WWJD episode 1

Wednesday was weally weally wet.

‘Perfect’, thought Blaine, leaning back, champagne in hand as his jet-black limo cruised along the expressway. ‘Everything will be more convincing with all this water around for sure.’

‘Honey, let me get this straight. I just tell them to do whatever it is you say right?’

‘Yes, mom’, Blaine replied patiently to the woman sitting next to him, his brows furrowed in concentration as he conspired the events ahead.

‘Are you sure about this? It wouldn’t be nice to make a scene you know? How can I face your aunt if I end up wrecking her wedding?’

‘Just shut the fuck up and do as I say ok?’ Blaine snapped. ‘Jesus Christ, I’ve already got enough on my mind as it is’.

Blaine straightened his tie as the limo pulled into the foyer of the hotel. ‘This is where it all begins’. An instant, plastic smile appeared almost magically upon his face as the door to the limo opened.

‘Evening, evening, glad to see you! Hope you enjoy yourself. Oh, I do hope you will have a magical time today. Don’t you just love the decoration? I saw to it myself! One by one, Blaine made mindless talk to the guests at the reception, all the while keeping his eye trained upon the various artifacts around the room, making sure that they were just as he ordered. It had taken him so long to get the décor of the hotel together, with everything set just right to create the perfect ambiance of mystery and wonder. Pretty tough, especially when you’re designing a wedding. There were six waterpots lining the entrance of the ballroom. They were a very pale, almost alabaster-like tone and had carvings upon it depicting Neptune, god of the sea. That was the theme of the event: water. Perfect, considering the recent weather. However, the masterpiece of the evening was a huge ice sculpture of Slithice, the Naga Siren right in front of the main stage. Hand-carved by Blaine himself, it towered almost three meters tall and with her hands outstretched, seemed to be willing everyone to go to sleep. ‘Oh yes, by the end of today, they will be appreciating my decoration so much more’.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, enjoy your meal!’ As if on cue (and it was), vapor billowed out of strategically placed containers, as well as the mouth of Neptune, exhorting gasps of surprise and wonder from the guests. ‘Well done Blaine, I knew leaving the décor to you was the best choice’, gushed the host. ‘My daughter’s going to have such a lovely wedding thanks to you.’

‘No problem. Uncle, designing this ballroom was my pleasure’. Blaine smiled wanly at his uncle. He needed everyone to be in this mood: Appreciative, and receptive, especially the latter, even more so with this blabbermouth of an uncle. Blaine rose to his feet, ‘A toast! To all around us, may this happy couple enjoy many great nights just like this one’ A couple of people laughed in reference to his thin joke hinting about remarriage but mostly everyone just nodded in agreement and drank. ‘I do hope you have a taxi booked to bring you home uncle?’ pretended Blaine. ‘Of course, my lad! This alcohol only wedding must be a brainchild!’ Roared his uncle, slightly red in the face even though the wedding was only just starting. On the opposite of him, Blaine’s mother could only smile and shake her head.

This wedding was indeed Blaine’s brainchild. Years of studying design, chemistry and the human psychic had cumulated in this day. You see, Blaine was no ordinary child. Born in a manger to a virgin mother, Blaine was a product of asexual reproduction. Of haploid parthenogenesis if you will. Since young he has felt the void the lack of 23 chromosomes created and he longed for something to fill it up. And the thing was fame. If he could make people love him, who cares about just 23 chromosomes? He could have all the chromosomes in the world! This wedding was just the beginning of Blaine’s plan to have the whole world at his feet.

The walls were painted to look like waves. The carpet was a rich sea-blue green in color and the sound of a small waterfall trickling in the corner made the ballroom seem like a huge, underwater air bubble. In fact, the trickling reminded the guests so much of water, there was a constant queue outside the bathroom. ‘Perfect’, thought Blaine. ‘More water out, more water in. The human mind is so gullible sometimes.’

Exactly as he planned, the cases of vodkas and various other alcohols were slowly but surely being drained. Blaine had counted on the way wine bottles were constructed, with a little hole at the bottom end to confuse the caterer into providing too little drinks. The hole in the bottom is intended for the waiters to hold while serving drinks but they also had the added purpose of making there seem to be more wine than there actually was.

By the fifth course, the boxes of Jacob’s creek was totally empty and there was only one shot of vodka left, a shot which Blaine’s uncle drunkenly downed before slurring. ‘Fuck, we’re outta drinks! Damn you Blaine, water water everywhere, and not a drop to drink!’ He then proceeded to slam his fist upon the table before passing out. Blaine, managing to contain his surprise at his uncle still being able to quote The Rime of The Ancient in his drunken state knew that his time had come.

It wasn’t long before the chief caterer approached. Seeing his brother’s drunken state, Blaine’s mother knew that her moment had come. As the second oldest, the waiter turned to her instead to explain the situation. How dreadfully embarrassing, he had not prepared enough drinks. Shushing his pathetic explanation about how her guests ‘drank like a fish in a desert’, his mother said to the servants, ‘whatever he says to you, do it.’(John 2 verse 5). Blaine immediately stood up, a strategically positioned spotlight illuminating him, giving the effect of a halo around his head. Pointing regally at the six stonepots in the corner, his voice came out loud and echoing, a product of his position under the arched roof causing his voice to reverberate through out the hall even without the use of a microphone. It also had the added effect of grabbing everyone’s attention.

‘Fill the stonepots with water’, and they filled it to the brim. And He said to them, “Draw some out now, and take it to the master of the feast.” (John 2 verse 8) Where the caterer was merely embarrassed before, he was positively squirming now. ‘My apologies, master, but we have ran out of ice too. Our standards require at least iced water.’

Both their eyes wondered about the room and came to rest on the same spot. The caterer started to tremble. Blaine looked lovingly up and down the Naga Siren. ‘Get a pick, now!’

Blaine’s toughest job now was pretending to be devastated that his great ice sculpture was going to be chiseled down to cool the drinks for a roomful of drunkards. He portrayed sadness and pain as people tried their best to comfort him, but deep inside he was smiling smugly.

It wasn’t long before the once majestic Naga was reduced into piles of ice inside every ice-bucket. As was The Wine Company’s policy, the master of the feast had to taste the drinks before it was served, even if it was merely ice water. ‘Give it to him inside a shot glass, on the rocks’ ordered Blaine.

However, it was not ice water that greeted Blaine’s uncle’s lips. ‘This is excellent vodka!’ He exclaimed! The guests oohed and ahhed in amazement. Some thought that Blaine’s uncle was still drunk but when they tasted the ‘iced water’, they thought otherwise. It wasn’t long before the room was buzzing with excitement and life again. But this time it wasn’t just idle chatter, this time it was full of praise for Blaine, the haploid man who had turned water into vodka. ‘And in such style too, you could almost swear he had a halo around his head as he went about his business. Could he be? No way, he couldn’t! I’m just saying aren’t I? Don’t mind him, he’s drunk!’

‘Yes’, everything in perfection’, Blaine congratulated himself; ignoring the quizzical look his mother gave him. ‘Of course I could not turn water into vodka’, he thought in contempt. ‘You’d think I really took ten days to make an ice statue? I’m no noob.’ And he wasn’t. ‘Every single inch of the Siren is made from pure, 99% absolute vodka, frozen in liquid nitrogen (really. Open the link.) The solid vodka simply melted when placed inside the warmer water quickly turning it into real vodka.’ Blaine smiled warmly. He could smile in open now, that he has shown his hand. It was all he could do to keep the gloat off his face. ‘These people love it. Just you wait to see what I have in store next time’.


Thanks for reading my story! do leave some comments and crititism. At least tell me why it sucked:) If more than 20 people like it i'll write episode 2!

1st edit:16/1 smoothened transition
2nd edit:17/1 removed irrevelent jokes/comments from story