Author's Note : Super, special thanks to Thalia, without whom, this entire work would not be possible. I owe her a lot, and I just want to make it known that though the pairing mentioned in this story might still have existed, it would be nothing interesting without her. All thanks go to her, and a special nod should be given to her characterizations of Cassius Warrington and Kirsten Bundy as well as her help and input in using the character of Seamus Finnigan.
Disclaimer : I am poor and own nothing. All characters, situations, places, etc. therein belong to J. K. Rowling unless otherwise noted. No copyright is being infringed and no money is being made. Etc. Etc. Etc.
I didn't want to come in the first place, but my mother insisted incessantly ("She's your COUSIN and she INVITED you to be part of the WEDDING PARTY!") until I agreed. But, honestly, who wants to go to rainy old England for a wedding in the middle of August, anyway? Thinking of all the tanning time I'm missing makes me more angry than I already am, so I've tried to concentrate on something else. I keep getting told of how this is such a wonderful experience and blah, blah, blah, however, no one ever brings up the fact that maybe it's not such a thing for me. Emma's some sort of freak anyway, who really cares if she ties the knot with that Irish guy and produces more freaks? Bet they won't be able to wave pom-poms properly.
Emma's getting ready now... the wedding itself will start in about fifteen minutes, and that other girl (freak, even though she's a natural blonde *sniff of envy*) who's maid of honour is in there helping her with her dress. They're waving the pointy wooden sticks around to do her hair, and in a few minutes, that tall guy with the dark hair and the scary scowl (he'd be cute if it didn't kill him to smile, sheesh!1) is gonna come and give her away.
But despite all this, I suppose I have to be happy for Emma. She looks like she's positively FLOATING, as if she'd just won a hot pink convertible AND a date with Justin Timberlake AND a shopping spree. Well. I s'pose the Irish guy IS kind of cute. And he has an ADORABLE accent. Don't tell Emma I said that, though. Snappish little thing she can be...
Not to mention, she's got the scariest doll of d00m EVER!11! Chucky has NUTHIN' on it, man... IT LOOKS JUST LIKE HER!!
I'm serious about the doll. It was staring at me during the dress rehearsal last night and I tried to push it off the table and the freaky thing bit me! Emma and her little buddies laughed and then one of them healed my finger for me with her stick-thing, but I don't trust the doll.
Christina (or should I say Ravenna - which is a worse name than Seamus...is that the Irish guy's name, anyway?) is throwing a fit because the bride's maids' dresses are ivory and she wanted black (as if!) but I tell her to shove it and thank God that at least THEY aren't trying to bite our fingers off. She cusses me out in return and I merely look in the mirror, trying to fix my golden (as I like to think of them, though the bottle said 'Peroxide'...whatever color that is...) curls perfectly. My hair WILL look better than the bride's if I have my way.
Well. The other girl... Krissy, or whatever her name is... is stepping out of the dressing room. She still has the pointy stick thing, and it supposedly can do terrible things. Like turn me *gasp* bald. She says that Emma is ready to go, and that we can all go and see her now.
Damn, she looks better than me. HOW?! She's not even wearing that much makeup!!
Does marrying some Irish guy make one look better? Hmm... must consult Vogue and Glamour later on about this...
