Fan Fiction ❯ Don't Kid a Kidder ❯ Chapter 10 ( Chapter 10 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Don’t Kid a Kidder

by Rosy the Cat

Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape, or form own X-men and the various comics titles and movies, etc. They belong to Marvel. I do, however, own in the creative sense Margaret Kidder, her family and any other original characters I end up writing into this story. Steal anything of mine without permission, and I’ll round up a lynch mob of my fellow writers. This story was inspired by Gevaisa’s “Minion” and “Lady Doom,” which both kick ass, as does she. Before anybody launches any protests, she knows quite well what I’m doing and she’s probably more excited about it than I am. In fact, as of a few chapters back this story has joined continuities with the “Minion” saga. Huzzah for friendships in fandoms!

Chapter 10

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Back to the Wedding...

So we were seated with Miss Munroe next to the King of Wakanda, then Kitty, then me, then Dr. McCoy on the aisle. We were all asked if we knew Latverian and, when we answered in the negative, were given ear buds that translations of the wedding service would be provided through. Pretty darn cool if you ask me.

The courtyard was rather pretty, with flowers everywhere--lots of lilacs of varying shades, from white to lavender to violet, which Dr. McCoy told me were a native variety to Latveria. I made a mental note to ask to check Doomstadt tomorrow for a gardening shop or something, because I think Grandma Kidder would love to have lilacs like those in her garden. They’d make a great birthday present for her, I’d bet, and with all these mountains around the area they probably wouldn’t have any problems with winter snows back home.

The last guests had just sat down when the clock down in the town struck ten--time for the wedding!--and doors on either side of the courtyard opened. All of us near the front--the townspeople were towards the back of the courtyard, with the cross-piece of a T of carpet between them and us--turned around in our seats to look. What we all saw was, in my opinion at least, very, very WOW.

Ms. Florescu was standing on one side with a woman I think it’s safe to assume was her mother. She wasn’t wearing her veil, but instead it was being held by her mother, and I could see glints of gold from the headband part. Her dress was simple, I suppose, but very pretty: a t-shirt neckline, with a sort of cape-thingy of lace trailing back and down from her shoulders, trailing on the ground behind her. The dress itself was made from a fabric that had been made crinkly, but in a pretty way that gave the material a shimmering wavy look. I’d seen pictures of my mom when she was younger, and when she was my age she used to have a dress made out of material like that, only it was gathered up tightly at the bodice with elastic so it was stretchy and clingy, and the skirt flowed down from an empire waist. I’d thought it was the prettiest dress in the world the first time I saw the picture. It had just been replaced in my mind.

Ms. Florescu stepped forward, her mother at her side as three flower girls bolted over in front of them and started scattering flower petals. Kitty looked at me oddly when I started giggling, so I had to point out that one of the flower girls wasn’t so much scattering her flowers as she was trying her best to imitate fireworks by chucking them. That got Kitty giggling too, and I know I saw Miss Munroe covering her mouth to hide a smile, because her eyes were sparkling in amusement. Dr. McCoy had a bit of a wry grin of his own.

The best way I can describe Doctor Doom’s clothes at his wedding is that they reminded me of a piece of Phantom of the Opera fan art I saw once. One of the few “subtle piss-offs” my Omi has directed at my mother that I actually got some enjoyment out of were tickets to see the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical for my fifteenth birthday, the result of which is that I absolutely adore the story, and read the public library back home’s copy of the translated original Leroux novel multiple times. The fan art I was reminded of was supposed to be a depiction of the Leroux Phantom, with a full-face black mask, draped in a black hooded cloak. It was beautiful and mysterious and intimidating and kinda sexy, if something that more than covers everything can be considered sexy, which most people inundated in pop culture probably wouldn’t. He had that same sort of look and aura about him, but with a mediaeval monarch twist. And, you know, more colors. And a white tunic for the occasion. And hints of gold and silver to his mask and armor. And fur trimming the edge of his cape.

Okay, so he really didn’t look all that much like the picture when you focus on the details, but the spirit of the whole thing was certainly similar enough if you ignored said details.

Anyway, there was an exchanging of rings when they met at the carpet’s intersection, which I thought was very backward but Dr. McCoy explained was more of an Eastern Orthodox tradition than Western Christian--Protestantism, after all, was derived from Roman Catholicism, so it makes sense that they wouldn’t have changed the marriage rites much--and that there would probably be other deviations from the average wedding I would have recognized. I thought it was rather sweet how they had both the bride and groom’s family give them away to each other, rather than just the bride, too. Though, come to think of it, I’m not entirely certain whether that was less sexist or more controlling parents-ness. It was still sweet though, and I stand by that observation, damnit!

So anyway, after the rings were blessed and exchanged, the six flower girls joined up in their efforts to coat the carpeted center aisle with petals in proceeding the bishop, the happy couple and their parent-type-persons. When music struck up at the first step forward, Kitty gasped and poked me to get my attention, gesturing quietly towards the front where a blue-clad woman was singing “Gladly, gladly, We, Rejoicing”--which was to the tune of Beethoven's “Ode to Joy,” one of my personal favorites--and playing piano. Kitty said that she was Tori Amos and, while I’d never heard her sing before, I had heard *of* her, at least. It was very pretty.

Of course, things got a little wacky when the ceremony got to the “Speak now or forever hold your peace” bit! A woman stood up, objecting to Doctor Doom’s statement that he didn’t have any prior ties to keep him from marrying. To be honest, she looked a lot like Esmeralda from the Disney version of the “Hunchback of Notre Dame,” only her skirt was black instead of purple and she looked about forty years older, which really shouldn’t have been if she was Doctor Doom’s age, and he’s about the same age as my mom! Anyway, it turned out she was his ex-girlfriend or something and she was an overblown drama queen who’d wanted him to give up his goals and be poor with her.

Ch’yah, right lady. Being poor sucks; I know! If I ever have a boyfriend who wants me to give up my dreams and end up with him in a trailer park or something with umpteen malnourished kids with both of us collecting welfare and being fat, lazy slobs or something and living on food stamps, or even just giving up my career goals to be a house wife or something, I’d tell him to “hit the road and don’t let the door hit you in the butt!” Honestly!

So anyway, the woman--whose name was apparently Valeria--was kicked out of the wedding, though not literally--more like escorted out by armed guards--and the ceremony went on. Doom’s best man looked rather upset--he’s apparently Valeria’s grandfather--and I feel for him, poor guy. I hope someone gives him a hug later.

So, yeah, the wedding went on. It was very pretty, and there was a lot of reading of the Scriptures and, oh yeah, it turned out to be a combined wedding and coronation! I don’t know if I am just oblivious or what, but the invitation that Kitty showed me the night before our shopping trip didn’t say anything about coronations, and I could have sworn I spotted some semblance of surprise to Ms. Florescu when they came out on the balcony. I don’t know, maybe I read too much into things...

Ahem, back on track: Wedding was pretty and interesting and had some surprises, and then there was the smooching of the bride, happy bells, and happy, cheering people. Aww! How sweet!

We joined the mad, teeming throng that gradually became the Receiving line, as everyone knows no line is either perfect from start to finish, though I was more used to being in a line where it starts straight as can be but ends up getting bunched up and otherwise raggedy later on, like in grade school. That’s when Kitty and I hit upon a snag for the whole day, when we were about twenty people away from the happy couple:

Me: “OhmyGawd, Kitty, what if they’ve heard about the Kitchen Incident? We’re dead!”

Kitty: “Meg, relax; we didn’t start that, and we really didn’t do all that much outside of duck for cover.”

Me: “Excuse me? What did you say, Miss Three-Pie-Chucker?”

Kitty (sheepish, then indignant): “Well...Err...Hey, you threw pies too!”

Me: “*A* pie, one, singular, uno, solitary, nada mas! And that stupid pastry chef deserved that.”

Kitty: “I thought you were aiming for Johnny Storm?”

Me: “...So my timing was off; if she hadn’t slipped in that puddle of sorbet and thus ended up in my line of fire, I so would’ve nailed that idiot.”

Kitty: “Whatever. Just don’t look guilty and everything will be fine.”

Me: “How am I supposed to do that?”

Kitty: “You’ve got three brothers and you’ve never had to fib to get out of anything?”

Me: “Ah, no. I’m the one out of four kids who is fully aware of my parents’ financial situation and thus avoids anything that might waste family resources; therefore, my parents know perfectly well who to blame when something happens, namely the triplets.”

Kitty: “Well, just, I don’t know, try the Bambi-eyes look, it’s our turn!”

...Yeah, I tried the Bambi-eyes, but behind them my brain was scrambling. What in the world was I supposed to say to these people? I’m borderline terminally-shy around strangers, and half of these strangers are strangers with the literal/diplomatic/metaphorical/whatever power to squish me like a bug! What do I say?! “Hi, I’m Meg Kidder and I think you’re totally awesome”? No-- no-- no!

Okay Meg, breathe; maybe you’ll get lucky and nobody’ll notice you. That seemed to work back in Catholic school and my old high school. And hey, the people I’m with are a whole lot more interesting than me, so...Uh-oh, Ms. Florescu--I mean Queen Joviana--I mean- Oh, you know who I mean! She’s looking at me like she’s curious. Crap. I hoped my dress hadn’t gotten wrinkled or dirty or pollinated or whatever and kicked my Bambi-eyes smile up a click.

‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me...’

She smiled, and asked, "Of course I know Katherine Pryde, but who is this young lady?"

Horror of horrors, I turned bright red and stammered, "I--I'm Meg. Margaret Kidder, that is."

"Are you in the X-Men?" she inquired, curious. Despite my recent success in shielding myself, my nervousness must have weakened my defenses because I picked up: ‘Poor thing--more grist for Xavier's mutant mill.’

Hey! Excuse me, but Xavier can kiss my pasty derriere for all I care--as an aside, #1, unintentional rhyming = cool, #2, old bald guys anywhere near my behind = gross and I’m gonna forget it ever entered my mind--so there!

"No--and I don't want to be! I really want to be a doctor," I blurted out before I could come up with anything more intelligent. As a result, I scrambled to explain myself by saying "I mean, the super hero thing--it's like running in circles."

She looked oddly intrigued by my answer, but her eyes darting back to the Line that Doesn’t End indicated things were about over. Unfortunately for my peace of mind, her eyes got a mischievous twinkle that would have looked quite at home on any one of my brothers, along with a fair few of my cousins, and asked the dreaded question: "How did you like your tour of the kitchen?"

I could feel my eyes widen and my face turn an even brighter shade of red before attempting to fix things in some way, since Kitty and my cover had clearly been blown regarding the Kitchen Incident. God help me if the Dweebs ever heard about it! "We didn't do it!"

"It's all right," she assured me. "Thank you so much for coming to our wedding."

"Umm...you're welcome," I said weakly, as the line carried me past her.

An elbow nudged my ribs and the voice connected to it said, “See, I told you it wouldn’t be so bad!”

“Shut up, Kitty! I thought my face was going to spontaneously combust!” I hissed at my friend.

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Author’s notes: As always, this is dedicated to my buddy/beta reader Gevaisa, who rocks! The described fan art can be found at http : / / www . deviantart . com/ view/ 16741175/

So until later, thanks for reading and please review. Reviews, after all, put a smile on my face!

-- Rosy the Cat

6/24/06