Some people have headed out already (including the Kincades and the parents of the bride) and others have stuck around for remaining catering and whatever fun they can get from the evening. Shuri and Lucia withdraw temporarily, but will be back again after a while.

. . . so, you know she can cut the wedding cake and pass it out to people! It is fucking delicious-looking. There is more food and a late night snack bar and more drinks and the band is playing again and fuck interruptions it's still a good reception.

And maybe a bonus wedding (here) if you aren't sick of all this yet . . .
A demon was summoned, a blessing was given, and the curse was unravelled from the inside.

The garter snaps, the elastic breaking, which is really a shame because it was actually quite a nice garter.

. . . all of those that were unconscious, Shuri included, will slowly find themselves returning to consciousness.
At first, it seems simple. Your consciousness fades—probably you should all have put down some pillows so when you hit the ground you wouldn't have bruises later but nobody here's good at thinking ahead—and you start to drift. At first you see something pale and light and strangely erotic, sending thrills through you, lace coating the walls and then something seems to go wrong.

Chains wrap around each of you, cold and restrictive and binding, and you are yanked do̞͔̣͎̼͎͟ͅwn͜

d͏̙̮͢o̵̴̠̪̦w̗͔̳̫͔̱̠̦͝ǹ̻͙̲͇̖̝ ̫̫͉̀d̢̻̼̜͚͖͚̝͠ǫ̙͉͇̕w̥̪n͏͇̘̗̝̭̩͕̕ ̶̴̺̦̫̰̫͖ͅd̻͉͖͎͘͘̕o̻̥̱̬͜w̟̬̖̹̤͎̟͘n̷̡̛͓̥̥͕̯

̢̟̯̖̪͜

͚͕͈͕͎͎̠ṱ̰̗̯͈̦͚̙h̴͔̕e̢̹̫͉̙͍͟ ҉̼͎̦̱̻͈̙̝c͓͍͎ͅh̹̙̕a͇̜̕i̧̹̲̯̜͙͖ń̢̗̜͍̦̝͇̤͈s̸͍͎͇͕̘ ͕̟̬̫͓͜͠w͙̗̤̮͝r̸̫̬̮̞͉͓̖a̧҉̼̻p̧̳͉͚͖͓͖̟͜ ̡̭t̹̳͚͕í̛̼̫ģ̩͎̙̤̭̠̀h̜̣̻̹͙̩͝ṭ̛̦͔̭͚͚̟̺̳͘͡e̶̡̬̼̙̞̺͇̜̥r͇̻̮͔̗͈͝ͅ

t͓͓̩͊̿̃́̔͛̐̎ͣ͜h̲̣̲͇̥̊̎̇͋̏͜͞ị̸̵̴̠͍͚̥̮ͤͣ͛s̵̻̖̗͓̞̈̾͛̏̄ ̴̶͖͉̜̖͇̻̱͐ͤ̆͑̌̌͠ȩ͓̼̿̊̾͑̒́ŕ͋͏̸̣̤̹͈͍͉̮ͅo̷̼̘̝̠͂͋͐͘ͅţ̛̹͙̺̞̱ͣ̂̾i̸̛̼͎̭͔̦̘̹͐̀c̴̨͓̜̩͙̝̖̥̅̊̌̓͒̐ͬ͞ͅ ̣ͥ̂̽͒̈́̉̇f̛̈́͊ͪ̿͊҉̬ė̡̱̲̖̬̺̤̫ͮ͂ͦ̃ͮͅȩ̞̜̮̱̤̭͗͒̕̕l̡̼̤̻̲̪͕̈͒ͦͮ͠i͙͕̗̳̗̺̩̳̯̎̈́̓ͬ́͌ͨ̀ņ͖̳̯͛ͮ͂͂͌̋̀̕gͭ̍͏̷ͅ ̘͖̳͖̜̤̟͂̓̒͌̚͞i̖̱̝͎̻̪̫̟ͪ̔̃͊̐̚͜ͅs̝̣̹͋̍̽ͮ̈́̀n̺̻̥̣͚̪͗ͮͮ̇̿ͥ̀͞'̤̱̼̉̂͌́̄ͧ͠t̨̮̰ͭ̂̄̃̀ͤ̂̈́̄́ ̝̯̰͚͎ͣn̡̥̲̝̟̲͇͙̑͋̐ͨ̈͌̀iͤͭ҉̗̺͕̖̘c̢͎̩̠͖̓ͤ̏͊ͯͦ͜͝e͇̘͇̥̩̓̓ͦͭ ̸̖̟̙̺̬̯̦̏ͤͅa̵̖̗ͧ̍͌̇̾ͮ̃n̖̹̤̍̐͋͐ͨ̈́͒̚͢͡ýͦͬ̉̓̿̐҉͉͍͠ ̷̛͕̘͉̮̖͐ͣͭ͆ͣ͡ṃ̺̣ͩ͌͛̀͜͠͠ͅȏ̪͖͖̺͚ͬr̴̰̻̠̻̩̯̣̮̍ͬ͊͐ͦͮ͡͞ͅẻ̷̻͇̦͕͕̤͔̼̊͆̋͋.̙͉̮͚͔̄͊ͭ̓̿̑͛͊ͅ ͋ͤ̂̉ͮ̓҉̴͏̥̮ͅĮ̵̼̗͙̉̿̊̋ͯͣṱ̥̟̰̫̮ͫ̓̾͂͊ͫ̚ͅ ̨͔͚̪̘͔̣͌̈́͊ͫ͐̅ͩf̪͖̮̫̫ͣ̐̀e̮̺̺̲̞͕͇͑͑̃̇ͥ̀e̲̬̖̥͉̙̥̒͐̑l̸̶̠̗̘̮̍̾ͯ̒ͬ̊͆̀͢ͅs̽͛̌͗͏͎̻̜̤͍͇̰͇ ̷͖̂ͤ͊̆ṡ̱̥͉̲̪͙̮̰ͨ̽ͧ̃̏ͩ͟͠ī̺͍̥̗̤̦͔̕͜c̽̔͑̐̋́͏͍͇̤͓͎̰̩̯̣̕k͋ͧ̔ͯ͘҉̳̱̱̟̰̣̟͔̜ ̦̳̗̣̞̟̼͊͌̄̀͞ă̺̜̺̠͙̟̜̰̓̏n̝̰̻͉̪͖̓̈́̊ͧ͌̉͑ͩ̂d͎͇͎̱̔ͮ͂̄́ ̵̢̜̮͛̌ͧt̯̩͑̈́͗̀ͯͪͫ̚o̭̮͋̔ͧ̿̅̈́͛̈́o̪ͩ ͈̞̺̭ͯ̈́́̅ͨ͛͐̃̆m̥̹͎̙̭̯̖͎ͣ̈̍ͨ̿̂ü̢̮͎̤͔̂̀c̬̲͋̊̐͊͌h̷̡̤̙͗͌͐͗ͤͦͤ͠ ͂ͤ҉̢̟͓̲̻̯̫̻͍͝ͅa͇̱ͮ͆̄ͧͭn̳̠̹̥̠̮̓͆͡ͅd͇̝̗͔͍͙ͬ̀ ̢͇̻͍̺̹̤̗ͫͭͫ̽͌ͪ͐ͣ̚͜ͅa̾͗ͫͣ҉̣͕̞͚̠͢ṇ̝̬̿͑̈́ͩ̀͠g̵̗͕͔͎̘̜͈ͪ͌͞r̥̲͈͊̍ͪy̸̭͙̥̺̜ͭͭ̾̋͑ ̹̫̜͍͉̠͂̅ͤ́̕a̷̖̝ͮ̋̎̾͆̈́ͯͩ̚͜n̤̻͖̿̂͡d̢̠̩̭͖̬̹̓̄ͯ͂̃́ ̛̬̣̙̭̰̔ͨ̓̅̄̾͌͋c̯͕ͫ͆͋̅̂͜͡h͍̬̾ͯ͟a̵̞̼͈͍ͨ̊̋̌͢i̗ͯͧ͌̉ͯ́̀n̛͇̺͌̊ͬ͋ͣ̂̏̐̀s̶̳̈́ ͕͕̩̹̻̹̬̯͐͘͝ǎ̩͕̝̙̗̦̈̽̐r̷̬͚̟͇̗̝͉͔͑̐͋ͫͪ͒̚͝e͍̜͍̜͂͗ͤ͑͊͠ ̡̞̥̠̻̣̞̤̂ͅs̸̨̲̪̗̙̻̙̜͍ͯ̄ͮ̀m̲̰͔̤͒̈̐ͩͭ͐ͯ̀ǒ̸͇̙͔̱̯͙̎̑͛͆̍t̵̵̪̦̘͋͆ͬ͐͆͘h͙̪̺̝͇͕̯̭͐͋ͭ̂͊̓́̚e͌̔ͧͬͬ͐̐̇͏̵̱̟̹̳͈r̼̟̲̙͌̿͌́i̖͇̻̠̱̺̠͚ͤͣ̏̂̐ͣ̋ň̛̞̣̂g̪͓̲̜̞̗͈̪̽̓ ̛̦̦͒͒y̵̳̦̳̬͙͛ͭ̍̇ͯ͆̚ŏ̵̝̜̞͕̠͕̅ͯ͑ͥ̇̋ͨ͟ụ̰̭̭͕̱͊̎̔̏̓͠


[When you land, you cannot see what's around you. You are trapped in the worst moment of your life, immersed in your greatest source of guilt, facing down your worst fear. You cannot see each other. Please thread with yourself accordingly as long as you think you are likely to remain trapped—if your character is able to shake the sensation and come back to their senses on their own, let us know. If not, hopefully someone will help you . . .]
Last time on "My Satanic Wedding"—Shuri's soul has been sucked into a garter belt, Tristan has fucked off to Hell (probably), and Sera has gone after him. Yuki tried to get a stiff drink but ended up finding some old acquaintances instead—they've come back to meet up with the wedding party.

There is one quiet, androgynous person and their noisy companion, who is currently sizing up the situation and letting out a low whistle.

"Wow! This place is super swank. So, what do you guys balls up this time?"
Shuri, you find yourself inside a very delicate room. There's a bed, whose sheets are all lace; the walls, too, seem to all be covered with lace draperies. A picture of Lucia is pinned to one of them. She looks kind of distressed and kind of bossy.

The bed's comfortable and the air has a distant, indeterminable floral scent.
w̐ͨh͊̂ͯ͌aͩ͛̉ͦ͛͌ẗ̐͏ ̐̔͗̐̆ͧ̑͝h̏ͥ͝a̷ͨ͊̅v̏̀̍̂̓eͤͧ͛ ͊͑ͪ̊ͯ͐ͧyͦ̅̿̆͢o̡ͤ̎̎ú̌͋͢ ̿̆̈͆̒ͫͪd̢ͤ̍̇͊̋̍o̶͑͋̾̾ͮn̈́̆ͮ̊e͒̆ͯ̚?̃̈́͡ ͬw͒͌̈̽̄h̔à͘t ͛hͯ́a̡ͦ͋̂ͪ̂v̏̎͆ͤ́̃҉e̵ ̽ȳͬͦ̌o̢͑̌̀̏uͨ̋ d̊̏̊͞o͗ͯ͌͛ņ̔̅̈́͛͒̚ẻͦ͂͐ͣ̎ͦ҉?ͧͯͨ
̍́ ̐̊̄̃̇e̽͟v̇eͫͥͤͦͦ͜r͗y̑̐ͣ̀͐͌͛th̓͐ȉͤ̾ͭ͊̾n̨ģͦ̃͑͆̌̒ ͂̕iͯͤ̀s w̢̌̈̂ͨ͂͆ͣro̐nͩ͘g̀
ͪ͑̍ͥ̊̄́
ͣ͠y̿͑̈ͯ́͋o̢͑̉̆ͦͤu͑ ͦ̔̌̈́̃͋͏aͯ̿̓ͣ҉r̔̂̑̃ͤ̓̇eͯ̈́͊͠ ̐̐͝d̃̍ͣ̄͒́̚ȑ̽̆̑͞ȁ́̚w̓͂͒͌҉nͧ̓͑͒ ̈́̈ͣ́i͐̇ͩn̸͋̓̍͗́tͥo͛ͥͯ͂ͤ ͤ͜H͑̂̉҉el͌̈́ͨ̆ͣ̃̕l̂͂ͤͦ̉ ͒w̽̽͑īͪ̏͊̉͠tͯ͌͑̑ͭ̅ͭh̐̉͊͂ ̛̄ͭ͐̐͛̉a̸ͭͥ ̋͗͌s͟eͣns̡͂ͧ̂̌̍āt̶ͤ͌i̵ͬ̓ͧ̑͋̉ͯo̡͗͊͆nͩͤ̀ͯͫ̑ ̷ͬ̃̾ͣlͩ̐ͤ̅ͮ̀iͬͬ̚k̸̍e̽ͭͮͬͤ͢ ̏͠bͣ̑̉̉e͗ͭ͝ȉ̸̔̒n͂̒̃̅̊͜g͋͌̈̌҉ rͤ̂͗̏̐͆iͯ̇p͑͋̎̈pͩ̌̔ͦ̅ͬȇ͆̚d̕ ̓̃ͧ̂̚̕fͭ͌̍ͬr̈̾͏e̷̔ͥ̌̍͑̚e͂̎͐̋͛ ̡̽ͬ̂͐f̈̊̅r̸̿̉͐ͩ̇o̴m̊͗ ̾͠e͢v̅ͤ̆̔͑̽̈́͘ë͆̎̊͛͏r̈̅͊̂̋ͨͧý̵ͧ͗͗ͨ̅̇t̛ͯͯ͆̓͆̌̃hĭ͒͌ͨ̅ͦ̌̀n͗̽͑͗̾͜g͊̌̑̒ ͤͪͨ̍ͭ͠y̏o̶͒͆̈ủ̡̽̍͐͑̽ ͯ͟e͌́̒̍ͫ̂͡v̍̑͆̽ͣͩȩͬ̓̓r̒͑ͭ̓̀̀ ͤ̾͌ͮͭ̃k͒n̋̏͂ͨ̃eͭ̽ͯͭͯ̀w̨̎
̶
̊̌͆͌́R͊̿IP͒͋P̐E͗D̵̃ͭͬ̓̓̄̓
̛ͥ͊̎̈́̓̋̚
ͫy̷̏̌͒̈́̚o̵͐u͋ͮͥ̇ͧ͌ ͪ͌a̛͌͛̃̓̋̅̚r̶̓̏̈͆̋e̛͆ ̢͆̍̅̽ͧdͣͮ̓r͡a̵̓͒ͪ͆ͯͯẅ̄ͭ͌̽n ̅́̆ͣ̚̕iͫn͜t̆͑̉͆̇o̴ͪ͌͆͛̈́̂̅ ͗̀H̀̇͒͐̀ę͗͊̑l̵̏̿͌l ̓͗wͦͩͮ̔ͥ͑i͋t͋ͣ͑͘h̿̐̉̄̇ͯ̉ ̛ͬ̎̄ͫ̂̎̒a̾̉ͭ͗ ͨ͡s̑en̂ͫͫͯs̨a̿ͨͤ̃t̆̌i͆ͣȏ͊ͭ͢n̒̽̒͒ ̆ͦ̾̈̀͋l͐̃̅͑̌i͑͂ͣ̒̈̍̇k̋̍̓͂̂ͧ̚͘ȅͯ҉ ̌͊̈b̷́e̒ͧͮ̂̏͑i͐ͬͭ̓͝n̵g̿͑̄̀̂͐ͫ ͑͌ͨ̓̓r̋ͭ̉ͮ̊i̓̍̑̔̄̄̋͘pͦ́̎̈́̍ͯ͑p̋̂̆͟e̶͋ͮͫ͆d̛ ̡fͯr͗ͤ̍̉ē͠e͋ ͦ̑̿fͤͪ͌͊r̸ͮo͑̿̋̓̇m̋̃̓͛̈͂͌͢ ̛ͯ̀ͤe͊̊̆̕v̍ͯ͌̋̚e̾ͧ́͛̌r̢̉͐ͯyth̽̔̉̉ͣ͒͜iͮ̀͞n̒̐̇g ̌ͤ͂̎ͮ̕y̡ͧ͐͋̌ͬơ̓ͯͤ͑̽̓̉u͗̈́̌̚̚҉ eͨ̽v̴ͫ͋ͨ̇e͑r̂̑̄̿ͯ̚ ̒kn̈́͢ew̛͋͑

̌ͦͨͤ̿͏ā͑̕ ̃͗̒̃̒̇̉͠f͛͌ěe͝ľ̋̂͆̏̾į̋n̷͐̈́̔̔ǵ̒̉̒̀́ͩ͜ ̆ͬͦ͂̓̃̃͞lͨ̎ͧ̐̏̅̓͝i̾͂̈̄ͮ͗̑k̑̂e̽̌ͮ̎͒ͬ ̽b̋̍̎̔͘ȇ͝i̛͌͂n̈ġ̐̈ͮ҉ ͗ͥ̑́̀͌̄d͑̅̆͐͢e̓̀ͫ̅́͊ͧv͒͂ͩ̃̅̚ou̿́͂̿̉ŕ̨̑̆ͯ̀ě͝d̽͂
̉͛͆́́͆͡
̧ͨ̎ͬͤ̀ͭH̛͂͛͊̔ͧ̐U̧ͣ̏͊̔̉̊ͨR̴͗́Rͥ̈́̾ͪ̓ͦ̈́͘Y͌̏͋ͮ̂̐ ͯ͗̉͢

ͧ̂de̐v̌̋o̿̊ͩͥuͥ͑͟ȑͪ͌̅̋̌̚e̽ͩ̀͛ͨ̽͐d̴̔
̴̔ͯͮ͒͋D̴̎̐͛͊Ȅ̽͊̽ͤ͏Vͨ͂͊͂ͧ̍̀Oͯ̑̉Ůͪͩͨ̔̀̚Rͪͤ̈́̽̃̈E̶͛͑ͯͦ̌D
̓ͥ͆̓ͮ
̶ͫw̄͗̑ͤ̈̐̽r̓ͯ̔̃͏ȍͣ̃̈͐͞n͆ͨ̔ͥ̃̌̌͝ģͣ̈ͭͭ̍ͭ ̂̿͗wͯͮ̍͑ͯr͗̀͗̒ͬǒ̶̄ņ́̀ͫ͊̍ͯg̐̄ ̎͗͐̆̅͟w̢ͤ̓řͩ̌ͣ̏͊̕oͬ̄͑nͮͫ͌̉ͨ͢g̢͗ͣ ͥ̽͊͊̆͊w̢r͊̍͛ͭͨ͑̈͘őn̾̆̀͌̽̕g̔́ ̓ͦ̾̄w̍rͮ͂o̐̍nͩ͊g̛
̒
̍̚t͊͂ͨ͒͐ḩ͛̄͋ͤ̄̚e͑́ŕe̵̍͒̎ͥ̽ ̈̋͐ͫ͗ȃͥ̋̀͜re̊̈̉͌ͫ͡ ͣ̎ͩͧt͋͑̊͌̐̄ͩe͊̊̌̈́͋e̔ͣ̆̔tͥ̐̓́h̵ ͮe͒̑ͬͮͬͫ͆vͦͨ̍̑ͭ͑eͧ̈r̴ͧ̆ͣyw̄͒h͊ͨ͐͋͐ͤ̾͘ë́̂̎ͣre̿ͣ̀ͪ̀̂̑ ͯ͗͞ã̶̊ͫ̌ͪn̴̓̉d̏̇͠ ̈́͛̋ͭi͡tͫ̍͞'̍͐s̔ͨ̉ͪ̃͑ ͨ̓ͭ̌͂ć̛o͐ͤ̄̓́ͩ͑͘l̶̇͋ͬ͋ͦ́d̡ͣ͋ͤ̽̌͂̊
ͣ
͋͑̅͗͛̂eͯͤ̔ͩ̓̆̾̕v̶ȅ̽͆ry͌͑ͭ̚̕t͗̍̀ͩhͪ̓̍̿̅̀i̡ͨͣ̌ͮ̇n̄̈́ͦ̉͗҉g̢̓ ͧ͑ͭ͑ͬ̈́̃͘i̷̿̈͆sͣͬ ͒ͤ̑̓̅ẁ̋̋͂r̿o̍͛̈͌n͡ġ̓͛͌̾̄̆̀ ͆ͧ̿̋̋̎͒́e̓v͋̓̒ͣͫ̚ěͦr͐yͬ͛͋̃͑̿t̡ͫ͗̀̈́͗̏hͯ̄̍́i͠nͪ̽̃ͦͮ͊̍g͆̅̅͜ ̧ͨ̿̏ͩi͛͠sͬ ͦ̈́ͨ̒͐̒̇w̉͗͌ͬ́͟r͋̋͂̂̏ͨͨo͒̀͝n̢ͨ̔ͥ̉̇̀g̵ͣ͐̃̆ ̂évͥͧ̐̅̽͟eͥ̆͋̀̎ͥ̀̀r̵̈́̊y̾t̑̔ͧ͂h̿̊͑͗ͭìn̓̉͋g̿ͬ̓͆ ͗҉is̑̆̽͞ ̵wr̐̽̑͂̑ͧ̚̕o̷̅̆n͐̍͋̓̂̓g͆̕


From the wedding, you are lead into the hotel itself and through to the reception hall, which is, in a word, ostentatious. Thanks, Shuri Oak Mayfair! But the food set up on the snacks buffet looks good, the cake looks exquisite, the menus at each table look like the dinner fare is going to be extravagant (if you can . . . read them), champagne flows freely, and the live band (who are probably demons, let's be real) is playing elegant classical music just like Shuri surely dreamed of for all these years. Lucia has changed into a reception dress and refreshed her makeup since crying on the way over, too.

Get some food, dance, perhaps give the happy couple some dramatic and drunken speeches?


Tristan leads you around to where the guests are largely already sitting or, well, mulling around in preparation for the sitting. Chairs are set up on a nice lawn around behind a large mountain resort hotel.

Most of the people who have stayed in universe or are already from this place are already here, including a pair of extremely transparent ghosts, a large number of uncomfortably-dressed demons, Lucia's parents, and Kazuki (implying David must be around here somewhere even if he is not currently in sight). Shuri is here, already by the gazebo, with one of the ghosts hovering next to him at least half as anxious as he is. Lucia is not yet here, but then, she wouldn't be, would she? She has to have a proper procession when the time comes. Asmodeus is conspicuously absent as well.

Mull, catch up, but remember, when the music starts, you need to take your seats.
Stop me if you know this one—

You wake up blinking in the sunlight. The air smells fresh and clean and a bit cold, and the ground beneath you is grassy and sun-warmed. There is a slight whiff of smoke in the air, which is probably coming from the burnt, zig-zagging marks scorched in the grass, forming a massive summoning circle. You're on a cliff overlooking a large, placid lake, lined with pine and redwood trees.

There is a demon sitting in a lawn chair, wearing sunglasses and drinking a martini.