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Wedding Balls

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'Twas the night before Friday,
And all through the apartment,
The watch battle was resuming,
I can't think of a rhyme.


It had been one of those crazy days. You wake up and you can sense that your rationality has slipped away to have coffee in some quiet corner of your subconscious, and without bothering to find a suitable replacement. One of those days when you should lock yourself in your room, disconnect any electronics, and speak to no one, lest you bring about some sort of vast, all-encompassing disaster.

The strategy served Tycho Brahe well until he emerged from his lair to satisfy a terrible hunger... for carrot cake soup.

He passed Gabe on his way to the kitchen.

"Hey, you know what sucks? Spider-Man and Star Wars."

The ensuing carnage made the seas red as blood. Or at least the walls. And the carpet. And most surfaces in the vicinity, really.


"I just don't understand why a thief would carry a cardboard tube. Or cause this much damage with it," the doctor said, pulling off his gloves.

"To protect his girlish virtue," Div muttered, sullen. His bottle of Jack Daniels had been one of the first things to go in the battle. To the doctor's credit, he seemed not at all nonplussed about patching up a bloody mess carried in by one man and a talking DivX player.

"For honor," Gabe replied, ignoring Div. "And it was a samurai." He smiled and patted the Pac-Man watch on his wrist.

"...Right. In any case, the swelling should go down soon, and the stitches should heal without much visible scarring." The doctor chuckled. "You've got a few nasty cuts yourself. Would you like us to take a look at them?"

Three frighteningly nondescript people in black suits rushed in, murmured something in his ear, and then rushed back out.

"Well." The doctor blinked. "I've been told that you don't have your own health insurance."

"Have what?"

"Er. Do you have a job with health benefits?"


"He's not gonna be able to treat you, Princess Clarabelle," Div translated.

The doctor shot the device a dirty look, then sighed. "I'm afraid so. Unless you're covered by your... partner's... health insurance."

Gabe, about as bright as the screen of GameBoy Advance, didn't think twice before answering, "Yeah, partners. Can I have this glass removed from my arm? It kind of chafes."


The following night, in a taxi cab from the hospital:

"What are health benefits?"

"Something I'll have for the rest of my life, thanks to Tycho Tuesdays."

"What's a job with health benefits?"

"Something you don't have."

"I beat you in every game like it's my job."

"Yes, but that's like it's your job. You're not actually getting paid to do so."

"Every game ever."

"No, you don't."

"I think I should get paid. For beating you in every game ever."

"I am imagining you in a pool of festering corpses."


The door swung open as if of its own accord, but that was as per usual. They had broken both doorknobs long ago.


Both boys--well, men, but--both males shrieked in unison and attempted to dive behind the couch, resulting in an impressive midair collision and subsequently landing on top of one another in a pile of pained, twitching limbs.

"Don't start the wedding party too early, you two!" Kara said, beaming. She had on a festive party hat, and the small apartment was filled with their friends (and a few deadly enemies--with Gabe and Tycho, sometimes they were one and the same) as well as festive decorations.

"Gggggnnnnaaaaaaggggggghhhhhhh," said the zombie.

(Translation: Aren't you married to one of them?)

"Is that a cake?" asked Gabe, focusing on the most important matter at hand.

"Wedding?" Tycho shoved Gabe off of him, one eyelid twitching.

Div stumbled his way into the room, carrying two bottles of champagne, one half-full and the other empty. After a luxurious belch, he slurred, "I might've gotten a little excited about your new bride, Daisy Mae. Called up some people. The Japanese embassy couldn't make it. Hey, does that make you two girls lesbians? 'Cause that's hot." After this moment of enlightenment, he swayed gently back and forth and then passed out.

"He said you did it for the insurance, but we've all just been waiting for you two to admit your feelings to each other," Brenna said. The two women clasped their hands together and sighed at the romance of it all.


(Translation: Does no one realize that they're married to Tycho and Gabe? Where is the continuity in this place?)

The three nondescript people in suits popped up beside the zombie and slapped a piece of duct tape over its mouth.


(Translation: What's going on?)

"I'm Deus," one said.

"I'm Ex."

"I'm Machina."

"We're very subtle," the three said in chorus.

"Don't worry," Deus said.

"They'll forget about it," added Ex.

"By next Monday," finished Machina.


(Translation: I hate my unlife.)

Tycho marched over to Gabe, who had by this point in time eaten half the cake, and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "WHEN did we get MARRIED?" His grip relaxed as slow horror crept across his face. "You didn't do it while I was unconscious, did you? You didn't... violate me?"

"Ew, no. We didn't even get married. Although I guess technically since I'm a priest and I said we're married, we're married."

"You're a priest?"



And then the unthinkable and inexplicable happened.

(Except it happened, so presumably it was thinkable and explicable to someone.)

"Oh," Tycho said again, except in a different voice. Tears shone in his eyes. "It has happened at last! I've been carrying these wedding vows around for years, and now... now I finally have the chance to read them!"

Clearing his throat, he began.

"I, Tycho Brahe, take you, Jonathan Gabriel, as my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold, to love and to cherish, to beat until no longer able to breathe independently. We are as one, even when you are an utter fucking moron. I do not believe it was the work of any particular deity or fate that drew us together, only the innate longings of our own souls, too long bereft of a complementary half. Since our birth we have existed in a state of marriage, and our lives thus far have only been a journey to arrive at this point, at this formal declaration of our perfect bliss in one another. I ask you not to think of this ceremony as the beginning of a commitment, but rather an affirmation of something that grew from piles of video games and cans of radioactive scorpions. At last, we can brave this world no longer alone, but toge--"

Gabe hit Tycho with a brick, then wiped away a tear.

"Guess we're married now, guys," he said. "Thanks for coming, I really appreciate--"

"Got you a card," Charles interrupted.

"Oh, you shouldn't have." Gabe smiled and opened the card and read aloud, "Shut your pie hole. Love, Charles."

Charles looked down at the ground and shrugged. "Well, I mean it. So... I guess we'll clear out of here and leave you two alone."

When Tycho regained consciousness, they... played.

Played video games, you sickos.

But after that, they made use of all the porn Tycho's weird aunt had sent over the years.


The next morning, Div woke up next to the Fruit Fucker.

"I'm not gay," he announced.

The Fruit Fucker offered him some freshly fornicated orange juice.

"But I'll go with it," Div decided.


And they lived happily ever after.