girlyswot | Party Wrap Up (part 2)

Party Wrap Up (part 2)

‘Nobody move!’

Everybody jumped.

A tall, distinguished man with strawberry blonde hair had suddenly appeared in the middle of the room, brandishing a wand. (A/N Hazel, I have no idea where you were going with this one, but I’ve stolen him for my own purposes.)

‘Where is she?’

A terrified Girlyswot stammered, ‘W…w…who?’

The man snarled. ‘Don’t give me that innocent crap. I’m looking for the most dangerous woman in the country. The International Aurors have been after her for years, but she’s too good at giving us the slip. But not today.’ He paused dramatically.

Eventually they realised that the pause was more than merely dramatic.

‘Sir, you have not yet told us the name of this woman,’ Percy pointed out.

The man snarled. ‘She goes by many aliases. The Queen of Fluff, St Margarets, and her friends, I believe, call her Mary.’ He spat out the final word. ‘Who can say what her true identity is?’

‘And what crimes do you say this woman is guilty of?’ That was Will. Girlyswot saw Moonette shoot him a grateful look which he coolly ignored.

‘This woman is one of the most evil megalomaniacs the world has ever seen. She is ruthless in her bid for world domination. At first she merely controlled the characters of her own creation, but quickly she began to take charge of other people’s characters and even extended her empire into the world of Real Life. We have not been able to determine whether she operates via mind-altering potions or a version of the Imperius Charm. Whatever her means, she has forced innocent men and women into relationships against their will, ruining the lives of Muggles and witches in many lands and times. This woman must be stopped, and today!’

‘Do you know where she is?’ Girlyswot muttered to Moonette who shook her head in response.

‘You!’ The man was pointing towards Gabriella DuSult. ‘You are the seamstress?’

‘Well, not in real life,’ Gabby tried.

‘I need you to make a wedding dress. You have ten minutes.’

‘Ten minutes! But I need measurements, fabric, time…’

He threw her a package. ‘You will find everything you need in there. You may choose any style you like provided only that it does not have a turtle neck.’

‘But…’

The man had turned away, leaving Gabby rushing to open the package and muttering to Richard that he’d better learn some sewing Charms and quick.

‘You there, in the frumpy dress.’ Moonette pouted. ‘You have been consorting with a mysterious Scotsman, haven’t you?’

She shot an agonising look at Will, whose face was stonily impassive. But there was something irresistible about this man, almost as if they knew that whatever he said would achieve what they really wanted. Girlyswot wondered if he’d cast an Imperius on them all.

‘Yes,’ Moonette admitted. ‘But when you say consorting, I didn’t even snog…’

‘Fetch him. Now!’

The wheels began to turn in Girlyswot’s mind. A wedding dress… a mysterious Scotsman... a man from the Ministry… could it really be? There was only one thing missing…

‘St Margarets! St Margarets!’ With grinning faces, and quite a lot of crumbs between them, Duncan and Beth Crocker ran in from the kitchen. ‘Look what we made!’

It was a huge, beautifully decorated wedding cake (of the kind that would never feature on Cake Wrecks - if you haven’t seen it, check it out – it’s hilarious). This was layer after layer of sugar paste roses and delicate piping, tinted in the palest pinks and creams.

‘Set it down over there,’ the mysterious man (not to be confused with the mysterious Scot, okay?) told them. ‘Now you…’ Finally he turned and pointed at Girlyswot. ‘You will find her. Bring her here but make sure you tell her nothing. She has escaped us many times, but we will not fail again.’

‘Yes, sir!’ Girlyswot replied with rather more enthusiasm than she should have done. She was beginning to like Mystery Man.

####

Ten minutes later, the Great Hall had been transformed. Flowers decorated every pillar and pew. Lit candles floated above the aisle. Someone had transfigured Megan and KJ’s dresses to look like bridesmaids. Near the huge fireplace, the Mystery Man stood, attired in formal robes. And to one side, there waited an enormous figure of a man, wearing his Highland plaid. It wasn’t Jamie Fraser but there was definitely something familiar about him. Girlyswot felt St Mags begin to pull away, but she held on tightly.

‘There’s no escape now,’ she muttered. ‘I’m writing this and you’ll do as I say.’

She hurried St M into a side room, where Gabby fitted the lowcut dress that enhanced all St M’s natural assets and showed off her fabulous 46-year old figure. Someone clasped a string of pearls around her neck and thrust a pair of heels onto her feet.

‘Beautiful,’ Richard told her, seriously. ‘And I want you to know, I forgive you.’

St Mags looked stunned but since Girlyswot hadn’t written her any lines, she didn’t say anything. Instead she let Richard tuck her hand into his arm and lead her back into the Great Hall. Everyone rose to their feet as she entered, though it was hard to tell if their smiles were smiles of joy or relief.

‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here…’

The minister intoned the familiar words of the wedding ceremony. There was a nervous moment when he asked if ‘anyone here present has just cause or impediment’ but Girlyswot carefully didn’t give anyone any lines then either. She was starting to like being the author in charge.

‘Do you Mary, Queen of Fluff take Byron Blake the Billionaire, younger brother of Byron the Blue-Eyed Billionaire Rogue Highwayman…’

Girlyswot sighed. Her work was done. St Mags was irrevocably shipped with her leading man and doubtless the Harlequin version of their romance would be published soon.

‘You won’t get away with it you know,’ St M said, casually handing Girlyswot a piece of delicious cake. ‘I can write my way out of anything. They don’t call me a megalomaniac for nothing.’

Girlyswot grinned. She’d been waiting for this moment for four days and nothing could stop her now. ‘I know you could. Your writing skills are legendary.’

St Mags began to turn away to greet her other guests.

‘But...’ Girlyswot put a hand on her arm to stop her. ‘You should have worked on your computer skills, too. You see, when I post this, I shall screen the comments. And anything I don’t like, I won’t let through.’

St Margarets’ jaw dropped. It wasn’t an attractive look, so Girlyswot put out a finger and gently closed her friend's mouth. ‘My game, I think.’

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

*howls* Well done, Ros! *high fives you* Oh goodness, this is just great. What a wonderful way to end the day (now I just need the breads to finish baking and I can go to bed...*yawns*).

Loved the way you carefully didn't give anyone any lines. Heee...

*bows*

Thank you, thank you.

Moonette shifted on her feet and stole a few nervous glances at St. Mags. Then she sighed. What was this foreign feeling that invaded her very soul? It felt, unpleasant to say the least. She'd never called St. Mags a megalomaniac. Wasn't that TDU's phrase? And as far as Moonette knew, St. Mags had only made people happier in her wonderful, fluffy stories of love and friendship and romance. And her on line friends? St. Mags was always there when anyone needed an encouraging word, or a *hug*. And she created William Wood, for Merlin's sake! And wrote Moonette a wonderful multi-chaptered story about him just a few months ago in which he sustained multiple injuries. Good God, this feeling, this terrible pall that blackened her heart was GUILT! Moonette had never felt this before. Well, maybe a twinge or two when Will's arms were loaded with recyclables. But to this extent? Never!

St. Mags shipped against her will to someone she didn't even know? Moonette took a minute to mull this over. She'd almost forgotten the fact that forced or arranged marriage is an excellent romance novel storyline that never failed to get Moonette's insides tingling. Would St. Margarets feel the same way about The Kilted One? Would her insides tingle when he looked at her, or with his touch? If the answer to that question was "no", what should be done?

Moonette dropped her head and her shoulders slooped as the weight of these thoughts became too much to bear and still maintain her excellent posture that showed her figure to the best advantage. She just couldn't shake the feeling that this was wrong.

Will leaned towards her and whispered, "Are you all right, lass?"

She looked into those moss-green eyes that were more hazel since they were only moss-green when he was feeling perfectly loving and he'd been feeling nothing near that for the entire party, and she sighed. "I don't know."

Guilt = excellent material for flangst.

Kate and Nic were too late to save St Mags from the faux ceremony, but Girlyswot had forgotten that Percy Weasley was in the castle. Surely he could insist on seeing the marriage license and lift the Imperious Spell on the bride. "It is impossible to consent to a marriage bond without free will!"

'No,' Girlyswot explained patiently to Percy. 'There was no Imperius. We all acted according to our free will. It just so happened that what the Mystery Man wanted was what we all wanted as well. Even St Margarets.'

TDU had called St Margarets a megalomaniac but she now realised that St Mags was nothing compared to Girlyswot. Not only had Miss Swot written a truely horrifying storyline for the Queen of Fluff, she was using her almost magical and, to TDU at any rate, totally incomprehensible, computer skills to bind Her Majesty in an unwanted and, probably, unhappy virtual marriage. Was an anullment possible or would it have to be a messy and very public divorce?

*bows*

Thank you.

Oh, it wasn't meant as a compliment? Oh, well. *shrugs and laughs maniacally*

Besides, Byron is a Harlequin Hero. He's pathologically incapable of anything other than a Happy Ever After ending.

I leave it to your conscience! I couldn't do it (not and sleep at nights!).

I might feel guilty, if it weren't for the sneaking suspicion that somehow St M will find her way out even from this happy ending!

Megan bowed to the Mistress of the Ruthless Epilogue. She herself had considered a scheme whereby StMags would not be allowed to comment on the Epilogue. However, she had discarded it in fear of public opprobrium. Not even in those dreams, though, had Megan gone so far as to *marry* StMags. She wished Girlyswot luck, knowing full well that StMAgs could always publish an Epilogue to the Epilogue on her own LJ, whih would reach an even larger audience.

Megan gave Girlyswot a sympathetic look, all the while rejoicing in the fact that she was no longer public enemy nr. 1. She was most definitely a distant nr. 2, now.

Megan ticked the results of of the 4-day writing binge:

1. She had made Moonette cry. Here she almost felt the same affliction Moonette was currently stooping under, but she quickly recovered. Guilt could only be assuaged by apologies, and those were boring. It was more satisfying to give Moonette a chance at revenge next time. Not a big chance, mind. Megan had no plan to relinquish her Vicious Quill.

2. She had made Little Debbie go straight to StMags's hips. The mischief had gone undetected, however, with all the hoopla about men. Besides, this was now StMags's least problem. Nope - no action needed there, either.

3. She had insulted Gabby-the-Exterminator-Woman about being squeamish around spiders. This one, she'd actually planned to rectify, before Girlyswot had hijacked the wrap-up (just kidding, Ros!) There was a three-headed, woman-eating, monster near Peles Castle that she'd planned to let Gabby handle all by herself. Well, next time.

4. And finally, she'd punched the daylights out of CHK b/c TDU had nagged her into it. This was most definitely TDU's fault, but here Megan felt that some small amends were necessary. Since the entire catfight had been over Rolf's dubious attributes (and Niall's even more suspicious envy), she would give CHK the satisfaction of seeing Rolf banished.

"Rolf, there's something I have to tell you."

"Yes, Highness," he spit out.

Megan decided to let that pass, in view of the bad news she was going to give him. "You see, Rolf, I have decided not to invite you along at our parties any more. It's not that you're not a nice guy - in fact, you're really quite helpful most of... Rolf! Wait, where are you..."

Rolf was half-way down the lawn, a huge grin splitting his face.

'Well, how do you like that?' Megan grumbled. 'No gratitude whatsoever.' Never mind. She was through with that undeveloped caricature of a character. The bout of cutting dialogue she'd had with Mr. Darcy had made her realize what she was missing.

Next time, she was bringing a True Character.

Oh, but your Rolf had such potential! I thought you were going to write an adventure/romance for he and Luna (so different from what everybody else pictures for Rolf)...don't totally discard him!

Yes, I was going to write him and Luna - how on earth do you remember that? I'd nearly forgotten. But I never did get around to flesh him out, and now I made such a caricature out of him, I don't know if I could think of Rolf as an Indiana Jones hero again. Besides, my writing time is in short supply nowadays. Anyway, I'm only giving Rolf his marching orders from our parties. I may yet find time to write him and Luna, who knows?

The Admiral says I have a dangerous memory, which I repeated when giving a toast at my best friend's wedding, threatening to tell all sorts of tales on our bizarre desire to date the Dukes of Hazard or the Simon brothers or something.

Let the caracature wash away, then maybe when you do have writing time, you can give Rolf his due.

LOL! I loved how he was out before your were even finished with your sentence. I have a feeling most of these guys would do the same if we let them. We do tend to torture our fictional characters a bit, don't we?

Aww, but I liked Rolf too! You and he were so well matched. I'd be interested in seeing you round him out a little. If you bring him back, I'm going to pay more attention to him in my posts and see where he goes. But of course, you may bring whomever you wish.

Ha. If I didn't know you better, I would take this as a compliment. But I do know you better, and I have a feeling that I have just unwittingly thwarted your revenge plan. No Rolf - no way to make Megan jealous (as if!).

"If you bring him back, I'm going to pay more attention to him in my posts and see where he goes."

Yes, I have no trouble believing that you'll pay more attention to him, and - let me rewrite this for clarity - 'follow him wherever he goes (by himself).' Very well, my dear, I'll trot him out just for you, but I'm also bringing someone else who won't jump when I say so. I'm actually quite curious to see how I would deal with him (I'm on a character exploration trip - my own character, it seems).

Overcome by the romance of the wedding CHK let her head drift to Niall's shoulder. They would still need a serious talk if she was to let Niall follow her to Australia after being abandoned for much of the party but no-one can stay angry at weddings - forced or not.

CHK felt Niall's arm creep cautiously round her shoulder - good he should be wary of her (and she had stolen his wand but he didn't know that yet).

She thought that Mary could write her way out of this, but frankly CHK thought it was about time Mary gave up the fight and let herself be shipped even if it was just to make her friends happy.

She watched the groom through his bride over his shoulder and carry her (did she seem to be resisting a little?) up the castle's grand staircase to enjoy their wedding night, CHK smiled the satisfied smile of a happy party goer who (once she recovers) can't wait for the next party, quite how they would top this one she had no idea, but they always seemed to manage.

Gabriella put her hands on her hips and scowled at Richard.

"How could you give her away!?" She flared. "You know we come down strictly on the side of not shipping St. Margarets! And what was all that business about forgiving her?" Her voice reached the upper register and she quieted herself so as not to make a scene. "Do you mean to tell me you feel forced to be with me against your will?"

"That's not..."

Gabriella put up her hand. "Look, I made the dress because I couldn't protest...but I don't have to keep you around."

In a flash, and before he could explain himself further, Richard disappeared. And less than an instant later, George walked in.

"'Lo there, Gabby. It looks like I've missed quite a to do. Is it time for fireworks yet?"

"No -- but I'll be giving you fireworks, George. I'm going to write you such a great story full of flangst and humor and a happy ending! If I'm going to keep company with a fictional character, it's going to be one who wants me!"

"Well, it's about time -- I've been trying to get your attention for months..."

Gabby threw herself into his arms. "I know, George. But I'll make it up to you, I swear. Just take me home."

"As you wish."

"As you wish" - is this apropos of the Princess Bride favorite line meme that Kate posted recently?

I see we were on the same wavelength, and both got rid of our usual companions. I'll miss Lawyer!Richard. As for Rolf, you're probably thinking "good riddance." You were right, I had overdone it with making fun of him, to the point where it was a bit mean and not really funny anymore. I'm thinking of bringing a snarky guy next time, with whom I shall wage great verbal battles. Haven't decided yet on the identity, though I have a fairly good idea.

Bring Dr. House -- I would love to see his reaction to Will the Healer!

I love the series, but House speaks in medicalese, and I don't understand that language. Of course, Moonette would be happy to help us understand him, I am sure. :-) He really doesn't have much else to say for himself, though. His only other interest seems to be soap opera. So... nope, I'll give it a pass. I have someone else in mind, and the collective groan I'm already imagining is putting a smile on my face.

OMG! You've banished Richard as well? What in the h--l is going on here? Everyone is breaking up at St. Mags' party? Oh, the irony and the horror! Plus, I really LIKE Richard! You two are so sexy together!

Good Lord, someone has to get you two back together.

All right - back to my auction fic. Curses.

KJ nibbled on her slice of cake while Percy continued to debate the legality of the ceremony with Girlyswot , Kate and Nic. Or rather, Percy was now conceding that Girlyswot had rather neatly closed all of the apparent loopholes.

Setting her cake plate aside with a worried frown, KJ searched for St. Mags in the crowd. That initial look of shock had faded, replaced by an all-too-familiar look in her eyes. St. Margarets was Plotting Something. Merlin only knew what.

KJ decided a drink was definitely in order. She made her way over to the bar that had been set up in the corner and greeted TDU and Young(ish) Albus.

“Whiskey, please. Neat.” She accepted the drink and took a healthy sip, surveying the happy couple over the rim of her glass. Yes, St. Mags was scheming hard to find a way out of this, even as she pasted a smile on her face and looked up at Byron.

Ah, Byron. KJ took another sip as she studied the tall, muscular figure. Claire Fraser had been right, she mused. There was nothing quite like a Highlander in a proper plaid. Just then, Byron glanced up and caught her eye. Cocking an eyebrow, he offered a devilish grin that let her know he was perfectly aware of her train of thought.

KJ laughed, shaking her head as she strode back over to Percy and slipped her hand in his. Yes, she was looking forward to seeing how St. Mags intended to try to get out of this one.

'Heather' watched the proceedings flow across the surface of her Regency bone china tea cup and reflected how neatly everything had been set up. She was prepared to bet that no one had seen that twist coming! Perhaps it was as well Mr Darcy had offered her his protection or he might have felt it necessary to defend St Mags and issues challenges. He might be able to fence and ride well but she didn't rate his chances against a rough and dour Highlander. The size of his sgian-dhu had made her eyes water! (Yes? *g* I mean the knife he wears.)

Satisfied he had done his duty, the late arrival stowed his wand down his sleeve and accepted cake and a glass of wine. No one spoke to him, which didn't seem to bother him, but he kept one eye on St Mags and Byron.

Halfway through his cake (moist and delicious, the fruits having been soaked in rum and vodka a month prior to baking) his head came up like a terrier that has scented rats. "Werewolf!" he muttered. "What's his interest in this?"

Which was the point he recalled the pale woman with the swollen jaw with whom he'd shared his lunch. Hadn't she been afraid of a man with the eyes of the devil? He'd been so focused on how to make the most of this sudden opportunity that she'd slipped his mind. She wasn't in the room--where had the werewolf stashed her? Keeping his movements casual, he abandoned his plate and glass on the aged oak table, noting its glorious patina in passing, and twisted his wrist causing his wand to release from the specialised wrist holster he wore. Werewolves liked the shadows, and there were plenty in this castle.

Napier smelled him coming and grinned. He didn't flinch when this AU version of Marcus pressed his wand against his jugular vein. "Took you long enough," he drawled.

"Where is she? Heather?"

Napier sighed theatrically; he did it rather well. Maybe Hazel would let him keep it. "Hazel, Toad-Boy, she's called Hazel. Do keep up." Mmm, maybe that had been the wrong thing to say, now that wand was digging in painfully hard. "No idea. Some popinjay called Darcy took her home, not that he can take her home home, so who knows?"

His pockets everted--typial bloody Auror--and a rich assortment of articles clattered to the floor, among them, his cigarettes, keys of various patterns and sizes, and his wand. Ah. Bugger.

AU Auror!Marcus(resigned) Summoned it. "Prior Incantatem!" he muttered, holding it tip to tip with his own. A silvery whisp darted out. Marcus's jaw tightened. "No wonder she had no idea who she was--you Obliviated her!"

Cockily, because he liked living on the edge, Napier winked in the best Anne Robinson fashion, snatched his wand and Disapparated. It had all worked out very well. Marcus would go looking for Hazel, unknowingly claim the spot as Principle Character thus leaving him right where he wanted to be--in the shadows, mixing it up. He lit a cigarette and inhaled with satisfaction. And the next time he got Moonette alone, there would be no bloody Summons from his author to save her. Oh yes! It was all going very well...

A/N: I bow down to you, Ros--you are made of Awesome, as Jo's icon has it! :D That was simply brilliant, and I have no quarrel about Napier's suitability for anything other than to take care of his own hide!

It was Marcus!!! *headdesk* Did he always have strawberry-blonde hair?

*giggles* Don't head the desk--you'll damage it. ;)

Yes, Marcus has always been strawberry blonde. :) I brought him back b/c Napier is so... Can't think of the right word but I spend half my time watching my back!

Heh! This wrapup with comments is immensely fun. And I'm amazed at the amount of conscience that seems to have grabbed the participants. *rubs hands* And oh, how I look forward to seeing how Mary writes herself out of this. It reminds me very much about a beautiful song by Albannach about Scotland and her rising to stand on her own...

"You wrapped her up in night and chains, you thought you'd tied her up. You placed a ball around her feet, thought you'd tamed her like a pup. You moved her winds so dry, aye, you stripped hr back so bare, and then you looked her in the eye and said, it's only fair..."

How are you doing, Hazel? (and did I remember your email address correctly?) *healing hugs*

Moonette's head drooped further, and Will watched her with an expression that told her he was waiting for more explanation. but her thoughts were too jumbled to explain. And she needed more information in order to make the right decision - should she help spring St. Margarets or watch this travesty continue.

"Will, sweetie, could you get me a drink? Something very Scottish and very strong. On second thought, bring me two."

Will nodded and walked towards YoungishAlbus to procure the requested beverages. When he returned, he was carrying three small glasses filled with amber liquid, handed Moonette two, and tossed one down with a gulp. Apparently they all needed fortification right now.

Moonette took a large sip from hers and looked hard at Will. "Will, do you think you could talk to St. Margarets and make sure she's all right? She's so quiet it's scaring me. I'm worried we may have gone too far this time. And I need to speak with yon Kilted One. I need to find out if his intentions are honorable. For Pete's sake, he could be a criminal, for all we know."

Will's hazel eyes flashed a deep, fiery gold. "Ye don't even know the man you've just married St. Margarets to? What are you people bloody thinking? Ye might have put her in danger!" And he began to walk towards Byron. (A/N Why are they both named Byron?)

"Stop!" Moonette hissed. (See, Ros - there's an 's' in stop.) Please, hear me out. I've already spent time with Byron-"

"Oh please, not again!" Will ran his hand through his luscious but closely cropped dark hair. "Are ye goin' to remind me of all of your indiscretions at this party, lass?"

"You had your fair share," Moonette whispered. "And you know what I mean - you're the one who went upstairs and healed his wound, for Pete's sake."

Will glanced at Byron with a smug expression. "I was forced to! But aye, he looks pretty healthy now, doesn't he?"

Moonette nodded. "You're a wonderful Healer, Will. Now please use some of that talent and perceptiveness to go and make sure St. Margarets is all right while I speak with the groom. There's something I need to ask him."

I'm a bit nervous about allowing this through...

They're both called Byron so that St Margarets can write her Harlequin without having to change the hero's name.

Am I supposed to comment? Or is someone going to come to my rescue. Because you totally left the barn door open, girlyswot. *rolls eyes*

(Yes, that's a bingo square)

You can comment, but if I don't approve, it won't be allowed through. Moonette is contemplating helping you, but she's not decided yet.

(P.S. I hope you'll still be my friend!)

*snort* If you don't approve. Have you turned into Dolores Umbridge? I can almost see the fuzzy cardigan from here.

Will and Moonette both walked up to the bride and groom who were standing by themselves, speaking in hushed tones.

"Um, excuse me," Will said. "Would it be all right if I spoke to your wife (Will grimaced when he said that) for a bit? You see, I'm her Healer (well, St. Mags did create him, and so that wasn't entirely false), and I just want to follow up on something."

Byron's expression changed to a frown of concern and he knelt before St. Mags. "Are ye ill, lass?"

Mary didn't answer.

Byron turned to Will. "What is it, man? What sickness is troubling my wife?" He reached up and tenderly touched Mary's cheek with his thumb.

St. Mags stood impassively, a bit pale and very quiet. She really could pass for being ill, thought Moonette.

St. Mags stood impassively, a bit pale and very quiet. She really could pass for being ill, thought Moonette.

You know what I think...I think that it's not really her...just a pale Cake-imitation of her and she's safely back in Newfoundland.

Not sure if you received my other comment, but I have to go out to the girls' school for volunteer work, then real work. It will be hours before I can add to this, so as much as I hate to say it, carry on.

(Darn, I wanted to write a tender scene with St. Mags and Will, and I wanted to reveal something about The Kilted One.)

I should have known better than to imagine this was a *wrap-up*. Uh-huh. The time-delayed aspect of it, though, makes it quite novel, in a frustrating kind of way. Well, carry on in slow-motion. :-)

I also must go off to work at my granddaughter's class. I'm reading The Little Old Woman Who Was Not Afraid of Anything to her second graders. Dear Oatmeal thought she looked and acted like me.
http://www.amazon.com/gp/reader/0064431835/ref=sib_dp_pt#reader-link

But I shall return to help rescue Mary from a fate worse than death.

I don't know, Grandma Kate - marrying a tall, strong, manly Highlander who seems to genuinely care about Mary and has an apparent tender side to him can't be worse than death. If I didn't have to go to work AGAIN, I'd show you another glimpse of Byron the Highlander.

When is this story going to end, anyway?

It has ended. It's just that some people don't understand the meaning of the words 'wrap up'. Maybe I should have put 'THE END' in big letters at the end. In fact, maybe I'll do that now...

And also: marrying a tall, strong, manly Highlander who seems to genuinely care about Mary and has an apparent tender side to him can't be worse than death

Exactly. I don't know what they're all complaining about.

By the way:

‘Nobody move!’

Everybody jumped.

It just subtle enough brilliant humor!

I thought that too! :)

"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.

*sigh*

I knew I should have put in the final lines about the happy ever after and then 'THE END' in big bold letters. Because surely, everyone knows that once the story's over, nothing can really change. And surely you understand the nature of implicit dialogue? I don't actually have to write the words 'I do' for it to be understood that you said them. Huh.

Also, if you want to haul your underwear out from under the bodice of your wedding dress up around your neck, go ahead. I wouldn't have thought it was the most flattering look, myself...

Erm...I happen to know that Byron is Catholic, and certainly nothing has been consummated - he'd never be able to get past St. Margarets' extra-coverage underwear! And the ceremony wasn't by a priest! Methinks an annulment is possible from at least three different perspectives.

I just may have to hand this one to Mary in the end. Despite your brilliant attempt, girlyswot. I'm sorry. Now where is my Will? *trots off to find him*

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Party Wrap Up (part 2)

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