Doin' Just Fine

Corpse Bride (c) Tim Burton

There was blaring music, there were flickering lights and boy was there a hell of a lot of alcohol.

Personally he could have done with a little less flickering but in Dead Man's Land (otherwise known as the Land of the Dead – he just figured Dead Man's Land was… a bit more rustic. More pizzazz. Or maybe he'd just been bored that one time he thought it up. Just like the times he'd thought up other alternatives: Daisy Fields, All-You-Can-Eat Worm Buffet, Fish Bedroom to name a few), no one really bothered about clarity of vision.

He would have snorted if he'd had a nose and breath. As it were, he just grunted. Clarity of vision? Who cares about clarity of vision when half the stiffs here keep dropping eyeballs like loose change?

Not that he wasn't attached to the whole scene. Hell, he had been among those who kept dropping eyeballs like loose change before learning the art of vision control, if you knew what he meant. (Basically learning to balance the eyeball between both his empty eye sockets – what did you think he meant?)

"Bones, my man, you don't seem to be joinin' the party tonight."

The snazzy jazz-band leader turned and creaked a grin (as only skeletal frames can) at the equally bone-full, shades-wearing piano player. The latter had taken to holding a mug of beer in his hand although everything just went right through the ribs and onto the floor of the Ball and Socket. Much like everybody here really. Then again, all the drink seemed to seep right into the ground without any sort of effort.

He half suspected they recycled the liquor (The vision of Miss Plum mopping it all up with her apron and wringing it back out again into a cauldron would have killed him if he weren't already dead) but Paul would hear none of it. The last time Bonejangles had alluded to this, in pure jest, the head waiter had gotten so affronted to the point of restricting the skeleton from consumption of his beer within the premises. Which was drastic since the drink was a fairly big inspiration for most of Bonejangles's performances. A vow to never imply such travesty again and a public apology got him his liquid muse back.

He shook his skull slightly – he'd drifted off there. It didn't happen too often.

"Y'know what they say, 'Cay. Man's got to take a breather once in a while."

Decay as he'd taken to calling himself ever since he landed up downstairs – Cay for short – laughed. Or made a semblance of the sound known as laughter. "Right. Though I'm sure this breather's got nothin' to do with a certain bride's absence…"

Bonejangles offered Cay a look that would have been the equivalent of a raised eyebrow. "What, our own delectable, irresistible, unforgettable Corpse Bride? The one who landed downstairs coz of some jerk, got married to some clueless air-breather upstairs, came back downstairs to find herself actually illegally married, went back upstairs to get remarried and then went further up to the Big Attic after not getting married at all?"

"Could be her, yeah."

"'Course not."

Cay cracked a grin in return. "Sure, sure." He looked around at the merry making where two members of the Bone Boys were performing on their trombone and saxophone like no tomorrow. (which technically, there wasn't in the Land of the Dead. Time had become a rather… vague concept to the long time residents. The same had happened to the idea of oxygen.) Other patrons were singing along or dancing to the melody. There wasn't a lot of technical skill involved in either activity – who cared if some were singing in a different key or stepping on their dancing partner's feet? They were dead. Lighten up.

"Sure am gonna miss them duets we used to play though."

Bonejangles had to smirk, as much as a skeleton could smirk. "You and every other cadaver here."

"Hah, yeah. She could sing, she could dance, was a looker and she was looking." Cay chugged down another round of alcohol and it sloshed right through his ribs. "Though not around these parts. Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately," echoed the other skeleton, now feeling like he could do with a mug of beer. All this reminiscing was starting to make him feel a bit soft.

He still wasn't aware of how that happened. Emotions still ran freely in these parts even if time didn't. They could still laugh, cry, smirk, get mad… even if they were just made of, technically, calcium. Bonejangles had a suspicion that it had something to do with the invisible, untouchable something that held most of their frames together, that enabled them to speak without vocal cords. The very same something he suspected had been responsible for the theoretically-non-existent quickening of his literally-non-existent-heartbeat during those times he'd looked at her-

Wooooah there Bones. Hold up. Pretend to take a breath. Going too far there. C'mon back brother.

"Hey Bones."

"Yo Paul! My usual! Yeah Cay?"

"You alright?"

"Me?" Bonejangles let out a small laugh as he caught the mug that'd been slid over to him. He paused for a moment, recalling.

-ººº-

Bonejangles had some inkling of what might have happened when he emerged to find the Corpse Bride gone. This was why he was the first to speak amongst Barkis's welcoming committee. The 'gentleman' had suffered a fate worse than death. And then some.

"So what happened?"

"She…" The pale young man, still holding his equally pale bride around the shoulders in a protective air, thought for a minute before finding the right words to say.

"She said…I set her free. And she sort of… turned into butterflies…"

The other dead had muttered and conversed amongst themselves. Bonejangles just silently looked sideways at Elder Gutknecht.

The bent old skeleton had nodded slowly.

"It is good. She has moved on."

"Big Attic?"

"It would appear so."

Bonejangles nodded without a word. So it'd finally happened. A lot of them had gotten used to her presence so the potential of her leaving hadn't been quite remembered.

The potential of her finishing, after death, what she had needed to do in life… and moving on, away from the Land of the Dead, to the world even more beyond.

"…Big Attic?" ventured the other lady in white softly.

"A world beyond the Land of the Dead, young lady," explained Elder Gutknecht. "Where we all go or expect to go, once we have completed any unfinished business."

Victor caught on almost immediately. "…you mean… Heaven?"

Bonejangles cut in with a shrug. "You might say that." He grinned at the couple. "In any case, haven't you got a wedding to go to?"

They just stared at him, eventually coming back to life. In a metaphorical sense. "B,b,but she- I- we- all the guests have disappeared!" stammered Victor.

Miss Plum waved a knife in the air. "No we're not! Technically speaking."

Victoria was equally wide eyed. "Pastor Galswells's fainted!"

Bonejangles made a dismissive motion with his bony hand. "Elder Gutknecht can set you up easy."

"As much as I would like to, I'm dead, my boy. I can't officiate any living ceremonies."

Someone moved from the back. It turned out to be Mayhew making his way to the exit with Paul on his back, calling out, "We'll go fetch some cold water then! We'll be right back!"

The couple stared for a minute before another thought made them turn their heads simultaneously and exclaim, in perfect unison, "My parents aren't here!"

Bonejangles sighed. So many retorts, so little time. ("Duh" would have been a good one, or "And?" "Exactly" might have been better. "You can think of a better time?" could have sufficed as well. Heck, he'd have gone for "Your point?" if it weren't for the fact he was feeling somewhat less sarcastic)

He settled for a very wry "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Victor and Victoria both exchanged looks. He had a point.

"Sides," continued Bonejangles as he glanced up to the moonlit sky, still seen through the open doors of the church. "You really shouldn't deny a dead person's last request."

He didn't see the couple exchange looks again, this time thoughtful ones. He didn't see Victor slowly smile at her and murmur a proposal, ("Will you have me, Victoria, even… even after all this?") and neither did he see Victoria return his smile with a blush and murmur her reply. ("Even after all this, yes, Victor. Very much so.")

All Bonejangles saw for those few moments was the moon, the sky and the face of a lovely young bride with dark eyes and long wavy hair. Everything unsaid remained unsaid. Everything said remained remembered and hopefully, had been right. Every feeling of friendship, lo- affection, jealousy and right now, wistful peace (no longer seeing her – he wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing), all culminated into one single thought.

You did good, Emily. I- We're. Gonna miss you.

He grinned, and turned back to the matters at hand.

-ººº-

The band leader chugged down his whole mug of beer, ignoring the splashing sounds near his feet. Then he turned to Cay and doffing his famous black hat, winked (meaning that he rolled his eyeball from the left socket to the right and back to the left in under a second).

"Doin' just fine."

With that, he leapt back onto his stage, calling out for the boys to come on down and paint this pub red. As the band reassembled (in more ways than one) and scrambled to join him, he grinned to himself.

One thing he had first learned as a dead man was that mourning could only go so far. Eventually, you had to learn to celebrate again, rotting corpse or no. And tonight, they'd be celebrating one of his favourite things: their own jubiliciously lovely Corpse Bride had gone to what he really did believe was, since it was Emily they were talking about, Paradise.

Besides, thought Bonejangles as the band looked at him for their cue, dirges made for lousy entertainment.

"Hit it boys!"

end.

A/N: Cookies to those who get the naming references.

This was supposed to be an Emily-visits-Bonejangles-one-last-time fic. Instead I got Bonejangles only. For a dead guy, he really loves to talk...

On the other hand, I'm still itching to write a Victor/Victoria piece. Hope you enjoyed the story!