“We should have eloped,” said Yuuri for what was probably the tenth time that morning. “We really should have. I hear Bandarbia is nice this time of year.”
“I wouldn’t want to be around once Mama-san and Cheri-sama caught up to you,” Murata told him cheerfully, patting his shoulder. “At least, not unless I could bring a video camera along.”
“You’re a sadist,” Yuuri complained.
“For lack of a more intelligent response, duh,” Shouri said from an armchair in the corner of the suite.
“Careful, Shibuya’s Older Brother,” Murata said airily. “You’re next. And I’m not nice enough to agree to the dress without a fight – or at least a bribe.”
“I guess Wolfram’s not so bad, considering,” Yuuri said with a shudder. Shouri turned an interesting shade of puce.
“I thought the dress looked very nice on both of you,” Konrad remarked placidly, entering the room with Yuuri’s sash, which was festooned with so many medals that Yuuri made a sort of ‘oof’ when it was hung over his shoulder.
“I didn’t earn most of these!” he complained, but Murata batted his hand away when he reached to remove the most ostentatious of them.
“You’re King,” he said simply.
“Deal with it,” suggested Shouri.
“I want this to be over,” Yuuri moaned.
“So impatient,” scolded Murata in his best I’m-several-thousand-years-old-you-know voice. “It’s taken you nearly ten years to get your act together, so I’m sure you can wait a few hours.” He gave Yuuri a wicked grin. “Don’t worry, it will be the wedding night soon enough.”
“Did I hear someone mention the wedding night?” Cheri waltzed into the room, followed by Sangria and Doria, both of whom were lugging humongous crates of… something.
“No, not really-” Yuuri began, paling slightly.
“Not to worry!” Cheri said, posing dramatically. “I’ll help you with everything you could ever possibly wish to know. I’ve quite a bit of experience, you know.”
Yuuri became even paler. “Oh God. It’s really not-”
“I’ll leave you in Mother’s capable hands,” Konrad said and escaped, along with Shouri, the traitor.
Murata followed them at a more leisurely pace. He stopped at the door, examined the crates and grinned. “Oh, look, Shibuya – she brought props.”
“Anissina so wanted to help,” Cheri chirped.
Yuuri stumbled into a chair, feeling suddenly faint. “Are we sure it’s too late to elope?” he asked, his voice somewhere between desperate and hysterical.
“What, and miss the best day of your life?” demanded all three women in creepy unison.
Murata cackled and shut the door firmly behind him.