The Gazette's front lawn is, without a doubt, more floral than ever. Never mind that petting-zoo feed appeals to none of the hired animals, and all the human guests are somewhere between lax about and actively encouraging the goats to make quick work of the hisbiscus.
The outlook from the altar is great. Lani can pick out each guest's expression, and use it to predict what is, most likely, their deepest current desire. Most souls seem to read “how much longer is this going to take?”. Lani supposes they can get started.
The Captain's decidedly beautiful vows, consisting of approximately nothing either Lani or Candice had written down, are interrupted frequently. Once, a brief rain-shower causes the rose-entwined altar to collapse, only stopped from crushing the brides by landing instead on the bridesmaids. Later, Joseph suffers a coughing fit, whether from emotion or swallowing a petal, it's impossible to say. A third time, amidst surprise and irritation, Lani herself steps off the altar to verify that the scraggly goatee in the middle distance belongs to whom they suspect (signs point to yes).
Aside from all that, things go smoothly.
“Do you vow that you will–”
“Yes!”
“And do you promise to take–”
“Yes, definitely.”
The afternoon whirls past. Candice coddles a reluctant lamb. “This was much better than eloping.”
Lani can't help but agree.
The shower leaves the sky half-soaked by sun, and the remainder thickly clouded-over. Light streaks through the air in rays, illuminating faces. Colleagues; Lani's fellow puzzlers and fictioneers, who by a surprise twist in fate, currently report up to her; their mother. All different, but talking amongst themselves, mingling, laughing occasionally, everyone here simply because she asked them to be. Here for her to rely on.
No matter what the stars hold.