fucking blow-out bash. the scene: night. the setting: the ballroom. the windows: swathed in diamond-studded velvet. the theme: ‘midnight romance.’
it’s fucking extra as fuck. did i even need to say
everyone is in masks—masquarade, obvs—and there are glittering diamond chandeliers, and about 2000 invited guests from across the known world, and more dignitaries and emperors and admiring fans than Adam thought possible.
the palace is STUFFED, jesus christ, people have come from all over to pay worship to Madame de Garderobe
but garderobe’s favorite part? besides the presents, and the vanilla-whipped lemon cake, and the caroling? when cadenza takes her aside and proposes to her, all over again, like he does every single year. my wife. mi amore. all the kisses no one sees.
cadenza gets little cupcakes, and more tuning-forks than anybody could possibly need, and decorated spoon-handles (he likes them), and new lace handkerchiefs, and he cries a lot cuz cadenza’s an emotional man.
he also makes everybody sit around and listen to a 7+ hour concert.
cadenza’s birthday is not everyone’s favorite birthday.
a. fucking. party.
a lot of people get stressed about party-planning, but this man has done it so much it’s almost a party trick in and of itself: he flicks his cuffs and out pop streamers and musicians and piles of food and illegally downloaded jams and at least one rampant excess that nobody asked for but everyone loves. ever wanted to crowdsurf in a human hamster ball during a blacklight rave? your local maître d’ has your back
cogsworth takes care of all the practicalities (”you need chairs! chairs! where is everyone going to sit !!”), but lumiere makes sure that it is Fucking Lit™. the party runs until 3 am and chip is especially loaded up with party drinks so he can stay awake for all of it
besides making sure the music never dies, though, lumiere is an exceptional host. you know this. i know this. you will never sit in the corner at a lumiere party. the birthday boy himself will sit next to you and discuss your particularly boring special interest of mating blue-nosed pheasants until he feels you’re comfortable. party be damned!! we’re here to have A FUCKING GOOD TIME, LADS and if that involves pheasants ok lets do this
at the climax of the party everybody has to get up and toast everybody else. lumiere always pretends to forget to toast himself, but cogsworth always leads that charge
basically cogsworth roasts lumiere for two hours and everyone gets smashed
it’s honestly the greatest thing ever
ok so her birthday bash is actually classy
she always keeps it a surprise from lumiere, so he spends the three months in front of it wondering “is the theme hawaii?? is it venician carnival??? is it that one daiquiri we drank once that was great”
it’s always something vaguely tasteful, and he’s always shook all over again at how brilliant his darling is
once belle comes, belle helps plumette plan it, and it’s all feathers and girl-talks and ordering in her favorite sugar-dusted macarons and arguing with retailers over the phone over how big an ice swan they can possibly fit into their wagons
despite all her planning, lums always finds an in. She can try to lock him out of her room; he’ll sprint over the balcony, so her first sight when she wakes up is him holding out a slightly battered tray of chocolate croissants.
true love knows no boundaries. what it does know is that its beloved likes being woken up by a good chocolate croissant and a kiss on the lips.
‘is it my birthday?’ he always pretends to forget. maybe he truly does. no one knows for sure how a clock loses track of such a date.
it is his birthday. are you kidding? lumiere’s been planning this for 364 days
and, weirdly, he’s been considerate. it’s actually perfect for cogsworth. there is a very english breakfast—kippers and sausages and other things no one else can choke down—and then it’s a constitutional around the gardens. then everybody leaves him alone for two hours to sleep in his study. then it’s a dismal english lunch ( “ u u g h “ whisper every local frenchperson), and then they play chess, and then a stately presentation of presents, and then he gets another hour to introvert however he wants, and then when he’s nice and lulled and just really, genuinely pleased about what a good day he’s having—
lumiere turns on all the stereo systems to full power and blasts skrillex.
(the entertainer’s heart can only hold itself in for so long.)
after being thrown into a swimming pool by cogsworth for being “a bloody and deceitful cretin,” the two relax on the balcony, sipping gin and tonics, while everyone else parties below. cogsworth allows himself one (1) hawaiian t-shirt. the sun sets as lumiere and cogs clink their glasses and toast the tacky plastic sunglasses they’ve both adopted
HE WON’T TELL ANYONE WHEN HIS BIRTHDAY IS
WHAT AN ASSHOLE
IT’S LIKE HE DOESN’T WANT A PARTY OR SOMETHING
LUMIERE IS GONNA FIND HIS BIRTH CERTIFICATE IF IT KILLS HIM