The reception was held at a brightly lit open-air pavilion on the other side of the park. Tables and chairs were set at regular intervals around a wide dance floor. High above, soft white lights dangled from strings that had been woven into the wooden beams of the roof. Two bars had been set up on the far side of the building, one on each end of a long table covered in flowers and gifts.
Mako made straight for one of the bars. Korra followed him. The bartender, an older woman in a crisp white uniform, smiled as they approached. "Ah, my first customers. What are you having?"
Mako scanned the offerings. It was the typical assortment of beer, wine, and liquor, though he was unsurprised to see that most of it was rather high-end. An unfamiliar bottle caught his eye. It was bright green, and filled with what he imagined was some kind of dark liquor.
"What on earth is Queen's Lightning?" he asked, squinting as he read the label.
"Hoo boy, that'll knock your socks off. It's basically grain alcohol. Made from some kind of prairie grass down south. The bride and groom requested it special. I think it's some kind of joke between them."
Korra raised an eyebrow. Mako shrugged. What the hell.
"Two please," Korra said. The bartender nodded, pouring two generous tumblers over ice. Korra took them, then handed one to Mako. "Bottoms up," she said.
He eyed the dark liquor suspiciously. Up close, it looked more like engine oil than anything he should be drinking. He hoped this wasn't Asami's idea of a joke. "Bottoms up."
It may not have been engine oil, but it tasted like it was in the same general neighborhood. Mako coughed. His throat burned. Beside him he heard Korra sputter. "Damn," she said. He glanced over at her. Her face was red. Her eyes had started to water. She grinned. "That's an experience."
Mako was on his third glass of Queen's Lightning by the time they finished dinner. At least the food was good. Both Asami and Iroh were "into" food in a way that Mako had never quite understood. They were always searching out these little holes in the wall across the city, raving about everything from giant koi caviar to sandwiches. To Mako, food was fuel. He ate when he was hungry, and though he had some preferences it didn't matter overmuch what it was. His pantry at home was mostly stacked with instant ramen.
Thankfully, Iroh and Asami had eschewed many of the more tedious elements of a wedding. Mako had been afraid that what was technically a Fire Nation royal event would be hours of pomp and circumstance. But Asami had no family to speak of, and although she said it was fine Mako knew she was grateful when Iroh had offered to skip most of the traditions. Asami had walked alone down the aisle. There were to be no individual dances besides their own, and there had been precious few speeches, too. Iroh's parents had given their tearful remarks together, followed by a roast from his oldest brother that made Iroh turn so red he looked like he was choking. Korra had also given a speech in her role as pseudo maid of honor; there had been no wedding party, either. That was all. The whole thing was refreshingly modern.
Mako looked across the table at Bolin. His brother kept staring at Opal, and his face couldn't be more transparent. He would be very surprised if he wasn't doing this whole thing again in less than a year. Great.
"All right," said Korra as she flopped down into the chair beside him. "Cake time!" She looked down into her own, empty tumbler. Given how much she'd had to drink, Mako was surprised that her speech had gone so well. But then again, performance under pressure was Korra's whole job. He nodded to her, drained his glass, and stood. He gave Korra a stiff, exaggerated bow reminiscent of Iroh's more formal bearing, then trotted off for more drinks.
The evening wore on.
At one point Mako came back to their table to find, not Korra, but Iroh. After a few seconds, he realized he'd actually gone to the wrong table entirely. He'd had quite a bit to drink at this point, and apparently he'd simply gotten lost. He glanced around the room and saw Bolin and Opal dancing. Korra was off to the side, chatting up a knot of men in bright red coats. Traitor. To Mako's displeasure there had proved to be far more single men in attendance than women. Somewhere off to the side he heard Asami laugh.
He sat down, balancing his drinks. He'd learned that he could get up less frequently if he carried four drinks at a time instead of two. He set them carefully on the table, then pushed a tumbler in front of Iroh. "Congratulations," he said. Iroh had come by with Asami earlier on their rounds, and Mako thought he'd already said as much, but it was hard to remember.
"Thank you," Iroh said. He looked down at the glass skeptically. "I already had two drinks tonight though."
Mako snorted. "Two drinks? It's your wedding, man. With any luck, you only get one. Live a little."
Iroh smiled. He picked up the tumbler and examined its contents. "Is this stuff actually any good?" he asked.
"No. It's positively disgusting."
He put it down. "I'd better not."
"Come on," Mako said. "You can't not try it. I heard you had it special ordered. From somewhere with grass." Mako thought for a second. "It would be disrespectful not to have at least one."
Iroh frowned slightly, then tipped the glass to his lips and took a healthy swallow. He sucked in a breath, then coughed slightly. "That's certainly different," he said. He took another, slower sip, grimaced, then drained the glass. Mako pushed a second drink across the table.