The Unwanted Wendigo [ManxMan]

Chapter Two: The Wedding

~Chapter Two: The Wedding~

"Nice dress."

I glance at the dark-skinned demon – the origin of the comment – who is seated on a lavish couch in the middle of the dressing room, before looking at my demon, who is in a glorified bathrobe that reaches his ankles while he stands in front of a tall mirror on the wall. Though I doubt it is actually a bathrobe, as it is apparently a traditional wedding outfit for Mer royalty, it still looks like something someone with a lot of money might wear after bathing. I would never wear something as gaudy as that, as a dark blue robe with a fancy gold trim and collar is just not my style, but the wide black and gold belt is pretty nice. Considering how long the demon has struggled to actually close the robe, though, as it parts along the side and Atasah cannot seem to get the belt on fast enough to keep it closed, someone would have to pay me to wear that.

"Hanruhm's beard, it's not a dress," Atasah snaps, failing once more to close the robe, flashing us with his chest again. He snarls down at the uncooperative robe before looking pleadingly at one of the other two demons in the room – a Japanese-looking demon – who sighs and immediately begins to help Atasah dress properly.

Uninterested in seeing how the not-dress works, I look around the comfortably-sized room, which contains a few scattered chairs and two loveseats – one of which I am on, though mine is as far away from the dark-skinned demon as it I can get, which means it is by the doors on the wall opposite the mirror. Other than the seats, though, there is not much else in the room, aside from a clothing rack that was rolled in only an hour ago by a servant and a table full of different kinds of snacks. While they look delicious, I can only look at them from afar, as I know better than to try to eat one.

"Hey, Wendy," the dark-skinned demon says, and I turn to glare at him. Though I do not actually dislike the demon, it is his fault I have that nickname, which will likely never be forgotten by anyone ever. "Shouldn't you be finding a seat or something?"

"Someone doesn't trust me not to eat the guests," I grunt, flopping dramatically back against the couch, spreading my arms over the back of it so I take up as much space as I can. My head rolls back, the antlers of my mask knocking loudly against the wall. "Even though I keep telling him I'm not a fishitarian."

When I glance up, the demon is nodding in understanding, only to visibly backtrack as my statement fully registers. "That's not a word," he states, narrowing his eyes at me.

I smirk. "Isn't it?"

"No," he snorts, and then I watch as he stands up. At first, he just stretches out his limbs - all the sitting around probably making him stiff - but rather than approach one of his fellow demons, he starts towards me.

Just before he reaches my couch, I turn sideways to splay myself out across the couch. My legs end up over one of the armrests, and my skull mask knocks uncomfortably against the other one, but I successfully put a stop to whatever the demon had been planning. He crosses his arms and stares down at me, probably daring me to continue taking up the entire couch.

"I could sit on you, you know," he threatens, though he makes it sound like he is just commenting on the weather.

"I've been told I have a wicked bite," I threaten in kind, grinning broadly to show off all of my pointy teeth. However, the dark-skinned demon just sighs, not as worried as he should be by the threat. Vaguely disappointed, I let my smile fall to a humorless smirk and just watch him.

"You should go find a seat. I'll talk to Atasah, so don't worry," the demon says, making a shooing motion towards the doors. Normally, I would be annoyed at the dismissal, but watching Atasah dress for his wedding is so beyond boring that it has transcended into mental suicide.