Marriage.

I've decided it's a very ugly word. Pronouncing that g just always makes me shudder. Couldn't they just come up with a prettier word for such an ugly subject? Tone down the brutal repulsiveness with a pleasing-sounding name?

Apparently not.

Wait—I've come up with an even more ugly word, well, phrase.

Arranged marriage.

No, wait, an even better one—

Arranged marriage…to William Darcy.

That's right. Mrs. My-Daughter-Will-Only-Marry-Her-Class (aka, my mother) arranged my marriage. Um, it is still the twenty-first century, right? No time machines…or time warps? Good.

Well, no. Not good. Marriage in any way is certainly not good. Hell, I haven't even met the guy. You'd think if any mother was as cruel as to arrange her daughter's marriage she would not be as cruel as to pick someone who the daughter hasn't even ever met.

Again, apparently not.

You'd also wonder why she would pick me to marry Mr. Big-Shot Darcy. Oh yeah…I'm the only single daughter left. Duh. When did I become such a big ditz? And, as for this Darcy choice, money marries money.

We're totally disregarding I got disinherited for getting pregnant when I was 16, and that I've earned every penny in my rather large (if I do say so myself) bank account. That doesn't matter at all.

In any case, Mother and Catherine de Bourgh (aunt of some kind) are introducing us to each other in hour. Mother said casual, didn't she? Yeah! Wait no—formal. No! That wasn't it…Semi-formal. Yes. Well…

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"Lizzy! What in God's good name are you wearing?"

I sniffed at Mother. "You know I'm as religious as the notches on my bedpost."

Mother looked thoroughly scandalized. "Lizzy, shut your mouth before someone hears!" It's not like that nearly screaming doesn't draw attention. I'm just glad we're outside the restaurant.

"We're part of the Darcy party," Mother proudly informs the little guy at the little desk. What are those called again? Why is it that whenever I need brains elementary school disappears in my mind and all I can think about is whether or not my foot would taste good with salt?

Are you just as confused and mildly disgusted as I am? Good.

As the waitress lead us to our designated table, I hear clips of conversations around me.

"Did you hear about poor Anne Elliot? That Wentworth fellow, was it, appearing in her life all over again? I feel for her, I do."

"So Miss Emma Woodhouse is finally settling down. Such a pretty, popular, young lady. Let's hope the Knightly fellow is a good lad."

I chuckled. High-class folk always sound like they're in the nineteenth century. I continue listening.

"You know aunt, I strongly object to this whole affair." Ooh. Perty voice.

"I know, dear."

"I mean, you've stripped me of my right to have a love life."

"I'm sorry, dear."

"And now I stuck to this pitiful little Elizabeth girl. She probably doesn't even know what pi is. You know these wanna-be rich girls, aunt. Not a brain in them. She'll just fawn over me like I'm the dearest little thing and then suspect me to pay for everything and anything—like she doesn't have nay money of her own. And I'll be stuck to her! Stuck to a stupid, idiotic, ugly, ditz."

A stupid ugly ditz? Why—I tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around in his seat.

Oh God. He's hot. Why do the hot ones always have to hate me? Eh, doesn't matter. He's a jerk.

"William Darcy, right?" I smirked at his nod, complete with an eyebrow raise and perhaps a 'what-the-hell-are-you-here-for-crazy-person' look. "Elizabeth Bennet," extending my hand for him to shake, "stupid, idiotic, ugly ditz at your service. Please excuse me if I'm a bit out of it. I had my brain removed last Friday. Pi is, still, as a rounded number, 3.14, right?" I smiled bitterly at his astonished face.

"Yes," he responded lamely. Ha. I left Mr. Big Shot Arrogant Walrus Jerk speechless.

"Hello Catherine, William." Do you think the death glare Mother is sending me means to shut up?

"Hello Francis. Please sit down." Catherine motioned to the two vacant chairs. Mother took the one next to Catherine. Great, now I have to sit next to the walrus. "So Elizabeth…" Catherine began again, a bit awkwardly.

"Lizzy. Everybody calls me Lizzy."

"A bit childish nickname, right?" I glared at Walrus warily.

"No," I said slowly, "If you mean that I feel like I'm being reduced to a child when some calls me that. But yes, if you imply that I am reminded of my childhood when people call me Lizzy. My childhood was so very wonderful when I wasn't getting arrested for one thing or another."

"Lizzy!"

"Of course," I continued without glancing at Mother, "Maybe getting into 'real trouble' has taught me a lesson to never to do my science experiment on how many sticks of dynamite it would take to blow up a parking lot." I clucked my tongue sadly, "So many lawsuits, so little time to beat their crappy lawyers."

"In fact," I exclaimed standing up eagerly, "I think I have a appointment right now with my lawyer. I'll be back, let's say, never, kay?"

"Lizzy," Catherine said firmly, before I could go, and I saw an evil flash in her eyes, "What a interesting dress code you seem to be following."

Dress code? I looked down at my clothes. A sort of coffee-beany colored shirt stating (what else) 'I LOVE COFFEE', faded jeans, my big black boots (which make me feel like Paul Bunyan whenever I were them) and um…my hair was in a ponytail. No makeup. Crap, Walrus is wearing a suite, and Mother and Catherine dresses and CRAP. It's formal.

Yeah, I JUST figured that out. Snicker all you want.

Evil Walrus man is chuckling. Catherine gives me a tight smile, and Mother has now developed a new habit of glaring at me. Maybe she's trying to kill me with 'looks' And if looks could kill…well, I would have a pretty gory death.

"Elizabeth," I snapped my head toward Walrus man and gave him a death glare, "What do you do for a living?" Oh my god. Did he just imply—"That is, if you actually have one." He freaking did! William Darcy implied that I, Elizabeth Bennet, a founder of Bennet, Gardiner, and Lucas, did not have a job!

"I'm like a lawyer." I said simply.

"Like? Not a real one?" Walrus man asked, doubtful.

"If you say so."

"By that logic I can assume you do whatever I say you to do for a living." He smiled challenging at me.

"Then what do I do, Mr. Darcy?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"How would I know, Miss Bennet, I can only imagine."

Crap. He got me there. "Ever heard of Bennet, Gardiner, and Lucas?"

"That Bennet?" He said dumbly. I rolled my eyes. Yes, that Bennet little boy. Now go off and play with your big toys. Little boy Walrus closed his mouth after that, eyeing me warily like I would bite him and give him rabies or something. God, stop treating like I'm a bum or something. I may look middle class, but guess what, Mr. Fancy Smance Walrus Boy, I'm not.

Needless to add, dinner was a somewhat strained affair.

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So, NO this isn't another story. I wrote this about five months ago when I was on sugar high and it was 3 am. I think you can tell. I post it purely for laughs because when I reread it I suddenly remember how weird I get if I'm on sugar high. Like comparing Darcy to a Walrus.

Becca