A/N: I decided to treat all of you to a famous, once-in-a-lifetime chance
at a chapter of mine updated VERY CLOSE TO THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER!!!!!
For she's a jolly good fellow, for she's a jolly good... fellow?
Oh well, it works.
Thank you all for reviewing, and I'm ecstatically happy that I finally broke 100 reviews. I love you guys! So here it is, the tenth step on the way to glory.
Fasten your seatbelts, buckos; it's a bumpy ride to
Chapter 10: Her Majesty, the Queen
Things went on like this for about a week:
Me sitting in princessy-type room with cup of Folgers sludge;
Me sitting in princessy-type room with cup of Folgers sludge, watching the creepy-psycho doctor like a hawk to make sure he didn't try anything;
Me sitting with book in hand/ playing clock solitaire on little round table while trying hard not to scream and throw things, as I get snide comments directed my way.
Jen and I talking/ eating chicken soup and watching bad cable daytime shows about incestuous twins or fat ladies with skinny husbands (and vice versa) or gigantic puppets shows that last forever and leave you gasping in pain while still singing theme song.
Then, around the eighth day of my "visit," my mom decided to come round for tea.
The butler knocked on our door. I had taken a liking to this man, who looked like a penguin in a fat suit (quite a feat, eh?) and was soon on self-imposed, one-sided first name/nickname terms with him.
"Ms. Bennet? The master" (read: Charlie Bingleton) "wishes your presence in the drawing room as soon as is convenient," he bowed very low.
How FANCY can you get? Maybe it was something good for once in this godforsaken boondocks of a metropolis residence. I could do with a good surprise.
"Mrs. Bennet, your mother, is here,"
Don't get your hopes up, Lizzy gal, they only get blown up by the cynical Rambo/Rambo II/ Rambo III of reality with their high-tech arrows, big machine guns, and horrible acting jobs.
Yippee.
"Thanks, Pronby" (his name was Pronby Topping. Well, I give his mother points for creativity) "tell him I'll be down in a bit," After I've been foiled trying to escape out through the windows and running to the hills to live a life as a hermit living primarily off squirrel and bits of tree bark and boy scouts.
Well, maybe not the tree bark.
******************
Twenty-five minutes, fifteen seconds, and twelve milliseconds later, I was down in the drawing room (why DO they call it a drawing room? I mean, do you DRAW in a drawing room, or is that just a figure of speech? And why call it a drawing room if you don't use it for that purpose? Why must they mislead poor, innocent, fresh-faced lassies such as myself into thinking that there was something actually interesting going on in all that wasted space?) with my mom, Charlie, Darcy, and the Gorgons. I was greeted with lots of different, reproving looks. My mom for keeping her waiting, Charlie for keeping my mother yakking away at him for over ten minutes, the Medusa sisters for having me be so...me, and Darcy because he was Darcy.
Pompous bastard
"LIZZY DAHLING!!!" gushed my mother. I was vaguely surprised. My mom had never actually seemed truly happy to see me before. "I simply HAD to come when I heard about poor Jen! Imagine walking all the way here in a blizzard! What could she have been thinking? Oh well that is the way of it when you're young... Oh look at this marvelous staircase! I haven't seen one quite like it since that time in Paris, you remember Lizzy? Of course you do, we had such fun, didn't we? Goodness me, I have never seen a carpet so thick as this! Charlie, you dog, where DID you get it, you simply MUST tell me, for I can't be happy until I know. Why this hallway is absolutely GLITTERING! And is that a portrait of young Miss Bingleton I see there? Why yes it is, and done SO lovingly, too. I declare, the artist really HAS captured her look, especially her eyes. Oh- er, Mr. Darcy, could you kindly move to the other side of me? I don't know why, but I have this terrible sense of claustrophobia on my left side. There's no space on my right side? Oh dear, then you'll simply have to walk behind us, now won't you? Terribly sorry about it and all, but can't help it now can I? Oh Lizzy, you are simply TOO thin! Have you not eaten all this time because you were looking after your sister? How WONDERFULLY heroic of you dahling, but you simply MUST eat to maintain your strength....OH MY LORD, LOOK AT THIS ROOM!!!! THIS IS FABULOUS, THIS IS MARVELOUS, THIS IS...TOO GENEROUS OF YOU CHARLIE, SIMPLY TOO GENEROUS OF YOU, YOU ARE SO KIND, SO WARM, SO WELCOMING AS TO INVITE GUESTS LIKE MY DAUGHTERS TO STAY IN ROOMS LIKE THIS YOU ARE-"
I think you pretty much get it. With all the screeching and caterwauling and fussing and gushing and praising issuing from my maternal unit's smiling jaws, is it any wonder that she woke Jen up? And after that, is it any wonder that she asked rather dramatically for a few minutes alone with her precious daughter? And after that, is it any wonder that I spent the whole of five minutes mentally strangling my mom with whatever was readily available (the cord of the traitorous hairdryer, perhaps) over her insults, lies, and ready-made praises outside my sister's door? And after that, is it any wonder my mother came out of the room and tearfully ejaculated the whole story of her daughter's misery and woe to the politely attentive Charlie, and then said (VERY LOUDLY) that Jen couldn't even be CONSIDERED well enough to move for at least another week, and that I, her dear, sweet girl should stay by her sister's side the entire time? And then that she dramatically left, praising the earth and sky and moon and sun and especially praising Charlie Bingleton?
No, it's not really, is it?
The whole of the visit lasted only about an hour, but it was the kind of hour that can ruin your day/week/month/ENTIRE LIFE. I wanted to sink into the floor and become one with the plush carpeting and golden-paneled walls.
Now, I would never truly call myself a vulnerable person, but my mother's visit would probably be material to make the rest of my stay there WORSE THAN THE NINTH RING OF HELL in many respects. Because in the ninth ring of hell, there is only one devil, and the fires consume you nice and quickly, despite the fact that you spend all eternity there (plenty of time to get used to the heat). But in this, the tenth ring, there were THREE devils, plenty of space to roam in and pretend you're free, and nice, cool, sinful Central Air.
As I have said once: CRUEL FATE, WHY MUST YOU MOCK ME?????
And so, another week went by, and the only variation on the whole thing was the added fuel of my mother's visit to the lukewarm forges of those Cyclopses of stupidity, Emma and Sarah, and received more coldness and pomposity from that yowling ass, William Darcy.
And so, when Jen had recovered, and we had said an innumerable amount of goodbyes and answered a bunch of "you-will-come-again?'s" and "have you forgotten anything?'s" and we had hopped into his (REALLY POSH) limo, I heaved the third-biggest sigh of relief ever heaved (the first being Yeoman Arny Fletcher after successfully evaded death at the hands of his crazed half-demon sister for the third time, the second being Master Rodrigo Fromaggio after winning the Scrabble game to end all Scrabble games, when the stakes put up by the evil Dr. Insanoid were the loss of his beloved armadillo, Froufrou and his chain of bubblegum wrappers.) and opened my window as far as it would go, and screamed as loud as my lungs would let me, "FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA I HATE YOU, EVIL MEDUSA TWINS AND INSIPID EMOTIONAL FUCKWIT WILLIAM DARCYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
If you've never done anything like, you really should.
And so life went back to being relatively normal, despite the fact that I had just discovered two more mortal enemies that had to be dealt with immediately for the sake of my future happiness.
Until the day Stephen Baker showed up.
"Lizzy? Do we have a cousin named Stephen?" called Jen from the computer in the dining room. I was on the couch in the living room, catching up on my Looney Tunes watching. Bugs Bunny was doing the hair of that big red haired monster...thing, and I was totally engulfed.
"Wha? Ummm, dunno," I said, almost missing my mouth with my cereal spoon. I am NOT a morning person, shall we say, added to the fact that I had gone out clubbing with Rowan and Kat the night before. The poor kid was nursing a bruised toe from where he had kicked a brick wall in a game of "Who can do the most without getting hurt?" Stupid game to get into with Kat, if you ask me. I mean,
a#1.) Rowan is a baby. I mean a BIG baby. Probably the BIGGEST baby of all infantile men out there, and that's saying something.
a#2.) I think we all remember or have heard of the glass shard episode (see Chapter 1 if you're a twattering dunderhead). Kat is SUPERHUMAN. It's rather scary, actually.
"Well, this guy called Stephen Baker is e-mailing me, telling me that even though we've never met, we're third or fourth cousins or something like that, and that he's coming here to meet us,"
"Creepy," I said, coming over to read the message over her shoulder.
"Dear Jennifer Bennet- "I know that we have never met, but please be so good as to let me introduce myself. My name is Rev. Stephen Baker, and I do believe, if family trees are anything to go by, as my good employer is so fond of saying, that we are related, if somewhat distantly. My lady, The Catherine de Bourgh herself, has advised me to take an active interest in my relatives, no matter how distant or estranged they may be. As she said to me once, 'My dear Mr. Baker, you never know when you'll be forced to rely on such relatives as God has given you, even if those relatives be beneath your hopes and horizons,'
"And so, dear Jennifer, I am taking leave of my Lady, however loathe to leave her I am, to come and visit you and your sister in your home. I do hope that you will be ready to welcome me on Thursday, at six o'clock at Logan Airport, and we shall endeavor to not only to placate my dear and fair employer, but also to be true to the ties that hold a family together.
"Yours, in all the dearest designs of Industry, Reverend Stephen Theophilus Baker"
"Wow," I said, finishing the letter. "Just...wow. I never knew anyone had it in them,"
Jen looked at me questioningly. "Have what in them?"
I smiled wryly. "To insult someone so much, and then ask them to waked up at five in the friggin' morning to give them a ride to our house and have them stay here for a week or something in the same breath. Assuming bastard,"
"Lizzy! We haven't even met him yet!"
"Yeah, but he is all the same, just you wait and see,"
Jen turned back to the computer screen. "Catherine de Bourgh...isn't she that really rich woman who owns, like, half of Spain and part of Cancun?"
"Well, whoever the hell she is, he thinks she's the damn earth and sky. I bet you she's a frigid, pompous bitch,"
"Maybe, I won't take you up on that, though. She could be a perfectly respectable person, we never know,"
Right. Yep, Ignominiously Co-dependant Boy thinks she's the queen Sheba or something, and she's a respectable person.
But all I knew was that I really, REALLY didn't like the writer of that e-mail, and I wasn't going to let a disgustingly rich woman's pet priest invade on my life and be a big ol' wrench in the big ol' gears.
What gears, you ask? I've got no idea, they're hypothetical. Suffice to say that there in the hypothetical world there is a big ass hypothetical wrench that could potentially block a big ass hypothetical set of hypothetical gears.
But little did I know that this hypothetical-wrench man would do just that.
A/N: You like? Good good! And if not, HA, because asked for this chapter!
It's that time again! Blackmail (I mean extortion) time! I have now (thank you very much) broken 100 reviews. But I will not post (and I WILL post, I promise) until I get 125 reviews. That's not so hard, is it??????
No, of course not.
And about the whole "IS THIS REAL????" crap, THIS STORY LINE BELONGS TO JANE AUSTEN. No, the exact things /line/ details of this story never happened. But I DO know people like my characters, and they are the basis for my story's characters and their reactions.
BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH. Ennui sinks in as midterms loom up on the horizon (actually it's only an English midterm, and that's a joke). Everyone wish Blazing-moon good luck on her exams. Tough luck, gal.
One (1) more thing, I promise. Could everyone reviewing tell me where they're from? I think it's really cool how many countries this site reaches and has peopled writing from, so if you could just tell me what country you're from, I'd learn how many countries and people I'm reaching. AWESOME! Thanks a bunch!
NOW REVIEW!
For she's a jolly good fellow, for she's a jolly good... fellow?
Oh well, it works.
Thank you all for reviewing, and I'm ecstatically happy that I finally broke 100 reviews. I love you guys! So here it is, the tenth step on the way to glory.
Fasten your seatbelts, buckos; it's a bumpy ride to
Chapter 10: Her Majesty, the Queen
Things went on like this for about a week:
Me sitting in princessy-type room with cup of Folgers sludge;
Me sitting in princessy-type room with cup of Folgers sludge, watching the creepy-psycho doctor like a hawk to make sure he didn't try anything;
Me sitting with book in hand/ playing clock solitaire on little round table while trying hard not to scream and throw things, as I get snide comments directed my way.
Jen and I talking/ eating chicken soup and watching bad cable daytime shows about incestuous twins or fat ladies with skinny husbands (and vice versa) or gigantic puppets shows that last forever and leave you gasping in pain while still singing theme song.
Then, around the eighth day of my "visit," my mom decided to come round for tea.
The butler knocked on our door. I had taken a liking to this man, who looked like a penguin in a fat suit (quite a feat, eh?) and was soon on self-imposed, one-sided first name/nickname terms with him.
"Ms. Bennet? The master" (read: Charlie Bingleton) "wishes your presence in the drawing room as soon as is convenient," he bowed very low.
How FANCY can you get? Maybe it was something good for once in this godforsaken boondocks of a metropolis residence. I could do with a good surprise.
"Mrs. Bennet, your mother, is here,"
Don't get your hopes up, Lizzy gal, they only get blown up by the cynical Rambo/Rambo II/ Rambo III of reality with their high-tech arrows, big machine guns, and horrible acting jobs.
Yippee.
"Thanks, Pronby" (his name was Pronby Topping. Well, I give his mother points for creativity) "tell him I'll be down in a bit," After I've been foiled trying to escape out through the windows and running to the hills to live a life as a hermit living primarily off squirrel and bits of tree bark and boy scouts.
Well, maybe not the tree bark.
******************
Twenty-five minutes, fifteen seconds, and twelve milliseconds later, I was down in the drawing room (why DO they call it a drawing room? I mean, do you DRAW in a drawing room, or is that just a figure of speech? And why call it a drawing room if you don't use it for that purpose? Why must they mislead poor, innocent, fresh-faced lassies such as myself into thinking that there was something actually interesting going on in all that wasted space?) with my mom, Charlie, Darcy, and the Gorgons. I was greeted with lots of different, reproving looks. My mom for keeping her waiting, Charlie for keeping my mother yakking away at him for over ten minutes, the Medusa sisters for having me be so...me, and Darcy because he was Darcy.
Pompous bastard
"LIZZY DAHLING!!!" gushed my mother. I was vaguely surprised. My mom had never actually seemed truly happy to see me before. "I simply HAD to come when I heard about poor Jen! Imagine walking all the way here in a blizzard! What could she have been thinking? Oh well that is the way of it when you're young... Oh look at this marvelous staircase! I haven't seen one quite like it since that time in Paris, you remember Lizzy? Of course you do, we had such fun, didn't we? Goodness me, I have never seen a carpet so thick as this! Charlie, you dog, where DID you get it, you simply MUST tell me, for I can't be happy until I know. Why this hallway is absolutely GLITTERING! And is that a portrait of young Miss Bingleton I see there? Why yes it is, and done SO lovingly, too. I declare, the artist really HAS captured her look, especially her eyes. Oh- er, Mr. Darcy, could you kindly move to the other side of me? I don't know why, but I have this terrible sense of claustrophobia on my left side. There's no space on my right side? Oh dear, then you'll simply have to walk behind us, now won't you? Terribly sorry about it and all, but can't help it now can I? Oh Lizzy, you are simply TOO thin! Have you not eaten all this time because you were looking after your sister? How WONDERFULLY heroic of you dahling, but you simply MUST eat to maintain your strength....OH MY LORD, LOOK AT THIS ROOM!!!! THIS IS FABULOUS, THIS IS MARVELOUS, THIS IS...TOO GENEROUS OF YOU CHARLIE, SIMPLY TOO GENEROUS OF YOU, YOU ARE SO KIND, SO WARM, SO WELCOMING AS TO INVITE GUESTS LIKE MY DAUGHTERS TO STAY IN ROOMS LIKE THIS YOU ARE-"
I think you pretty much get it. With all the screeching and caterwauling and fussing and gushing and praising issuing from my maternal unit's smiling jaws, is it any wonder that she woke Jen up? And after that, is it any wonder that she asked rather dramatically for a few minutes alone with her precious daughter? And after that, is it any wonder that I spent the whole of five minutes mentally strangling my mom with whatever was readily available (the cord of the traitorous hairdryer, perhaps) over her insults, lies, and ready-made praises outside my sister's door? And after that, is it any wonder my mother came out of the room and tearfully ejaculated the whole story of her daughter's misery and woe to the politely attentive Charlie, and then said (VERY LOUDLY) that Jen couldn't even be CONSIDERED well enough to move for at least another week, and that I, her dear, sweet girl should stay by her sister's side the entire time? And then that she dramatically left, praising the earth and sky and moon and sun and especially praising Charlie Bingleton?
No, it's not really, is it?
The whole of the visit lasted only about an hour, but it was the kind of hour that can ruin your day/week/month/ENTIRE LIFE. I wanted to sink into the floor and become one with the plush carpeting and golden-paneled walls.
Now, I would never truly call myself a vulnerable person, but my mother's visit would probably be material to make the rest of my stay there WORSE THAN THE NINTH RING OF HELL in many respects. Because in the ninth ring of hell, there is only one devil, and the fires consume you nice and quickly, despite the fact that you spend all eternity there (plenty of time to get used to the heat). But in this, the tenth ring, there were THREE devils, plenty of space to roam in and pretend you're free, and nice, cool, sinful Central Air.
As I have said once: CRUEL FATE, WHY MUST YOU MOCK ME?????
And so, another week went by, and the only variation on the whole thing was the added fuel of my mother's visit to the lukewarm forges of those Cyclopses of stupidity, Emma and Sarah, and received more coldness and pomposity from that yowling ass, William Darcy.
And so, when Jen had recovered, and we had said an innumerable amount of goodbyes and answered a bunch of "you-will-come-again?'s" and "have you forgotten anything?'s" and we had hopped into his (REALLY POSH) limo, I heaved the third-biggest sigh of relief ever heaved (the first being Yeoman Arny Fletcher after successfully evaded death at the hands of his crazed half-demon sister for the third time, the second being Master Rodrigo Fromaggio after winning the Scrabble game to end all Scrabble games, when the stakes put up by the evil Dr. Insanoid were the loss of his beloved armadillo, Froufrou and his chain of bubblegum wrappers.) and opened my window as far as it would go, and screamed as loud as my lungs would let me, "FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA I HATE YOU, EVIL MEDUSA TWINS AND INSIPID EMOTIONAL FUCKWIT WILLIAM DARCYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
If you've never done anything like, you really should.
And so life went back to being relatively normal, despite the fact that I had just discovered two more mortal enemies that had to be dealt with immediately for the sake of my future happiness.
Until the day Stephen Baker showed up.
"Lizzy? Do we have a cousin named Stephen?" called Jen from the computer in the dining room. I was on the couch in the living room, catching up on my Looney Tunes watching. Bugs Bunny was doing the hair of that big red haired monster...thing, and I was totally engulfed.
"Wha? Ummm, dunno," I said, almost missing my mouth with my cereal spoon. I am NOT a morning person, shall we say, added to the fact that I had gone out clubbing with Rowan and Kat the night before. The poor kid was nursing a bruised toe from where he had kicked a brick wall in a game of "Who can do the most without getting hurt?" Stupid game to get into with Kat, if you ask me. I mean,
a#1.) Rowan is a baby. I mean a BIG baby. Probably the BIGGEST baby of all infantile men out there, and that's saying something.
a#2.) I think we all remember or have heard of the glass shard episode (see Chapter 1 if you're a twattering dunderhead). Kat is SUPERHUMAN. It's rather scary, actually.
"Well, this guy called Stephen Baker is e-mailing me, telling me that even though we've never met, we're third or fourth cousins or something like that, and that he's coming here to meet us,"
"Creepy," I said, coming over to read the message over her shoulder.
"Dear Jennifer Bennet- "I know that we have never met, but please be so good as to let me introduce myself. My name is Rev. Stephen Baker, and I do believe, if family trees are anything to go by, as my good employer is so fond of saying, that we are related, if somewhat distantly. My lady, The Catherine de Bourgh herself, has advised me to take an active interest in my relatives, no matter how distant or estranged they may be. As she said to me once, 'My dear Mr. Baker, you never know when you'll be forced to rely on such relatives as God has given you, even if those relatives be beneath your hopes and horizons,'
"And so, dear Jennifer, I am taking leave of my Lady, however loathe to leave her I am, to come and visit you and your sister in your home. I do hope that you will be ready to welcome me on Thursday, at six o'clock at Logan Airport, and we shall endeavor to not only to placate my dear and fair employer, but also to be true to the ties that hold a family together.
"Yours, in all the dearest designs of Industry, Reverend Stephen Theophilus Baker"
"Wow," I said, finishing the letter. "Just...wow. I never knew anyone had it in them,"
Jen looked at me questioningly. "Have what in them?"
I smiled wryly. "To insult someone so much, and then ask them to waked up at five in the friggin' morning to give them a ride to our house and have them stay here for a week or something in the same breath. Assuming bastard,"
"Lizzy! We haven't even met him yet!"
"Yeah, but he is all the same, just you wait and see,"
Jen turned back to the computer screen. "Catherine de Bourgh...isn't she that really rich woman who owns, like, half of Spain and part of Cancun?"
"Well, whoever the hell she is, he thinks she's the damn earth and sky. I bet you she's a frigid, pompous bitch,"
"Maybe, I won't take you up on that, though. She could be a perfectly respectable person, we never know,"
Right. Yep, Ignominiously Co-dependant Boy thinks she's the queen Sheba or something, and she's a respectable person.
But all I knew was that I really, REALLY didn't like the writer of that e-mail, and I wasn't going to let a disgustingly rich woman's pet priest invade on my life and be a big ol' wrench in the big ol' gears.
What gears, you ask? I've got no idea, they're hypothetical. Suffice to say that there in the hypothetical world there is a big ass hypothetical wrench that could potentially block a big ass hypothetical set of hypothetical gears.
But little did I know that this hypothetical-wrench man would do just that.
A/N: You like? Good good! And if not, HA, because asked for this chapter!
It's that time again! Blackmail (I mean extortion) time! I have now (thank you very much) broken 100 reviews. But I will not post (and I WILL post, I promise) until I get 125 reviews. That's not so hard, is it??????
No, of course not.
And about the whole "IS THIS REAL????" crap, THIS STORY LINE BELONGS TO JANE AUSTEN. No, the exact things /line/ details of this story never happened. But I DO know people like my characters, and they are the basis for my story's characters and their reactions.
BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH. Ennui sinks in as midterms loom up on the horizon (actually it's only an English midterm, and that's a joke). Everyone wish Blazing-moon good luck on her exams. Tough luck, gal.
One (1) more thing, I promise. Could everyone reviewing tell me where they're from? I think it's really cool how many countries this site reaches and has peopled writing from, so if you could just tell me what country you're from, I'd learn how many countries and people I'm reaching. AWESOME! Thanks a bunch!
NOW REVIEW!