Now that you mention it, Bronson's looks really are quite pervasive. He is not bad looking at all, either.
I have to agree with Lily on Black Sabbath. 
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Bronson was actually one of the least-attractive spouses in the dynasty, in my opinion, but he was still quite a looker. He makes pretty daughters.
I agree with neither of them about Sabbath. I'm all about Dio's work with them.
Yeah, Bronson's bloodline is definitely pretty dominant! I really liked their relationship, especially how it started. Julian, too.
It actually took me far too long to realize "wait, he's the nephew of Pansy's boyfriend too!" But they were one of the few couples that started out young, so I liked writing them.
And so the mystery genes are revealed. Way to pull one over on us and deny traditional dynasty conventions, Trip! Plus, Julian gets to have more nooboos this way. Thinking of Loki, did we ever get to see a picture of him all grown up? I'd love to see one. The Bronson genes are crazy strong. The first thing I thought when I saw him was, "Hey, that's Jo's nose! And her dad's!" The ears, too.
To be fair, a lot of the male spouses of the dynasty had kids on the side, and Julian would have been no exception. His genes were far too good to confine to one nooboo.
You're in luck, because I had a picture of Loki lying around for whatever reason. Here he is. Please ignore his awful, game-generated fashion:
And for the sake of comparison, here's a CAS-shot of Samhain, sans makeup:
(The makeup really made a difference with Samhain. It's so weird seeing him without it!)
I knew Jo's nose had to be a Curious one! I guess it could be a Baker nose too, both families have impressive schnozzes. My money has been on Curious from the beginning though.
I liked the way you worked in Marc and Lincoln's residencies at the Waverly house - I remember you saying that you brought in the occasional male elder townie for spawning purposes, and I'm amused at how subtle you've been about it.
Also, I recently learned what shoegazer music is supposed to be, and to me it sounds like 90's heavy grunge. I don't get why it's called shoegazer as it doesn't make me want to gaze at my shoes - then again, I am oldish, so these newfangled terms and such confound and confuse me.
The Baker nose looks better in profile. Bunny's nose and facial structure are my least favorite features on her, but of course Bronson got them.
While I brought elderly men into the house to father more children, "occasional" doesn't describe it well; there were very few times before generation six that I didn't have some man in the house for the sole purpose of making nooboos. Most of it was just not story-significant and just gets mentioned in passing.
Shoegaze was named because it's heavy of guitar effects, which are operated by pedals on the ground. So guitarists playing that type of music looked at their shoes a lot while performing. The More You Know!
HOLY WATCHER I WAS RIGHT?!
That you were! The ears also give it away; I thought I could fool someone into thinking that someone else in Twinbrook was responsible for Jo's big ears (her hair covers them well, but her ears are quite something), but they're Bunny's, through and through.
Chapter 48: One Witness
Annette sat at the breakfast nook, stirring a splash of skim milk into her espresso roast and watching the first of the winter snowflakes fall from the window. Throughout her time in the house, all those years, she drank enough mugs of coffee there to leave a cluster of rings on the counter. Whether it was the second-hand drip machine she got on the cheap when she first came to Twinbrook, or the percolator she got soon after Franco was born, Annette enjoyed her wake-up coffee (because waking up could easily be the afternoon).
She shared coffee with a lot of people in her years, but that morning, one coffee-buddy from the past stuck in her mind. He wasn’t the one she was closest with, since every immortal had coffee with Annette, nor did he bring the most crucial of conversations to the table, because I’m sure that Annette discussed plenty of things about the end of the dynasty over a pot of coffee.
However, a long time before that, Annette still swept her long brown hair back into a high ponytail, and disregarding the new stretch marks all over her torso, her skin was firm and smooth. That morning, when she was still young, she was a new mother with an even newer percolator for her coffee, making it just as her father did. When it came to her story, there was one detail so consistent that it had to be true: her dad made coffee in a percolator. She told it to every immortal when they had their first cup.
On her first morning with the new percolator, Annette almost drank her coffee alone. But as she lifted the mug to her lips, someone broke the silence. He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip without stopping for cream and sugar.
“A percolator? Wow. My mum used to make coffee in one, actually. I didn’t know how much I missed it.”
Adjacent to Annette was seated a purple-clad stranger, better known as Harwood. In spite of the two of them splitting the utilities bills ever since Annette first arrived in Twinbrook, their friendship quickly decayed and the two of them could spend weeks without ever crossing paths in the same house.
“Funny seeing you around. My dad always made it this way too. I thought I’d bring a bit of nostalgia home, and I think I need the coffee.” Annette looked back at the nursery, or in its general direction. All was quiet and Franco was sound asleep, “Being a good parent is sleepless work.”
Without a full cup of coffee finished to clear the morning, Harwood was in no mood for Annette’s comments.
“Annette, I am very well aware that I’m a horrible father,” Harwood said, “But I still care about my children. It would be nice to experience the things you will, such as weddings and grandchildren, but at this point, they won’t remember me no matter how much attention I give them.”
“That does sound pretty awful,” she said, staring into the brown abyss of her drink, “
Really awful. Does it bother you a lot?”
“Well, let’s just say that I’ve considered stealing your money at night to have science give me a longer life. I would give a lot of money to have some time for a normal marriage and a normal family, but I'm too nice to take what's yours, and I don’t think science has caught up yet anyways. So I will just rot in the ground and hope that the kids will do well without me watching.”
Quite a few years later, Annette sat with a similar cup of coffee on her son’s second wedding day. His future bride, with her black hair and olive skin and Harwood’s name on her birth certificate, was in the middle of one of her sporadic naps. However, Franco was awake and ready to prepare for his big night, starting with a cup of coffee and cream. He approached the table, smiling with a cup of coffee and cream in his hand.
“Well, I hope this is good enough for you,” she said to herself.
“Woah there, Franco,” she said louder, staring at the bit of his chest that peered through his bathrobe, specifically the inked handle of a sword, “You finally got your ink done?”
“Though I’d go with tradition,” he said, smirking.
When Annette said that she got matching tattoos with Bill, Franco loved the idea, but Hannah didn’t have any tattoos of her own. After Julian gave Franco some old newspapers with pictures of Hannah’s parents, he saw the top of Harwood’s old chest piece: a sword. It was that or Sofia’s pink stars, and pink tattoos against pink skin was horribly ill-advised.
“Good job. Nervous about this strange ‘excited’ feeling you finally have?” she asked him.
He smiled shyly.
“Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m pumped,” Franco said, “And she suspects nothing.”
“I do like your surprise-wedding idea, mister. And don’t worry about me. If you want to be alone with her tonight, I have a pint of cherry ice cream and a whole season of
It’s Always Sunny reruns to tide me over. Plus, Hephaestus is like a grandkid to me. Of course I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Thanks, mum.” For one moment, Franco was extremely grateful for everything his mother did for that day. She even brewed the coffee to robust, smooth perfection. He enjoyed his grateful reverie until he heard heavy footsteps down the stairs.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Annette said, “I have something more important to tend to.”
In his tight, violet boxer-shorts, Bronson leaned over in the fridge to get a plate of eggs that Annette left for him. She got a view behind him, with her eyes locked on his muscular frame and the most beautiful rear end of anyone she ever lived with.
“Nice,” she whispered, with an annoyed Franco breathing down her neck.
“I cannot believe you,” he said, “You actually thought it was a splendid idea to let my daughter’s adult boyfriend live with us?”
“Franco, darling, it was a tough decision for me,” she said, before bursting into laughter. “Except it totally wasn’t! The kid is hot, and this is just my way of making sure that stays in the family. Suck it up, kiddo, and work your styling magic on him before Lily comes home from her sleepover at Emma’s. I got the underwear all set, but the rest is your call.”
“I hate your guts,” he snarled, before leading Bronson to the dresser.
“So you’re a headbanger, huh?” Franco asked, in an attempt to be diplomatic and hip.
“Well that’s an outdated term,” Bronson said, “We say ‘metalhead’ now.”
“Okay then. Is leather still a thing?”
“I’ve wanted a good jacket ever since I bought my first Judas Priest record.” Franco then handed him a black leather jacket.
“Black is pretty cliché now,” Bronson said, “You saw my undies. I like violet.”
After a shopping trip, Franco indeed found a studded, violet leather jacket for Bronson. How peculiar. He held Bronson’s curls in with a loose beanie, and finished his work.
While Franco bathed, ironed his formal coat, and made sure that he had all of the rings, a made-over Bronson greeted Lily. In his boxers. Although she whispered “nice!” upon seeing her boyfriend’s new pajamas, the two of them chastely made their way through Lily’s very long math homework assignment for the weekend. They worked through trigonometric identities when Franco and Hannah walked out the door, for something Franco advertised as a leisurely drive around town.
They drove and drove, with some weird packages in the trunk, all the way up to the family’s cemetery at Willowglen Ampitheatre. They trudged through the heavy snow, which was past their ankles.
“The cemetery,” Hannah said, “Are you still crying about Shark? Do you need me here for that?”
“I can do that myself,” Franco said, “But it’s a lovely place that my mum picked out, over here. I always ask myself why she built the wedding chapel at the fishing hole instead of here.”
“Because then she’d have to bury the dead at the fishing hole,” Hannah answered, “And, really, the ‘swimming with the fishes’ pun is too obvious for that to be taken seriously.”
Franco chuckled, covering his mouth with his hand. “I love a lady with a joke. Well, I’d love you if you were humorless too. I mean, god, how many times a day to I tell you that you’re a dreamy spot of sunshine in my life?”
“About a baker’s dozen, but I’m okay if you improve on that.”
“Well! I have a way to improve, if a bit of a different one,” he said.
“Oh, is that the reason you brought the wedding location up?” she asked, as Franco got down on one knee, “You’re finally making the move?”
“Ta-da!” He presented her with the ring, a beautiful band of 24-carat gold inlaid with the biggest, shimmering diamond a sim could elegantly wear, “I guess I’m five decades too late with this, love, but will we finally make things right?”
“Yes! You made it expensive!” she exclaimed.
“Only the best for my darling. So, are you ready?”
“As ready as you are.”
Franco put the ring on her finger. He perfectly sized it without her knowing a thing about a ring being the result, thanks to his mum’s little tip of measuring ring sizes while your significant other sleeps. The diamond sparkled brilliant white in one of the garden lights.
Hannah remained dazzled by the stone on her finger, but she knew that the ring had a longevity of however long it took her to change into a wedding gown.
“If I’m getting this right, you have every intention of marrying me right here, right now,” she said, “Right?”
“Exactly.”
“Did you bring a gown?”
“Babe, I’m the best stylist in Twinbrook. I have your measurements written down in five different places. And I think you’ll love what I found. It’s in the trunk.”
Hannah slipped into the long white gown, accented with an aqua belt and gloves. “Oh Franco,” she said, “You really are a fashion phenomenon.”
“So, are you ready now?” he asked her.
“Absolutely.” He handed her the simple wedding band to get the vows started.
“Wow, I never thought I’d have to do this on the spot,” she said, fidgeting with the ring in her hand, trying to get a grip on it with satin gloves. “What to say? We’ve messed up. Mostly you, but even Ms. Awesome isn’t Ms. Perfect.” She got her grip on the wedding band.
“I promise to condense what should have been decades and decades of awesomeness into however much longer we can do this for,” she said, “You deserve all of that awesome.”
At those words, Franco melted into the goofy smile that every groom in the family had on during their wedding vows. The ring squeezed his finger a bit as Hannah spent a good minute trying to get it on over his leather gloves. Eventually, it tightly compressed his finger, even though his ring size was the biggest one commercially available. The loving look in Hannah’s eyes made him forget about one of his fingers slowly losing circulation.
“I had a bit of time to prepare,” he started. He perfectly picked up the ring he had for Hannah.
“Honey, you were always somewhere between goddess and soulmate for me, from the first time we met. I fell in love with all of you. And I spent years denying it! My simple promise is to not make that mistake again.”
The ring fit over her thin gloves perfectly, and for the few seconds that it took for Franco to make sure it was securely on her finger, Hannah also had the goofy smile, that every bride that wasn’t me had during their vows.
They clutched each other’s hands as husband and wife, looking longingly into the eyes of the other one. Both of their hearts raced upon realizing that they reached their final, intended point.
“Finally,” they whispered in unison.
And they sealed it with a kiss.
While the two of them remained locked in an embrace, tasting each other’s tongues, there was no breeze, but one of the bushes rustled a bit anyways, shaking off the snow from its branches. At first, they both thought it was a squirrel, but the rustling continued until the two of them looked towards the bush. No one was visibly behind it, anyways.
“This night is perfect,” Hannah said, still holding her new husband in an embrace, “Absolutely perfect.”
“Always glad to please, darling,” said Franco.
“Though if we were younger,” she said, “And if our fathers were still alive, then it would be even more perfect. I’d fit into a better wedding dress, and, well, I always wanted to meet my dad. But regardless of that, my dream would be for him to walk me down the aisle.”
“We made some mistakes, but maybe when this whole stupid thing is finished, we can renew our vows and be young and beautiful again, and I’ll buy you the most beautiful wedding dress I can find. We can bring your dad back to watch, and mine too. I promise that, actually.”
“I’ll trust that.” Hannah sat down in the snow, her white gown blending in with the white powder. “Wanna watch the snowfall? Stars and sunsets are so boring now.”
“I’m up for anything with you.” He sat down in the snow too, with his pants half-submerged in the flakes. The snow still fell, falling on the tips of their noses and on top of their heads. The hills surrounding them were covered in beautiful virgin snow, and the willows’ branches turned white from the collecting powder.
“Here’s to life with you, in this lovely place,” said Hannah.
“Here’s to life.” As he started to put his hand around his lovely bride, the bushes stopped rustling.
Their one witness could stop hiding.
Dear old Harwood watched the wedding of his youngest daughter from behind the bushes, as not to disturb her. Perhaps he could have been an official, legal witness, or walked her down the steps of the ampitheatre to the best of his ghostly ability, just to make Hannah’s night a little more perfect. However, she still smiled and melted into her husband’s arms, leaning on his shoulder as the snow continued to fall, absolutely unaware that her father was watching.
A single, spectral tear rolled down his cheek. Harwood couldn’t be more proud.
He decided that it was best to leave the lovebirds alone. He floated up the hill before they suspected a thing, admiring the view of his hometown blanketed in snow. Perhaps he could check on his other elderly, aging children, or their kids. Or maybe, Harwood would just find a good view on a tall hill, and sit up against a tree and take note of what changed in Twinbrook and what stayed the same. What he did that night is lost to history, but whatever he did, he left no damage. He spent his entire night in peace.
Why not? One of his kids finally made it to the altar.
Word Count for this chapter:
2,552Word Count so far:
75,911Harwood haunting during their wedding was completely random, but I can't think of a more fitting spectral witness for the event. It was his way of making it up to Hannah for being a deadbeat dad, I guess. He even stayed far enough away as to not distract them. What a good witness!
So that's why I had the flashback at the beginning of the chapter. If the ghost was, say, Amy, I'd have to think of something different.
