a bit of fun....

Jo Zebedee

Jo Zebedee

Aliens vs Belfast.
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So coming up on the critiques thread, is the idea that we all write a premise differently and it brings it's own telling.

So, I've taken a very short excerpt from my WIP since I don't have anyone elses to hand ;) or else no permission to use it.....

Here's the background, and here's what I did with it: the actual marriage preceded it, this is just the final end bit.

So, in the middle of my sci fi story of derring dos and what not I have a love story (it is after all, what we do) and this is the end of the marriage scene. I wanted to convey a couple of things - that this is a love story, that they're happy at the mo, that there is a sense of humour in there, and yes, sorry to all those who don't like slush, a little bit of the ahh! factor.

So, how would you do a marriage? either this one, or a completely different one.




Sonly wiped the tears from her eyes and decided she might be sick. Beside her Kare tried to keep his face serious, not rise to Silom’s merciless speech about him, but she knew it was an act, had seen him start to laugh several times.

“The last gift,” shouted Silom to the increasingly raucous crowd, “is a medal.” He pulled it out and it was comically large, obviously home made. He looked over the crowd, found the face he wanted and nodded to them. “Captain Stitt; for going over and above the call of duty in training what was undoubtedly the worst foot soldier I’ve ever served alongside.”

Kare started to laugh at that, properly laugh, even as he glared at Silom, but as Stitt came up to take her medal he leaned over to Sonly and confided, “I’m going to kill him later.”

Sonly giggled. “You shouldn’t have asked him; you knew what would happen. No one else had as much ammunition on you. Oh, my sides are sore.”

Silom wrapped up with a last joke and then sat down to huge applause. Kare glanced at Sonly.

“You’re up next,” she told him.


Kare looked at the crowd, still laughing from Silom, looked back at Sonly and said, “Mine’s easy; you’re beautiful and I’m the luckiest man alive.”

She watched him stand up and say exactly that.
 
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Good idea -- something I've pondered before now but never got around to doing.

Two things. One, I think this is a Workshop matter, as it's a kind of exercise, so I'll transfer it over there. Two, you're in time for editing, so how about some line spaces between paragraphs to make it easier to read for us old folks?
 
I don't have a marriage yet, I'm afraid, but how about a proposal?



His face inches from me, his eyes on mine, his breath against my lips he said, "Going to marry me?"

His eyes were mocking, his lips twisted. He knew I wouldn't.

"Yes," I said fiercely, pushing my hands against his chest, shoving him hard, angrily. "I am."

There was a long pause. He caught my wrists, held them hard. Bones shifted under my skin. Dark blood from his knuckles ran down his hand, onto my coat. I was too angry to be frightened; I glared at him, hot-cheeked, furious.

He pulled my hat from my head so my hair spilled out, crazy and long and tangled. His fingers threaded into it; he murmured, lips against my forehead, "God, Emma. You're ******* insane." And then his mouth was moving from my forehead, down my cheek, and finding my mouth. His lips were salty with my tears. His hands clenched in my hair, and I lost myself and all my thoughts.
 
The Judge said:
Good idea -- something I've pondered before now but never got around to doing.

Two things. One, I think this is a Workshop matter, as it's a kind of exercise, so I'll transfer it over there. Two, you're in time for editing, so how about some line spaces between paragraphs to make it easier to read for us old folks?
Click to expand...

Done, M'lord, apologies. :eek: I did wonder which forum to put it in.

@Hex, ooh I like that; we could have the whole thing from start to finish by the end of it all.
 
I like this idea! A quick mouse-esque version of yours:

Sonly wiped the tears from her eyes, sniffed, and wondered if she was going to throw up. She hoped not. Beside her, Kare was struggling to keep his face serious as he listened to Silom’s speech. She’d already seen him laugh though. Several times.

“The last gift,” Silom said, raising his voice to get himself heard over the increasingly noisy crowd, “is a medal.”

It was a medal, all right, a ridiculously large home-made one. Silom picked someone out from the crowd, gave them a nod. “Captain Stitt, for going above and beyond the call of duty when training what was undoubtedly the worst foot solider I’ve ever server alongside.”

Kare laughed aloud then, though he shot Silom a mock-glare. As Stitt came up to take her medal, he leaned over to Sonly and whispered, “I’m going to kill him later.”

She giggled. “You shouldn’t have asked him – you knew what would happen! He has far too much ammunition.”

Silom finished with a final joke, performed a bow, then sat down to huge applause.

Sonly looked at Kare. “You’re up next.”

He simply smiled. “Mine’s easy. You’re beautiful and I’m the luckiest man alive.”
Click to expand...
 
Alas, marriage is one of the few things I haven't written for my characters. Some of them are married or will get married, but never have I married them in front of a reader.

It will require changing mental gears slightly. Current WIP has two main characters as seventeen years old, friends who have just discovered more-than-friends might actually work between them, and arguing over real and imagined wrongs done unto each other on their first Valentine's Day together.

May have to post an excerpt from that. Not really a marriage, though. Not even a proposal.
 
My very first original draft had the wedding between Kateryn and Thomas in it, I'll post the way it ended, but keep in mind, it was very early writing. I've improved heaps since ;)

I had the whole wedding in the scene, skipping quickly in a daze over the vows etc and just focussing on the emotions, but to post it all would be too long.


***​


Sara was singing again as Thomas led Kateryn from the hall, followed behind by both families. The melody felt wonderful, full of joy and happiness, it celebrated their marriage, encouraged a belief for their future together. They would be happy, Kateryn believed it more than anyone else in the temple, she knew it, could never doubt it. Thomas was hers, her prince, her husband, and she was his, forever more.

The reception they received outside, the cheering of the gathered crowds, the resumed ringing of the bells, all served to solidify her belief even more, but nothing could prepare her those incredible words the King spoke to his people, the roars of the crowd and even the chorus of the bells were drowned out by his powerful voice.

‘Citizens of Westland, I present to you Kateryn Margareth Armeryr Farmoure, the Princess Royal and Heiress to the Throne of Westland!’

***​
 
Well now I feel like a dumb-ass. Here's one from something of my own then.

"Right," Alex said. He turned to Jess and took both her hands in his. "I didn't write any vows," he started, "because I wanted everything I said to come straight from my heart."

He took a breath and gave Jess a smile. "I love you, Jess, with all my heart. I would die for you a hundred times. You are everything to me... I mean, I wish I knew more words so that I could tell you how much you mean to me, but even if I did know more words it wouldn't be enough. There just aren't enough words. Somebody should invent some more words or something..."

He realised he was waffling a bit so he grinned at Jess and continued. "I promise to be the best husband I can be. I will look after you and keep you safe until the day I die, I will do everything I can to make you happy... and if we argue sometimes then I'll always apologise and bring you flowers... and I promise to still love you even when you're being all hormonal and angry or whatever..."

He glanced at Simon and then back to Jess. "I love you, Jess, and I want you to be my wife so that the whole world knows that I love you."
Click to expand...
 
okay since Mouse did it, I'll have a go! (now I'm tired enough to be blurry myself so sorry for any horrible misspellings etc).

----


When she finally stopped laughing, the room blurred through her tears and she could only breathe in funny little gulps that hurt her chest. She leaned against Kare's warm arm, gasped some air, and murmured, "Another story like that and no one will ever respect you again."

He frowned at her, but his lips had that telltale curve that meant he was trying not to smile. She was so close that for an instant his face became planes and shadows, dark and white, and the incredible green of his eyes. She let the slow warmth of happiness -- of disbelief -- flood over her. They were married. He was hers.

"What's he got now?" she asked as Silom waved something shiny in the air. Kare shook his head.

"We all," bellowed Silom, "know what this is, don't we?" He held his hand still. It was a medal -- ridiculously huge, the tin foil peeling at the edges. "For heroic efforts in the face of total incompetence. For nobly refusing to give up on the worst soldier I have ever served with -- this medal's for you, and training beyond the call of duty, Captain Stitt!"

As the crowd roared with laughter, Silom jumped down from the stage and winked at them. "Follow that if you can."

"I'll get you for that," Kare said. "Don't think I won't."

"I'd never doubt you -- get up on the stage and tell them all that **** about being the happiest man alive."

"I am," Kare said, but not to Silom. For a long, sweet moment, he looked only at her.
 
Hex's first;

"Going to marry me?" His face was so close Emma could feel his breath against her lips. She tried to escape his eyes, but he was too close, so she pushed my hands against his chest and shoved him away.

"Yes," she said fiercely to his mocking eyes. "I am."

Then he caught her wrists and held them, hard, and he frightened her. The dark blood ran down from his knuckles, and dirtied her coat. The sight of his blood, the arrogance in him, angered her and she glared at him.

He laughed at her anger, and pulled her hat from her head, so her hair spilled out, before he threaded his fingers through it.


"God, Emma, you're ******* insane," he said as he kissed her, his lips salty with her tears.

She reached for him, clung to him, her thoughts only of him.
 
and, horror, double post; here's Mouses. I better be good, then, so I'll leave WP's for someone else...

Alex turned to Jess and took both her hands. "I didn't write any vows; I just wanted to say what came out of my heart and felt right." He took a deep breath and smiled at her. "I love you so much, I'd die for you; a hundred times. I don't have enough words, I could never have enough words to tell you. Maybe I need to invent some, or somthing."

He saw her smile and grinned back, crookedly, and knew he was waffling. "I promise I will be the best husband to you, that I'll look after you, and you'll be safe until I
die. I'll make you happy, and if we fight, I'll tell you I'm sorry - I'll even bring you flowers. Even when you're all hormonal and - you know, difficult -I'll still love you."

He glanced at Simon, and then back to Jess. "I love you, jess, and I want the whole world to know. Please, be my wife."
 
Are there going to be separate threads for "needing time by myself to think things out", "trial separation", "decree nisi" and "decree absolute", etc?



Just askin'....
 
I suppose people do get married in my opus; but with this pair it's more a question of bypassing laws made for a rigid, patriarchal theocracy where a woman can not own anything, not even herself than any tender passions.

As she's the ugliest woman in the Holy Territories, and he's a dragon, consummation of the marriage is unlikely, to say the least.
* * *​

"That's my uncle's house. I'll go in and change, you go ahead to the temple and I'll join you there immediately."

The temple was easy to spot, so I continued my slow advance, noticing the village had expanded since I had first flown in, almost a small town, now. Two inns, and three permanent shops neighboured the forge that faced onto the market square. This latter was equipped with tables and benches, and smelt delightfully of roasting meat (you can imagine a dragon would recognise that odour). All very encouraging.

So as not to alarm my entourage I stretched out in the sun, tantalised by the odour, and studied the architecture, the costumes, anything that might distract my stomach from the fact that it only contained a few rock-rabbits, and that somewhere close by was an abundance of alternatives.

And waited. And waited some more.

It is fortunate that I am a hunter, and have developed patience. Two of the human hatchlings, taunted by their comrades' dares, had sped in and prodded me before my bride to be reappeared. Her transformation explained, if it didn't excuse, the delay. For one thing she had hair, which she had always bound up for hunting but now wafted like black smoke halfway down her back, not concealing but drawing attention from the deformed left side of her face. Then the dark green dress, loose and clinging, accentuating her mammalian attributes and making her look quite appetising (mustn't think like that in the temple; if I salivate during the service it'll look bad. Curse the smell of cooking.)

The younger males might be put off by that face but surely an older one who had lost his mate – no, the older ones would have gained too much wisdom to get mixed up with that tongue.

And all of her was hung about with gold: her ears, neck, hair, wrists, waist…, enough ornaments to ballast a ship. I knew I looked good, too, even if my burnt ocre is not as impressive as some of the blues or flashy violets. I'd polished my scales in a dust wallow, then rinsed of in the stream in preparation for this, and flashed yellow fire, but couldn't compete with the apparition of metal and jewels approaching with its attendant giggle of maidens.

Taking my cue from her, I walked through the wide-opened doors into the temple.

The ceremony went flawlessly; I got the impression it wouldn't dare not to. I could feel the vows taking hold, and didn't even feel a temptation to snicker when she promised to 'obey' – fat chance.

“…then know that Menuil and Hrasif are now duly wed, in the eyes of the Lord and the eyes of the law and no man may separate them save for crimes against one or the other. You may kiss the bride."

Whether or not that last was meant as an embarrassment, I did just that, as she threw her arms round my muzzle. I was now a very rich dragon, but, very strangely, a married one.

Enough of that; the villagers and I were in total agreement, time for the important stuff, the food. And the ale and music and dancing – all the ways in which humans celebrate these matters.

A whispered instruction from my bride, and she rode me side-saddle out to the table of honour, where she was a little less enthusiastic than I about finishing off the fare.

As newlyweds we would have to sleep together but, since getting me into any bedroom was considered impractical (read "impossible") we had the barroom of the "Groaning Ass" as our nuptial chamber. According to Menuil the raucous suggestions yelled at us as we retired for the night were no worse, indeed, very little different from those given to any other couple in similar circumstances.

We left early the next morning while most of the inhabitants were still sleeping off their previous night's excesses. Walking, of course; I hadn't flown for years, and never with a passenger, and even with the magic it would take some practice before it became natural again. Besides, I was a beast of burden , slung about with with saddlebags and tent, provisions and gold. In the grey predawn grey light we said farewell to a farmer and his dog, and took the winding, uphill road towards Angria. The fields here were tilled or grazed from the village below, of which I suddenly realised that in fifty years and a marriage I had never learnt the name.
 
How I would do a marriage?


First I'd order a safety deposit box in my name only, then pack a bag, buy a .32...


All joking aside, I'd probably have some form of courtship, then let things go from there.
 
The particle cannon jammed under my chin canted my head. Ignoring the crick in my neck, I squinted at the blob with its gelatinous tendrils hooked around the trigger. I couldn’t tell one Velusioan from another apart from the shade of their jellies. This one was blue and glistening with goo.

“Have we met?” I asked and the squawk box on my shoulder translated it, instantly, into a senseless series of slobbers that made my skin crawl.

Jabbing the muzzle, the blob hoisted me onto tiptoe as it replied in clammy blasts of steam.

“*** daughter *** dishonoured,” the squawk box fluffed its lines.

My eyes rolled over the mud hole full of quivering blobs. “Which one’s she?”

When the squawk box finished, more blue jellies loomed over me, dripping goo into my hair while a clot of green ones merged into liquid mud ten paces in front. I felt the muzzle threatening to break my jaw and cursed the Tower of Babel rep who sold such junk parrots.

“How about sorry?” I tried, unsure what I had done in the first place.

That agitated the gun-wielding blob. Quakes shuddered through its biomass, flushing it into a darker and more ominous hue.

“*** must *** honour *** *** promise,” was as much of its reply as the parrot managed to catch. Even that might have been wrong.

“Sure whatever,” seemed like magic words on translation. The cannon disappeared inside blue blubber and my tormentor spat goo into my face, which was a good sign according to the Consul.

A green blob rose out of the mud hole, plastered in clay, and peeled open its membrane. I bit my lip, recognising a glob of my vomit encased in its gel. It brought back nauseous memories of their foul food, regurgitated at last night’s feast. No human could have kept it down.

“*** *** consummated,” the squawk box parroted as the green blob drew nearer, rippling bands of mud and lime.

“What?”

The blue blob enveloped me in its slobbering wetness, leaving clinging splats that stained my white jumpsuit.

“*** *** son-in-law ***,” the squawk box translated before congratulating me on my marriage.
 
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