"I'm sorry Richard," St. Mags said, hauling her long underwear (hey! It is October) up above the bodice of the inappropriate-for-anyone-over-forty wedding dress. It wasn't a turtleneck - only a crew neckline - but it would have to do. "Girlyswot sprung this wedding on me so fast that I didn't have a chance to explain to Gabriella why I picked you to walk down the aisle."
Richard's smile was forced, covering his inner anguish at losing his second chance at love. (Flangsty enough for you, moonette?) "Most brides just sign a prenuptial - they don't actually have their counsel walk them up the aisle."
"Thanks for reminding me not to say anything."
"No consent - no marriage. You didn't even nod. Well, done."
"I hope I'm off the hook. This is Scotland, and they do have different laws."
"We were at Fraser Castle, not Greta Green and there wasn't an anvil in sight," Richard said soothingly.
St. Mags breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness." Then another thought struck her. "What about other marriage traditions - are you sure we're not missing something?"
"The 'minister' read the standard wedding vows used in England and other western countries. The groom's family didn't bring cows to trade for the bride or anything."
"True." St. Mags tugged on her crewneck and wished it would magically unfold to cover her neck. What kind of a dream wedding dress didn't have a turtleneck or pockets? "And I didn't consent," she reminded herself. "Thanks to you and the fact that Girlyswot didn't write me any lines."
"What's that saying you Americans have? You have the right to remain silent?"
"That's if you're accused of a crime."
"Well, weren't you?"
St. Mags reviewed girlyswot's post. "I was! I was accused of manipulating other people's characters! Ha! That's what fan fiction is all about. Pot meet kettle."
Richard nodded absently. Obviously he was used to writer's rants.
"Oh, Richard." St. Mags put her hand on his arm and admired the way his dark hair waved over his forehead. He really was a good looking character - and so lovably angst-filled and smart and sardonic when the mood struck. "Gabriella is married to you, but George is her creation. Of course she's enamored with George right now if she's writing his story - but that's just temporary. You know that."
"She was really upset."
"And so were you. I thought we had cured you of running out on your problems."
His eyes flashed with emotion. "Yeah." He sighed. "I did do that."
"Well, you had the runaway bride to attend to."
"The runaway bride that was called Mary, Queen of Fluff, by the minister," Richard reminded her and everyone else reading this post. "So St. Mags is totaly off the hook."
St. Mags snorted. "Mary, Queen of Fluff already has two husbands - King William and Russell. St. Mags is still happily single and in love with all of her leading men."
"Why couldn't you love Byron?" Richard asked curiously.
"Byron I or Byron II?" St. Mags asked, rolling her eyes. "Number two has fewer dimensions than Postcard Man! I don't even know his EYE COLOR."
Richard frowned, obviously not understanding how crucial this physical trait was in romantic heroes.
"I swear he was just some homeless guy whom girlyswot dressed up and promised cake."
"Now *that* would be an interesting story."
"Oh, no," St. Mags said. "I'm not giving Byron II any backstory. He shall remain one dimensional (if there is such a thing)."
"And I shall remain estranged from Gabriella," Richard said, sounding a little too emo for St. Mags's liking.
"Well, Gabby can write you a nice make up scene," St. Mags said briskly. "And hopefully girlyswot will be courageous enough to post this."
"I"m sure she shall," Richard said, looking around for Gabriella. "Santa will know who's naughty or nice."
"Oh, Santa has the list all right," St. Mags said whipping out her bingo card.
no subject
Richard's smile was forced, covering his inner anguish at losing his second chance at love. (Flangsty enough for you, moonette?) "Most brides just sign a prenuptial - they don't actually have their counsel walk them up the aisle."
"Thanks for reminding me not to say anything."
"No consent - no marriage. You didn't even nod. Well, done."
"I hope I'm off the hook. This is Scotland, and they do have different laws."
"We were at Fraser Castle, not Greta Green and there wasn't an anvil in sight," Richard said soothingly.
St. Mags breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness." Then another thought struck her. "What about other marriage traditions - are you sure we're not missing something?"
"The 'minister' read the standard wedding vows used in England and other western countries. The groom's family didn't bring cows to trade for the bride or anything."
"True." St. Mags tugged on her crewneck and wished it would magically unfold to cover her neck. What kind of a dream wedding dress didn't have a turtleneck or pockets? "And I didn't consent," she reminded herself. "Thanks to you and the fact that Girlyswot didn't write me any lines."
"What's that saying you Americans have? You have the right to remain silent?"
"That's if you're accused of a crime."
"Well, weren't you?"
St. Mags reviewed girlyswot's post. "I was! I was accused of manipulating other people's characters! Ha! That's what fan fiction is all about. Pot meet kettle."
Richard nodded absently. Obviously he was used to writer's rants.
"Oh, Richard." St. Mags put her hand on his arm and admired the way his dark hair waved over his forehead. He really was a good looking character - and so lovably angst-filled and smart and sardonic when the mood struck. "Gabriella is married to you, but George is her creation. Of course she's enamored with George right now if she's writing his story - but that's just temporary. You know that."
"She was really upset."
"And so were you. I thought we had cured you of running out on your problems."
His eyes flashed with emotion. "Yeah." He sighed. "I did do that."
"Well, you had the runaway bride to attend to."
"The runaway bride that was called Mary, Queen of Fluff, by the minister," Richard reminded her and everyone else reading this post. "So St. Mags is totaly off the hook."
St. Mags snorted. "Mary, Queen of Fluff already has two husbands - King William and Russell. St. Mags is still happily single and in love with all of her leading men."
"Why couldn't you love Byron?" Richard asked curiously.
"Byron I or Byron II?" St. Mags asked, rolling her eyes. "Number two has fewer dimensions than Postcard Man! I don't even know his EYE COLOR."
Richard frowned, obviously not understanding how crucial this physical trait was in romantic heroes.
"I swear he was just some homeless guy whom girlyswot dressed up and promised cake."
"Now *that* would be an interesting story."
"Oh, no," St. Mags said. "I'm not giving Byron II any backstory. He shall remain one dimensional (if there is such a thing)."
"And I shall remain estranged from Gabriella," Richard said, sounding a little too emo for St. Mags's liking.
"Well, Gabby can write you a nice make up scene," St. Mags said briskly. "And hopefully girlyswot will be courageous enough to post this."
"I"m sure she shall," Richard said, looking around for Gabriella. "Santa will know who's naughty or nice."
"Oh, Santa has the list all right," St. Mags said whipping out her bingo card.