to mind and just won't go away, no matter how many times I tell it that Gaelvry Beruvo, of all people, most certainly thought everything out from the facade to the swimming pool.”

“You have to do it because we all agreed to keep this get-together traditional,” the highly raritied overseer adorned in a highly traditional wedding dress complete with a veil over her highly purple hair informed them.

“The traditions of one year ago,” Hyune Giling muttered.

“That means no UTASes, that already meant running around Magical Menagerie snagging Rares with a net, and also none of my decoration ideas weren't rejected.” Gaelvry stepped down from the ladder for a better view of the pink drapes framing the wall-mounted monitor. “That's fine. As I was saying, it isn't that I don't get why they want a little more restraint in the decor than I prefer. They're thinking of the entire party's style while I only want the lucky gals to have the most dazzling backdrop for their triumph. I sure don't get how that monstrosity fits their stated goals, though.”

During that conversation, some of the broader-backed Rares managed two entire steps under the incalculable weight of the wedding-themed cake. The thing was taller than a stuman, longer than a centaur, and broader than a centaur standing the other way. “Hrrg,” Quille Treten said. Dennet and Ulrik agreed with him on that point. Saptres Muria would have preferred to add a concurring statement with perhaps a bit more nuance, but doubled over beneath a cake worthy of its own creation myth as he was, he settled for “Urrrrgh.”

“It's the most tasteless inanimate object I've ever seen. I did get these to thematify it a bit, though.” Gaelvry Bride spilled a bag full of figurines on the table. There was a little Shakes Nesetta, a miniature Theena, a fun-sized Gaelvry Beruvo . . . “That shouldn't be in there. Well, none of them should be, if you think about it. I have no idea why Dungeon Express Re:Development has a complete assortment of lady officer figurines from our game. Still, it'll be fun when we put them on the cake as the announcements come in, won't it?”

Sindze tossed her head to give her words a blonde exclamation point. “That is seriously creepy. Am I in there? Oh, I am!” She picked up a little green archer, turned it over to admire the detail, and tried to look up its dress as soon as nobody paid attention to her, which was all the time.

“It's not creepy if somebody buys it. That makes it sensible,” a Rare called down from her ladder where much hanging of artificial garlands was being done.

“Clyse! Look at yours!” Sindze tossed the mini up.

“Oh, it has my shears and everything. Wait. Ding me as a doubter, but has my goldfinchy-colored coat been making me look like a mascot for a brand of mustard this entire time?”

“Yeah, I'd say so.”

“And nobody told me. I could have sold so many hot dogs.” Clyse shook her head in mourning for what had been lost.

“Be sure to bring that back down,” Gaelvry reminded her. The cake was another two steps closer by then.

“Do we have to pretend that far?” Burmin Trivvis asked. “I mean, you know.”

Gaelvry condescended to give a real answer. “Look at the Road Empress over there and tell me we're pretending. Well? Can you?”

“I guess not,” Burmin admitted. “Uh, the cake isn't going to make it to the table.”

“What?” The plate supporting the cake, itself destined in future centuries to be worshiped as a relic of a more advanced age owing to its awe-inspiring size and overwhelming complexity, was indeed slipping and tilting as Saptres Muria and his Strategist-appropriate Attack proved less gravity-defying than the other three cake-murdened Rares, especially Ulrik with his recently boosted number.

An irretrievable disaster, it seemed, until Gaelvry Bride averted it by gripping the plate in her two white gloves and hurrying it over to the table. Still bent over, Dennet clapped as hard as his sore arms allowed. “An exciting performance that completely subverted my expectations and saves us from a beating! I give it 8.5 prats out of falls.” He straightened up to a symphony of creaks and pops.

“Maybe I'm misunderstanding something, but couldn't Gaelvry Bride have just carried the cake all the way from the package pickup then?” Burmin asked.

“Nah. That just would have made it so she dropped the cake and we had to scramble to resolve the situation,” Dennet explained. “That's a principle of physics. It's called 'the conservation of how stuff never goes right at first.'”

“I see.”

A UR popped her head in. “Is everything under control and on-schedule in here?”

Gaelvry answered. “You know it never is, Adigail Zem. That's why I have a secret schedule I don't tell the Rares about. And don't peek. It's bad luck.”

“Goodness!” Adigail Zem withdrew from the door frame, then snatched up her terrier when it attempted to run in, its intentions cake-oriented and unworthy of a trained animal.

“Is that really bad luck?”

Hyune Giling fielded that one. “Burmin. Are you sincerely asking,” and here he pushed up his glasses, “whether a superstition is true or not, as if it were a factual matter?”

“That would be great, but I really wanted to get at whether this is, you know, an established thing or new.”

Hyune pushed his glass up even higher, though his eyes spoiled the intellectual effect by failing to rise along with them. “May I remind you that this is only the second year with brides.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Seeing Burmin's dejected face surrounded by all his helmetage and above his impregnable armor as if a sculptor had made a pathetic statue as a protest against the general concept of heroism, even Sindze U. Radalo was moved to show off she knew more about it than other officers.

“Oh! Oh! Pick me!”

Hyune pointed.

“Right, well, it all happened that first year when brides broke loose from Valentine's. A bunch of the favorites, there's no need to name any names, Anstralia Perandra or Rylweadh for instance, were so sure of their victory that they began the tradition of decorating the dining hall that's been observed for a whole twice now.”

“That's true. They made me put up the portraits.”

“Very good, Burmin! Do you remember what happened next? There's a hint over there.” Sindze pointed at Gaelvry Bride with both index fingers.

“Right, I know that, but Anstralia became General Anstralia and Rylweadh is an Eclipse now, so was that really unlucky?”

“Ladies don't spoil their sleep with overstimulating dreams about becoming generals or kinder judges as a rule.” A peek at the heart of the matter from a discerning officer, but who could it be? Green eyes! Black hair and lots of it! Lips accustomed to pouting in a fetching way! Darlotte Glofal appeared. “I'm not looking, I'm not looking! That doesn't count, does it? It simply wouldn't be right if it did. Is everything going well, Queen Gaelvry? Do you require any aid? I can fetch someone, if you like.”

“No, thank you. Wait, yes. How about this. While you're pacing back and forth in the corridor, could you warn anyone coming by not to peek? Newer officers in particular. Lynissia, Leslie Harthorpe, some others who definitely aren't out of the running but might not know about our superstitions.”

Darlotte pursed her lips, an act visible even in profile while she kept her eyes from turning doorward by an exercise of will similar to that of a player skipping a bait spotlight. “I don't know that 'superstition' is the word to choose for our venerable institutions, but I do think that's a lovely, considerate sentiment. Certainly I will do what I am able.” She curtsied and disappeared again. From time to time the decorators heard some berating in the background, which proved to doubters that Darlotte Glofal always did what she promised.

“That's kinda ruining the mood, and I restricted myself to 'kinda' because all the Medics told me my blood pressure is, and I quote, 'capable of producing a diamond,'” Tramda Olex complained as she set down a card before each seat on which the occupant could write a well-wishing message for the new brides if overpowering resentment prevented her from speaking. She had suggested those herself based on her experience in anger mismanagement.

“Needs a little music, eh? Some nuptial carols? Wedding wassailing songs?” Quille Treten nodded in approval of his own plan. “Reginald, dig out that tape recorder and play us some B**** I***.”

The named officer sighed, which showed what sort of person he was. “In the first place, what makes you think I have W**** W****** on tape? Because I do, and it's strange that you know that. The other thing is that I have the impression that isn't such a good wedding song, even though 'Wedding' is slightly over half of the title.”

Quille patted Reginald on the shoulder. “That's all right. This won't be such a good wedding. Not a wedding at all, in fact.”

With Gaelvry's approval, the Rares all enjoyed, or tolerated, or struggled to ignore that hit from yesteryear once, twice, twenty times. “Surely one of us has thought of a different song that suits the occasion by now,” Leaznalo begged, but nothing resulted from it.

“None better than this, if you ask me.” Stan tapped his toe as he saw to the table settings.

“Whoa, you guys holding a white wedding in here? How would you say this game rates as far as starting again?” Another guest officer! A big blue scarf and not much else! A single, fingerless glove! The secret star of danger beach, Inorrea Vacationer, had infiltrated the hall.

“Inorrea, you don't have a late enough release date not to know you shouldn't be in here.” Gaelvry's scolding had grown in power, for Inorrea saluted and left without any backtalk. “Well, I can't blame them for being nervous.”

“Hi, I'm Ulrik. You're probably all wondering why I haven't said anything so far.”

“Nope.”

“Naw.”

“Should I have?”

“A little . . .”

“Three of you are liars, but I forgive you. I was observing everything with my +20 INT bestowed by these glasses. That beach ninja delivered a special message to all of us.”

Quille Treten smoothed his beard. “Don't go telling tales, young man. She may be fast, but . . . Oh! Here it is!” He pulled one of Tramda's cards out of his concealing hairs and examined it. “I see she's angling for the Santa job this year. Stiff competition for me, I don't mind saying. Let's see. 'Summer rules, brides drool!” Why, the pluck that girl has. It wouldn't be more than she deserves than to be brided this very evening.”