A Wedding Story
"All right. This is good. The lighting is ideal, and everyone's placement
is perfect." Anya beamed, her hands clasped together. "Begin
recording, Willow."
"Um, am I supposed to hold this button down?" The redheaded witch
peered at the chipper ex-demon from behind the video camera.
Anya's bubbly bride-to-be smile melted into an expression of extreme
exasperation. "Willow, we've been over this! Just push and release."
"Okay...oh! Something's blinking! Should it be blinking?"
"What are you doing?" Anya demanded. "You're wasting valuable
battery power. And the light's moving!"
Buffy, Xander, and Tara watched as the two women grappled with the camera.
"Tell me again the motivation behind the Blair Wedding Project?" Buffy
said, her cheek in her hand, elbow resting on a pile of bride magazines.
"Anya wants to record the whole thing from start to finish.
Prep-preparation and everything." Tara explained.
"And so begins the home video library of Mr. and Mrs. Alexander LaVelle
Harris." Xander added. "Well, not really begins, I guess, because
there were those other movies, but those won't get put on
the...shelves...in...the den..."
Buffy and Tara were staring.
Xander quickly turned his attention back to the magazine in his hands. "You
know, I wouldn't think it would be safe for the bride to ride off on a
motorcycle. Sounds like a gruesome accident waiting to happen."
The Magic Box's front door flew open just then, admitting a flaming, swearing
form covered in an open sleeping bag. Vampiric reflexes were hindered by the
threat of combusting like an ant under a magnifying glass, and the rant
culminated in a yelp as the ranter pitched face-first down the steps into the
shop.
A few puffs of charred goose-down drifted up into the air.
"Speaking of gruesome accidents." Buffy said, grimacing.
"Don't all help at once." a muffled voice grumbled from beneath the
smoldering sleeping bag. The heap shifted. "Ow! Bloody hell, my knee. Could
be toasted like a marshmallow under here for all you lot care."
"Don't be such a baby. The flames got put out when you rolled down the
steps." Buffy pointed out as Willow helped Spike untangle himself.
"Thanks, Red. Nice to know somebody still gives a flying fu--AGGH!"
He was staring into a camera lens.
"See? It's working just fine." Anya said smugly. She pushed it back
into Willow's hands and dragged Spike up off the floor. "Everyone else was
here twenty minutes ago. Where have you been?"
"Oh, you know. Around. In places that aren't filled with lots of blistering
sunlight." He glanced over at Buffy. "So, what's the deal with this
demon?"
"Demon?" Willow said, frowning.
"Wait. There's a demon? When was there a demon?" Xander asked, looking
around with the mild panic of the Last One to Know.
"Demon...demon..." Buffy tapped a finger against her chin. "Let
me think..."
It was at that moment that Spike first noticed the magazines, the fabric
swatches, and -- scariest of all -- the clipboard tucked in the crook of Anya's
arm. He checked, and yes, dear God, there was a pencil tucked behind her ear.
He walked over to the table, pulled out a chair, and started to sit. Got a
pained look, thought better of it, whipped the chair around and straddled it
backwards. He folded his arms over the back, and gave Buffy his sweetest, most
charming smile. It was a smile that could have melted a nun.
Buffy returned it. It was a war of the dimples. If anyone in the room had been
diabetic they would have keeled over.
"I just ran five blocks in broad daylight," Spike began, "the
last one and a half of them with my ass on fire. I do this under the impression
that there is a...what did you call it? A 'horrible, terrifying abomination of a
creature roaming unrestricted through the town.' Those were your words,
correct?"
"And did I lie?" Buffy asked, green eyes wide. "It's been
terrorizing us all morning." She held up a picture. "Do you know what
this is?"
"This is *so* beneath you, Summers. You have the brass to call *me*
evil?"
"It's taffeta, Spike. She suggested that I wear taffeta. Not only that, she
suggested I wear *pink* taffeta."
"I'm not having anything to do with this, you understand? Not. A. Bloody.
Thing."
"And the *shade* of pink, Spike, brings to mind diarrhea medicine."
"It's called 'petal'." Anya called from behind the counter.
"It's putrid." Buffy shot back. She pushed her chair out and slapped
her palms down on the table, leaning across to face Spike. "You ain't
getting out of this one, Spike, so do what the rest of us are doing: grit your
teeth, swallow the bile, and share the *freaking* joy."
"Welcome to the team." Xander added.
Spike opened his mouth to retort, but was distracted by the emergence of a small
figure swaddled from head to toe in daffodil yellow lace. "Oh, now that's
just plain cruel!" he exclaimed.
Anya squealed and clapped her hands together. "Oh, Dawn, you look
adorable!"
"I look like a marshmallow Peep." Dawn replied, scowling from beneath
the drooping brim of a monstrous sunhat.
"Willow, get a shot of Dawn in that!" Anya ordered, giving Willow a
push.
"Yeah, it'll be great blackmail material." Buffy added.
"Get stuffed, Buffy." Dawn snapped. She cast a pleading look at the
one person in the room she knew would defend her. "Spike," she whined.
"Anya, let her take that off!"
"Honey, that one doesn't look very comfortable." Xander added.
"Oh, fine!" Anya sighed. Dawn, not needing to be told twice, bolted
back into the training room, slamming the door behind her. "It wouldn't
have worked anyway. None of the colors that one comes in would look good on
Willow."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means the yellow would make you sickly, the pink would clash with your
coloring, and the blue...forget it."
"I look good in blue!"
"Well you're not wearing it in *my* wedding."
"Hey there, ladies!" Xander interrupted, standing. "How 'bout we
switch topics for a while. Anya, what else do we need to work on?"
"Maybe the 'blushing' part of 'blushing bride'?" Willow suggested,
glaring at Anya.
"Sweetie, why don't we go make you some tea, huh?" Tara said, putting
an arm around Willow's shoulders. "Something soothing."
"Yes. Go. Find some anti-bitch herbs." Anya called after them.
"Anya, if you don't fancy *hopping* down the aisle, I'd exercise a shred of
discretion." Spike suggested.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to coddle her delusions at the sake of my
wedding!"
"I'd like to state for the record that I'm not wearing putrid petals."
Buffy spoke up.
"Fine. We'll talk about what the men will be wearing."
Xander's grin faltered. "I thought we'd be in tuxes. Good old fashioned
penguin suits. What else is there to talk about?"
Anya gave him the kind of indulgent smile usually given to small children and
stupid people. "Don't worry, Xander. I'll find something that you'll look
just dashing in."
"She's already dressing you, mate. It's all over." Spike snorted.
Xander glared at him.
"Anyway, we can't do black, because it washes Spike out."
"You just leave me the hell out of this. I already said I'm not--"
Something clicked. "What do you mean black washes me out?"
"Oh, yes. You really should get some more color."
There was a moment of silence for that statement, but no one bothered. She had
the clipboard, after all.
"I look *good* in black." Spike went on. "It's my bloody color,
and I...I look *good* in it."
"Well, you know..." Buffy began, then cut herself off.
Spike looked vaguely panicked. "What?"
"Nothing."
"No, Slayer, obviously you have something to add to this discussion, so
let's hear it."
"It's just...you know how black is a slimming color? It...might make you
look a little..."
"WHAT?"
"Gaunt." Buffy finished.
"Gaunt?"
"Hey, a new entry for my "Most Surreal Conversations"
journal." Xander said.
"Not gaunt! Not gaunt, but...a little..."
"Undersized?" Xander offered helpfully. "Scrawny? Anorexic?"
"Xander, don't pick on him." Anya said. "He can't help it."
"What can't I help?! Are you agreeing with them?"
"You're too thin and too pale to carry black, Spike." Anya said
bluntly. "You may be a corpse, but you're not going to look like one in my
wedding."
"Oh, that's nice, Anya." Willow snapped. "What color will you be
wearing, by the way, since white is for virgins, and, hello?"
A strange look crept over the ex-demon's face. "Oh my lord. Xander, she's
right."
"An, I don't think it matters."
"No, it does! It's false symbolism. That's like...like false
advertising."
"Would you like us to research the traditional gown color of compromised
tarts?" Willow asked sweetly.
"Okay, kids, I think that's enough wedding fun for one day, don't
you?" Xander took a few cautious steps towards ground zero. "Meet back
here tomorrow, same time, same place? Or not, if it can be avoided?"
***
Giles cradled his book and his coffee in one hand long enough to open the shop
door.
"Anya, sorry I'm late, but I--"
"It's IVORY! It's not WHORE'S WHITE!"
"I'm not going to burn it, Dawn, she hasn't even paid for it. It's a
loaner."
"You said you wanted a fairy tale wedding. The minister says 'You may now
kiss the bride' and poof! You're human again."
"Oi, Rupert. Does this make me look too skinny?"
Tara stepped around from behind the counter. "Anya, w-would you like me to
s-stop taping now?"
Giles hovered in the doorway. He thought about running. He could make it to the
car. He took a step backwards.
"HEY! It's about time you got here. I have some samples you need to look
at."
"Damn." he muttered.
END