Vampily Ever After

By Meltha

Part Three

I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, but I can’t help getting a little teary eyed as I see the big apple dumpling nearly plummet to his death off the side of the staircase because he’s so nervous he forgot how many steps there were, only to have his platinum pookie dart forward and grab him at the last second. It’s nice to see those two boys making, well, nice. As I launch into the processional Angelcakes picked, an aria from Aida no less (and I argued in favor of a nice showtunes medley, let me tell you, but Angel wouldn’t hear of it), I get a little misty thinking how these two lunkheads have managed to bash each other around for over a century and then finally, happily came to the conclusion that they were soulmates. True, they didn’t both have souls until relatively recently, but you get my point.

The minister they picked is an… interesting fellow. Not human, of course, but that’s par for this crowd. It’s like the United Nations, only far more colorful in here. The presider does at least look human, though, except for the eyes: they’re a rather attractive shade of teal. Reminds me a little of Groo. There’s the usual rigamarole about commitment, meeting destinies across time, are you here of your own consent, yadda yadda yadda, and I have to admit Spike looks a little drowsy, while Angel is getting downright me-colored. Hope he doesn’t urp all over his intended.

And now the moment of truth: “If anyone here can show just cause why these two…” In the movies, something always happens when they say that—bombs exploding, both literal and metaphorical, dragons eating the groom, whatever—and for just a second, I’m nervously scanning the audience, hoping that Dubya didn’t somehow sneak in the back door, but aside from Harmony hiccupping quietly from having a little too much pre-ceremony champagne, it’s a happy, quiet moment. Whew.

They’re saying the vows now, and darn it all if I’m not getting all sappy again. Angel goes first, and he’s stumbling over words. “Photographic memory” my Aunt Frances. I think he just promised to love, honor, and oy vay. Well, in this relationship, oy vay could very well be precisely what they’re both going to be doing a lot of from time to time. Well, at least he got the ring on his finger right. There we go. And the big paluka looks so relieved that part is over he may just swoon.

And now it’s Spike’s turn to do the mushy stuff. I’m hoping against hope he doesn’t choose to quote Syd Vicious for his vows.

Wait a sec…

He can’t possibly be doing what I think he is.

“I can’t smile without you, can’t smile without you. I can’t laugh, and I can’t sing. I’m finding it hard to do anything, and I feel sad when you’re sad, feel glad when you’re glad…”

Holy heavens spinning wildly out of control, he’s quoting Manilow! Granted, not singing it, but Angel’s grinning like the biggest sap on earth and I may just melt away into a puddle of romantic goo. Half the witnesses are looking at each other in horror, and the other half are crying. Willow’s sobbing. Giles there appears to be firmly in the I Can’t Believe I’m Here for This group. And I know Spike hates that song, which is why this means so much.

Before I know it, the minister has pronounced them officially married, and a cheer rises from the assembled throng. As I belt into a lovely rendition of “A Whole New World,” Spike gives me the evil eye as they process down the aisle, closely followed by Connor and Gunn. What? Angel said no showtunes, not no Disney, and Spike’s the one who broke the oft-repeated Manilow embargo. As they’re going past and out into the reception room we set up in the old section of the Hyperion, I spot a certain dark-haired lass in the crowd just about to follow them out the door. Isn’t that… what the hell is Drusilla doing here?

I hit a bad note on that one. I freely admit it. If Simon Cowell were here, he’d have chucked my keister offstage so fast I’d have broken the sound barrier. Faster than humanly possible, Drusilla’s three feet in front of me, and even over the fabulous piano and guitar combo I’ve put together for this fiesta, I still hear her say in my general direction, “No worries. I’m a good girl tonight!” as she wanders to the reception.

Geez, what poor dopes are sitting at her table?

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