his_sarah_jane | [Milliways] OOM: Dovershire Chapel, London, 2006

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milliways,
oom

[Milliways] OOM: Dovershire Chapel, London, 2006

Sarah Jane had brought the guests from Milliways through to their flat in London, leaving them to James to take care of before she hurried off to the church, Barbara in tow. She had wanted to check on all the last minute arrangements: to make sure the flowers had arrived and that the minister was there.

Everything seems perfect now. The church, a small little Gothic-esque chapel close to the Notting Hill gate tube stop, is now decorated with garlands of wildflowers along the aisles. It's the one touch Sarah Jane wanted to add to an otherwise picture-perfect room. The sun shines through the stained glass windows, causing the pews to glow. The altar was simple enough, with an organ off to one side and a lovely rosette window behind it. Two bouquets sit to either side of where the couple will stand.

Overall: the impression is of a simple yet sophisticated chapel. Everything is set for the wedding, presuming, of course, nothing goes wrong.

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"Absolutely." Sam nods, solemnly. "Very mature indeed, really."

"Because we are mature people." Atton says, brightly.

"Exactly." Sagely. "We'd never be immature, or anything like that."

"I, personally, won an award for being mature." Beat. "Several, even."

"I'm the son of Maturity Incarnate, myself," Sam nods agreeably. "All that thing about Magic was just rumour."

"Terrible things, those rumours. Are there any snacks here?"

He shakes his head. "Probably not. That's generally for later, I think."

Sam's not been to all that many modern weddings himself.

"Dammit. I really want something to eat - If I gnawed on your fingers, would they regenerate?"

Atton's only been to one wedding. It worked out quite well.

"I'd prefer not to take that risk, personally."

Sam quietly produces a bar of Cadbury's from one pocket, and passes it over.

Always better to come prepared.

"Aw. But none of the rumours of my saliva being acidic are true."

Atton takes the bar anyway.

There may be the faint sound of 'nom nom nom' as he gnaws on it.

Sam rolls his eyes, laughing. "Idiot."

"Shurrup or lose a finger." Atton replies cheerfully.

Sam snorts. "I'm aquiver with fear, Atton, really."

"As well you should be." Solemnly.

"I am taken with an uncontrollable bout of the shivers whenever I look at you," Sam assures him seriously, one hand fiddling with his tie.

"Stupid thing's too tight. I hate ties."

"Me too," Atton says, adjusting his own. It's bright green with a picture of a nerf. "But then, I hate formal wear in general. Better than robes, at least."

Sam shudders.

"You're telling me."

Time, he loathed those bloody robes.

"Last wedding I went to I wore Jedi robes. They itched. And I kept tripping."

"I used to have robes as a uniform, ages back. I still don't know how Jehovah expected us to fight in those things, let alone wait on him hand, foot and finger."

"Maybe he'd never tried fighting in robes."

"Time alone knows. He was really good at poncing about and pontificating superiorly in them, I know that."

Of course, Sam's not bitter.

Atton raises an eyebrow.
"Well, it's good to know these things."

Sam smiles wryly. "Not that there's any bitterness there, you understand."

"None at all, clearly." Atton remarks, reaching over to ruffle Sam's hair.

He grins a little, ducking away but-not-quite from the hair-ruffling. "I'd never be bitter."

Re: Arrivals

stuck-mynock.livejournal.com - 2007-10-01 00:39 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Arrivals

necessary_child - 2007-10-01 00:53 (UTC) - Expand

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