Elfen High 2 (OOC 5, Closed)

[Mavorpen]

The amount of powerful individuals in the world I'm building is disproportionally women.

[Liriena]

The amount of powerful individuals in the world I'm building is disproportionally women.

That's the spirit!

Also...where is my scathing critique of my one-shot?!

[Mavorpen]

The amount of powerful individuals in the world I'm building is disproportionally women.

That's the spirit!

Also...where is my scathing critique of my one-shot?!

All of them have some special attack using their breasts. *nods*

I would critique it, but I'm trying to finish my own. I've procrastinated long enough.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Alright, this is my one-shot for Marowit

1770 AD

This had to be the most beautiful chapel in which Marowit had ever been married. A lonely medieval building standing in the middle of the English countryside. He probably could have afforded a far more grand and elegant venue, but Marowit had promised himself never to invest obscene amounts of money in a wedding ever again. Not after his second divorce.

Standing on the altar, dressed in a modest black jacket, Marowit trembled. Just like in the past four weddings, all his friends were here, staring up at him with reassuring smiles. Except Chernobog, of course. Chernobog was smirking, the cynical drunkard obviously relishing Marowit's fear.

After so many centuries together, they all still looked young and handsome. Not a single gray hair amongst those blonde, auburn and chestnut manes. Not even a lousy wrinkle in the Slavic faces of his fellow gods and goddesses.

The Wendish god of nightmares barely stiffled a scream as Sieba, finally the bridesmaid for one of Marowit's weddings, appeared at the chapel's main door, which had been left fully open, showing the beauty of the green English fields and forests in a very cloudy day. She began to sing a wedding tune, while Podaga played the organ that was beside the altar, fingers moving madly with a carefree grin on his face.

Oh, Yaweh...this is it! He cried inside his head, a shiver running up his spine as his hands turned into tight fists.

"Bless this day,
Pinnacle of life,
Husband joined to spouse.
The heart leaps up to behold
This golden day."

Sieba sang joyfully, walking down the aisle with...

Ugh...he looks so gorgeous... Marowit thought, squirming in his place beside the priest. Indeed, his soon-to-be husband, Lir, had never looked more unbelievably beauteous. Already he was one of the cutest creatures Marowit had ever laid eyes upon, but now? With his hair clean and perfectly combed, and wearing that simple yet beautiful robe/dress, he looked divine.

"Wow..." Marowit could hear Percunust, his best man, say with amusement. "That is truly the finest fiancé you've ever had, Mary."

"...shut up!" The groom hissed, eyes wide and fearful.

As Lir gracefully walked slowly but surely towards the altar, face filled with that relaxed exhilaration that was so typical of him, he began to sing to his soon-to-be husband, love and devotion oozing from every note. His singing voice had always been just as angelic as his form.

"Today is for Mary,
Mary, I give you the rest of my life,
To cherish and to keep you,
to honor you forever.
Today is for Mary,
My happily soon-to-be spouse"

As he finished singing, Lir let out a feminine giggle, his smile only becoming wider and more overwhelming. Now Marowit truly felt his heart rate increase, and he was pretty sure he was going to have a heart attack soon.

"Mary...we're really doing this!" Lir whispered to him, only thirty feet away now.

That's it! I can't take it anymore! Marowit screamed in his mind, head slightly shaking from side to side as his thoughts carried on at an inhuman speed.

"Pardon me, is everybody here? Because if everybody's here, I
want to thank you all for coming to the wedding, I'd appreciate
your going even more, I mean you must have lots of better things
to do, and not a word of this to Lir, remember Lir, you know,
the man I'm gonna marry, but I'm not, because I wouldn't ruin
anyone as wonderful as he is--
Thank you all
For the gifts and the flowers,
Thank you all,
Now it's back to the showers,
Don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today!"

An awkward silence filled the entire chapel.

Shit...I sang it out loud, didn't I? Marowit could feel himself flushing, the knot in his stomach tightening as all eyes stared at him.

Finally, after a minute of excruciatingly quiet torture, Lir giggled once more, apparently not having even heard what his spouse-to-be had just rambled about. Sieba began to sing again, the procession down the aisle resumed.

"Bless this day,
Tragedy of life,
Husband joined to wife.
The heart sinks down and feels dead
This dreadful day."

Wait...what? Oh, Yaweh...I'm starting to hear things. Now this was becoming increasingly serious. Either he was becoming delusional, or Sieba had seen right through him, and had decided to mock his suffering. No...that's what Chernobog would do...prick.

"Hey...umm...Mary...where are the wedding rings?" Percunust interrupted his nightmarish reverie with that hesitant whisper.

Marowit hesitated, before answering with a trembling voice.

"In my right pocket...along with my suicide note." The last part came off as a whine of pain, as he intertwined the fingers of both his hands in a tight hold, the pressure almost ripping the fabric of his gloves.

Apparently, the suicidal hyperbole went right over Percunust's head, since his only reaction was plunging a clumsy hand into Marowit's pocket, pulling a small velvet box from it.

Turning his attention back to his approaching soon-to-be spouse, Marowit felt another surge of dread. Twenty feet...he's twenty feet away now!

As realization dawned onto him, he proved to be, once more, utterly incapable of containing his panic.

"Listen, everybody, look, I don't know what you're waiting for,
a wedding, what's a wedding, it's a prehistoric ritual
where everybody promises fidelity forever, which is
maybe the most horrifying word I ever heard of, which is
followed by a honeymoon, where suddenly he'll realize he's
saddled with a nut, and wanna kill me, which he should--
Thanks a bunch,
But I'm not getting married--
Go have lunch,
'Cause I'm not getting married--
You've been grand,
But I'm not getting married--
Don't just stand there,
I'm not getting married--
And don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today."

At this point, Marowit had just stopped caring about being heard or not. He was positively terrified and on the verge of a breakdown. Looking straight at his friends in the front row, he pressed his hands together, in the form typical of someone pleading for his life.

Evidently, Lir was either oblivious to his outburst, or was doing an outstanding job at pretending he had not heard a single word Marowit had just spewed.

"Go, can't you go?
Why is no-
Body listening?
Goodbye,
Go and cry
At another person's wake.
If you're quick,
For a kick,
You could pick
Up a christening,
But please,
On my knees,
There's a human life at stake!"

Rather unconsciously, Marowit dropped to his knees, blue eyes wet with tears of true panic, before more verbal diarhea escaped from his rosy lips. His skin had never looked paler.

"Listen everybody, I'm afraid you didn't hear, or do you want to
see a crazy fella fall apart in front of you, it isn't only Liri
who may be ruining his life, you know we'll both of us be losing
our identities, I told my physician about it and he said to
see him Monday, but by Monday I'll be floating in the Thames with
the other garbage--
I'm not well,
So I'm not getting married--
You've been swell,
But I'm not getting married--
Clear the hall,
'Cause I'm not getting married--
Thank you all,
But I'm not getting married--
And don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today."

This time, the awkward silence was surprisingly short, and this time Marowit actually released a frightened, girly cry as Sieba began to sing again.

"Bless this groom,
Totally insane,
Slipping down the drain.
And bless this day in our hearts
As it starts
To rain."

Indeed, it had started raining. Actually, it would have been more accurate to say it was pouring. It almost reminded him of the monsoons in India. Perfect...now it's officially my worst wedding ever.

Yet Lir continued sing with glee, obliviously taking the last few final steps towards the altar.

"Today is for Mary,
Mary, I give you the rest of my life,
To cherish and to keep you, to honor you forever.
Today is for Mary,
My happily soon-to-be spouse."

To hell with this shite! Marowit's mind declared as he began to plead to his friends again, hands flailing madly, walking back and forth in a small circle.

"Go, can't you go?
Look, you know I adore you all,
But why watch me die
Like Eliza on the ice?
Look, perhaps,
I'll collapse
In the apse
Right before you all,
So take back the cake,
Burn the shoes and boil the rice.
Look, I didn't wanna have to
tell you, but I may be coming
down with Hepatitis, and I
think I'm gonna faint, so if
you wanna see me faint, I'll
do it happily, but wouldn't
it be funnier to go and watch
a funeral, so thank you for the
twenty-seven dinner plates,
thirty-seven butter knives,
forty-seven paperweights,
fifty-seven candleholders--"

"One more thing--" Lir continued.

"I am not getting married!" Marowit interrupted.

"Amen!" His friends shouted. What in Yaweh's name is going on?

"Softly said--" Said Lir, only five feet away. Please...no...

"But I'm not getting married!" The Wendish god of nightmare shouted, now having a real breakdown, his voice drowning the Irish sea god's loving words.

"Amen!" Again his friends praised.

"With this ring--" Lir said, as Percunust handed him the pretty, heavily ornamented white gold and sapphire wedding ring. Oh, no...

"Still I'm not getting married!" Marowit insisted, even while presenting his hand to his spouse-to-be, Lir gently sliding the ring onto his beloved's finger.

"Amen!" Even Chernobog was saying it now. Bastard...I'm never sharing my vodka with him again!

"I thee wed." Lir's smile had never been more tender as he finished exchanging rings with Marowit. Wait...why am I exchanging rings with him? I don't want to!

"Please, I'm not getting married!" Even as he shouted so, mostly to himself, he held Lir's hand as the priest wrapped the wedding up.

"Amen!" Amen my arse!

As the wedding came to an end, after the priest gave the newlyweds permission to kiss, Marowit and Lir began to sing simultaneously. Even as their faces grew closer, lips ghosting over each other.

"Let us pray
That we are getting married
Today!"

"Let us pray
That I'm not getting married
Today!"

As Lir gently pressed his velvet-soft lips to Marowit's, the latter could hear his friends say "Amen!" one last time, before exploding into cheers, whistling and clapping with euphoria.

Dammit...I got married today.


2018 AD

It was midnight in Oxford, but inside a dark, yet very elegant pub in Oxford, a very intimate celebration was taking place. A small crowd of youthful-looking, yet extremely old Slavic deities were either sitting or standing around a small birthday cake, on a large circle of tables and couches, drinking and smoking with relaxed leisure as they waited for the "birthday boy" to blow out the candles.

Marowit lazily blew on the lit candles. Over one thousand and eight hundred of them. Was it really that hard for Sieba to buy four number-shaped candles? Yes, he was a god, but he was not the god of wind. By the time he had ran out of air, he had only blown out twenty of them.

"Well, our blessings, Mary." Said Sieba, always the first to highlight the bright side of disappointments such as this one.

"Don't tell your wish, Marowit, or it won't come true." Said Dziewonna, one of the only two female friends of his who were exceedingly kind towards him, without being grating. ...unlike Sieba.

Marowit blew on the candles again, this time getting only thirteen. Today was not his lucky day, it seemed.

"You just blew it." Pointed out Chernobog, always dressed elegantly, with a martini and a cigarette in each hand. Always the sardonic one.

"It was probably a wish you wouldn't have gotten anyway, Mary." Sieba again tried to reassure him. Very nice of her, but not really effective.

"Did you wish for another husband, Mary?" Radegast asked playfully, glass of champagne in hand. He just had to shove his lovely, millennia-long trophy wife and obscene wealth in Marowit's face every single birthday, didn't he?

"Don't! You're a lucky son of a gun, Marowit! Hang in there!" Said Swantewit with an equally mocking voice. That being said, he was probably the one fellow Wendish god that Marowit liked the most. A millennia-long closet case that pretended to be happily married to Hela, while constantly inviting Marowit to gay bars and competing to see who could seduce the most mortals in a single night.

"Stay exactly the same, Mary. You might be the only constant in this world of variables!" Stepped in Ziva, the least grating of all of Marowit's female friends.

"I don't know, Ziva...You can't stay in your eighteenth century forever." Interrupted Siebog, Ziva's extremely marriage-obsessed husband. Marowit liked him, but his insistence on Marowit getting a wife and having children had become annoying after eighteen centuries of hearing it over and over.

"You'll still get your wish, Mary." Dziewonna spoke again, rubbing his friend's shoulder tenderly.

"Won't." Countered Chernobog with a snort, drawing exasperated glances from his fellow gods. Marowit, however, was slightly amused. Chernobog could be a dick, but he was never ashamed to admit it. He embraced his bad attitude with cool dignity.

"I think he still gets his wish." Said Zaria, Radegast's wife, smiling warmly at their celebrated friend.

"I say he won't." Chernobog insisted, his expression being the very definition of deadpan.

"Cherny, honey, come on...!" Intervened Chernobog's husband, Karewit, his smile trying desperately to bring back some optimism and celebratory spirit to this party. "See...when Cherny and Mary get together..."

"Karewit, I am telling you...If you do not blow out all the candles on a cake, you do not get your wish." Chernobog interrupted, not even looking at his sweet, handsome husband. "I know all the rules for birthday candle-blowing. I've had enough for a wax museum."

Alright. Listening to Chernobog deliver his sardonic commentary was entertaining for Marowit, but he did not want this birthday party to become a snuff film.

"Actually, guys...I didn't wish for anything." He finally declared, before taking a sip of red wine. What would I wish for?

All at once, he heard a dozen surprised voices speaking up.

"What do you mean you didn't wish for anything?"

"Come on! Everybody is so curious!"

"Tell us, Mary."

Marowit actually sighed as he stood up to face them all.

"Thank you for including me in your thoughts...your lives." He half-heartedly made a mock toast, glass of wine high and pointed at the group surrounding him.

"Stay exactly as you are, Mary." Pleaded Zislbog with a smile, his glass of bourbon colliding carefully with Marowit's.

"That's right, you sweet thing! Stay exactly as you are!" Ziva chirped with a wink, also toasting with Marowit.

"Everyone adores you! What an awful thing!" Chernobog stepped in, martini raised with a grin. "I'd kiss you goodnight, Mary, but Karewit gets jealous."

Karewit's confused look was priceless.

"Things happen for the best!" Sieba declared as her glass clinked with Marowit's.

There suddenly was an awkward silence, all eyes staring at Sieba, baffled. Even Marowit.

"...I don't even believe that myself." She finally confessed, cracking under the pressure, and everyone in that pub smirked, barely withholding their chuckles.

May continue it later on, adding the lyrics of Side by Side, so don't take it as the final draft yet.

Here's the music for the first part: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=maCRBsNpn-M

I like it.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Elfen High Google Image search says a lot about us.

[Olthar]

Elfen High Google Image search says a lot about us.

99% ponies?

I'm more surprised that "elfen high" is apparently a common enough search that Google recognizes it.

[Mavorpen]

Elfen High Google Image search says a lot about us.

99% ponies?

I'm more surprised that "elfen high" is apparently a common enough search that Google recognizes it.

I'm afraid to search "Mavorpen" on Google Images.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Elfen High Google Image search says a lot about us.

99% ponies?

I'm more surprised that "elfen high" is apparently a common enough search that Google recognizes it.

...I did not notice that. Now I do.

[Liriena]

I like it.

Yay! I haz NightKill approval!

On a related note: I'll probably add some more stuff to it later...and I've decided that...well...fuck it! From now on, Marowit will look like this:

Why? Because I canz! I love the previous appearance, but that pic is unbelievably kyoot.

[Hardened Pyrokinetics]

Minh was Richard all along.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Minh was Richard all along.

No, Minh is Aragorn.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Terrified tympanists are finding themselves on the front lines armed only with kettledrums, Nightkill the Emperor is increasingly belligerent on the international stage, museums occasionally burn priceless artifacts in order to intimidate foreign curators, and priests are being drafted by the church load.

Crime is totally unknown.

You don't say.

[Nude East Ireland]

I don't need an explanation, because I already knew the entire situation.

You see, Richard got Minh drunk, and collected part of his soul. When Minh died, Richard absorbed the part of Minh's soul that he collected, planning on using Minh's memories and knowledge to take down Elfen High from the inside. He also would use Minh's knowledge of Crowley to kill the wizard and take his place.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Ende's national animal is the Dalek, which is also the nation's favorite main course, and its currency is the Dalek.

Ende's citizens are significantly more interesting than he is.

[Olthar]

I don't need an explanation, because I already knew the entire situation.

You see, Richard got Minh drunk, and collected part of his soul. When Minh died, Richard absorbed the part of Minh's soul that he collected, planning on using Minh's memories and knowledge to take down Elfen High from the inside. He also would use Minh's knowledge of Crowley to kill the wizard and take his place.

[Nationstatelandsville]

I don't need an explanation, because I already knew the entire situation.

You see, Richard got Minh drunk, and collected part of his soul. When Minh died, Richard absorbed the part of Minh's soul that he collected, planning on using Minh's memories and knowledge to take down Elfen High from the inside. He also would use Minh's knowledge of Crowley to kill the wizard and take his place.

Richard has known Crowley for thousands of years longer than Minh has.

[Astrolinium]

Ende's national animal is the Dalek, which is also the nation's favorite main course, and its currency is the Dalek.

Ende's citizens are significantly more interesting than he is.

The number of students attending university has reached a record high, tourists from around the world come to visit the country's famous rainforests, Max Barry is this year's Miss Astrolinium, and 'The Anti-Government Hour' is a popular programme on many of Astrolinium's radio stations. Crime is totally unknown. Astrolinium's national animal is the Bottlenose Dolphin, which frolics freely in the nation's many lush forests, and its currency is the Australe.

Astrolinium is pretty utopic, I'd say, although the citizens appear to disagree.

[Olthar]

I don't need an explanation, because I already knew the entire situation.

You see, Richard got Minh drunk, and collected part of his soul. When Minh died, Richard absorbed the part of Minh's soul that he collected, planning on using Minh's memories and knowledge to take down Elfen High from the inside. He also would use Minh's knowledge of Crowley to kill the wizard and take his place.

Richard has known Crowley for thousands of years longer than Minh has.

But Minh got raped by had sex with got raped by Crowley.

[Nude East Ireland]

The government is frequently held to ransom by the increasing demands of bloodthirsty pirates, door-to-door salesmen are frequently beaten up by 'vigilantes', college students make ends meet by selling their kidneys, and murderers frequently escape punishment by claiming they were protecting their honour.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Richard has known Crowley for thousands of years longer than Minh has.

But Minh got raped by had sex with got raped by Crowley.

So has a majority of the universe's population.

[Erinkita]

Alright, this is my one-shot for Marowit

1770 AD

This had to be the most beautiful chapel in which Marowit had ever been married. A lonely medieval building standing in the middle of the English countryside. He probably could have afforded a far more grand and elegant venue, but Marowit had promised himself never to invest obscene amounts of money in a wedding ever again. Not after his second divorce.

Standing on the altar, dressed in a modest black jacket, Marowit trembled. Just like in the past four weddings, all his friends were here, staring up at him with reassuring smiles. Except Chernobog, of course. Chernobog was smirking, the cynical drunkard obviously relishing Marowit's fear.

After so many centuries together, they all still looked young and handsome. Not a single gray hair amongst those blonde, auburn and chestnut manes. Not even a lousy wrinkle in the Slavic faces of his fellow gods and goddesses.

The Wendish god of nightmares barely stiffled a scream as Sieba, finally the bridesmaid for one of Marowit's weddings, appeared at the chapel's main door, which had been left fully open, showing the beauty of the green English fields and forests in a very cloudy day. She began to sing a wedding tune, while Podaga played the organ that was beside the altar, fingers moving madly with a carefree grin on his face.

Oh, Yaweh...this is it! He cried inside his head, a shiver running up his spine as his hands turned into tight fists.

"Bless this day,
Pinnacle of life,
Husband joined to spouse.
The heart leaps up to behold
This golden day."

Sieba sang joyfully, walking down the aisle with...

Ugh...he looks so gorgeous... Marowit thought, squirming in his place beside the priest. Indeed, his soon-to-be husband, Lir, had never looked more unbelievably beauteous. Already he was one of the cutest creatures Marowit had ever laid eyes upon, but now? With his hair clean and perfectly combed, and wearing that simple yet beautiful robe/dress, he looked divine.

"Wow..." Marowit could hear Percunust, his best man, say with amusement. "That is truly the finest fiancé you've ever had, Mary."

"...shut up!" The groom hissed, eyes wide and fearful.

As Lir gracefully walked slowly but surely towards the altar, face filled with that relaxed exhilaration that was so typical of him, he began to sing to his soon-to-be husband, love and devotion oozing from every note. His singing voice had always been just as angelic as his form.

"Today is for Mary,
Mary, I give you the rest of my life,
To cherish and to keep you,
to honor you forever.
Today is for Mary,
My happily soon-to-be spouse"

As he finished singing, Lir let out a feminine giggle, his smile only becoming wider and more overwhelming. Now Marowit truly felt his heart rate increase, and he was pretty sure he was going to have a heart attack soon.

"Mary...we're really doing this!" Lir whispered to him, only thirty feet away now.

That's it! I can't take it anymore! Marowit screamed in his mind, head slightly shaking from side to side as his thoughts carried on at an inhuman speed.

"Pardon me, is everybody here? Because if everybody's here, I
want to thank you all for coming to the wedding, I'd appreciate
your going even more, I mean you must have lots of better things
to do, and not a word of this to Lir, remember Lir, you know,
the man I'm gonna marry, but I'm not, because I wouldn't ruin
anyone as wonderful as he is--
Thank you all
For the gifts and the flowers,
Thank you all,
Now it's back to the showers,
Don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today!"

An awkward silence filled the entire chapel.

Shit...I sang it out loud, didn't I? Marowit could feel himself flushing, the knot in his stomach tightening as all eyes stared at him.

Finally, after a minute of excruciatingly quiet torture, Lir giggled once more, apparently not having even heard what his spouse-to-be had just rambled about. Sieba began to sing again, the procession down the aisle resumed.

"Bless this day,
Tragedy of life,
Husband joined to wife.
The heart sinks down and feels dead
This dreadful day."

Wait...what? Oh, Yaweh...I'm starting to hear things. Now this was becoming increasingly serious. Either he was becoming delusional, or Sieba had seen right through him, and had decided to mock his suffering. No...that's what Chernobog would do...prick.

"Hey...umm...Mary...where are the wedding rings?" Percunust interrupted his nightmarish reverie with that hesitant whisper.

Marowit hesitated, before answering with a trembling voice.

"In my right pocket...along with my suicide note." The last part came off as a whine of pain, as he intertwined the fingers of both his hands in a tight hold, the pressure almost ripping the fabric of his gloves.

Apparently, the suicidal hyperbole went right over Percunust's head, since his only reaction was plunging a clumsy hand into Marowit's pocket, pulling a small velvet box from it.

Turning his attention back to his approaching soon-to-be spouse, Marowit felt another surge of dread. Twenty feet...he's twenty feet away now!

As realization dawned onto him, he proved to be, once more, utterly incapable of containing his panic.

"Listen, everybody, look, I don't know what you're waiting for,
a wedding, what's a wedding, it's a prehistoric ritual
where everybody promises fidelity forever, which is
maybe the most horrifying word I ever heard of, which is
followed by a honeymoon, where suddenly he'll realize he's
saddled with a nut, and wanna kill me, which he should--
Thanks a bunch,
But I'm not getting married--
Go have lunch,
'Cause I'm not getting married--
You've been grand,
But I'm not getting married--
Don't just stand there,
I'm not getting married--
And don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today."

At this point, Marowit had just stopped caring about being heard or not. He was positively terrified and on the verge of a breakdown. Looking straight at his friends in the front row, he pressed his hands together, in the form typical of someone pleading for his life.

Evidently, Lir was either oblivious to his outburst, or was doing an outstanding job at pretending he had not heard a single word Marowit had just spewed.

"Go, can't you go?
Why is no-
Body listening?
Goodbye,
Go and cry
At another person's wake.
If you're quick,
For a kick,
You could pick
Up a christening,
But please,
On my knees,
There's a human life at stake!"

Rather unconsciously, Marowit dropped to his knees, blue eyes wet with tears of true panic, before more verbal diarhea escaped from his rosy lips. His skin had never looked paler.

"Listen everybody, I'm afraid you didn't hear, or do you want to
see a crazy fella fall apart in front of you, it isn't only Liri
who may be ruining his life, you know we'll both of us be losing
our identities, I told my physician about it and he said to
see him Monday, but by Monday I'll be floating in the Thames with
the other garbage--
I'm not well,
So I'm not getting married--
You've been swell,
But I'm not getting married--
Clear the hall,
'Cause I'm not getting married--
Thank you all,
But I'm not getting married--
And don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today."

This time, the awkward silence was surprisingly short, and this time Marowit actually released a frightened, girly cry as Sieba began to sing again.

"Bless this groom,
Totally insane,
Slipping down the drain.
And bless this day in our hearts
As it starts
To rain."

Indeed, it had started raining. Actually, it would have been more accurate to say it was pouring. It almost reminded him of the monsoons in India. Perfect...now it's officially my worst wedding ever.

Yet Lir continued sing with glee, obliviously taking the last few final steps towards the altar.

"Today is for Mary,
Mary, I give you the rest of my life,
To cherish and to keep you, to honor you forever.
Today is for Mary,
My happily soon-to-be spouse."

To hell with this shite! Marowit's mind declared as he began to plead to his friends again, hands flailing madly, walking back and forth in a small circle.

"Go, can't you go?
Look, you know I adore you all,
But why watch me die
Like Eliza on the ice?
Look, perhaps,
I'll collapse
In the apse
Right before you all,
So take back the cake,
Burn the shoes and boil the rice.
Look, I didn't wanna have to
tell you, but I may be coming
down with Hepatitis, and I
think I'm gonna faint, so if
you wanna see me faint, I'll
do it happily, but wouldn't
it be funnier to go and watch
a funeral, so thank you for the
twenty-seven dinner plates,
thirty-seven butter knives,
forty-seven paperweights,
fifty-seven candleholders--"

"One more thing--" Lir continued.

"I am not getting married!" Marowit interrupted.

"Amen!" His friends shouted. What in Yaweh's name is going on?

"Softly said--" Said Lir, only five feet away. Please...no...

"But I'm not getting married!" The Wendish god of nightmare shouted, now having a real breakdown, his voice drowning the Irish sea god's loving words.

"Amen!" Again his friends praised.

"With this ring--" Lir said, as Percunust handed him the pretty, heavily ornamented white gold and sapphire wedding ring. Oh, no...

"Still I'm not getting married!" Marowit insisted, even while presenting his hand to his spouse-to-be, Lir gently sliding the ring onto his beloved's finger.

"Amen!" Even Chernobog was saying it now. Bastard...I'm never sharing my vodka with him again!

"I thee wed." Lir's smile had never been more tender as he finished exchanging rings with Marowit. Wait...why am I exchanging rings with him? I don't want to!

"Please, I'm not getting married!" Even as he shouted so, mostly to himself, he held Lir's hand as the priest wrapped the wedding up.

"Amen!" Amen my arse!

As the wedding came to an end, after the priest gave the newlyweds permission to kiss, Marowit and Lir began to sing simultaneously. Even as their faces grew closer, lips ghosting over each other.

"Let us pray
That we are getting married
Today!"

"Let us pray
That I'm not getting married
Today!"

As Lir gently pressed his velvet-soft lips to Marowit's, the latter could hear his friends say "Amen!" one last time, before exploding into cheers, whistling and clapping with euphoria.

Dammit...I got married today.


2018 AD

It was midnight in Oxford, but inside a dark, yet very elegant pub in Oxford, a very intimate celebration was taking place. A small crowd of youthful-looking, yet extremely old Slavic deities were either sitting or standing around a small birthday cake, on a large circle of tables and couches, drinking and smoking with relaxed leisure as they waited for the "birthday boy" to blow out the candles.

Marowit lazily blew on the lit candles. Over one thousand and eight hundred of them. Was it really that hard for Sieba to buy four number-shaped candles? Yes, he was a god, but he was not the god of wind. By the time he had ran out of air, he had only blown out twenty of them.

"Well, our blessings, Mary." Said Sieba, always the first to highlight the bright side of disappointments such as this one.

"Don't tell your wish, Marowit, or it won't come true." Said Dziewonna, one of the only two female friends of his who were exceedingly kind towards him, without being grating. ...unlike Sieba.

Marowit blew on the candles again, this time getting only thirteen. Today was not his lucky day, it seemed.

"You just blew it." Pointed out Chernobog, always dressed elegantly, with a martini and a cigarette in each hand. Always the sardonic one.

"It was probably a wish you wouldn't have gotten anyway, Mary." Sieba again tried to reassure him. Very nice of her, but not really effective.

"Did you wish for another husband, Mary?" Radegast asked playfully, glass of champagne in hand. He just had to shove his lovely, millennia-long trophy wife and obscene wealth in Marowit's face every single birthday, didn't he?

"Don't! You're a lucky son of a gun, Marowit! Hang in there!" Said Swantewit with an equally mocking voice. That being said, he was probably the one fellow Wendish god that Marowit liked the most. A millennia-long closet case that pretended to be happily married to Hela, while constantly inviting Marowit to gay bars and competing to see who could seduce the most mortals in a single night.

"Stay exactly the same, Mary. You might be the only constant in this world of variables!" Stepped in Ziva, the least grating of all of Marowit's female friends.

"I don't know, Ziva...You can't stay in your eighteenth century forever." Interrupted Siebog, Ziva's extremely marriage-obsessed husband. Marowit liked him, but his insistence on Marowit getting a wife and having children had become annoying after eighteen centuries of hearing it over and over.

"You'll still get your wish, Mary." Dziewonna spoke again, rubbing his friend's shoulder tenderly.

"Won't." Countered Chernobog with a snort, drawing exasperated glances from his fellow gods. Marowit, however, was slightly amused. Chernobog could be a dick, but he was never ashamed to admit it. He embraced his bad attitude with cool dignity.

"I think he still gets his wish." Said Zaria, Radegast's wife, smiling warmly at their celebrated friend.

"I say he won't." Chernobog insisted, his expression being the very definition of deadpan.

"Cherny, honey, come on...!" Intervened Chernobog's husband, Karewit, his smile trying desperately to bring back some optimism and celebratory spirit to this party. "See...when Cherny and Mary get together..."

"Karewit, I am telling you...If you do not blow out all the candles on a cake, you do not get your wish." Chernobog interrupted, not even looking at his sweet, handsome husband. "I know all the rules for birthday candle-blowing. I've had enough for a wax museum."

Alright. Listening to Chernobog deliver his sardonic commentary was entertaining for Marowit, but he did not want this birthday party to become a snuff film.

"Actually, guys...I didn't wish for anything." He finally declared, before taking a sip of red wine. What would I wish for?

All at once, he heard a dozen surprised voices speaking up.

"What do you mean you didn't wish for anything?"

"Come on! Everybody is so curious!"

"Tell us, Mary."

Marowit actually sighed as he stood up to face them all.

"Thank you for including me in your thoughts...your lives." He half-heartedly made a mock toast, glass of wine high and pointed at the group surrounding him.

"Stay exactly as you are, Mary." Pleaded Zislbog with a smile, his glass of bourbon colliding carefully with Marowit's.

"That's right, you sweet thing! Stay exactly as you are!" Ziva chirped with a wink, also toasting with Marowit.

"Everyone adores you! What an awful thing!" Chernobog stepped in, martini raised with a grin. "I'd kiss you goodnight, Mary, but Karewit gets jealous."

Karewit's confused look was priceless.

"Things happen for the best!" Sieba declared as her glass clinked with Marowit's.

There suddenly was an awkward silence, all eyes staring at Sieba, baffled. Even Marowit.

"...I don't even believe that myself." She finally confessed, cracking under the pressure, and everyone in that pub smirked, barely withholding their chuckles.

May continue it later on, adding the lyrics of Side by Side, so don't take it as the final draft yet.

Here's the music for the first part: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=maCRBsNpn-M

As wonderful as I thought it would be. I lvoe Marowit. The lyrics were intergated really well.

Done! Finally! New character one-shot.
I'm not all that happy with it, but I finished it.

1580 AD

The sea.
The sea is still and flat along the coastline, a dull grey plane in the pre-dawn light. The Persian Gulf, they call it now. Sisitu had been here before the Achaemenid Empire, before Parsis. Nobody today knows what they had called it back then and Sisitu doesn’t particularly feel like telling anyone. Just a gulf, not a real ocean. But it is salt water nonetheless.
The sea was humanity’s womb, it was said. Man had burst forth into the world when the salt water could no longer hold him. And so had things repeated for every birth since. Because blood is salt water, and inside every human there is an ocean.
Here, now, as the sun begins to creep over the flat, sandy horizon at Sisitu’s back, inside her there is a turning of the tide.
Here, now, blood flows. And she doubles over in pain, clutches her stomach and feels the sticky mess trickle down her thighs. She straightens up, wades into the gulf up to her waist. The grey water is dappled with orange now. She lets it wash her clean. Lets blood return to blood. And she returns to the coast, her long Arabic dress sodden and stained. Today she will find the mouth of the Euphrates. Follow it upstream for two days and she will find what’s left of Eridu.
Trudging along, dripping as the sun rises, Sisitu’s thoughts take her home.


3092 BC

When Sisitu remembers Eridu, she remembers barley. Field after field of green and golden barley, so wide there was no end of them. The marshy soil was so rich that every seed unfolded and thrust up its head. They had been surrounded by green and gold that scorching summer day. The barley stalks were flattened beneath her back, her white robe tossed aside. She had looked up into his liquid brown eyes, his jet black hair, with beautiful green and gold all around.
He had been sixteen, a year older than her.
Even the great ziggurat temple E-abzu smelled of barley. The stone was cool beneath her feel, even in the heat of a summer noon. When the guards came for her, they marched her through the fields in her spotless white robe with her hands bound. The gleaners stopped their work to watch. It was not often they got to see a priestess brought so low. She avoided their eyes. But the eyes of the Speaker-for-Gods held her so that she could not look away.
She knelt on the cool stone. The Speaker-for-Gods examined her like a beetle between his fingers. His face was unreadable, what she could see of it between his long beard and his golden headdress. Today people speak of the mystery of God. Back then, the gods were not mysterious. They crowded around, just on the edge of Sisitu’s sight. Anu. Enki. Inana. Enlil. Ninhursag. The great gods of Sumer.
“You are Sisitu,” the Speaker-for-Gods said “of whom the gods require both obedience and chastity.”
“Majesty, I am she.” Sisitu managed to keep the tremor out of her voice. “But I repent my sin and would find the gods’ favour again at any cost.”
“Indeed?” the Speaker-for-Gods’ voice was light and musical, not the booming heavy tones she would have expected from such an impressive man. “Then rejoice, Sisitu, for the gods will pardon you. Providing only that you take your life in the temple grounds.”
For a few seconds, she could say nothing. Her lips trembled as she forced the words out. “Majesty, I cannot. You know I cannot!”
“‘At any cost,’ you said.”
“Aye, any cost to me. But I am pregnant. I cannot kill my baby. If you would stay my sentence for just a few—”
The almost-visible forms of the gods crowded closer around her. She could feel their anger crackling through the air like a storm about to break. She knew their faces and names. She knew their domains. She knew their stories. She had devoted her life to them. The weight of their malice bent her spine. Her forehead touched the floor.
“Enough. The gods offered you death and you would not take it. Take their curse instead. You are an abomination heaved from their affronted sight. Death will not touch you now. When Eridu is dust, and the dust baked and built into cities still unthought-of, the sun will still look down upon your shame.”


1580 AD

Sisitu is awake before dawn in the old travellers’ inn where she spent the night. She stands naked by the window, watching for the first signs of the sun, holding a round-bottomed jar.
Her guts clench. The tide turns once again and runs down her legs. She is ready and fills the jar with her bright, fresh blood. After firmly corking the jar and fastening the top, she attends to her hygiene. Such things are important. She leaves most of the grisly payload on the floor. Let the innkeeper deal with it. She places the jar in her bag, along with her soiled clothes from the previous day, a skin of water, and the money she didn’t spend on this night in the inn, and unfolds her fresh, clean, white robe. The material is finer than any of the clothing they made back then, but otherwise it is exactly the same. She puts it on, smoothing it across her belly and thighs. Her robe was her armour, and her declaration of war. She wore it for the same reason she was returning to Eridu. It should end as it began. There was a rightness to this.
Sisitu takes a deep breath, girds herself for the day ahead, takes up her light luggage, and resumes her pilgrimage.


1067 AD

It was on a green hill they met. Unbelievably green. It was only a few miles west of Hastings, but untouched by the battle. Only months had passed since then, but it was agreed by all but the most foolish that William the Norman was king of England.
Sisitu dressed in the garb of a native peasant woman, but nothing could disguise her Mesopotamian features. She looked fifteen, as she had for more than four thousand years.
He was dressed simply as well, but it didn’t seem to be for the sake of inconspicuousness. She suspected he dressed in well-worn travelling clothes wherever he went. He looked old already, tired from the weight of the years, but strong. Unbelievably strong. She was glad of that.
“I understand what you want of me,” he said “and I came to see you out of respect for what you have already accomplished. But understand that I cannot kill you.”
Sisitu shook her head, refreshed by his bluntness. Too much of conversation was hiding what was really meant. It was the kind of thing that got tiring after a few millennia. “I wouldn’t ask that of you. Just removed the curse and let me live out the rest of my natural days.”
“That would be killing you,” the old man said, “and you misunderstand me. Your curse was placed on you by the Sumerian gods in all their power and wrath. I don’t have the power to undo it. I doubt anyone does. No one you could, or would want to, contact anyway. If you want death so badly, take it up with your gods.”
It was as if she had been slapped in the face. There was no malice in his words, but the death of her one hope hurt more than any insult could.
“Don’t you think I’ve done that?” she snapped, trying and failing to keep the anger out of her voice “For four thousand years I’ve called to them, prayed to them, sacrificed to them. They never respond.”
He looked out at the meadow below them. Green, so vibrant green. Greener than the barley fields of Sumer, Sisitu thought. And yet this was such an old land.
“Time distils most things down to their essence,” he said in careful, measured words “If it were me, I’d bargain from strength.”
“You mean I can force them to answer my call?”
“It can be done. A sorcerer can summon all kinds of supernatural entities if he knows the art. Gods too, although that’s more difficult.”
Sisitu’s stomach rose to meet her heart. She held her breath, barely daring to believe what was being suggested to her. She couldn’t ask him to do it for her. He would refuse, she knew. “Will you teach me?” she asked, hoping against four thousand years of desperation. The old man didn’t meet her eyes. He kept staring intently at the green English meadow. “Do you know how my immortality works?” she pressed “It is the recycling of a single day. Every dawn, my body remakes itself just as it was when the gods first cursed me. I’ve had the same miscarriage every day for four thousand, one hundred, and fifty-nine years.”
The old man turned to look at her, his face as implacable as the Speaker-for-Gods’ so long ago. “You’ll have to start small,” he said at last “Imps and sprites, things of that nature. Becoming powerful enough to call down the gods will take time.”
“Time, I have.” Sisitu found herself smiling. The expression seemed so alien. Had it really been that long? She didn’t cry, not even for joy. The salt water reminded her too much of blood. “Thank you, Fixban.”


1580 AD

It is dusk by the time she reaches Eridu. The city was once a mud-brick metropolis. They used to say it was the first city in the world. Whether or not that’s true, it was probably the largest in its day. It straddled the Euphrates where it flowed into the gulf. Paradise for farmers and fishers alike. The course of the river has changed since then. The coastline has moved too. The landscape is an inhospitable desert now. And Eridu is a few piles of crumbling stone. It’s still possible to make out the outline of the great ziggurat temple where the gods cursed Sisitu, once upon a time the marvel of Mesopotamia. She notes with some perverse pride that it is still the largest structure as far as the eye can see. Hot and thirsty, her waterskin empty, her white robe stained with sand, Sisitu climbs to the top of the ruin. The wind picks up, tugging playfully at her as if the land itself was welcoming her home. It has been a very long time.
Sisitu sets down her bag and takes out the jar of blood from this morning’s miscarriage. She uncorks it, dips her finger in, and draws a wide circle on the rough stone, careful to leave no gap. Candles, pentagrams and eldritch symbols are for amateurs and dilettantes. This is old magic. Simple, powerful, and pungent.
Sisitu spent over two centuries studying under Fixban until she had surpassed him in the art of summoning. Then she had sought out others to teach her what he could not. Some of them had been human. When there was nothing more she could learn from others, she taught herself. In the specific field of summoning and binding, Sisitu of Eridu is the most powerful practitioner in the world. She has no doubt that she is ready to bind gods to her will.
Stepping outside the circle, Sisitu anoints herself with her own blood and begins to chant in halting Sumerian. How many centuries, how many millennia have passed since she last used the mother tongue? No matter. It’s like riding a horse. She does not beg. She does not entreat. That is behind her. She reaches out with her power and forces them to manifest before her. And they appear. With the scent of barley and the whispering of the grain fields, they appear.
She almost laughs at the absurdity. The great gods of Sumer crowded into her summoning circle like so many geese in a pen. They look so small. She expected this to be the most difficult thing she had ever attempted. She had trained for almost five centuries to become strong enough for this. And their combined power turns out to be no more than a mid-level demon or a ghost with a thousand years to its name. This is insultingly easy.
Sisitu falls to her knees, forcing supplication where there is only anger. “Gods of Sumer, your servant speaks to you. Sisitu of Eridu asks your forgiveness. Please?”
Their thin, reedy voices are barely audible above the desert wind. “...but your sin... is great...”
“...and not yet expiated...”
“...it is sacrilege...”
“...for you... even to call on us...”
Sisitu’s mouth tightens. Her hands clench. “You cannot imagine how little I care about sacrilege now. I ask you again. Will you remove the curse, and let me die?”
“...not yet...”
“...in a thousand years...”
“...we will... consider...”
“...and you may... ask again...”
Sisitu bows her head so they will not see her face. Inside, she screams. She rages. She tears herself to pieces with her own hands. Her head splits open and all her fury and all her power wash over the world and destroy every living thing in it. Outwardly, she remains motionless and silent. And in her bottomless rage, she finds clarity. Bargain from strength... strength that time distils... Fixban’s words to her five centuries ago. How could she have been so blind? It was there with her all along. She hadn't needed to become the most powerful summoner alive for a few decepit gods. There was always a much greater summoning waiting in her future. This is what she had trained for.
She doesn’t chant this time. The thing doesn’t understand words. But she reaches out with her power and finds it where it has always been, had she eyes to see it. She calls it into the material world,
“...Sisitu... hold...”
“...you must not... do this...”
“...we do not... permit...”
“Are you frightened, small gods?!” she screams at them “Does death not strike or stay at your command? Give me what I ask!”
“...our power...”
“...is too much... decayed...”
“...what we said... in the fullness of... our strength...”
“...we cannot now... unsay...”
“...we entreat... your mercy...”
“My mercy.” Sisitu repeats. Laughing madly, she spreads her arms wide and finishes the summoning. Time at last to be born.
The spirit called into the circle is a swirling mass of horror. Perhaps Sisitu can make out the barest suggestion of hands and eyes. Perhaps not. The thing is practically mindless. It has never been allowed to live long enough to develop a mind. Called into flesh a million times and expelled from the warm dark. It was never truly a child. It is a beast turned out of its den. It is very old. And it is very powerful. And it has been with Sisitu long enough to understand rage.
It takes a long time. Even in decay, gods don’t die easily. When it is over, the angry cloud roils and swirls in the circle of blood. Pushes against the walls of its magic womb.
Her baby. The reason she originally refused what she had spent so long searching for. Her first and only reason for living. As the first light of dawn stretches over the desert, the thing in the summoning circle melts away. She feels a familiar knife twist in her abdomen and her white robe is stained with red. She pulls the garment over her head and throws it away. The tide has turned once again.

*slow clap*

Thank you.

So, I guess I need an app. Do we have a powergrid?

Sad that only Olthar commented on my one-shot, considering I plan on writing part 2 today (once I come up with a good title...)

I'm sorry, I never saw your one-shot. Can you link it?

[Nightkill the Emperor]

The government is frequently held to ransom by the increasing demands of bloodthirsty pirates, door-to-door salesmen are frequently beaten up by 'vigilantes', college students make ends meet by selling their kidneys, and murderers frequently escape punishment by claiming they were protecting their honour.

Oh, South Africa.

[Erinkita]

Minh was Richard all along.

No, Minh is Aragorn.

Aragorn is part orc? The scandal! Elrond would approve even less.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Alright, this is my one-shot for Marowit

1770 AD

This had to be the most beautiful chapel in which Marowit had ever been married. A lonely medieval building standing in the middle of the English countryside. He probably could have afforded a far more grand and elegant venue, but Marowit had promised himself never to invest obscene amounts of money in a wedding ever again. Not after his second divorce.

Standing on the altar, dressed in a modest black jacket, Marowit trembled. Just like in the past four weddings, all his friends were here, staring up at him with reassuring smiles. Except Chernobog, of course. Chernobog was smirking, the cynical drunkard obviously relishing Marowit's fear.

After so many centuries together, they all still looked young and handsome. Not a single gray hair amongst those blonde, auburn and chestnut manes. Not even a lousy wrinkle in the Slavic faces of his fellow gods and goddesses.

The Wendish god of nightmares barely stiffled a scream as Sieba, finally the bridesmaid for one of Marowit's weddings, appeared at the chapel's main door, which had been left fully open, showing the beauty of the green English fields and forests in a very cloudy day. She began to sing a wedding tune, while Podaga played the organ that was beside the altar, fingers moving madly with a carefree grin on his face.

Oh, Yaweh...this is it! He cried inside his head, a shiver running up his spine as his hands turned into tight fists.

20/10 for students, I think 23/14 or something for staff.
"Bless this day,
Pinnacle of life,
Husband joined to spouse.
The heart leaps up to behold
This golden day."

Sieba sang joyfully, walking down the aisle with...

Ugh...he looks so gorgeous... Marowit thought, squirming in his place beside the priest. Indeed, his soon-to-be husband, Lir, had never looked more unbelievably beauteous. Already he was one of the cutest creatures Marowit had ever laid eyes upon, but now? With his hair clean and perfectly combed, and wearing that simple yet beautiful robe/dress, he looked divine.

"Wow..." Marowit could hear Percunust, his best man, say with amusement. "That is truly the finest fiancé you've ever had, Mary."

"...shut up!" The groom hissed, eyes wide and fearful.

As Lir gracefully walked slowly but surely towards the altar, face filled with that relaxed exhilaration that was so typical of him, he began to sing to his soon-to-be husband, love and devotion oozing from every note. His singing voice had always been just as angelic as his form.

"Today is for Mary,
Mary, I give you the rest of my life,
To cherish and to keep you,
to honor you forever.
Today is for Mary,
My happily soon-to-be spouse"

As he finished singing, Lir let out a feminine giggle, his smile only becoming wider and more overwhelming. Now Marowit truly felt his heart rate increase, and he was pretty sure he was going to have a heart attack soon.

"Mary...we're really doing this!" Lir whispered to him, only thirty feet away now.

That's it! I can't take it anymore! Marowit screamed in his mind, head slightly shaking from side to side as his thoughts carried on at an inhuman speed.

"Pardon me, is everybody here? Because if everybody's here, I
want to thank you all for coming to the wedding, I'd appreciate
your going even more, I mean you must have lots of better things
to do, and not a word of this to Lir, remember Lir, you know,
the man I'm gonna marry, but I'm not, because I wouldn't ruin
anyone as wonderful as he is--
Thank you all
For the gifts and the flowers,
Thank you all,
Now it's back to the showers,
Don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today!"

An awkward silence filled the entire chapel.

Shit...I sang it out loud, didn't I? Marowit could feel himself flushing, the knot in his stomach tightening as all eyes stared at him.

Finally, after a minute of excruciatingly quiet torture, Lir giggled once more, apparently not having even heard what his spouse-to-be had just rambled about. Sieba began to sing again, the procession down the aisle resumed.

"Bless this day,
Tragedy of life,
Husband joined to wife.
The heart sinks down and feels dead
This dreadful day."

Wait...what? Oh, Yaweh...I'm starting to hear things. Now this was becoming increasingly serious. Either he was becoming delusional, or Sieba had seen right through him, and had decided to mock his suffering. No...that's what Chernobog would do...prick.

"Hey...umm...Mary...where are the wedding rings?" Percunust interrupted his nightmarish reverie with that hesitant whisper.

Marowit hesitated, before answering with a trembling voice.

"In my right pocket...along with my suicide note." The last part came off as a whine of pain, as he intertwined the fingers of both his hands in a tight hold, the pressure almost ripping the fabric of his gloves.

Apparently, the suicidal hyperbole went right over Percunust's head, since his only reaction was plunging a clumsy hand into Marowit's pocket, pulling a small velvet box from it.

Turning his attention back to his approaching soon-to-be spouse, Marowit felt another surge of dread. Twenty feet...he's twenty feet away now!

As realization dawned onto him, he proved to be, once more, utterly incapable of containing his panic.

"Listen, everybody, look, I don't know what you're waiting for,
a wedding, what's a wedding, it's a prehistoric ritual
where everybody promises fidelity forever, which is
maybe the most horrifying word I ever heard of, which is
followed by a honeymoon, where suddenly he'll realize he's
saddled with a nut, and wanna kill me, which he should--
Thanks a bunch,
But I'm not getting married--
Go have lunch,
'Cause I'm not getting married--
You've been grand,
But I'm not getting married--
Don't just stand there,
I'm not getting married--
And don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today."

At this point, Marowit had just stopped caring about being heard or not. He was positively terrified and on the verge of a breakdown. Looking straight at his friends in the front row, he pressed his hands together, in the form typical of someone pleading for his life.

Evidently, Lir was either oblivious to his outburst, or was doing an outstanding job at pretending he had not heard a single word Marowit had just spewed.

"Go, can't you go?
Why is no-
Body listening?
Goodbye,
Go and cry
At another person's wake.
If you're quick,
For a kick,
You could pick
Up a christening,
But please,
On my knees,
There's a human life at stake!"

Rather unconsciously, Marowit dropped to his knees, blue eyes wet with tears of true panic, before more verbal diarhea escaped from his rosy lips. His skin had never looked paler.

"Listen everybody, I'm afraid you didn't hear, or do you want to
see a crazy fella fall apart in front of you, it isn't only Liri
who may be ruining his life, you know we'll both of us be losing
our identities, I told my physician about it and he said to
see him Monday, but by Monday I'll be floating in the Thames with
the other garbage--
I'm not well,
So I'm not getting married--
You've been swell,
But I'm not getting married--
Clear the hall,
'Cause I'm not getting married--
Thank you all,
But I'm not getting married--
And don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today."

This time, the awkward silence was surprisingly short, and this time Marowit actually released a frightened, girly cry as Sieba began to sing again.

"Bless this groom,
Totally insane,
Slipping down the drain.
And bless this day in our hearts
As it starts
To rain."

Indeed, it had started raining. Actually, it would have been more accurate to say it was pouring. It almost reminded him of the monsoons in India. Perfect...now it's officially my worst wedding ever.

Yet Lir continued sing with glee, obliviously taking the last few final steps towards the altar.

"Today is for Mary,
Mary, I give you the rest of my life,
To cherish and to keep you, to honor you forever.
Today is for Mary,
My happily soon-to-be spouse."

To hell with this shite! Marowit's mind declared as he began to plead to his friends again, hands flailing madly, walking back and forth in a small circle.

"Go, can't you go?
Look, you know I adore you all,
But why watch me die
Like Eliza on the ice?
Look, perhaps,
I'll collapse
In the apse
Right before you all,
So take back the cake,
Burn the shoes and boil the rice.
Look, I didn't wanna have to
tell you, but I may be coming
down with Hepatitis, and I
think I'm gonna faint, so if
you wanna see me faint, I'll
do it happily, but wouldn't
it be funnier to go and watch
a funeral, so thank you for the
twenty-seven dinner plates,
thirty-seven butter knives,
forty-seven paperweights,
fifty-seven candleholders--"

"One more thing--" Lir continued.

"I am not getting married!" Marowit interrupted.

"Amen!" His friends shouted. What in Yaweh's name is going on?

"Softly said--" Said Lir, only five feet away. Please...no...

"But I'm not getting married!" The Wendish god of nightmare shouted, now having a real breakdown, his voice drowning the Irish sea god's loving words.

"Amen!" Again his friends praised.

"With this ring--" Lir said, as Percunust handed him the pretty, heavily ornamented white gold and sapphire wedding ring. Oh, no...

"Still I'm not getting married!" Marowit insisted, even while presenting his hand to his spouse-to-be, Lir gently sliding the ring onto his beloved's finger.

"Amen!" Even Chernobog was saying it now. Bastard...I'm never sharing my vodka with him again!

"I thee wed." Lir's smile had never been more tender as he finished exchanging rings with Marowit. Wait...why am I exchanging rings with him? I don't want to!

"Please, I'm not getting married!" Even as he shouted so, mostly to himself, he held Lir's hand as the priest wrapped the wedding up.

"Amen!" Amen my arse!

As the wedding came to an end, after the priest gave the newlyweds permission to kiss, Marowit and Lir began to sing simultaneously. Even as their faces grew closer, lips ghosting over each other.

"Let us pray
That we are getting married
Today!"

"Let us pray
That I'm not getting married
Today!"

As Lir gently pressed his velvet-soft lips to Marowit's, the latter could hear his friends say "Amen!" one last time, before exploding into cheers, whistling and clapping with euphoria.

Dammit...I got married today.


2018 AD

It was midnight in Oxford, but inside a dark, yet very elegant pub in Oxford, a very intimate celebration was taking place. A small crowd of youthful-looking, yet extremely old Slavic deities were either sitting or standing around a small birthday cake, on a large circle of tables and couches, drinking and smoking with relaxed leisure as they waited for the "birthday boy" to blow out the candles.

Marowit lazily blew on the lit candles. Over one thousand and eight hundred of them. Was it really that hard for Sieba to buy four number-shaped candles? Yes, he was a god, but he was not the god of wind. By the time he had ran out of air, he had only blown out twenty of them.

"Well, our blessings, Mary." Said Sieba, always the first to highlight the bright side of disappointments such as this one.

"Don't tell your wish, Marowit, or it won't come true." Said Dziewonna, one of the only two female friends of his who were exceedingly kind towards him, without being grating. ...unlike Sieba.

Marowit blew on the candles again, this time getting only thirteen. Today was not his lucky day, it seemed.

"You just blew it." Pointed out Chernobog, always dressed elegantly, with a martini and a cigarette in each hand. Always the sardonic one.

"It was probably a wish you wouldn't have gotten anyway, Mary." Sieba again tried to reassure him. Very nice of her, but not really effective.

"Did you wish for another husband, Mary?" Radegast asked playfully, glass of champagne in hand. He just had to shove his lovely, millennia-long trophy wife and obscene wealth in Marowit's face every single birthday, didn't he?

"Don't! You're a lucky son of a gun, Marowit! Hang in there!" Said Swantewit with an equally mocking voice. That being said, he was probably the one fellow Wendish god that Marowit liked the most. A millennia-long closet case that pretended to be happily married to Hela, while constantly inviting Marowit to gay bars and competing to see who could seduce the most mortals in a single night.

"Stay exactly the same, Mary. You might be the only constant in this world of variables!" Stepped in Ziva, the least grating of all of Marowit's female friends.

"I don't know, Ziva...You can't stay in your eighteenth century forever." Interrupted Siebog, Ziva's extremely marriage-obsessed husband. Marowit liked him, but his insistence on Marowit getting a wife and having children had become annoying after eighteen centuries of hearing it over and over.

"You'll still get your wish, Mary." Dziewonna spoke again, rubbing his friend's shoulder tenderly.

"Won't." Countered Chernobog with a snort, drawing exasperated glances from his fellow gods. Marowit, however, was slightly amused. Chernobog could be a dick, but he was never ashamed to admit it. He embraced his bad attitude with cool dignity.

"I think he still gets his wish." Said Zaria, Radegast's wife, smiling warmly at their celebrated friend.

"I say he won't." Chernobog insisted, his expression being the very definition of deadpan.

"Cherny, honey, come on...!" Intervened Chernobog's husband, Karewit, his smile trying desperately to bring back some optimism and celebratory spirit to this party. "See...when Cherny and Mary get together..."

"Karewit, I am telling you...If you do not blow out all the candles on a cake, you do not get your wish." Chernobog interrupted, not even looking at his sweet, handsome husband. "I know all the rules for birthday candle-blowing. I've had enough for a wax museum."

Alright. Listening to Chernobog deliver his sardonic commentary was entertaining for Marowit, but he did not want this birthday party to become a snuff film.

"Actually, guys...I didn't wish for anything." He finally declared, before taking a sip of red wine. What would I wish for?

All at once, he heard a dozen surprised voices speaking up.

"What do you mean you didn't wish for anything?"

"Come on! Everybody is so curious!"

"Tell us, Mary."

Marowit actually sighed as he stood up to face them all.

"Thank you for including me in your thoughts...your lives." He half-heartedly made a mock toast, glass of wine high and pointed at the group surrounding him.

"Stay exactly as you are, Mary." Pleaded Zislbog with a smile, his glass of bourbon colliding carefully with Marowit's.

"That's right, you sweet thing! Stay exactly as you are!" Ziva chirped with a wink, also toasting with Marowit.

"Everyone adores you! What an awful thing!" Chernobog stepped in, martini raised with a grin. "I'd kiss you goodnight, Mary, but Karewit gets jealous."

Karewit's confused look was priceless.

"Things happen for the best!" Sieba declared as her glass clinked with Marowit's.

There suddenly was an awkward silence, all eyes staring at Sieba, baffled. Even Marowit.

"...I don't even believe that myself." She finally confessed, cracking under the pressure, and everyone in that pub smirked, barely withholding their chuckles.

May continue it later on, adding the lyrics of Side by Side, so don't take it as the final draft yet.

Here's the music for the first part: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=maCRBsNpn-M

As wonderful as I thought it would be. I lvoe Marowit. The lyrics were intergated really well.

*slow clap*

Thank you.

So, I guess I need an app. Do we have a powergrid?

Sad that only Olthar commented on my one-shot, considering I plan on writing part 2 today (once I come up with a good title...)

I'm sorry, I never saw your one-shot. Can you link it?

[Individuality-ness]

Hey Erin, since you're here -- have a title for your oneshot?