Marcia was staring up the double staircase, with her back to him, when Adam entered the Grand Hall. The dress she was wearing wasn't her style at all, but she looked cute in it, and Adam supposed that he had Azazel to thank for that—or maybe blame was a more accurate term.
"What's that noise coming from up there?" she asked, as he stopped beside her.
Adam grimaced. "Crowley, I think. They've been on their honeymoon since the engagement."
"So, this is your godfathers' wedding that I'm crashing against my will, then?"
"Yeah," Adam said. "I don't think they'd mind, if you wanted to stay."
Marcia cast her gaze upward, as the noise took on a more frantic pitch. "I doubt they would notice that I was here. But, somehow I don't think that your date would like that very much."
"Oscar wouldn't-" Adam started, but he really had no idea how Oscar would feel about it.
Marcia held up a hand to wave the offer away. "No, it's fine. We ended it months ago. You don't have to pretend to be sorry that you've moved on. I was the one who broke up with you, remember?"
"Hard to forget," Adam said. "Oscar and I,… it's new. I've only known him for a week. I wasn't out looking for a new conquest, the day after we broke up. Not that you were a conquest,… or that Oscar is. I just mean…" Adam sighed. "I'm really sorry about Azazel. He was completely out of line. He mostly means well… sort of, but he can be a complete idiot sometimes. He's not very good at reading situations, and he didn't know about Oscar."
Marcia hummed, noncommittal. "He really is your mother then?"
"He's the one who gave birth to me, anyway."
"Then I suppose I owe you an apology."
"If anyone should be handing out apologies here, it's me. I never wanted to drag you into all of this, and I guess that was the problem. If you hadn't broken up with me over the whole possibly cheating on you, with my mother, thing, there would have been something else. Though, I have to admit, on the list of reasons I've been dumped, that was a new one. But, I should have been up front with you from the very beginning."
"Up front about what, exactly?"
Adam hedged, still not quite decided on whether he should lie to her, or tell her the truth. He wasn't sure that she would believe the truth anyway, even after spending time with Azazel, but, what could it possibly matter? This time tomorrow, he'd probably be busy helping to rule in Hell, and he'd never see her again. If she walked away thinking that he was completely mad, then at least she'd feel justified in having dumped him.
"So," he started. "Azazel is my birth mother, and the guy up on stage just now is my father."
"The man playing the violin?" Marcia asked.
"Yeah."
"Well, I know where you got your good looks from, at least. I always wondered a bit. You look nothing like your father. Your adopted father, that is. So, I suppose I believe you, but why would I care who your parents are?"
"You didn't happen to catch which song he was playing, did you?"
"Sympathy for the Devil," Marcia answered.
Adam raised his brows at her meaningfully.
"What?"
"Let's just say that it was a particularly apt song choice."
"What does that even mean?"
He should just say it. "Marcia, I'm the Antichrist." Actually, that felt kind of good. "My father is Lucifer Morningstar. My mother is the demon Azazel, the original scapegoat—though, having met him, I think you can understand why. I call God my grandmother, though the familial relationships there are a bit hazy. I've done carpentrywith Jesus Christ. I almost started Armageddon when I was eleven. And, this time tomorrow, I'll probably be ruling in Hell, because Oscar Wilde gives really fantastic blow jobs. So, I'm sorry for wasting your time, but I can't imagine why anyone would want to be involved with all of that if they didn't have to be." He tried on a reassuring smile. "I'm sure you'll meet someone with less baggage."
"You're the Antichrist," she repeated, the words dripping with sardonic disbelief.
Of course she didn't believe him. He didn't know why he should have expected otherwise, but it still hurt, a bit. Still, he thought that he saw a flicker of something behind her horn-rimmed glasses—a touch of recognition, the sense of gears clicking into place, and unexplainable occurrences suddenly being given an explanation, even if it wasn't one that she was ready to believe.
"I'm the Antichrist," he said again.
"But you're an Atheist."
Adam shook his head. "I'm about as far from being an Atheist as it's possible to be. I think God is an egotistical bitch with Her head up Her arse, who should take responsibility for Her creations, and seriously needs to reevaluate how She runs things, or allows them to be run in Her absence, but I know that She exists. My life would be a lot simpler if She didn't."
"You sound crazy, Adam—like some religious fanatic. I thought you were a scientist." She was stepping away from him now.
"I am a scientist," he said. "And I don't believe for a second that the world was created six thousand years ago by a few words from God's lips. She's a huge liar, and The Bible is a bunch of mistranslated garbage and propaganda, but there are celestial and demonic forces at work in the universe, and I'm one of them."
"Sure you are," she said sarcastically, wrapping her arms around herself and taking another step back.
Adam flicked a hand up into the air, calling up a black jumper from wherever things came from when he decided that he wanted them—the recombined elements around him, maybe. He held it out to her. "Here, you look cold."
She jerked the jumper out of his hand with obvious irritation. "That doesn't prove anything. David Blaine can do that."
"I thought you were a scientist."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Throw out your preconceived notions and apply some critical thinking. The universe is a big and mysterious place. You can't understand all of it. No one can."
"So, just because I don't have all the answers, that means that God has to be behind it all? I don't understand computer coding either. That doesn't mean that Google is magic."
Adam sighed. "I'm just saying that you should be open to the possibility that all of your theories about everything aren't going to be right all the time, or you aren't going to be a very good Paleontologist."
"Or maybe this is all some kind of hallucination going on in my own mind—misfiring neurons caused by biological or emotional trauma: Occam's Razor."
"Just because, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, when you hear hoof beats, it turns out to be horses, doesn't negate the existence of zebras," Adam countered. "And usually, when I hear hoof beats, it turns out to be an overly familiar, demonic goat."
Marcia grimaced. "Makeup," she said. "They do it in the movies all the time. The velociraptors in Jurassic Park weren't real either. Those were just people in costumes."
Adam smirked, delighted with the possible rebuttal that her argument had opened up. "Do you want to see a real dinosaur?"
"What? What kind of-"
Adam couldn't bring Marcia to Hell, only Death, faith, and the arbitrary breaking of a bunch of outdated edicts about morality could do that, but he could bring Dilly to her.
He snapped his fingers and grabbed her by the shoulder, to pull her out of harm's way, as an adolescent, but swiftly growing, Eustreptospondylus skittered across the tiled floor and whacked his tail against one of the marble pillars.
Dilly cocked his head up at Adam, gave a squawk and ruffled the feathers of his head crest uncertainly.
"You'd better behave," Adam told him. "I will drop your arse on the floor. Don't think that I won't."
"Adam," Marcia whispered from behind him. "What is that?"
"According to you, it's probably just someone in a eustreptospondylus costume."
"What the fuck, Adam? What the actual fuck."
"Do you believe me yet, or should I get my Gran out here, so you can take it up with her?"
He didn't get to hear Marcia's reply, because Dilly took a couple of steps toward them, to sniff at Adam's hair, (looking for his next meal of rare cut-of-Hastur, probably,) and Marcia screamed.
oOoOoOo
Aziraphale pulled his head out from between Crowley's thighs and looked around. "Did you hear
that?"
"No," Crowley lied, gripping Aziraphale's hair and trying to pull him back down.
"I'm sure that I heard a woman scream."
"Yeah, that was me," Crowley said, only partially lying.
"I know what you sound like," Aziraphale snapped back. "I'm telling you. There's a woman screaming downstairs."
"So what if there is?"
"We should check to see if everyone is all right."
"Oh no, we shouldn't."
"Someone might be in trouble."
"God's down there. What happened to your faith, angel? Let Her handle it."
Aziraphale gave Crowley a pointed look.
"Oh, fine," Crowley grumbled. "It isn't as though we were in the middle of anything. Might as well go and see what fresh Hell awaits us downstairs."
"There's no need for dramatics."
"Dramatics? There's a woman screaming in a building full of the most powerful beings in existence— half of whom hate the other half, and vice versa. Don't tell me that you think this is a presage of good fortune."
"I knew that you heard her too."
oOoOoOo
Oscar wasn't trying to be nosy, he really wasn't. He just thought that it might be a good idea to be near at hand, in case Adam needed him.
At least, that was what he told himself, as he lingered next to the closed door to the Grand Hall, holding his drink, and trying not to appear as though he was lurking.
It was also the reason that he was the only one who could hear the scream over the sound of Lucifer's electric fiddle.
He didn't hesitate to go through the door, intent on offering his assistance.
He did, however, stop cold in his tracks at the sight of Dilly.
"Oscar," Adam said. "Help me with her. I can't hold her up and keep control of the dinosaur at the same time. He's kind of freaking out."
The dinosaur did, indeed, look distressed, assuming that the crouched position he was in and the head jerking was some indication. The girl appeared to be suffering from a case of the vapours.
Oscar took a few wary steps toward Adam and put a steadying arm around the young woman.
"It's a dinosaur," she was mumbling. "It's a fucking dinosaur, a living Eustreptospondylus, and Adam's the Antichrist. Did you know that Adam is the Antichrist?" She looked up to meet his eyes. "Oh, you're Oscar Wilde. I heard that you give really good head." She giggled manically. "How's a girl supposed to compete with that?"
Oscar was at an unprecedented loss for words. He took his attention off the girl to give the dinosaur his full consideration. To be fair, anytime one is in a room with a living, breathing, carnivorous theropod, it has a way of making itself the most pressing concern of the moment.
He'd seen pictures of the animal, of course, on Adam's mobile, but being presented with the reality of tightly coiled muscle beneath scaled skin, a chest heaving with each agitated breath, the sharp teeth, behind thin, peeled back, lips, and just the sheer size of the thing, was quite a different matter entirely.
The little animal inside Oscar, that recognized itself as prey, quivered in the face of it, but the artist inside him was overtaken by its beauty. He'd seen a tiger once, at the London Zoo, and it had left that same feeling of fear and wonder deep in his chest.
Oscar's breath caught in his throat, as Adam approached the dinosaur and laid a hand against the side of its face—so close to all those teeth.
He spoke to it gently, murmuring words that Oscar couldn't quite make out, and the animal seemed to be relaxing—nuzzling into Adam's hand.
Then, there was a loud crash from upstairs, and Crowley and Aziraphale stood at the landing, looking down at them from the balcony between the double staircase.
"Oi," Crowley yelled. "I don't think we invited any bloody dinosaurs to our wedding!"
Dilly jerked his head away from Adam's hand and whipped it back and around, quick as lightning, to seek out the source of the noise. His tail cracked into one of the marble pillars in the process, and the balcony rattled.
Crowley jumped back, but Adam maintained his ground, holding a hand up, ready to subdue the dinosaur if necessary.
Oscar held the girl a bit more firmly, and backed slowly toward the door.
"I was just trying to prove a point," Adam said in a calm voice. "Stop shouting. You're scaring him."
"Oh, I'm scaring him, am I?" Crowley shouted back.
The dinosaur screeched.
"Fuck! Yes, alright," Crowley said in a more normal register, though it seethed with sarcasm. "Yes, nice beastie. Nothing to worry about here. Nice to see you. Hope you like cake."
Dilly screeched again, and crouched, tail waving, as its head bobbed from side to side—considering the balcony.
"I think that perhaps you should send Dilly home now, Adam," Aziraphale suggested in a strained tone.
"Uh, yeah," Adam agreed. "I think I made my point, anyway."
Adam snapped his fingers, the dinosaur disappeared, and there was a collected sigh of relief.
"What on Earth made you think that that was a good idea?" Crowley demanded, starting down the stairs with Aziraphale in tow.
Adam shrugged. "It seemed like the simplest way to prove the existence of God, at the time."
"With a dinosaur?" Aziraphale asked.
"You have to appreciate the irony."
"Not to mention, your love of expediency," Crowley sniped. "Who's the girl? I don't remember inviting her either."
"This is Marcia," Adam introduced the shaking woman. He looked to her and gestured at his godfathers. "Crowley and Aziraphale."
"Pleasure to meet you," Aziraphale said, holding out his hand, and she took it on reflex.
"You invited your girlfriend?" Crowley asked, and gestured pointedly at Oscar. "What about him?"
"She's my ex-girlfriend, and I didn't invite her. Azazel kidnapped her."
"That I believe," Crowley muttered.
"Why are you wearing a wedding dress?" Adam asked, suddenly noticing the white satin and lace that Crowley was draped in.
"Because I got married today."
"Well, yeah, but…"
"It went with the cunt, and Aziraphale was bragging about what a cunning linguist he is."
Aziraphale flushed. "You don't need to be crude, much dear."
"He asked!" Crowley threw his hands in the air. "And, now we've sorted out the disturbance, I think it's time we went back upstairs, so you can continue your oral exercises."
Aziraphale gave Crowley a fond look, but then turned to look disapprovingly at Adam. "Unfortunately, I believe that our guests have proven their need for supervision."
Crowley glared at Adam. "Your pet dinosaur just cost me multiple orgasms."
Adam rolled his eyes. "Somehow, I think you'll recoup the loss. Anyway, you're missing the show. My dad's up on stage going all 'Devil went down to Georgia.' It's only a matter of time before Freddie gets in on the chance to put on a show, and God probably plays a mean sax, for all I know."
Crowley froze, considering. "Actually… I think I'd like to see that."
"Does that mean we get to dance, some more?" Aziraphale asked. "I'd love to see how that dress twirls when I spin you."
Crowley looked slightly ill at the prospect.
"Oh, please, Crowley," Aziraphale entreated. "You only get one chance to dance at your wedding reception."
"Yes, fine." Crowley grumbled. "Let's get a wiggle on."
Aziraphale beamed.
"Are you going to be okay?" Adam asked Marcia, when they had gone.
Marcia stood a bit straighter, pulling Adam's magic jumper around her. "That was a dinosaur," she said, firmly.
"Yes," Adam agreed.
"Eustreptospondylus."
"Yes. The resurrected specimen that used to be at the Oxford museum, actually. I call him Dilly."
"Used to be?"
"Until about three months ago. The one on display now is a fake. Or… well… probably a fake. Crowley made it, so it could possibly be real, just not… the original. We were in kind of a tight spot, and Yeshua, that is, Jesus, resurrected him to eat a demon. He's pretty good at it."
"Right," Marcia said. "You're the Antichrist."
"Yes."
She turned to look at Oscar. "And you're Oscar Wilde?"
Oscar nodded. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss."
"Right," Marcia said again. "I hope the two of you will be very happy together." She turned back to Adam. "You were right about one thing, and dead wrong about another."
Adam grinned. "Oh? What's that?"
"You have a lot of baggage. You should have been honest from the beginning, and there's no way that I want to get involved with any of this."
"Well, that's three things, but who's counting? What was I wrong about?"
"I'm going to be an excellent Paleontologist, and I want a chance to study that dinosaur… when there's less of a chance that it's going to eat me."
Adam inclined his head. "I think that can be arranged."
"Good," Marcia said. "Now, I have a party to go to. One that I was actually invited to. I think, after all of this, the least you owe me is a ride home." She glanced briefly at Oscar and amended, "You can buy me a cab, since I see that you're in the middle of a date."
"I'll get you a drink, while Adam arranges transportation," Oscar agreed.
oOoOoOo
Aziraphale and Crowley were making their way around the bar, toward the dance floor, when they all but tripped over Gabriel, who sat on the floor in an undignified heap, giggling, having just fallen off his bar stool.
"Gabriel," Aziraphale said in surprise.
At the same time, Crowley said, "Beelzebub."
"Pretty boy can't hold hiszzz liquor," Beelzebub, buzzed merrily—more than a little buzzed themselves.
"You think I'm pretty?" Gabriel asked, looking up at them with shining violet eyes.
"Form of exszpesszion," Beelzebub dismissed.
"So," Crowley said. "We can add you two arseholes to the list of wedding crashers, along with Adam's ex-girlfriend and a dinosaur."
"Who are you calling an asshole?" Gabriel asked, standing up to his full height and brushing off his jacket. "I'm the Archangel, fucking, Gabriel, demon. I am a being of pure light and God's love."
"Don't throw him in with my szide," Beelzebub protested. "He'sz a defector. And, he'sz right. You are an asszhole."
"Well, you try being nice when you have to manage a bunch of incompetent underlings!"
Beelzebub raised an eyebrow. "Do you really want to compare notesz. You have no idea the incompencze I have to put up with."
"I know! Right?" Gabriel said, forgetting Aziraphale and Crowley as he took a seat on the stool again. "Don't even get me started on the bicentennial employee reviews. Barkeep! Another round."
Crowley gaped at the pair of them, as they fell into easy conversation over their various managerial woes, and looked to Aziraphale in disbelief- silently mouthing, what the fuck?
"Oh, leave them be," Aziraphale said, steering Crowley on toward the dance floor once more. "I imagine that, much like us, they find that they have more in common with their direct opposition than their immediate colleagues."
Crowley winced. "I'm not attending the wedding."
"I doubt we'd be invited."
"We'd better be invited, after they crashed ours."
"I thought you didn't want to go."
"It's still nice to be invited."
Aziraphale gave Crowley a look.
"Yes, fine. Point taken. Why do you think they're actually here, anyway?"
"Everyone loves a wedding," Aziraphale said.
"You really think they were just angry at being left out?"
"Oh, I very much doubt it, but they're too busy fraternizing now to cause much trouble."
Crowley snorted. "We'll have to make sure the photographer gets a few good shots to send to Michael."
"We could include them with the thank you card as well, as a momento."
"Do you really think they've brought us gifts?"
"They had better have done," Aziraphale said, slightly appalled. "It's one thing to crash, but to not even bring a present for the new couple would be very rude indeed."
"And I can't imagine anyone ever accusing The Lord of the Flies and The Archangel Fucking Gabriel of being rude."
"Point taken," Aziraphale con ceded. "I won't expect any heartfelt gifts from them, but the least they could do is miracle up a toaster."
"A toaster?"
"I like toast."