Microwaved Leftovers

CW: References to ritual sacrifice and implied violence

“I’m telling you,” he says, toeing the door shut behind them, “my cousin thinks he can get Kalroth the Ever-Consecrated for us.”

She smiles, rolling her eyes as he helps her take off her coat. The fabric slides from her shoulders, heavy with the evening cold. “Yeah, right. As if Kalroth the Ever-Consecrated would ever show up on such short notice.”

“You know my cousin.” He leans forward, hooking a thumb into the back of his shoe. The motion almost throws off his balance, and she almost rushes to him when he wobbles uncertainly, but then he manages to lean a hand on the wall to steady himself. “He can be pretty persuasive,” he continues, trying to play it off.

“He’s good at persuading people out of their credit-card information, I’ll give him that,” she snorts, gracefully slipping out of her heels, lining them up by the entrance. “Even if he’d somehow manage to get Kalroth the Ever-Consecrated for us, though, that would mean we’d have to bring, like, at least a hundred virgins.”

“I mean… Yeah.” He straightens, giving her that look — earnest, hopeful, a little pathetic. The puppy look. “But it’s Kalroth, though.”

“We both agreed the wedding should be a small affair,” she patiently reminds him, stepping into the kitchen. There’s still a faint iron smell wafting about from their last hunt. She goes to crack open a window, and she hears him trailing after her.

“Penny. A hundred virgin sacrifices isn’t excessive. It’s self-respect,” he opens the fridge, frowning thoughtfully. “So, what are you craving tonight?”

She shrugs, taking a seat at the dinner table.

“What’s on the menu?”

“Let’s see, we have…” He peers inside, rifles around. “Stale bread. Always a classic. Gut soup. Or…” His face lights up. “Oh, fuck yes, we still have leftover human carbonara.” He doesn’t wait for her to answer, already lifting the pasta container in victory. He begins waltzing with it towards the microwave, like it’s some sort of imaginary lover. She giggles. She loves him most when he’s like this, all silly and domestic. This is what her future could look like, what their future could look like. Suddenly, she feels herself start to frown. She clears her throat.

“Actually, Malachor,” Penny begins carefully. “I was thinking. About the virgins.”

“Yeah, I know, we settled on 10 max.” He’s too busy punching in the time for reheating leftovers to look at her. “I was mostly kidding about Kalroth earlier. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, Mal, I mean…” She presses both palms into the table, grounding herself. Or, well. Trying to. “What if we don’t sacrifice any?”

He stills.

The kitchen seems to tighten around them, the hum of the fridge suddenly too loud, the neon lights too bright. He turns slowly, and it’s like the air shifts — sharp, charged, like the static-y moment right before a lightning strike. She braces herself.

“You… don’t want to give any offerings to Lord Phallux the Eternally-Erect?”

“Look, it’s…” She shifts in her seat, squirming under his scrutiny. “Can we please not make a big deal out of this?”

“You want to skimp out on the offerings for the fertility god, and I’m the one making a big deal? If he somehow notices he’s been shortened —”

Her eyes widen. “What? What, no, that’s not what I — I’m saying we should skip the fertility ritual altogether!”

“Oh.” He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, so… So, okay. I just think it’s kind of weird that you changed your mind now. After I’ve already called my people. They got the candles and the salt ring for the sacrificial pentagram and everything.” He hesitates. “And I was, y’know, sort of looking forward to bathing in virgin blood together before the altar of Lord Phallux the Eternally-Erect.”

“My best friend didn’t have any virgin sacrifices for the fertility god at his wedding either,” she says stubbornly, “and he and his husband have a son now. So they did just fine without Lord Phallux.”

Mal steps closer, his movements slow and careful as he considers his partner.

“Listen is this, like…” He clears his throat. “Is this about the money? Because if it is, you know my parents already agreed to pitch in.”

“No. I mean… Maybe a little? But also, like.” She wants to find the right words, figure out a good way to say it, but she’s too impatient. She goes on, hurtling them both into a conversation neither are really ready to have: “Do we really need the ritual? Or — or the ectoplasm for the banshee choir? Or the ceremonial human hunting knife, or the Blood Ledger —”

“You don’t want to write our names in each other’s blood in the Ledger?”

The microwave dings, loud enough to startle them both. Penny wants to laugh, wants to share an amused look with Mal at how they both almost jumped out of their skin because of their reheated leftovers, but Mal’s face has shifted into something unusually serious. It doesn’t look right on him.

Suddenly, a loud ding startles them both. They look at each other for a moment, and Penny wants to laugh at how they both almost jumped out of their skins because of the microwave, but Mal’s face is unusually, achingly serious. It doesn’t suit him.

He turns away, carelessly dumping the pasta onto two plates. Truthfully, the food looks awful. The sauce has separated and congealed slightly, and the human meat looks dry. Shitty leftovers indeed.

“I, uh,” Penny fumbles for her words, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence. “I’m not necessarily saying I don’t want to write our names in the Blood Ledger, Mal. I guess I’m just wondering if… If we really even need to sign our consent for an ancient dark spirit to bind us to one another until the end of time?”

“That’s how this all works, hon.” He sets the plates down a little harder than necessary, but he’s finally looking at her again. “The ancient dark spirit can’t bind us without both of our consent.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” She gestures helplessly. “I meant we could, just… Be together, without the magic binding part.” He grunts in response, taking his own seat across the table.

“I can compromise on the sacrificial virgins. I can even compromise on the banshees and the knife, but the Ledger, Pen?” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “My parents aren’t gonna attend our wedding without it. You know how traditional they are.”

It’s her turn to be annoyed now. She stabs her fork into the pasta. “This isn’t about your parents, though. It’s our wedding.”

“Yeah, exactly, Pen! It’s our wedding,” he snaps, then winces, lowering his voice. “I want my parents to be there! I want us to plunge the sacrificial knife into a human with you! I want that! I’ve always wanted that, and I really wish you’d have talked with me before suddenly deciding you don’t want any of it!”

“I haven’t decided anything, I’m simply questioning —”

“Well I’m questioning why we should even have a wedding without any of the… The traditional wedding things!”

“Because we love each other,” Penny says quietly, after a beat.

The silence stretches out between them, as they both absently play with their food. Penny pushes her pasta around, all appetite gone. Malachor cringes when he accidentally hurts his teeth on a finger bone, spitting it lamely back onto his plate.

“This carbonara sucks,” he mutters petulantly.

“It really does,” she smiles, despite herself.

They meet each other’s gazes. “Mal…” she begins, “Look, I’m sorry, I think I went about this the wrong way…”

“No, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have raised my voice. Say what you have to say.”

“I guess I just… I’ve been thinking a lot. About the Blood Ledger, especially. I mean, I know it’s an age-old tradition, but I… Listen, I’ve already told you about my family. My parents signed each other’s names in the Blood Ledger so the dark ancient spirit would bind them together until the end of time, and look at them now, right? They hate one another, but they can’t get away. They’re fucking miserable.”

“We’re not like your parents,” he tries, reaching a hand across the table to squeeze hers.

“No, but they were like us once,” she says softly. “I’m just saying… I know this is something you’ve always wanted. All the typical wedding stuff. And I know it’s not fair that I’m bringing all of this up to you so soon before the ceremony…”

He looks at her intently, expectantly. She continues: “I love you, Mal. But I don’t think I wanna be bound.” She pauses. “Ever,” she emphasises. “Do you… Still wanna marry me?”

He’s quiet for the moment as he leans back in his chair to look at the ceiling. Her heart tightens like a fist protesting his silent deliberation, but she allows him to think. She can’t help the shy hope in her chest, but she tries to quiet it down. Then, suddenly — he laughs. Soft, almost surprised at himself.

“When it comes to you, it’s funny how much you wear me down sometimes,” he smiles still looking at the ceiling, “Like goddamn sandpaper.”

The words hang there, in that weird, liminal space between them. Penny doesn’t move, but her soul deflates. She tightens her eyes closed, waiting for him to continue, waiting to be crushed.

“And yet,” he says. Then again, softer: “And yet...” She feels him gently lift her chin with his finger. She hesitantly opens her eyes again, looking at him. “I reckon you could just about sell my kidneys and shoot my dog and I’d still wanna eat shitty microwaved leftovers with you.”

The tightness in her chest loosens. A wet laugh escapes her, and she takes his hand to rest it on her cheek.

“I don’t know what this says about me,” Mal adds, “But, tradition be damned, I don’t want a future where you’re trapped. Not with me. Not with anyone. And if I can’t have a future with you, I don’t want one at all.”

“So… We’re really doing this? No sacrifices or dark gods?” she asks hopefully. He brushes a thumb over a tear rolling from her eye.

He smiles at her again, and it’s not the bright, eager smile from earlier, but something steadier — something real. Maybe more real now than it ever was.

“Yeah, let’s give ourselves a shot. I love you, Pen. No spirit binding required,” he says. “Though… Maybe just one teensy virgin sacrifice?”

She snorts, kissing his knuckles endearingly.

“Alright,” she laughs, “Just one virgin sacrifice, as a treat.”