ring of fire

@dantehart

216 posts

“Yeah, I know the wedding industry s’fucking insane. S’why we’re having a small ceremony. Not about to blow our money on this massive party when neither of us even like a lot of people.” Nevermind the fact that they truly didn’t have a big circle of people, but even if they did Tristan was sure of one thing, and they absolutely would have done this regardless.

“Well, reckon if I can just rent one, might be better, right? Not exactly planning on suddenly going to a bunch of fancy parties to justify buying a tux.” Not that he knew how much buying it would be versus renting it, but he’d figure it out.

“Y’know, ‘m not even nervous about this. S’that normal?”

"You do realize I'm the worst person to ask that question to, right? I'm not married, or even close to being married. I could probably come up with something profound though, if you wanted." He smiled before clearing his throat, as though he were an expect speech giver, prepared to spill the gospel. "I think, with most things in life, the more calm you are about a decision, the more sense it must make to your brain. Which isn't to say that nervous energy isn't good, too. But it's usually peace that we should try to follow, not anxiety."

He didn't know if it made sense, but to him it did. There was a key difference between nerves and anxiety, and sometimes they managed to parallel and intersect at random. All Dante knew was, he only ever wanted a love that made him feel like each day was more exciting than the last.

“Of course not. Where the fuck would I be going that ‘d have to wear a suit?” asked Tristan. He couldn’t ever remember going to anything formal that would require one. Of course, the fact that he didn’t own a suit also was telling. “I s’ppose so,” said Tristan as he scratched his bear. “You can rent clothes?” he asked. Clearly, they hadn’t gotten to the part where they’d actually picked up their outfits.

“It would be a good story to tell,” agreed Tristan. “Might still tell it that way just for the laugh of it all.”

Dante knew that Tristan was serious with his question, but that didn't stop him from laughing. "Oh, my sweet, sweet friend. Of course you can rent clothes. The wedding industry has been built on the backs of selling women overpriced wedding dresses, and telling men to rent a suit for a day. It's a great option for someone on a budget." All of that time spent going around in malls with Dawn was apparently finally paying off.

"I always used to rent a suit when friends got married, until it made more financial sense to just buy one. Your choice in the end, but there are plenty of options out there for you."

Dante was pretty certain he had never heard of a better offer in his entire life. Mostly because, regardless of why he was there, he would be watching his best friend get married, and who the fuck didn't love that? There were a few constants in Dante's life, and Tristan had been there throughout, lending dry humor, plenty of beer, and a surprisingly helpful hand along the way.

"When I upstage both of you at your own wedding, you'll regret those words, Ward. Especially since I'm guessing there's no real dress code you're about to enforce. Hey—are you going to wear a fucking tux? Please tell me you are."

It was hard not to roll his eyes at Dante. “No, there s’no real dress code since it s’at City Hall, so I reckon the dress code s'whatever they’re enforcing. So, y’know, wear some shirt, shoes and pants.” Tristan shrugged. “Don’t need you to show up naked and get kicked out. That’ll upstage us, but also could land you in a bit of trouble we’re not looking for on the day.”

“Well, yeah,” he murmured. “Orlaith wanted to wear the dress, so it’d just be stupid of me to not wear a tux. Get a proper wedding photo or two and look like we did something nice.” Which was at least a step up as Tristan would have bet good money once upon a time, that the only way he might have ended up married would have been drunk and in a casino cathedral. At least he was doing it sober, and in an established government building looking formal.

"Have I ever seen you in any kind of suit before? I'm trying to remember, and I can't recall a single time you've really dressed up. Are you renting one?" Dante had plenty of questions for someone who hadn't been to a wedding in ages. Most of his friends on the force had settled down young, as many firefighters usually did. Something about the importance of home life stability with such a grueling job.

He nodded his head. "No, no, I won't show up naked. I like my job, and wouldn't want to be fired after I'm seen embarrassing the city. It would be a good laugh, though."

“Honestly, ‘m very impressed you haven’t broken down yet,” said Tristan sincerely. Knowing how emotional Dante could get, part of the reason he had waited the week was working himself up to this moment not sure how his friend would react. He knew he’d be happy, but how happy had been more the question. “I s’ppose there’s still the wedding day itself when you might lose it,” added Tristan thoughtfully.

“If you want the job it s’yours,” shrugged Tristan. He hadn’t even thought of a ring bearer or a flower girl or any of that, mainly because they wouldn’t have enough people to even fill those positions. “‘M sure Orlaith would be okay if you were the ring bearer. Flower girl. Hell, you can be both.”

Dante was pretty certain he had never heard of a better offer in his entire life. Mostly because, regardless of why he was there, he would be watching his best friend get married, and who the fuck didn't love that? There were a few constants in Dante's life, and Tristan had been there throughout, lending dry humor, plenty of beer, and a surprisingly helpful hand along the way.

"When I upstage both of you at your own wedding, you'll regret those words, Ward. Especially since I'm guessing there's no real dress code you're about to enforce. Hey—are you going to wear a fucking tux? Please tell me you are."

“Yes, ‘m getting married,” said Tristan. He knew anyone who heard the news would be blindsided. Tristan had set up the expectation for anyone that met him that he would unequivocally stay unattached. “Y’know, fuck it, we only live for a short period of time, so figured I ought to make m’life count for something.” It sounded almost cavalier the way he said it, like he might have been only getting married for some arbitrary reason that didn’t have to do with love or truly feeling like this was the right step, but for Tristan, it was wrapped up in all of it. In feeling like he didn’t want to waste time anymore because he felt like his feelings on the topic, or for Orlaith, couldn’t change into something more and something real.

“Yes, well, we only got engaged ‘bout…” He paused as he counted in his head. “Two weeks ago? And we decided we’d get married next week about a week ago. So, s’all moving quickly one way or another. We don’t want to wait and we’re just having a City Hall wedding.” He shrugged. “We can still celebrate.”

"I should get an award for how well I'm not being all soppy right now. My name should be strung up on banners. A parade might just be on its way." No two people deserved this kind of happiness more, and Dante was just happy to be a part of it in some small way. It felt good to see hope and optimism seeping into his friend, like maybe something Dante had done or said at some point actually stuck. Likely not, but wasn't that the point of friendship? They shaped one another. They crafted something better than out of what they found initially.

He stepped around the counter, clapping Tristan hard on the back, squeezing his shoulder. "Is this you asking me to be the ring bearer? Because I swear, it's the job I'm best cut out for."

Tristan couldn’t stop the twitching at the corner of his lips that indicated he was fighting a smile. He went ahead and took another sip of the beer. “Yeah, mate,” said Tristan. “Decided to ditch the girl, had to see if it could work out between us. Especially since ‘m getting married on Sunday. Last chance to see if it could work out between us before then. In fact, if you’re free before then, that feels more appropriate.”

It would be like Tristan to just say it in the midst of a joke, just drop the news without any sort of preamble, other than asking about his availability.

"Married? You're getting fucking married?" He stood up straight, a blinding grin on his face that could be seen from space. "You motherfucker, you're really doing it. You're settling down for good. I never thought the day would come." And with Orlaith, too. Dante really couldn't have seen any of this coming. Not when Tristan had spent so long avoiding anything even close to real feelings in a relationship. It had always been Dante that people might have assumed would already be pushing strollers.

His grin hadn't faltered once. "Hang on—Sunday? Mate, that's fucking insane. You're giving me a week! How are we supposed to celebrate in a week where I work a 24 hour shift the day before the wedding."

Tristan gave his friend a look and rolled his eyes. “Brilliant,” he said as he made his way inside. It was a testament to how comfortable he felt with Dante, able to simply walk inside and raid his fridge for a beer.

“So, ‘ve got a question for you,” said Tristan, as he thought about how best to approach what he really came here to say. He took a gulp from the bottle in his hand, and then bit the inside of his cheek. “Are you available next Sunday?” he asked. He knew Dante had an odd schedule given his job. It wasn’t exactly a typical nine to five sort of day with firefighters. He also decided a casual delivery was best.

Dante put his keys on the counter, leaning over on the old battered up granite. "Sunday....Sunday. Well, I haven't taken up any belief in god suddenly so, no church for me." He grinned before his eyes went over to the pinned calendar on his wall. While he certainly knew how to operate technology, there was something about a physical calendar that made everything in his head easier to parse out and understand. His entire work schedule was up there, meticulously written (he didn't meticulously write anything), for ease of use.

"No, no. I'm doing 24 hours on Saturday, so I'm free for two days after that. Are you about to ask me on a date? Because, you know, I have been sending you hints for year now."

“S’not like me at all,” agreed Tristan as he ran a hand through his hair. Dante wasn’t wrong. Tristan could be impulsive with silly and stupid things, but when it came to handling money and how he spent it, he was always more thoughtful. He had always understood the value and never spent it on anything other than what was needed. Suddenly, he was catering to his whims.

“Exactly. S’probably why I think through what I buy. Having to return something like this? ‘D definitely lose money.” After all, didn’t they say the value of cars depreciated as soon as you drove it off the lot? Seemed like the same thought would apply to any vehicles, motorcycles included.

Clearing his throat. “You got anything to drink?”

Dante let out a laugh, already half-turned to the apartment above the small grocery store they were in front of. He could see the owners inside, giving him a quick wave and smile. Community. The thought of it might have had him holding back tears if he had more time to think about it. Thankfully there was a distraction around, and thus no opportunity to start blubbering in the streets. Not that anyone around here would be surprised.

"Pretty sure I have a few beers in here from when you came over last time. People can say what they want about you, but you're excellent at making sure a friend's fridge is always stocked with the best of the best." He was pretty sure it was the cheapest beer around, but the point of drinking a beer was rarely to taste it. At least in his experience.

“I dunno,” said Tristan. “Just walking by a shop that sells them, and started looking. And then it just all kind of turned into a blur and suddenly, ‘m test driving one and it was such a smooth and nice ride and by the end, I ended up owning one. It was like when I bought m’camera. Just couldn’t stop thinking about it.” He held that up. Nowadays, he carried it in a bag that he just kept on his person almost constantly. “One of those things I couldn’t stop thinking about.”

Tristan followed Dante’s gaze to the car. “You know, as long as it gets you where you need to go, s’perfectly good.” That had always been his philosophy when it came to just about anything.

"That's not really like you. You seem like more of a think it all through and agonize over spending that kind of money for a while before finally deciding to go through with it." For as long as Dante knew Tristan, he understood that his friend was conscious about money, and what it was all being spent on. He was proud of him for buying something for himself. Something he really wanted. "I think so long as you're happy, that's what matters. Imagine if you bought it and then fucking hated it. Christ."

“Of course ‘ll wear a helmet,” he said, holding it up to show Dante that he had it with him because he’d worn it so he could ride the bike. “Already have m’sweat all over it and everything.” Tristan didn’t make a face as he rubbed his shoulder. “Don’t need the gory details. Think I can conjure up that mental picture m’self.” Not that he wanted to, but of course now that Dante had put that thought in his mind it was all he could see.

“115 horsepower,” said Tristan immediately. “Used. Haven’t exactly got that much money. Not for a new one, anyway.” The price of a new motorcycle was essentially the same as a car, and he and Orlaith already had a car that they only used if he was driving to begin with. No point in getting another one. “S’kinda an impulse purchase. I don’t do shit like this ever.”

"What made you pull the trigger on it? Did you go an fall in love with a motorcycle? That's pretty romantic of you." Dante was circling the bike now, pretending as though he knew more about it than he actually did. This was far away from his area of expertise. The closest he ever got was when he was arriving at scene and looking at the motorcycle in pieces, along with the riders. Anything with a motor was better off as far from Dante as possible.

"I like my old piece of shit Subaru. I get trapped in it half the time, but you know, something about the ugly yellow color of the exterior captures my heart every single time." Dante's eyes moved down the alleyway where it was parked. "What a ride," he said wistfully.

when: 14 july 2024 where: outside dante's home who: @dantehart

Tristan stood outside Dante’s place, showing him the new motorcycle he’d gotten just two weeks ago. Given that Dante might have just been the most level headed person he knew, he wanted to get his opinion on the purchase. “What d’you think?” he asked. “Stupid or cool?” Not that whatever he said would really change. It’s not as if he could return it now, not really.

Okay, there may have been an ulterior motive in dropping by to see his friend. Though, he decided he would rather find a natural place to introduce the news, and figured coming ready with some sort of excuse made the most sense. “You ever have to go to motorcycle accident scenes?” he added.

Dante was grinning, mostly for the fact that a motorcycle just made sense where Tristan was involved. "I'll always support a motorcycle, so long as you always wear a damn helmet, you fucker." He clapped Tristan on the shoulder harder than actually necessary. "—Because yes, I've been to too many motorcycle scenes and you would not believe what the human brain looks like when people conveniently forget that key piece of equipment."

Fun was fun, but Dante, especially with age, had learned the importance of safety, too. It shouldn't be that foreign to Tristan, given the vital nature of something like a condom. Helmets were just head condoms. "How many horsepower does it have? Did you buy it new or used?"

"You would've been a baby about it if I gave you a warning," she replied, gently dabbing the antiseptic around, cleaning up the blood as she did so. With her free hand, she handed him the wipes to clean his hand, and within a few moments she was done, and Dante was now all bandaged up.

He was still grimacing as he wiped away the remaining blood, hoping that this shit wouldn't scar. Was there anything worse than getting a scar from the most innocuous of incidents known to man? "I'd have been a baby either way, don't you worry. Breaking a bone feels like a piece of cake in comparison to some of the cuts and bruise you get sometimes." Dante nodded. "Thanks for that. The wine will be all the more worth it now."

"I haven't," she knelt down in front of him, unzipping the first aid kit, digging through until she located some wipes and the bandaids. "I think I'd be pretty rubbish at it. If I was the murderer, I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face." She gave him no warning because pressing the cold cleansing wipe to his wound. It had stopped flowing blood at least, but the floors he landed on would have been filthy.

"OUCH!" Dante yelped, the sound of his voice practically echoing in the empty store. There was no point in pretending like he wasn't an absolutely baby, if only for the fact that it wasn't often that anyone bothered to take care of him. His parents gave up on that task a long time ago, and Dante was usually good at nursing his wounds in private. A task that sounded more pathetic the longer he thought about it. "That was fucking mean," Dante said through gritted teeth.

#ch: dawn #no dates exist here

"If you do, I'll support you." She replied solemnly. Their to do list was growing and growing, as was their shopping list, but that was okay. Because even if they were stuck, it would be fun. Dawn found it impossible not to have fun with Dante -- perhaps that was why she always invited him along to run errands.

"There's a homewares department on the top floor. We can grab everything we need on our way up, then set up camp up there." It was the perfect plan. "But first, sit down and let me put a bandaid on your before whoever opens up in the morning thinks a murder took place."

Without having to be told twice, Dante slid to the floor. He was always excellent at following directions, and when it came to blood, he knew better than anyone that wounds should be taken care of. "Well, it could be worse. There could be an actual murder happening right now and then we'd be in the middle of a Whodunnit. Ever done a Murder Mystery night?"

“Well, a little pink won’t fix it completely, but it might help. Half my team have messed up toes too. It’s the shoes.” Dawn, being who she was, had taken preventative measures. Sorry, but she didn’t want a bunion. “We can find some polish if you want. Once I’ve fixed your chin.” It was turning into a real old slumber party.

"Feet really do fucking suffer. You know, maybe I support a solid foot fetish. Someone has to give these fuckers some love, since it won't be any of us." He nodded, more than willing to put on nail polish, which didn't make him special, it simply made him bored and trapped in a large department store for the night. "We'll definitely need some blankets and pillows. Maybe a lamp if we can find one."

“God, I wish.” The store had a salon, but obviously they wouldn’t be open right now. “I could use a pampering.” She looked down at Dante’s feet, as if she’d be able to see the toes in question, despite they were currently in shoes, it was dark, and they were climbing up the stairs. “What’s wrong with them? I’m sure a nice pink would brighten things up.”

"Oh, they're all fucked up. Some of them have been ripped off, and they're growing back all gnarly. At least I'm not a ballerina, their feet are something else entirely. Those are toes that I would never once mess with." He respected fucked up feet, but he didn't need anyone to get it twisted and start thinking he had some sort of foot fetish. Well—maybe he did. That was to be determined.

Dawn just shook her head, like she'd gone and become some sort of martyr in this moment. She dug around in the cupboard of the customer service desk, letting out a little "Ah!" as she discovered a small first aid kit. "Now let's go get that wine." After all, she couldn't patch him up without some pain relief.

Dante was just following Dawn around like a lost puppy, her phone's flashlight leading the way, along with the tapping of her shoes against the ground. "I guess now would be a bad time to suggest that we get pedicures," Dante said, laughing through it as he spoke. "I've always wanted to have someone fix my fucked up toenails. Wouldn't even know where to begin with the colors I'd pick for them, though."

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