I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorr-
Our Love, at last.
Matthew sighed softly, staring up at the sky as white, fat flakes slowly fell from the sky. Early February, it seemed insane to have an outdoor wedding, but it seemed as if General Winter had done his subordinate a favor for never complaining but rather embracing the cold, shiver-inducing days he brought.
The man in question was attending the wedding as a minister. Frost lined where he stood on the dais where he would wed the two lovers, dressed in white robes, wearing the typical uniform the church they'd chosen required, as frost slowly crawling along the white, wooden dais and his clothes.
There were many, many people in attendence, wedding's between countries were rather rare, and most people were egger to go to one.
The day was over-cast, gray, almost white, clouds covering every inch of the sky outside and beyond the Brittish Columbian Church in which Natalia and Victoria had agreed upon, Natalia liked it because there was a round, white porch on a cliff-edge that over-looked an amazing valley-view, the one where she wanted them to be wed at, completely wild, completely unrestricted by human interference. Victoria liked it because the saint the church was named after happened to have the same name as her.
There'd been a massive fight amongst his children over which of them would host their parents' wedding, Matthew remembered fondly, smiling when he remembered both Oliver and Victoria resorting to an actual fist fight to decide when only they remained as choices.
Canadian's could be so violent if prodded enough.
Like a sleeping monster. Belarus had once said to him.
Dressed in a black tux with a smokey grey pinstripe vest, with a white Gardenia flower tucked away in his lapel along with a white hankercheif. His hair brushed and pulled back, the wavy locks flairing out a bit in the back, so even his curl was lost in the fashionably messy style, he seemed...content, happy. Everything had been done as per tradition, and had been a source of debate amongst his children for months; vest or no vest? More white or more black? Lillies or carnations? European traditional or Native American traditional? It all seemed endless.
A whole slew of artificaly dyed flowers, black-coloured Gardenia's they'd been called, had been ordered, bought and paid for much to the happiness of Switzerland, who orginized the mass flower arrangement on the condition that Lichtenstein be a bridesmaid. (They didn't get any discounts even with the agreement.)
They went along with it, being short of women to fill the spots already filled by Matthew and Natalia's mainly male family, and were going to ask anyway.
Belarus and Canada decided to go half-way, instead of using either red or purple, went with white and black.
A hand reached out, grabbing Matt's shoulder, he turned slightly, and saw his brothers.
America and Russia, wearing almost the same clothes as Matt, except they had grey Hydrangeas in their lapels and light grey hankercheifs and vests, and their tuxido's were a lighter black.
"Are you insane?" Shivered Al, still wrapped in a puffy brown winter jacket. "In the fricken Winter bro?!"
Matthew laughed, smiling at his brother. "If you can't handle the weather, stay inside. We told you it was going to be cold, and you still insisted."
Alfred pouted. "When Iggy and I get married, it'll be in Arizona and I'll make you be my best man."
Matt's smile didn't fade, "I doubt Arthur would agree to have a wedding in the dessert, Al." He saw the look on Al's face, about to suggest some action movie-esqe way to make it more 'awesome' and appealing to his English Fiancée of about a month. "Even with a helecoptor instead of a car to drive off with." When Al looked dejected, he knew he'd hit the idea Al was going to pitch. Matthew turned, looking to Russia. "What do you think? A good choice in season?"
The Russian's plastic smile didn't fade, though he didn't exactly approve of Natalia's marriage to Matthew, he rathered it over the heart-attack inducing idea of an American-Belarusan union. Better of two evils, Matthew supposed. "Da, it is a testament to your...strong blood. I look forward to having strong soldiers of your heritage."
Matthew's smile grew just as false as his brother-in-law to-be's. "Just try, big boy."
Before Ivan could even begin his 'Kol-Kol' routine, Al and Ivan were forced back into their places, Al's coat ripped off his shoulders by Arthur, next to France, Prussia, Sweden, Denmark, Korea, Netherlands, Scotland, North Ireland, Wales, Ontario, Saskatchewan and Nova Scotia. Russia was forced by a pushy England to the front of the carpet.
England had taken the whole wedding in stride, taking command in orginizing every choice that Natalia made, making show of his amazing orginizational skills in preperations for his son's wedding. Though some, namely Francis and Matt, suspected he was trying to make up for the fact he'd been such a dick.
The carriage was as black as a nightmare, pulled by two massive horses the same shade, trimmed in white that shone almost silver against the dark colour, it was long, looking more like a hearse than a wedding carriage. It had a closed top, sealed in from every side, rather than open-roofed.
Russia opened the door, and bridesmaids in white dresses followed out shortly after he did, causing a slight whisper. If they were wearing white, what colour was Belarus wearing?
The woman seemed to disregard this, Ukraine, Hungary, Taiwan, Finland, who insisted on wearing a suit and not a dress, Lichtenstein, Belgium, Monaco, South Ireland; Matthew's Auntie, the independant one, New Brunswick, Northwest Territories, Quebec; who had not been given the same leniency as Finland, and had been forced into a dress, Brittish Columbia, and Poland, who designed the dresses along with Francis and, of course, happily wore one himself, he also begrudgingly bent to Belarus's requests about her dress, though Matthew had been forced to be kept in the dark about that.
Nantuq, Matthew's littlest, eskimo daughter (offical name Nunavut), rode out of the carriage on the back of her massive husky dog, wearing a white, frilly dress rather than her usual skin-and-hide parka, her long, deep black hair braided in a cute up-do with little white, Swiss Edelweiss flowers, (which the Swiss man who sent them would insist were a shipping error he couldn't legally charge them on) the dog lolled slowly forward as the girl tossed white rose-petals behind her onto the black carpet as Newfoundland rode beside her on his giant golden labrador dog, wearing a little tux, his short sandly blonde hair hardly needing anything to look wedding appropriate, holding a white pillow, wedding rings on top.
Finaly, Natalia stepped out.
She was absolutely astounding.
She wore a black gown, fitted clutches of silver and white beading and gems , made to look like little clutches of white leafs went along the smooth silk surface, no frills or lace, creating a ruffle/fold pattern on her dress from the waist down, a black corset, seperated from her hips by the same array of silver and gem beading, going up to where her belly button would be, her chest was outlined slightly from the bottom up, the neck-line was modest, no heavy cleavage or anything, just slightly dipped near he collar bone, a long black shawl, embroidered with the silver gems/leaf pattern near the ends, a necklace with the silver gem/leaf pattern completed the look. She wore a black silk veil, her grey-white hair barely visable underneath, her face completely covered as she clutched an arrangement of black, white and grey flowers.
She walked slowly on the arm of her brother as a few whispers about the colour choice rang.
She stepped onto the dais, looking up at her love. "Bad choice?" She whispered to him. "It just...seemed wrong to wear a white dress..."
He shook his head. "No, it's...pure Natalia. It's perfect." He smiled, wanting so bad to kiss her after not seeing her the whole week they'd been apart. "Scared?" He whispered back.
She nodded. "Terrified."
"Good, me too." She stiffled her laugh, putting a hand to her lips under the veil.
General Winter nodded to them, in his heavy Russian accent, prompted them. "Are you ready?"
They nodded, and began.
After what seemed to take an eternaty, he said it. "You may kiss the bride."
Matthew had already pulled off the veil before the words even slipped out of Winter's lips, holding his wife close, putting their lips together in their first kiss as husband and wife, Belarus's hands running through Matt's hair, ruffling it out of it's once-neat style, back into it's middle-parted way, curl bouncing between them. "Who put your hair like that? It looks stupid."
Matth chuckled, going in for another kiss. "Don't let Russia hear you say that."
Lithuania sat in the crowd, bawling his eyes out as Estona and Latvia comforted their sorry friend.
Together, the couple ran down the isle, past cheering and hollering abound in the sea of people as they tossed flower and bird seed into the air, which Victoria had empathised wouldn't harm the local birds as rice would and would rather help them once spring came.
The reception came and went in a flurry of dancing, champane, beer and drunken fights, one of which included an drunk Ivan and Matthew over Matt's 'Big boy' comment at the alter.
Alberta and Nova Scotia, every the partiers, didn't dare stop or call the authorites, asserting that fights were a Canadian tradition by shouting it into the mic, which just seemed to horrify a few, but mostly got cheers and hollers from Matthew's hockey-loving, already drunk friends.
The night finaly ended at four in the morning, people passed out or gone to their hotels, Matthew and Natalia having dissapeared at around one in the morning.
In the seat of their limo, the carriage sent home during the frosty night, Natalia sat in the lap of her husband, the dress falling around them, as they kissed in a way that certainly woundn't have been allowed at their actual wedding. Matthew's hands on her hips, Natalia's arms around his shoulders.
She pulled away slightly, looking deep into his violet eyes. "Let's hurry, I want to get out of these stupid shoes."
Matthew chuckled, the sound deep and resonating, sending pleasent chills down the woman's spine. "Mon chou, those shoes won't be the only thing you'll be getting out of."
BONUS!
Oliver sat next to his decidedly country-status rival, who sat at the corner of the hall, looking pissed as hell, though already more than tipsy if the half-empty wine bottle meant anything. "Nice dress, Jeanie." The blue-eyed Canadian snickered.
Quebec spat at Oliver in his Canadian French Dialect, looking away with a dark blush on his face. "I don't need you to patronize me, taburnac!"
The Eastern province leaned close to his not-really 'brother' and ally, whispering against his flushed cheek. "If I was being serious...?"
Drunk, angry, and more than a little lonely, Jean turned and kissed the other in a passionate frenzy, pressing their bodies close, more-or-less pushing Oliver to the floor in a heated make-out.
Oliver's tuxedo would later have to be paid for in full rather just renting it due to some unsavory stains and ripped buttons.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!
My computer broke. T^T The Picture for Belarus's gown is in my profile, the link at the very bottom, if you want it, but I changed the design a little, namely the silver embroidery.