"Nico, this is my cousin Ari. Ari, this is my best friend, Nicolae Dooku."
"Hi," Ari said, putting out his hand to shake. He raised an eyebrow at Sören. "What are you wearing, dude?" Ari's Icelandic accent was at least as strong as Sören's if not stronger.
"Clothes," Sören said.
Though they had told the guests the wedding was casual attire, in the spirit of "Keep Portland Weird" with a wedding at Voodoo Doughnut, Sören and Mark had decided to wear costumes. Sören was recycling his Jon Snow costume from Halloween - what appeared to be a fur pelt-topped cape over leather armor, a metal breastplate embossed with a wolf, and a sword on his belt.
Mark Lauer himself was wearing a full suit of delicate, shimmering chainmail; on the breast, set with blue gems, was the flaming star of the House of Fëanor. Mark wore a plumed helm that added a foot, and he was already tall enough to make Sören feel short. Mark had been rather tight-lipped about the origins of the outfit, and Sören wondered if he'd had the costume made for the wedding - and probably spent a small fortune to do so if he had - or if it was a relic from the ancient past, days from before the War of the Ring itself. He had a disturbing feeling it was the latter, and somehow whatever Elven magic or energy had gone into the making of the armor had kept it together all this time.
Mark's service dog Huan, a Corgi-sheepdog mix, was wearing a little bow tie, obediently waiting on a leash nearby. Dooku was also turned out in a tuxedo with tails - Sören somehow wasn't surprised that Dooku wasn't going to wear casual clothing to a wedding, and it tickled him. Although, Dooku looked more delicious than he had a right to, and Sören couldn't stop ogling him, feeling ridiculous about ogling his best friend at his own wedding. Sören hoped he wasn't drooling on himself.
Ari was wearing jeans and a Metallica T-shirt. Dooku gave Ari a puzzled look - Sören knew he and Ari didn't look a thing alike, with Ari having dirty blond hair and blue eyes; the only thing they had in common was a beard. "He's my father's sister's son," Sören explained. He looks like that bastard Einar but I won't hold it against him.
"I see. Nice to finally meet you, Ari."
"Takk." Ari turned back to Sören. ""Please tell me that's not real fur and no animals died for you to wear that pelt..."
"No." Sören made a face. Then he grinned and said, "It's IKEA rugs put together because I'm classy as fuck like that."
Ari and Dagnýr facepalmed in unison.
"I'm fucking dying in this shit," Sören said. "I can't wait to get my clothes off, if you know what I mean..."
"I'd rather not know what you mean," Ari said. Ari shook Mark's hand. "Uh, nice hat."
"You in the SCA or something?" Dagnýr asked. "You do Ren Faire?"
"No," Mark said. "That involves people. And romanticizing a part of history rife with disease, intolerance, and brutality -"
Dagnýr blinked like he'd been slapped. "OK, wow, just asking."
Dooku's lips quirked into a small smile. "I hate medieval re-enactment for the same reason."
"You'd both know all about it, you were there." Sören couldn't resist teasing his best friend. Then he said, "You guys just hate fun, let's be real."
"That too," Mark and Dooku said in unison, and then they laughed about it, though Dooku looked uncomfortable.
"Please excuse me," Dooku said, stepping aside.
"Speaking of hating fun..." Mark glanced at Sören and gave him a stern look. "'The Wedding March' better not be interrupted by Rick Astley."
"Would I do that?" Sören gave Mark an innocent face. A poker face.
"Yes. You would."
Sören raised his right hand. "I solemnly swear 'The Wedding March' will not be interrupted by 'Never Gonna Give You Up'."
A short while later, "The Wedding March" began to play.
Dagnýr's children Margrét and Magnús were both "flower-bearers", a gender-neutral version of the flowergirl, since Sören and his family were very sensitive to the issue of not reinforcing sexist stereotypes about what was "for girls" and "for boys". They scattered petals down the aisle.
They were followed by Huan, who was serving as ringbearer, wagging his tail excitedly as he trotted down the aisle carrying a small pillow set with two rings. On his back, Huan was carrying a basket with Hells the unicorn and Mark's KISS dolls, who were all dressed up in tuxedos for the occasion. Huan got pets from Margrét and Magnús when he reached the end of the aisle, and turned around and yipped, waiting for his master.
Mark and Sören took their first step down the aisle, and the stereo playing "The Wedding March" cut to a thumping electronic beat and chirping synths.
This next verse, this next verse though
These bars
Watch this some shit, go
"Oh no. SÖREN NO." Mark facepalmed, knowing what was coming.
Poopy-di scoop
Scoop-diddy-whoop
Whoop-di-scoop-di-poop
Poop-di-scoopty
Scoopty-whoop
Whoopity-scoop, whoop-poop
Poop-diddy, whoop-scoop
Poop, poop
Scoop-diddy-whoop
Whoop-diddy-scoop
Whoop-diddy-scoop, poop
Mark gave Sören a look, and Sören beamed.
"You said no Rick Astley," Sören said. "It's not Rick Astley. It's Yeezy..."
Mark tweaked Sören's nose.
_
December 2022 note: I wrote this chapter long before Kanye West began to express antisemitic views, Holocaust denialism, and praise of H*tler publicly. I do not have the spoons to edit the chapter at this time, but I felt it necessary to make a disclaimer that I do not agree with Kanye West's views at all, I do not stand for antisemitism, N*ZIS FUCK OFF.