[Because
Kenny Roger's "Lady" is the perfect song to play in response to this.]
He never drank. Inima knew he never drank. Well, not heavily. But here he was, blind drunk in the middle of Suna, completely undignified for a temple warrior, with his head buzzing and the earth tilting dangerously to the side. Akash managed to right himself beside the pillar of the bar he'd just stumbled out of, keeping his form steady although he wanted to simply pass out and be done with it right then and there.
It was a lot easier of course, than waiting around to be killed. He'd paid the price once before and lost his tongue. Sometimes that was enough, but it was easy for those of higher station to decide it wasn't. An inability to speak those secrets did not bring any satisfaction or equity, and it was decided that in the days following the festivities that the knowledge he had was simply too much to be borne.
That was it. The walls were closing in all around him, and there was nowhere else to turn. His fate was sealed. So what did it matter how much he drank tonight? So what did it matter if he stashed his name into one of the matchmaker's jar? If his name was called, and he was wed, he'd be dead within the next few days regardless. Treason, conspiracy, and Goddess knew what else they would say he'd been party to.
Akash took in a deep breath, letting the breeze brush against his fevered flesh, and he righted himself enough to stand at the base of the crowd that gathered before the stage. He parted through them none too gently. Thankfully most of them were distracted enough as the Matchmaker began to call out the paired names.
He sniffed, grinning and chuckling to himself. He hoped his name was called. This way, before the end, he could say he'd wed a beautiful woman with bosoms large enough to keep a river raft afloat. His brow quirked and he had to blink twice, and saw a woman before him fitting exactly that description. Doubled-vision certainly made him see double the breast size, or so he thought when he staggered forward and tried to wrap his arms around the stranger.
"GET OFF ME!" came the squeal, and the matched man beside the small woman snatched Akash by the shoulders and shoved him back. His feet tangled, and he stumbled forward, smashing his face against the ground. It was a good thing his head was already throbbing, and his face was numbed from drink. Akash pushed himself up, kneeling, hands brushing away the blood from his lower lip, and the scrape that tenderized the flesh of his right cheek.
He rubbed his raw palms against his thighs, and then he heard his name. Yes. From somewhere in the crowd. No. It was above him, on the stage! Panic set in, and as he stood, his eyes whipped around wildly.
"Akash Aviir!"
The double-vision settled momentarily, and he found enough balance to step forward. Akash clenched his jaw as he made his way toward the front of the crowd. And as if by Inima's hand, it parted, and there she was. Rings of moonlight shone down on her yellow hair and alabaster skin. No river raft bosom, but that didn't seem to matter. The gleam in her brown eyes sent chills down his spine and before he knew it he was moving forward, limbs moving as if wading through an opposing current.
Somehow, his mind blocked out the din, and his eyes remained trained, steadily on her. Akash licked the blood from his lips.
"One night to live. Another day to die," he told himself and he smiled momentarily, standing toe to toe with her and reaching forward, grasping this stranger's face that had been chosen as his wife, and pressed his malleable lips to hers.