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“Dr. Devorak and Ms. Iris Bergeron,” Ben duVos called over the hubbub of Imalia’s annual solstice celebration.
Fondly, Mal rolled her eyes at Ben as she went to greet the latest additions to the party. “It’s an informal shindig, Ben...you don’t have to stand on ceremony,” she told him.
Ben looked scandalized at the mere suggestion that he be anything less than flawlessly formal. “Perish the thought, Lady Imalia.”
Behind where Ben stood in the parlour doorway, Iris and Julian stood fiddling with their shawl and coat respectively.
“Julian!” Mal exclaimed, embracing him warmly in greeting and clapping him on the back before turning to Iris and hugging her as well. “And Iris! I’m so glad you guys came!”
“Wouldn’t think of dreaming of missing it! And, as requested, Madam Ambassador--” Julian gave a coy pause while he pulled a glittering bottle filled with an amber-colored spirit from his coat and presented it to their hostess. “--the best John Crow Batty the Golden Gulf has to offer.” With a conspiratorial waggle of his brows, he added: “And by best, I mean highest proof.”
“Ah, this is perfect! I knew I could trust you with bringing the good stuff,” Imalia exclaimed. “But hold onto it for me for a bit, would you?”
“Shall I hold onto these, too, then?” Iris produced two small jars from her bag: mace and nutmeg.
“Please and thank you,” Mal confirmed. “Now come in and get cozy! Have something to eat, grab a drink! Once everyone’s here, we’ll have a toast--I think we’re just waiting for Muriel and Lyra.”
“I hope you told her the party started two hours ago, then,” Iris said with a laugh. “Lyra’s always--”
“Perfectly on time, thank you very much!” Lyra flipped her long, blonde braid over her shoulder and shucked her cloak. Behind her, Muriel loomed, carrying a basket no doubt filled to bursting with all the pies and cookies and treats Lyra made.
“Whatever lets you sleep at night.” Winking at her older sister, Iris nudged Lyra’s hip with hers.
“Mr. Muriel and Ms. Lyra Bergeron are here, Lady Imalia.”
“Yes, Ben, I noticed; thank you,” Mal said with a snorted laugh. “Welcome to the party, guys! As I was just telling your sister and Julian, come in, grab some food--or set yours down on that big table over there if you brought some--and get comfy!”
“...And what should I do with these?” Lyra held two lemons in one hand and a small muslin bag containing something dark and spicily fragrant in her other.
“Hold onto them for me for a bit. We’ll need what everyone brought in a few,” Mal told her. “‘Til then, like I said, eat, drink, and be merry!” Giving Muriel a gentle pat on the back as he moved off to unload Lyra’s goodies onto the buffet table, Mal sauntered back into the hubbub of the party, the others trailing after her to get snacks and libations and greet friends.
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Another hour and a half saw the party in full and raucous swing. Guffawing at the finish of his own tale, Julian sat in a chair by the fireside with Iris on his lap, while Lucio, sat on the ottoman across from them, rolled his eyes, said, “That’s nothin’. This one time near Venterre-- ow!”
Azalea had playfully kicked his shoulder. “Don’t you dare tell that story!” She shrieked with laughter, resting her foot next to Lucio on the ottoman.
“But baaaaaabe !” Lucio whined. His lower lip thrust outward in the beginnings of a full-on wibbling pout.
“If you tell it, you’re sleeping alone tonight. Alone alone--the dogs will be more than happy to cuddle with me instead of you.”
Displaying exceptionally rare good judgment, all Lucio did in response was cross his arms over his chest, striking quite the regal figure as he hunched in on himself, sulking, with a muttered, “..... Fine .”
Across the room, Nadia and TaiMin, her partner, chatted with Asra about something metaphysical (likely the only others in the room who could have kept up were Azzie and Mal). Snatches of their conversation wafted around the room: TaiMin saying something about how to merge magic and technology; Nadia positing theories and ideas for mechanisms; Asra sharing ideas for augmenting spells.
Meanwhile, by the buffet, Portia and Lyra were discussing the merits of different pie crust recipes--the former was a fan of cold water and butter, while the latter swore by ice and lard--and behind them Etoile and Muriel, their respective partners, exchanged looks filled with loving exasperation over their comparatively diminutive partners’ heads.
A piercing whistle, like the sound of a firework taking off, sliced through the tumult, and all eyes shot to the source: Imalia. She stood proud, head high and hands on her hips, a smirk on her face, near the buffet table. Behind her, Ben wheeled in a table with a large cut-crystal bowl in a silvery stand and matching glasses, while his daughter, Avery, followed carrying a tray with gleaming tongs and a strange silver object.
“If I could have everyone’s attention for a moment,” Mal half-shouted so she could be heard in all corners of the room. “The time has come for me to do my host-ly duty and make a very heartwarming, maudlin, but exceedingly genuine speech, culminated by a toast.”
The party shifted closer en masse to Imalia and the table with the bowl, looks of curiosity on several faces (and abject boredom on Lucio’s; Azalea poked him in the ribs when she noticed).
Mal cleared her throat and continued. “Each of you was asked to bring an integral element tonight to assist in the assemblage of an enigmatic article for our solstice soirée; now is the time to share! Fork it over!”
As she spoke, Avery and Ben collected what the guests had brought: Ground ginger and a cone of caked sugar from Portia and Etoile, while Nadia handed over a luxurious sheer pouch containing pale green pods and dry, dark brown berries on behalf of TaiMin and herself. Seemingly out of the aether Azzie produced a small bag of oranges, and Lucio fumbled around in his breast pocket, coming up with a handful of half-broken rolls of pungent cassia bark. Lyra and Iris, Muriel and Julian dutifully surrendered their supplies as well—lemons and spices and, as previously extolled, the most overproof rhum that could be had.
While Ben and Avery laid the guests’ offerings on the table with the bowl, Asra added his part, a few dark, star-shaped pods of a Nopali spice. Then, with a great flourish and a solid thud of bottles slammed onto a table, Mal laid her ingredient with the others.
Julian gasped, hand flying to his breast in gleeful shock. “ How did you get your hands on three bottles of Massandra Kagor saperavi!?” He picked up a bottle, spidery fingers trailing over the label as if to read it by touch; Ben set to work uncorking the others while Julian admired the bottle. “I haven’t seen this vintage outside of Nevivon!”
“Well, I had a bottle in the cellar,” Mal told him. “But the other two I, uh...let’s say I absconded with them from the last meeting of courtiers Valerius had the graciousness to host.”
Lucio crowed, giving a whooping cheer laced with bawdy laughter. “Atta girl, Mal!”
“Shuddup, would ya?” she replied jokingly. “I’m trying to do a thing here. Aright, so. We all brought something. On their own, each is merely a spice, a fruit, a liquid resultant from the complex interactions between the biochemical development of the grape or sugarcane, the reactions involved in fermentation or distillation, and terroir. But together—can you give me a hand, Avery? You grate, I’ll slice, and Ben, you pour, please!” Each began grating the spices, slicing the fruit, or pouring the wine the guests brought into Ben’s sparkling bowl.
“As I was saying, alone, these things are not at all much. But together, they make something much more, namely,” she paused to lay the silver object Avery had brought across the open top of the bowl. “A very fine, very boozy Seiruun punch!”
A chorus of cheers and applause rang out from those watching. Julian and Lucio were particularly enthusiastic, the latter beaming with excitement when the sugar-cone Etoile brought was laid onto the object, a tray, laid across the bowl. He had an inkling of what was coming, and his suspicion was confirmed when Julian’s rhum was poured over it; Lucio gave a gleeful cackle.
Mal held up a hand, asking for quiet again. “Without each ingredient, this drink, this party, this moment wouldn’t be able to be. Without you, all of us would be less.” She stopped a moment to take a deep breath; Asra laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. Smiling at him, then her guests, she kept on. “If we didn’t have the spice and passion you bring to our lives,” she gestured to Portia and Iris, Muriel and Lucio, Asra and TaiMin and Nadia. “Or the sweetness,” she indicated Etoile and Azzie, “or even the tart and bitter,” Mal exchanged a grin and a snort with Lyra. “The rowdy,” she joined Julian in a theatrical bow, then wrapped an arm around Ben’s shoulders on one side of her and Avery’s on the other, “and the lovingly supportive, our lives wouldn’t be as rich and as wonderful as they are. Ah, fuck.” Turning her head to the ceiling, Mal blinked furiously and blew out a breath, then laughed. “Told you this speech was gonna be maudlin.”
A few soft laughs joined hers, some a bit watery (Julian let out a loud sniffle, while Etoile’s eyes glistened, and their partners clutched at them, wiping away a few tears).
“All of you make my life richer and more complete for being in it. This party, this punch is a celebration of that. Thank you all for being here together tonight and in my—and each other’s—lives always. You truly make things…” She pointed a finger at the rhum -soaked sugar loaf held aloft over the wine and fruit and spices in the punchbowl. Bending her thumb as if it was a trigger, sparks and flame erupted from her fingertip, igniting the sugar, which began to melt and drip into the punch. She leveled a positively evil look at her friends, her family, and mimicked Julian’s signature eyebrow waggle. “ Magical.”
Her terrible joke was met with a chorus of groans and chuckles alike, even loud BOOs from Asra and Azalea.
Ben and Avery poured glasses and handed them ‘round. Once everyone had a drink in hand, Imalia raised hers, drawing Asra in with her arm around his waist; he raised his, and the others all followed in kind.
“I’ve done the maudlin speech,” Mal told them. “Now it’s time for a toast!” Pausing, she took in the moment, gazing around at those assembled: great friends, found family, people she loved, and who loved each other, more than life. She smiled and pressed a kiss to Asra’s cloud of curls before raising her glass higher and making her toast:
“To a day when cheer and gladness blend—when heart meets heart, and friend meets friend!"