Tell me something, who could ask for more than to be living in a moment I would die for?

[nothingsodivine]

[[Forward-dated to Sunday afternoon. Party post. Open to everyone, even if you don't know the happy couple- this is as much a celebration of two years of survival as it is a wedding.]]

In a large, nondenominational church in Chicago, people are gathered for a celebration- the wedding of Desmond Descant and Martha Jones. Everything is decked out to

Comments

Pre-Wedding

[nothingsodivine]

O HAI

[cherubstempter]

Sometime not too long before the wedding starts, a hallway or a doorway shimmers a bit, turns dark, and out of it steps a rather familiar (to Des, anyway) figure. He's covered in grime and dried blood, and his clothes have definitely seen better days - he's got a shotgun and a steel pipe and looks like he's been living in a zombie movie for a good number of weeks.

But of course, Mathias' reaction to finding himself in a church that appears to be in a normal, non-wherever-he's-been world is to simply go, "...huh," and wander into the chapel proper.

"A wedding! Not that I'm complaining, but I don't think I'm really dressed for the occasion."

Here, Des. Have a biffle, just in time to see you get hitched.

[nothingsodivine]

There is large uproar in the chapel. Archangel bodyguards go for their guns, a few people start moving away, BECAUSE HOLY FUCK THERE IS A BLOODY, PIPE-WEILDING PERSON IN THEIR MIDST.

Des, for his part, is just frozen, staring blankly. And then he proceeds to let out a volley of swear words that should never be said in a church. The priest behind him looks offended.

"You fucker," he says, stomping down the aisle. His tone starts out angry and slowly evolves into estactic. "Where the hell have you been, you crazy jackass?" He'd hug him, but they're not the hugging types. And Mathias is sort of covered in grime.

[cherubstempter]

Mathias might hug him. Except for, y'know, Des looks so pretty, and he'd hate to ruin his makeup with the inevitable girly tears should they actually make contact. Plus the grime.

"Don't fucking swear at me, asshole," Mathias protests. "I've been in some damned hell dimension or something, reminded me of those fucking Silent Hill video games. Where have you been, hero boy?"

[nothingsodivine]

"I'll swear if I damn well want to. What were you doing in a hell dimension?" Because people totally have a choice in these things. It does not occur to Des that this is a very odd conversation to be having in the middle of a chapel, while bunches of guests stand around staring at them.

"I'm been to Oz, asshole," he says, sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "And you weren't there, because you were in a hell dimension. Where d'you think I've been?"

[cherubstempter]

"Well, you have that whole hero complex, I kinda thought you might try some daring rescue attempt. You left one deeply disappointed damsel out there, Descant."

...Yes, he just called himself a damsel. He appreciates the humor there.

"Looks like I got back just in time, though - how soon's this shindig happening? I mean, if I have 15 minutes and you've got a spare set of clothes, I can manage a shower..."

[nothingsodivine]

"How was I supposed to know you were in a Hell dimension? I didn't see any signs? D'you know how many people I know wound up in Hell dimensions? You'd think there would've been a note or a door or... Something. I'm not psychic." He is, in fact, flailing rather splendidly. This is his being very, very deeply sorry that he couldn't do anything about it.

"Uh." He checks his watch. He's not wearing a watch. He checks the watch of the guy who happens to be standing next to him. "There's probably something somewhere. Run fast." He turns back to Mathias. "Seriously, man. I am ecstatic that you're back. I was getting worried."

[cherubstempter]

Mathias laughs and shakes his head. "Chill out, Des, I'm messin' with you. It's okay, how were you supposed to know?" There's a glimmer of something behind his eyes, but it'd be hard to decipher if it was noticed. Most likely, Mathias is actually glad Des wasn't there, since Des can die now and all.

"I will be back in a flash," he says. "Save a spot for me with the groomsmen, yeah?" he adds as he heads off. He will FIND a shower, if he has to hose down quickly in the garden.

[nowinprint]

Fear not, Des! For up bops Dmitri, who is wearing a hat. (Don't worry. Appropriate sense of decorum means she'll take it off for the ceremony. But it's not every day a girl gets to wear a zoot suit to a wedding, you know?)

"Soho, desperado, here's what you've got," she says, flipping around so they're shoulder-to-shoulder as soon as she draws up, and singling out a number of bezootsuited men in the crowd. "I found you a detective-sometimes-chief-inspector, an op-tech, a werewolf spy, a faun who makes the most transcendental coffee, an archangel, an angel of knowledge with a speciality in American regional music, a small-business owner who turns into a binturong, and a behemoth bartender who broke into his reserves to augment your open bar for the occasion." She grins. "I know I'm good."

[nothingsodivine]

Des stares at each man as she points them out, expression slightly amused. "I know one of those people, but still better than a personals ad. You're a genius, Dmi. I conscripted Luke too, even if he's gonna be a kitten for the occasion. Who can beat a wedding where one of your groomsmen is a kitten in a tux?"

Yes, this is much easier to focus on than the OH GOD, I AM ACTUALLY GETTING MARRIED nerves in his stomach.

[nowinprint]

"Can't beat 'em. Gotta join 'em, Mr. Hitched. Though if you would have wanted, I've sure I could've been a raven in a dress."

She reaches over, giving Des a manly pat on the shoulder.

"Here." She sidles up a bit closer, passing over a stack of Polaroids - and hell if the narration knows where she got a Polaroid camera and film - with the high covert style of a drug dealer. There's a collection of candid photos of groomsmen, with names on the front in silver Sharpie and bullet points on the back indicating notes like "Surly" and "Feel free to interrupt". "Flash cards. Or just feel free to call them all 'Hey, you!'; I think most of them will roll with it."

Because Dmitri Lang told them to.

[nothingsodivine]

Des flips through the flashcards, slightly wide-eyed in the way one gets when Dmitri Lang done something so utterly ridiculous or incomprehensible that if you have sit and wonder if she's actually a real person or is just some weird subconscious manifestation of all the random in the world. Or something.

"You're either really unsettling or the best Best Man ever, Langolier," he says, laughing as he pockets the Polaroids. He claps her on the shoulder. "I'll be generous and go with the latter."

[nowinprint]

"Unheimliche is in the eye of the unsettled, my dashing double-dog-dare," Dmitri says, though she may be beaming. Hey, history is being made, her buddy is having his big special day, and while she's not front and center stage, she's nevertheless got a major supporting role. Life is good.

She crosses her arms.

"Bear in mind, you would have had a CIA unit director, but he proved a bit too wiley even for me. Next time you need guy friends, Dee, gimme something a bit more like a month's notice to soften the guy up for you."

[whateverthemess]

Murphy feels somewhat out of place. She's in a dress again--the lady she keeps borrowing clothes from finally insisted she get something of her own. She's standing at the back, watching the crowds. She knows of Martha Jones, her position in the supernatural community, so it's really not surprising to see this kind of attendance. Even some of Murphy's people are here.

She drums her hands against the wall, wondering if she should try to find a seat.

[w_for_wizard]

Harry feels even more out of place than Murphy, but when Karrin Murphy drags you along as her date, you do not argue. ...okay, she might not have used the word "date", but she didn't want to go alone, so here he is. In clothes that don't quite fit him, because trying to find clothes for someone as freakishly tall and lanky as Harry at the last minute is always a losing proposition.

He leans over to murmur in her ear, "I know it can't be the church making you nervous, so... are you always this awkward in a dress?"

[whateverthemess]

She elbows him, not quite hard enough to be painful. "Last time I wore a dress giant rats fell from the sky and ruined my favorite ballet. Shut up."

Dresses and Murphy didn't get along before she dropped through the rift. Now that she has the giant rats of death excuse, she kind of can't believe she's wearing one again.