|My wedding hat: Pom Pom|
This '30s glamour wide-brimmed
chapeau is constructed from a
deep-pan margherita pizza topped
with a Turkish-shaved marmoset
and liberally sprinkled with
Angora rabbit tails
I've just got back from that wedding (and its aftermath) I informed you I'd been forced into attending. Although it wasn't a guaranteed disaster (as I had previously hoped), its resulting disastrousness was somewhat of a surprise. I don't know why it should be a surprise, though. After all, who has a wedding on a Wednesday?
Oh, traditionally, Wednesday is supposed to be the best day to get married, but when one factors in all the selfish, thoughtless guests who find it so inconvenient to travel/abstain from alcohol/take days off work etc, organising a Wednesday Wedding can be a bit of a 'mare. Not to mention the unwelcome appearance of unwanted family members...
I couldn't believe there was going to be a second lot of photos. Apparently, the happy couple wanted some candid post-wedding photos of their friends having fun to complement the more formal posed photographs that were taken immediately after the ceremony.
|What lurks within?|
In the distance, Immelda and John, or was it James? Or, Josh? Well, whoever, the groom—her husband, now—were laughing together as they shared a private moment. To their right, the bouncy castle wobbled and shook as hordes of little brats did their best to out-do each other's highest bounces. The shouts and shrieks of joy and exhilaration were interrupted now and then with the skin-crawling screams of an indignant or injured toddler as it got bounced willy-nilly amongst the older, more boisterous, children. I would have smiled at their discomfort had the screams not been so disagreeable.
I flicked the vol-au-vent into the dense bamboo canes—I must have picked it up by accident earlier on as it was chicken and mushroom (yuk!)—and stooped to pick up my glass of Prosecco.
|Colton Haynes + Dermot Mulroney = Thunderfly|
He'd also managed to lose his jacket somewhere, and his tie was askew over his now unbuttoned shirt. Probably due to the 'attentions' of the twins, if I wasn't very much mistaken, as they both looked exceedingly pleased with themselves.
|A Thunderfly-esque young man|
making sure his biceps are still there
I was marvelling at how his enormous biceps still hadn't burst out of the ridiculously skinny-fit shirt he'd insisted upon wearing, when a glint of light caught my eye.
|I didn't have my wits about me to photograph the explosive|
bubbles, so you'll have to make do with these provided by
Babyzilla's bubble-mower (even though they look like they're
coming from her derriere which would be just as explosive!)
The explosion ripped through the surrounding bamboo canes, shredding leaves and leaving an oily smear of black smoke curling through the foliage.
I picked myself off the ground where I hadn't realised that I'd fallen (helped by my alcohol consumption, no doubt) and watched, open mouthed, as a second stray bubble popped on the tip of a bamboo shoot. This time I didn't fall. The explosion didn't seem so loud either—probably because I was expecting it.
"Miasma!" Thunderfly gasped as he regained his balance.
"These're Miasma's 'splosive bubbles. She's here!"
Now I vaguely recalled some of Thunderfly's briefing on Immelda's family as we flew here earlier. Specifically that Miasma was the personification of the proverbial Fat Girl who always said she had a Thin Girl inside waiting to get out. But in her case, the Thin Girl was her once fetus in fetu-turned-parasitic twin who actually did get out and could come and go as she pleased: Immelda!
In fact, when they were children, Miasma's parents thought that the 'sister' their daughter often talked about was an imaginary friend. Little did they know that they'd actually had twins. The girls often played together in secret but, as they grew up, Immelda—ironically, the most confident and outgoing twin—made a life for herself when she realised that she wasn't dependant upon her sister. Indeed, she discovered that she was capable of immersing herself—or 'melding'—with almost anyone, eventually leaving Miasma for good when she fell in love with the riches and fortune of an otherwise insufferable, entitled clod. Without Immelda, Miasma discovered that she too had a gift. Able to exude various toxic substances from her skin, such as viscous chemical sludges, acidic or alkaline liquids, and poisonous or explosive gases amongst others, she followed her sister like an Earthbound Erinys.
|Miasma's Island (via)|
And now, having somehow escaped, Miasma had found her missing twin and was determined to punish her for leaving her all alone.
"C'mon. Let's get out of here."
"What? And leave Miasma and Immelda trying to kill each other?" I was as aghast as I could be after imbibing almost a bottle of Prosecco.
"Why not? 's a family affair. 's best not to get involved" Thunderfly slurred. Clearly he'd managed to drink more than I initially suspected. "Didja see who Immelda's hiding in now?"
"No" I said, peering through the magnolia branches to the carnage and panic unfolding on the lawn. "Last time I saw her, she'd escaped from her maid-of-honour and jumped into one of the waiters."
A particularly loud explosion startled us both into throwing ourselves to the ground.
"We've got to do something" I shouted over a series of staccato detonations. "I can't think of any spells that are appropriate, though. Can't you do something? Rain, maybe, to wash away the bubbles? You are a weather warlock, after all."
"Ummm..." Thunderfly frowned as he thought hard through his alcohol-fuelled blankness.
I studied him as he lay amongst fallen twigs and dry leaves, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration as he looked inwards for a solution. He really was quite cute, if a little dim. Far too young and self-absorbed for me, though. Suddenly, he rolled over onto his back his frown disappearing to be replaced with a grin. He raised his powerful arms and began whispering an incantation. The sounds formed ribbons that wove about his splayed fingers—and also about something else that had risen further down past his soil and leaf covered abdomen—before they rippled up into the blue sky.
I raised an eyebrow at the tented fabric of his trousers. While it's not unusual for some spells to have a sexual element to them, I did wonder about its relevance in summoning rain. But, then, who was I to question a weather warlock? However, it wasn't the spell that warranted the eyebrow raise, it was the impressiveness of the bulge despite the sheer volume of alcohol that Thunderfly had consumed. I had a feeling that this wasn't going to end well.
To be continued...