A/N: Those of you familiar with my other LXG scribbles will probably be familiar with many of the characters mentioned. Even if you aren't thanks for checking this story out and I hope you have a chuckle!
1
The second hand on Rodney's shiny stolen pocket watch ticked away like an ancient pendulum, proclaiming the end of the world within the confines of his well-used leather jacket. He sat precariously on one of the dozens of rickety barstools that populated his family public house, The Pike, draped over the counter with no care for the sticky residue of rum, gin, whiskey and 'borrowed' cognac that covered the smooth wood, whimpering cursed phrases at himself with all the resignation of a man who was very well facing Doomsday. A cat on it's ninth life and there was no errant limb to save it from the deadly plunge into the icy miasma of the Thames. It was almost half four—four oh twenty seven, to be exact. He was getting married in eight hours and had yet to develop a hangover, though with the amount of time the invisible man spent intoxicated Mina suspected the after-sickness was beyond his ahemchemically enhanced form.
She had been glaring at him exclusively for over an hour for two reasons of importance, the first being that he was the only one left from the night of drunken debauchery at which to glare. The second, more important, reason was that it was his poor choice in companions that had caused Mina to be placed in the unwanted role of chaperone to a room of adult men and unwilling witness to said debauchery. She could have been enjoying the various insipid activities that had been planned for Miss Fitzgerald and various invited members of the fairer sex.
Well. . .not really.
But the vampire would have made a decent show of pretending.
"Oh Mrs. Harker!" Finn's little woman had been in quite a state, seemingly oblivious to her rotund stomach covered in startlingly rose linen or the fact that she could drop her litter at any moment. "No matter what Huckleberry says, Nicholas has always been a gentleman to me buuuut," and here she leaned in to whisper, looking rather pained and guilty, "I'm not at all sure about this men's gatheringhe has planned and I don't want to alarm poor Brigitte. . ." Mina raised an eyebrow and looked over the head of the pregnant maid of honour to the weary wide-eyed werewolf bride-to-be who, without a doubt, had heard everything. Poor Brigitte indeed. The raven haired woman was covered in an array of lace and white satin that Alice's hired seamstress was trying to fit pleasingly to her thin frame. The colour alone made this impossible; Mina knew it, Ms. Oakley knew it, and Brigitte most definitely knew it. Mina believed she was moments away from ripping the entire thing to shreds and sending it to her fiancé in a pine box accompanied by a curt farewell. The vampire smiled faintly through gritted teeth.
"Rest easy Mrs. Finn. I will give you my personal assurance that nothing untoward or undue shall happen to our groom. The wedding will take place as planned tomorrow afternoon, you have my word."
Mina continued to glare at her contemporary friend in arms, crossing her ankles as she balanced on her own stool, and recalled the previous evening. She had claimed a space in a darker corner of the pub—she technically understood the need for male bonding (God knew Jonathan had had his own 'gathering' before their own wedding) and her blatant presence would be unwelcome to the participants—and, with a delicate flask of her own liquor of choice, Mina had sat back to keep an eye on the incredibly lucky bastard.
The drinking she had expected.
The dancer she hadn't.
Kitty was off to enjoy more subdued events with the bridal party and Mina wondered if Skinner's harridan sister would approve, but there stood Vivienne in her burlesque attention seeking glory, all feathers and jewels (most likely paste) and flimsy gown. Nicholas looked far too pleased with himself but Mina doubted the younger Parisian vampire had needed much convincing to perform for this select clientele. Tom was harmless and secretly blushing. Finn wasn't dead, but was too in love to be tempted by a flash of undead flesh. Bill and Doc had been around the block. In any event, how they felt didn't matter as Vivienne was a raging unrepentant Sapphic and Mina was sure her werewolf lover was close by just in case—i.e. Edward jumped Henry's physical bonds in a fit of overactive hormones.
And with that pleasant thought Mina had slipped free of The Pike, dragging a drunken Skinner behind her.
"We're going to take the air. I'm sure your cronies won't miss you for fifteen minutes."
"But didn't ya see the titties on 'er?"
"Indeed. Would you like me to keep a record for Brigitte to peruse at a later date."
"Ooooo my nemmo's goin' be the prettiest little wife that's ever been seen," Rodney crooned, without missing a beat. "I am one lucky tosser." Mina smiled.
"For once I believe we are in complete agreement."
They returned to the pub in time to witness the end of a passionate, lingering kiss between Vivienne and Meredith, wherein the ladies retired to the strains of applauding catcalls and the men returned to their drinking in earnest. There were bawdy songs to sing, maudlin to embarrassing speeches to be told, and several instances where Nicholas and Tom hauled Skinner onto their inebriated shoulders and carted him around the modest interior. Henry was in fine spirits and barely sweating. Bill appeared to be smiling. Finn kept coming back for one more round.
Yes, it had all been fun and games until Rodney started screaming in terror.
As the only completely sober being present Mina had an eidetic memory of the following events: of six intoxicated adult men (and one disembodied coat) on their hands and knees searching every nook and cranny in a London building older than at least two of them present; of said gentlemen holding onto chairs and tables and often stomachs to try an delay the inevitable expulsion of gases or dry heaves. They hadconsumed an inordinate amount of alcoholic beverages. The Captain had been rather farsighted in declining his own invitation to this barbaric rout. Mina stayed where she was and offered not one tap of assistance, preferring to glare at the back of the grooms head. She knew what they were looking for; she had no design of where it was but the vampire could clearly understand that it was not in the pub. Nicholas alone would have smelled it.
And so Mina glared and Skinner succumbed to a childish form of despair until the vampire finally sighed grievously and rested her own elbows—covered in starched linen—upon the abominably sticky bar counter alongside the invisible man's bent limbs. He wore no grease paint but she knew he was looking at her.
"Once upon a time you were married, right 'Arker?"
"I was."
"An'. . .an' it takes a lot o' work to build a—a marriage."
"It does-" He continued on his meandering train of thought complete with wide hand gestures that threatened to up end his half-empty pint, his free hand slapping the counter.
"Jus' like a buildin' like this does! We—well Kitty fixed it up nice enough so not really this but but. . .Tower Bridge! Take Tower Bridge, f'instance! A marriage—" he burped loudly and Mina imagined cleaving his head in two. "'Scuse me—A marriage. Is like a bridge. Two people crossin' a a dividean' comin' together for. . .forever."
Mina reluctantly allowed him a quiet moment of dignity to collect himself from another spasm of hopelessness. She had thought last night's suggested ideas of how to replace his lost wedding ring—the simple, elegant gold band he had gleefully shown to everyone even vaguely acquainted with him—were adequate given the circumstances but Skinner would hear none of it. There was no replacing something Brigitte had approved of (if not in sight than in word) and he was going to die in a smouldering pile of cursed rubble for all eternity only if his girl didn't slash him open first.
Skinner coughed and cleared his throat, wiping a hand across his wet chin as far as Mina could believe.
"Do you know what will 'appen to me if. . .if the bridgeis not built on time?"
Mina rolled her eyes, already sick of the metaphor and Rodney's sustained exaggeration.
"I haven't the foggiest."
"I'll 'ave to kill meself," he responded flatly, finally shrugging and putting down his drink. "What would you do if you were me?" It was a rhetorical question, as if there was only one answer and it was clearly obvious. Unfortunately, Mina agreed. She leaned forward, taking in a slow breath.
"I suppose if I were you. . . I would have to kill myself." She stopped and reached for Rodney's abandoned pint, quickly swallowing the rest of the noxious liquid. The entire situation could only end in disaster—not because of the nature of the intended couple's feelings for each other but purely because Rodney Skinner was incapable of getting out of his own way. "Cheers!"