"Celes!"

"What!"

"I just heard, you have to let me plan your hen night"

"I don't know if that's such a good idea-"

"But it'll be so much fun, please let me plan it!"

"I don't-"

"Please!"

"I"

"Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplea sepleasepl-"

"Okay"

"-easeawesome"

"Okay. Oh god."

"This is going to be so much fun, we can invite all the girls we know! Like, you, and me, and… I guess Katarin's got her baby so, um…"

"So you and me?"

"Yeah! It's going to be so much fun! So what do you do on a hen night, exactly?"


In retrospect, she should have seen it coming. That had certainly been true of the proposal itself, from the moment Locke had turned up at her door that night, with tickets to the opera.

He had been wearing a… memorable suit in purple velvet that she was sure she'd seen on a bidder at the auction house in Jidoor the other week, and perhaps because of that was a pleasantly tight fit, and on his face was an expression halfway between smitten and panicking. Possibly his intentions could have been clearer if he'd actually had them tattooed on his face, but not by much.

Despite herself, Celes had melted a little even though he hadn't said the words, but – no, she had a better idea. She tugged Locke into a hug of greeting, trailing her hands down his back. And then further down – wow, either the suit's trouser pockets were far too small or Locke was much bigger than that bidder, and did he actually have no idea what she was doing right now or was he actually too distracted by her hand's placement, because really, Locke? Really? They were standing in the front door in front of the whole world, what did he think she was, one of those harlots from Zozo?

And then Celes finally got a grip on that tiny, tiny box she'd known would be in there, and any disgruntlement vanished as she stepped back and he stepped back and they both stared at the ring between them. Each was caught by astonishment for different reasons: Locke really had been distracted, and Celes had known there was a ring but – there it was. It was real. It was really very real.

Celes tore her gaze from the ring (and it was so shiny, she'd seen an awful lot of rings, it seemed like they were everywhere, but – shiny) and looked at Locke. Locke blinked rapidly and looked back.

"Will you marry me?"

They both said it, but Celes said it a fraction of a second earlier (or so she insisted) and so as they walked down the road that led to the (heavily refurbished) opera house it was Locke's hand on which that shiny, shiny ring was fitted.

("You're sure it won't kill you or turn you into a zombie or curse our descendants?" Brief pause. Heavy blushing on both sides. "Your! Curse your descendants."

"No, definitely not, I ran all sorts of checks."

"Good." Pause in conversation, fumbled ring-putting-on, absence of death noises. Resumed walking. "You know, I like the idea of our descendants."

Resounding slap. Resumed walking. Long silence.

"… Maybe I don't really mind it either.")

And all the world could see that he was hers.


"Katarin? It'll be so nice for her to get out of Mobliz!" What with the pure happiness Terra exhibited at the very idea, Celes had to concede that it would indeed be nice. "And… do Edgar or Sabin have girlfriends?"

"Sabin is a monk, Terra. I think girlfriends are generally frowned upon."

"Yes, but so is beating people up, and he does that all the time!"

"True. You could ask him. Edgar's girlfriend, last time I checked, was the entire female population of Figaro. I draw the line at asking them to my hen night."

"Oh. But I like Figaro's high priestess!"

"I think hen nights, along with romantic engagements, are generally avoided by members of the cloth, but feel free to ask her."

"Okay! So that's… a whole possible two people, and us, already! What about Mr Setzer's girlfriend?"

"You remember the endless, zombie-filled tomb?"

"Oh. Dead?"

"Dead."

"Mr Cyan?"

"Family murdered, including wife."

"Oh. Oh! What about Locke's friend, that nice Rachel girl? Did she ever get better?"

"No, and are you now intentionally being horrifically inappropriate?!" As soon as her mouth closed, Celes winced a little. She felt sort of like she'd kicked a particularly adorable puppy, and Terra's expression suggested she'd watched her do it. Her enthusiasm appeared to have abated significantly.

"I just," muttered Terra, sadly, "I just want you to have a nice night." Abashed, Celes looked away, and the two sat in silence for a few moments.

"Oh! How could I forget! What about Relm?"

"Terra. Relm is a nine year old."

"Really? I mean, I know I didn't spend that much time with her, but I never would have guessed, she always seemed very mature and Edgar always seemed to be-"

Her mouth closed mid sentence, very slowly, at almost the same glacial pace as the raising of Celes' eyebrows. This was the first she'd heard of such a thing, and yet she found herself astonishingly unsurprised.

"King Edgar Roni Figaro," said Celes, slowly, after another minute of silence, "is a massive creep. Strago can babysit Relm, and Katarin's baby, he said he wasn't really up to going out these days. As for… Edgar… the less time he spends around my Locke, the better."


"Locke! Why didn't you tell us you'd finally proposed?"

Locke looked up from his map - the recent upheavals had made the art of treasure hunting far more difficult, but he was enjoying the challenge. He groaned internally. Locke was well aware of Celes' views on Edgar, and had been hoping ineffectively that he wouldn't find out about their approaching marriage. That didn't really make sense, because of course they would have to include Edgar in the wedding party itself. However, Locke had been hoping that if he avoided Edgar for long enough, he might also avoid-

"How many opportunities do you think we get to plan a bachelor party?"

This.