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 Posted: Sun Feb 14, 2010 12:07 pm
Gunn -- Khalid -- Killingworth was always going to get married by a priest.
He'd checked up the marriage licenses and marriage certificates and every single option that seemed to take up the least amount of time. The idea of getting married at the town hall by registry had been seductive, though he didn't have to ask Ursula about it to realise she would beat him over his head and shoulders with a cushion. Besides, there was going to be a priest: you could sign every legal note in the country and it still wouldn't be getting married in a holy place, by a holy man.
Or by your military captain --
Through trial and error, he'd found a priest. The error had been in making a pretense at asking.
The first had been urbane and apologetic. If you're not part of the congregation, it's not really suitable for you to be married in the church. He'd mentioned 'celebrant.' Charonite had figured out that celebrant meant upjumped a*****e wanting their Applebee's money, about as holy as a gym sock, and had just convinced the priest as to why he and Ursula were going to get married in their church. With convincing words. A lot of convincing ******** words.
So that was done.
Weddings were god damned hell to organize.
Khaldun was home from hospital now. One night, her forehead crisscrossed with concentration and her palms clammy, Ursula had tried out her magic and gently teased out hair from his shorn fuzzy scalp -- had coaxed out long handfuls of dark brown hair from Hematite's head, who looked as though he wasn't okay with the process but was a lot more okay with it than being bald. He could not return to the Hillworth dorms bald. He was still a little wan-faced, but his hair had been set in fresh dreads and Ursula had looked thrilled at her success. So.
He was getting married and the thought was no longer an alien one. It was a fact. Staffroom gossip. He was marrying Nealite -- he was marrying Ursula, he was going to be her husband and she was going to be his wife, up until the time that Queen Beryl decided she would discard her General-King and take up Endymion. But until that day ever goddamn came he was going to have Ursula as his wife: and he'd never -- imagined -- he really hadn't even thought...
(Waiting room. Two years ago now.
It was some kind of shitty employment office, and he'd been there on the Hillworth business that still irritated him. Human errands. Lieutenant Hematite was his only officer: Khaldun Cilentani was the entirety of the Negaverse and a full-time disappointment. School needed a secretary. Also needed another gym teacher. It made him mad inside his head in that strange way that trying to fit in did and he was angry all the goddamned time but biding it, still biding it, because this was the only way. He could be subtle. He could wait. He had been waiting a very long time.
She had sat opposite him in the waiting room in a suit that had been carefully ironed and carefully washed, black high-heeled pumps that bore the marks of a black marker if you squinted carefully rather than polish over the scuffs. She was young and beautiful, which were facts he noted like has eight fingers and two thumbs and would continue to notice as her eight fingers and two thumbs for the forseeable future. She did not look at him. She waited her turn.
"Miss Johnson?"
He'd thought nothing of it.
When she was called into the office and the door shut behind her, he'd listened for no god damn reason that he could discern, his ears picking it out even if a normal human's couldn't. Parlour trick. They talked about uninteresting details and he only half-listened, only paid attention when --
"Miss Johnson," said the man, unseen, "I'll be frank." The tapping of a pen. "You haven't got many references. You don't have a lot of the skills you need in today's market -- your typing speed isn't up to the scratch you usually need for secretarial work." People's speech changed when they were smiling. "I'm sure you could make an excellent coffee."
The girl's voice was bright and a little brittle when she said: "I can. Also, I can learn to -- "
"Wait. I haven't finished." More pen-clicking. "How about we say that your real asset is... well, you're very pretty, aren't you? What's a girl like you doing wanting boring work like this? Have you tried modelling?"
Her voice betrayed nothing. "That's kind of you. I don't have the height."
"Pretty. Very pretty." The pen-clicking increased a notch. "You're lovely, you don't mind me saying so, do you -- "
"Well, thank you." He could imagine her smile, showing teeth. She'd been wearing red lipstick with all the aplomb of a twenty-year-old who thought that red lipstick meant business.
"And you're young. You're very young."
"I'm old enough to work."
"You don't want to be stuck in a lousy office all day."
There was silence.
"Why don't you come sit over here?"
Charonite started to tune out. There was demure hesitation in her voice when she said, "All right -- "
What had caught his attention had not been the brief conversation that followed, which nagged at his boredom with a faint tinge of disgust. It had been the tinge of drunken, excited anticipation in her voice, which even then had the sheen of a ******** bear trap in it, when he concentrated on her murmur: " -- no, put my arm behind my back." More talking. "It's hot. You'll like it. And put your hand at my neck -- like that -- oh, that's it -- "
She didn't even take in a breath before she screamed like a wailing ******** banshee. She screamed like an ambulance siren. It made everyone in the waiting room jump a god damned mile, and he'd stood at that noise himself. The maternal secretary flung open the office door, and there was the sad tableau: the horrified-looking employment agent pressing Ursula down into the desk, who was torn and dishevelled, struggling limply and crying very real fake tears. She held both sides of her blouse together, ripped, probably the only blouse she'd had, and she wriggled away from the shocked man --
"You b***h!"
She'd run straight into the first waiting person, who had been him. Ursula gave shocked, hyperventilating hiccups into Gunn Killingworth's chest as though she was waiting for her Oscar, and every single person in the waiting room looked at her as the saddest, most pitiable object in the world. Other agents had come out of their offices now. The one who'd sparked it all in the first place was getting press-ganged back into his office --
He'd taken her by the shoulder and put her back down in the seats as the maternal secretary hovered around, frantic, as Ursula choked out, "I want -- I want the police -- "
"Just sit down," said the secretary, out of her mind with litigation. "There's a love. Don't worry. Hang on."
He'd taken off his coat and put it around Ursula's shoulders, hiding torn shirt and boring white bra strap. She had bent her head and put her face in her hands, artfully oozing mascara trails. People were filtering out of the office now. One of them was saying to Ursula, "You want a lawyer, my cousin's a lawyer, this is disgusting -- "
"Nice work," said General-King Charonite.
She sniffed a lot. Eventually she said, a little haughty, "I don't know what you mean."
Instead he'd passed her the shitty print-out that said, NEEDED: HILLWORTH GRAMMAR SCHOOL SECRETARY -- and placed it on her knees. She didn't pick it up. He saw her eyes scan over the money. He saw her eyes scan over the money again. It was pretty goddamn sad: it hadn't been a large paycheque. It had been spit money.
"I hear you make coffee," he said.
After a few moments she said, "Isn't this the school for boys who set fire to their grandmothers and cats?"
"Yes," he said. And: "I do clever. Not ******** typing times. And coffee. You can do whatever the ******** you want so long as you're not stupid, and you're not."
It had taken her a few read-throughs. He knew he had her. "Monday," she said.
"Monday."
Finally, she'd sucked in a breath. "Done."
Monday she'd come in in brand new shoes, black strappy sandals. "Hush money," she said, laughing, fearless. "Lots of it." And that was that. Not a cause for regret. Never had been.
She'd just been a kid, she was still just a kid --
Khaldun was standing next to him in a cobbled-together suit. He was wearing a tie. He was looking as though the world might ******** end at any moment. And there were most of the Negaverse in front of him, all kids too, wearing expressions of severe schadenfreude. Janice Fitzpatrick was looking remarkably ******** androgynous in a suit and a tie and with her clarinet. She'd offered.
"Why does she need a ******** a tune?"
Janice stated that if he wasn't happy, Lieutenant Scheelite did play "a guitar."
They'd gotten Janice.
"Why the ******** is she late," said Charonite.
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Posted: Sun Feb 14, 2010 2:16 pm
Ursula Johnson was late to her own wedding.
It was still so unreal. It was like a dream. Okay, so maybe it was a bit more realistic than a dream - there were no singing forest creatures there to assist in dressing her (Aree was less than furry and looked like she was in no mood to sing, not that anything rhymed with "URSULA, STAND ******** STILL FOR GOD'S SAKE" anyways), no white horses to be ridden off on (she was not a fan of equines anyhow), and Khalid's skin stayed relatively non-sparkly (not that Edward Cullen really could compete with the General-King of the Negaverse to begin with). But she didn't care that the wedding failed to have a Disney-esque charm to it or that the pews were filled with teenagers and not the hundred wedding guests she'd always known would attend her special day. None of that matter because she was getting married.
"Ursula. You've GOT to stand still or I'm going to ending up jabbing you in the head with this bobby pin and you'll be bleeding down the goddamn aisle."
The older woman was humming to herself as she swayed in front of the full length mirror. Her dress was beautiful. Her veil was beautiful. Everything was simply beautiful.
"Do you think he's out there, now?"
Hands were wringing themselves as another sudden bout of nervousness washed over her. She wasn't nervous, no, she was confident. This was her wedding day, she wasn't going to be some silly little sap like the women in the movies were that got cold feet. This was her day - oh god, what would he think when she was walking down the aisle? Would he like the dress? Would he even care about the dress? What was he thinking? Was he already regretting this decision? Was it too late to elope?
"I'm sure he's out there, I'm sure they're all out there - ********, we are running so behind."
Her chin lifted as she felt nimble hands work with the veil (ok, hand - Aree's new replacement hand was still busy creepily brushing her hair of its own accord as her good hand was busy pinning her veil down). "He'll wait. He'll wait for me."
Closing her eyes, she obediently quit swaying, allowing her friend to properly add the baby's breath to her hair. She had to concentrate on breathing, her heart was racing a mile a minute. It was silly, so silly. Why was she nervous? There was no reason to be nervous. She hadn't been nervous before, why was she nervous now? God, she hadn't even been this nervous back when she should have been more nervous...
~
It had been several months since she'd been hired on as Hillworth's secretary, and Ursula had surprisingly grown fond of the school and the hellions that resided within it. It didn't suit her ladder-climbing aspirations, but all things considered, it was a comfortable lifestyle she could get used to. Well, for the time being, at least, until something better came along.
But the school wasn't the only thing she'd grown fond of.
It was ten minutes to eight and black heels were making a soft click click click across the gymnasium's linoleum as the young secretary made her way towards the gym teacher's office. Her friends back at home would have called it a crush. An infatuation. Ursula and Gunn, sittin' in a tree...
She refused to think of it as anything as such, because it wasn't. No. He was an older man. A respectable man. A man who could put the fear of God into any person who set foot on the Hillworth campus. She respected his power. He was a fascinating individual. A mysterious individual, one who kept to himself, shrouded behind a veil of ******** and goddamns. There was no crush, there was no infatuation, and she was fairly certain Gunn Killingworth was an asexual being incapable of having any indecent thoughts, judging by his failure to react to any of her outfits. ALL men reacted to her outfits. He was an enigma, he was not a crush, nor was he the reason for why her skirts mysterious grew shorter and her blouses more revealing as the days went by and the visits to the gym office became more frequent.
And it CERTAINLY wasn't the reason why she was early to work for a change, delivering both coffee and bearclaw to an empty office. He hadn't seemed like the regular donut type. Hell, she didn't know what type he was, which only made the mystery of Gunn Killingworth even more mysterious. If he didn't eat this one, she'd try something different tomorrow. It would be nice, surprising him by having him walk in to breakfast and coffee already waiting on him. She liked surprising people, and the thought of managing to catch the stoic Mr. Killingworth by surprise tickled her. Not that he was a crush.
She slid the office key out that she'd pocketed from the Principal's desk drawer and gingerly slipped it into the doorknob. It was a wonder why he even bothered to lock the office (what, would kids really be desperate to try to break in and forge gym grades?), but she had access. She had her ways. It didn't take but a second for the door to unlock, and she gently pressed her side against it, forcing it open.
She had expected it to be dark. It was not. She had expected it to be empty. It was not.
Instead, a strange man in a strange military uniform had his back to her. It wasn't the Army, hell, it wasn't the Navy, the Marines, any uniform she'd seen in the movies. He had long purple dreadlocks that fell down over chained epaulets, which connected to a long cape that fell down to his feet. What organization wore capes these days anyhow?
Startled, she watched in wide-eye silence as the stranger in front of her turned. In a blink, the outfit was gone. The outfit was gone and the glamour had faded, the man now standing before her in an all-too familiar track suit.
Mr. Killingworth?
The door behind her had already been mid-way to closing since she slipped into the room, but the door closing hadn't caught his attention. He'd spotted her nearly immediately after having turned into the Hillworth gym teacher, lilac eyebrows arching in surprise as her presence was discovered. The door clicked shut and Ursula's back immediately fell against it.
"Ursula? How the ******** did you..?"
To her credit, she did not drop the coffee. The bearclaw was dangerously close to falling out of her other hand, but the coffee remained steady.
"Your... your coffee, sir. I just thought... I thought..."
There was a hitch in her voice, a tell-tale sign that she'd seen something that shouldn't have been seen. And, judging by the way he was making his way over to her, it was NOT a good thing for her to have seen what she saw. There were no questions of when she'd arrived, what all she'd seen, nothing but silence as the gym teacher (apparent incognito military man) approached her. Immediately, she went defensive. "I won't tell anyone, I swear. I don't even know what I saw."
"No, you won't be telling anyone."
His voice was quiet. Christ, it was too quiet, and the implication was there, she knew just how exactly he intended on keeping her silent and it didn't involve receiving any hush money this time. No, it involved a hole in the ground and a tombstone over her head. Hell, she probably wouldn't even get a tombstone, she'd be unearthed twenty years from now as some pitied Jane Doe who forensics didn't care to bother trying to identify. Nobody would care that she was missing. Nobody would mourn the loss of Ursula Johnson. She wouldn't even get a NCIS episode based on her true story and the horrible crime behind her death.
Well, ******** Scarlett O'Hara sob scene would work on this man, she already knew that. He was too smart, he wasn't like other men, who were gullible and could fall for her acts. And if she didn't think of something fast, she was as good as dead. One hand was already reaching out towards her, no doubt to muffle her screams or snap her neck. He looked capable of snapping her neck. Really capable.
Eyes darted around, and she noticed the blood on his sleeve.
"SALT."
The hand paused at her sudden outburst. ".... what?"
"Salt," she repeated, forcing her voice to stay steady as she spoke, her head nodding towards the sleeve. She didn't dare question how it got there. She WOULDN'T question how it got there. "Put that in cold water. Add salt. I'd give it.. I'd give it twenty minutes or so. The blood will come out."
Eyebrows furrowed, but he said nothing. Apparently, no other victim had ever blurted out laundry advice in their last few moments. More importantly, though, was why the hell would Ursula Johnson know tips on how to remove blood from clothes?
She continued, as it was clear he had no intention of responding. "Look, I can do more than you think I can. I can be useful. I do more than make coffee. I can..." her mind was racing, frantic, "I stole lipstick yesterday. I can pickpocket. I jaywalk every morning when I jog. I'm totally a lawbreaker."
The hand pulled back and folded itself across his chest, alongside the other. Temporary success in stalling, but how long would he let her go on for?
He seemed amused. "The boys at this ******** school get sent here for worse s**t than that."
"I sent Johnny Ray Hobson to the hospital when I stabbed him with my shoe."
THAT produced another eyebrow raise, and she held her chin up defiantly. She almost looked proud of the accomplishment. "He tried to take advantage of me. Said he liked it rough, so I gave him rough."
There was a pause, and then he began to laugh. It was low, gruff, almost bark-like.
One hand fell to her hip as her down-turned face morphed into a scowl. The bearclaw in the hand went forgotten, the sugary coating on the donut brushing against her skirt. She was arguing for her life and all the b*****d could do was LAUGH?
"I'm stronger than you take me for. I can be useful," she repeated, adamant to be heard out.
The laughter stopped, and the mocking smirk fell from his face as seriousness set in once more. "You don't even ******** know what you're offering yourself up to. What makes you think I even want your ******** help?"
"Does it matter? If you kill me now, you're...." the figurative lightbulb went off over her head, and her voice grew confident, "You're going to have to go out and find another secretary. One that probably can't make coffee anywhere NEAR as well as I can. And she's going to ******** up like I did and catch you doing... whatever the hell you were doing. And you'll have to deal with this scenerio all over again. OR you can let me in on whatever it is you're being all Mission Impossible over, save us both the trouble, and continue to have decent coffee every morning."
He said nothing, but stared at her as if finally considering what she had to say.
After a minute or two of silence, she shifted from one foot to the other, eyes hesitantly meeting his.
"Well?"
~
It had been over a year since that fateful day that had changed her forever, the day she'd stumbled across what shouldn't have been seen, and she'd been swallowed into the world of the Negaverse, the world of Charonite. She had never regretted a moment of it. But why in the hell was she more nervous about this than she had been with her life on the line? It didn't make any ******** sense!
Once the hand left her head and Aree's muttering over retarded veils fell silent, Ursula shuffled over towards the side desk, skirts swishing as she moved, and dainty hands plucked the large bouquet from the vase. She needed something to hold on to, something for her hands to fidget with as her mind overran itself with worries over tripping down the aisle, sneezing (oh god - what if she sneezed in front of everyone), if Khal were to make any interruption, there were just so many things that could go wrong.
Turning back around, she gave her companion a sheepish grin.
"Do you... do you think maybe there's time to uh... have a little drink? I'm...I'm a little anxious."
Anxious was the understatement of the century.
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Posted: Sun Feb 14, 2010 3:18 pm
Who would have ever thought this day would come?
More importantly, who'd have ever thought Ursula Johnson would have been enough of a cold-hearted b***h to leave the General-King sweating and shaking up at the alter? Whether she was doing it on purpose or not, he didn't know, and he really didn't care. Since he'd chowed down that starseed a few days ago, Andrew Collins had been feeling very... mellow. Or, more accurately, high as a kite. Everything was a joke, and it had led him to being a bit more rash than usual (the long, black box tucked idly inside of his suit jacket was testimony to that). At least he'd cleaned himself up nice, dressed up in a tux with his hair down, making him look rather sleek indeed. And while he loved watching Charonite squirm, even he was getting tired of waiting. Enough was enough.
That was why, regardless to whatever laws there were about weddings and letting the bride have her time to primp and whatever other what-have-you's, Drew shouldered open the dressing room with a low, cheerful whistle of 'Here comes the Bride'.
Aree looked like she was about to tear off his ******** face. She probably could now too, what, with that monster attached to her side.
He allowed himself to look her up and down, and his gaze might have been admiring in a way that wasn't perverted for once in his life. She did clean up nice, always had. "You're busting his balls out there." He didn't seem to expect a response for that, circling around as though to size her up. Really, he was just seeing if she looked halfway presentable or not--had they really wasted time threading flowers into her hair?
That must mean she was ready.
"Alllllll abooooard!" Drew boomed even as he linked his arm firmly through hers, batting Aree aside (and nearly got slapped across the jaw by that youma arm for his trouble) before he bodily hauled her out the door despite both women's protests.
Aree was, in her classy way, flipping her s**t.
"Pipe down, Stumpy, the bride's gotta walk before her man does!" But he offered Ursula's arm a very subtle, hardly noticeable squeeze.
She'd be fine. She always had been.
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Posted: Sun Feb 14, 2010 3:45 pm
Aree was not the type to panic. It was not in her nature. Her nature was to stare at things moodily and radiate an air of disapproval from the corner. Her nature was certainly not to wring her hands – not that she was, since the right one did not seem in the mood to be wrung – and fret over Ursula's absolutely impossible hair. Hair which her newly attached limb seemed hell bent on stroking affectionately, all but sabotaging her efforts to weave in the small assortment of flowers and tidy her veil and fluff her dress and help her put on her make up and hand her her bouquet and and and oh God Ursula was getting married and they were running behind.
Aree was, as Charonite might say, ******** freaking the ******** out.
Ursula, however, looked beautiful, and that was what mattered. Aree had gone to lengths to make sure that Ursula was nothing short of radiant for her wedding day. She had planned and accompanied her to a spa day, endured a pedicure – the manicure ended horribly and explained why only Aree's left nails were lacquered with bright purple polish – and had even sat in a chair long enough to have her ridiculous amount of hair curled and piled half on top of her head. She had picked out a dark grey dress that matched Khaldun's tie, a color that did not draw attention to itself, and wore flats so as not to tower over Ursula more than she already did. This was Ursula's day, and Nemesis help anyone who ******** it up oh god oh god they were running late oh god.
As she fussed over her best friend, there were many things that Aree did not care to see right then. On that list, Obsidian walking into the dressing room ranked just below the season finale of American Idol and only slightly above two old people making out. Thus, the glare she turned on him when he strolled in was nothing short of murderous. When he actually grabbed Ursula and began hauling her out, it was all Aree could do to keep the youma that had integrated itself into her body from reaching out and ripping his face off. Instead, it simply clenched itself into a fist so hard that it drew blood from her palm, but remained otherwise docile as she marched out after them.
“That's not how a wedding goes you ******** ginger,” Aree snapped at Obsidian, ignoring the fact that the bride was also a redhead and grabbing Ursula's other arm to halt them for a brief moment. The other hand presented Ursula's bouquet and, despite Obsidian's antics, she couldn't keep a smile from her face. The possessed arm reached up as though it was going to touch Ursula's hair again, and Aree slapped it down.
“Signal Janice to start the music. You are not marching her down the aisle without god damned music. So help me Ob-” Of course, Obsidian wasn't listening, and Aree could only pick up Ursula's train and follow after them in outraged silence.
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Posted: Tue Feb 16, 2010 7:49 pm
The priest looked more terrified than the groom.
At first he'd been befuddled, then suspicious. Nobody could blame him. The pews were full of teenagers. The groom himself had been wearing sunglasses to his wedding until a short, curt conversation with the best man (who looked as though he hadn't been fed for a month) prompted them being taken off and tossed sharply in his direction.
And then, from his view, the bride made things worse: in walked a beautiful young redhead and her equally redheaded brother, flanked by a bridesmaid whose expression could melt lead. The bride was young. The bride was very young. You couldn't blame him for imagining that this was some kind of cultist ceremony --
(In fact, technically he was viewing a royal wedding. Well. The wedding of an illegal figurehead. Who had declared herself the Queen of Earth. Millennia ago. But.)
The horde of teenagers stood up.
Ursula walked regally, on Andrew Collins' arm, to the sound of Janice Fitzpatrick's seriously-not-shabby clarinet as though it were actually a full orchestra -- resplendent in white, hair a blood-orange splash on top of her head dotted with stars of baby's breath. She was a girl: that was something the priest had in common with Killingworth, that knowledge. She was just a girl. A very lovely girl in a wedding gown. Girls had gotten married earlier.
The bride was radiant; the groom was staring at her. So was the best man, and they had matchingly fathomless expressions. The man acting as father of the bride delivered her with a flourish, which the groom ignored, both he and his wife-to-be turning to face each other as the teenagers settled down in their seats. A veil softened Ursula's face into luminousness, and he leant in to -- maybe offer a word of quiet comfort --
...
"You're late."
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Posted: Tue Feb 16, 2010 11:21 pm
Her cheeks tinged a faint pink, the audience curious as to what the General-King could have said to make his young bride blush. Serenade thought it must have been dreadfully romantic. Aree was grinning, assuming it was something scandalous. Audrey was rolling her eyes, wondering if the forty dollars she spent getting her hair done for this had really been worth it.
She leaned over in return, her cheek nearly touching his. It looked as though she were about to kiss him from the audience's perspective. "You waited years for her. You can wait ten minutes for your wife."
The priest, having overheard, was rather glad they were not members of his congregation at this point.
As he began to trail off into "Dearly beloved..." both the bride and groom turned to face the holy man. There was nothing special about his words, it was the standard reciting he had done so many times before. He hadn't even bothered, as he usually did, with finding out information on the happy couple (happy?) beforehand to embellish his speech with. He wanted this done and over with.
Ursula, on the other hand, knew the routine. She'd seen enough Bridezilla and romantic movies to know how the wedding ceremony went. Khal having been sufficiently threatened within an inch of his life should he open his mouth during the "If there is any reason that these two should not be joined in holy matrimony..." part of the speech, and with that issue already resolved beforehand, the ceremony would go on without a hitch.
She knew she should have been paying attention to the priest. This was an important event, a momentous occasion to be taken seriously and somberly. Marriage was sacred and not to be taken lightly. She should be listening. Instead, eyes had wandered over towards her fiance, her cheeks growing a darker red as the smile escaped, spreading wide across her face. He looked serious (when didn't he?), but he also looked dashing. It was odd, seeing him without his uniform or singlet on. It was more than likely the only time she'd ever get to see him dressed up, the only time any of them would ever get to see him dressed up. And he was doing it for her.
It was as the priest addressed her that her eyes returned to the man standing before them. She looked momentarily confused, but with a soft nudge from Aree as she stepped forward to trade the bouquet for the ring, Ursula knew what time it was. Vows.
The ring was warm, no doubt from being held by the Maid of Honor as she stood alongside the bride, and Ursula's fingers began to fidget with it as she replayed her speech in her head. As outgoing as Ursula Johnson was, she was terrible with any sort of speech. Add in the fact it was her wedding vows to a man who was about as romantic as a rock in front of their entire underground organization.... well, she felt she had every right to be nervous.
However, both Andrew and Khaldun had been surprisingly helpful when it came to her writing her vows. She'd never seen them work together so well before, and it warmed her heart that it would be her wedding that would bring two rivals together.
"Gunn..."
Her eyes met his as her hands stilled, the young woman forcing them to remain frozen and pressed against the soft material of her dress as she began her own speech, her profession of love and promise of commitment.
"I, Ursula, take you to be my husband. I promise to remain by your side, through both the good and the bad. I promise that I'll never give you up, never let you down. I'll never run around, nor desert you. I'll never give you any reason to cry, and I'm never going to say goodbye. I swear to never tell a lie, nor will I ever do anything to hurt you. You are my world, Gunn Killingworth, and I am yours forever. Today you are my kingdom, and I am your sworn heart. I love you."
With her last words, she slid the band onto his finger. Khal and Drew were doing their best not to fall over laughing and a few giggles were stifled in the pews. Audrey's face was practically purple from holding her breath in. Thankfully, neither adult being wed had any clue of the song reference, or what Mr. Astley's lyrics meant for the internet world.
Serenade was still sighing happily where she sat.
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Posted: Thu Feb 18, 2010 7:26 pm
The rest of the congregation was in silent stitches -- at least, the ones who'd ever known hide or hair of internet memes -- as the priest, who had an impeccable poker face, announced it was time for the groom to say his vows in turn. The General-King had not asked Khaldun to help him with his vows. The General-King had not asked Andrew to help him with his vows. The General-King had not even asked Aree to help him with his vows -- and he picked up Ursula's slender white hand in his own larger, rougher one, taking the ring from Khal's hand.
(Khaldun hadn't even lost the rings on purpose. Then again.)
Charonite hadn't had to use Khaldun or Andrew.
He had the Google.
Unfortunately, Charonite was also a little fuzzy on the concept of modern weddings, what the vows entailed other than, "Dear wife. You are now my wife," and thusly had ended up with --
"Name, I take you to be my lawfully wedded husband/wife," he said. Somebody in the aisles finally lost it, though managed to make it sound like a coughing fit. "Before these witnesses I vow to care for you as long as we both shall live."
It was short, thank God.
"Are we done," said Charonite to the priest.
After a moment, the priest finally managed: "By the power... vested... in me, I now announce you, man and...... wife. You may kiss... the ******** finally," said the General-King. He flipped the veil over Ursula's head and he kissed her mouth, pretty unabashedly for Gunn Killingworth, and the polite applause from their teenaged cult at least drowned out the people who were devolving into complete hysteria.
(The sad secret was, it had probably seemed pretty important, quiet and romantic to the General-King and Captain Nealite.)
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Posted: Thu Feb 18, 2010 8:59 pm
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Posted: Thu Feb 18, 2010 9:00 pm
While Khaldun was shielding his eyes as if he'd been suddenly transported into the face-melting scene of Raiders of the Lost Ark (and bitchfacing to boot, as he'd never bitchfaced before), Ursula was on par with Serenade's hopelessly romantic sighing.
It didn't matter that he hadn't replaced the generic "Name" space with her name, or left out the husband option. Ursula was fairly certain he had no idea what he'd been memorizing. It was the fact alone that he'd taken the time to memorize it, that he'd researched wedding vows in the first place that warmed her heart and brought a happy sigh to her lips (she had a sneaky suspicion that the research had been done on a computer, of all things, which made it even more endearing). He didn't have to recite promises to make her happy. He was standing there, he was there and that in itself was all she needed to know that he cared.
Eyes widened as she watched him snap at the priest, and her surprised expression spread into a smile at his cursing. Yes, this was the man she was marrying, and she wouldn't have it any other way. Gunn. Khalid. Her husband.
One arm moved to wrap around his neck as he kissed her, the other pressing against the front of his suit. And this time, amusingly enough, he failed to taste arrestingly of nicotine.
The applause was ignored, Audrey and Khaldun's unanimous gagging was ignored, even the hoots and cheers from a few of the rowdier members went by unheard.
Her arm loosened from around him as they finally pulled apart, the priest's words presenting the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Gunn Killingworth barely heard in the back of her head. All she could do was stare up happily at her new husband and hope that this moment would never end.
They were finally married, and there couldn't possibly have been a happier bride in all of Destiny City.
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