Finally 3pm rolled around. An extensive crowd had gathered around the dozens of chairs, although nobody was actually sitting in the chairs, mostly because there was shade available on all 4 sides, but all of the chairs were in direct sunlight and it was now about 120 degrees outside. I briefly entertained the notion of tracking down whoever set up all the chairs and socking them in the eyes until I remembered it was me.

My sister didn’t want people to see her in her dress and we had to cross a rather wide-open field to get behind the tree that we would pop out of for the wedding, so she made all the groomsmen surrounded her Secret Service-style and escort her across to the tree, where we discovered that the videographer was late and wouldn’t be there for another 15 minutes. If she wanted her wedding on tape, we’d have to wait.

As a Mexican appeared on the paved park pathway, heading towards us, I wondered how good the musicians would be. They had brought an electric keyboard with them to accompany the other instruments but, of course, we didn’t actually have a generator or any other way of supplying power. Whoops.

The Mexican drew closer. He was pushing a small cart in front of him, the kind that could easily hold a large number of explosives or semi-automatic firearms. His cart emitted a faint tune, vaguely reminiscent of The Rains of Castamere. My fingers tightened involuntarily around my blade, which hurt, so then I moved them to the sword-handle instead. I’d had a run of bad luck with weddings recently, and I wasn’t about to let some Machete-crazed Frey wannabe fuck up my sister’s wedding any more than it had already been fucked up.

The Mexican drew closer, and smiled. Turns out the cart was filled with ice cream. A groomsman – who, to protect his identity, I shall only refer to as “Matthew” – immediately began negotiating ice cream sales for the entire wedding party, over the loud protests of my sister, who pointed out, rather reasonably, that getting ice cream all over the wedding outfits was not acceptable. The unnamed groomsman sent the Mexican packing, after entreating him to return post-haste the minute the wedding concluded (he didn’t).

We waited. I eyed a Nazgul who had a small pug on a leash. The sun beat down oppressively. Finally the videographer showed up and we were ready to go.

My sister came over to me, looking resplendant in her white wedding dress. “So, you know that we are changing how you guys exit, right?”

This was news to me.

“After the bride and groom leave the best man and maid of honor will leave second, and so on down in the line, instead of the other way around.”

Good to know.

After Daniel and I had escorted the parents to their seats, it was time to get going. I linked arms with Anna.

“You ready for this?” I asked, as I simultaneously realized that I really needed to use the restroom.

“Yep.”

We walked. The wedding was very near a public path through Columbia Park and I couldn’t help but notice that several random passers-by had decided to stop and watch the wedding. Not that I could really blame them.

We walked. I concentrated on my breathing and the fact that my legs and feet were almost certainly cooked beyond repair inside my leather dominatrix boots.

We walked. I wondered what it would be like if one of us tripped and went flying into the audience.

We walked. I reminded myself once again to be very careful when it came to my sword since accidentally wedging the spike into someone’s eye might put a damper on things.

The wedding itself was pretty uneventful. I passed the time by mentally choreographing intense battle sequences if a group of marauding Orcs attacked to Battle Without Honor or Humanity, and being amused by the frustrated expressions in the audience when they couldn’t hear what was happening, which was most of the time since the microphone only worked if it had a direct line of sight with the loudspeaker and it didn’t. At some point I felt a sharp pain in my hand and realized I’d accidentally sliced my finger open on my sword.

Eventually things came to the natural conclusion and the happy couple exited beneath a canopy of swords and flowers. After the best man and maid of honor passed I stepped out to link arms with Anna and leave. Coincidentally, this was perfectly timed with the groomsman next to me sheathing his sword and he accidentally used the handle to club me in the left eye.

Somewhat disoriented, I made it off the pitch and stepped away with an unnamed groomsman named Matthew to polish off the Wild Turkey and breathe a deep sigh of relief. It was over. I dug in my pocket for my cell phone and sent a text I had been waiting years to send.

Part Six