| "The I Do's of
March"
by M. Mitchell Marmel & E.O. Costello © 2007-9 by M. Mitchell Marmel and E.O. Costello Willow Fawnsworthy, Reggie Buckhorn, Franklin Stagg, Orrin Brush, Leslie duCleds, Kara Karoksdottir, Charles Foster Crane, Inocenta du Cleds (nee de Ciervos), Carlos de Ciervos, Senora de Ciervos © Eric Costello Rosie Baumgartner, © M. Mitchell Marmel Marryin’ Sam and Lulubelle Mae Brunswick © E.O Costello and M. Mitchell Marmel Brenda and Covina Johnson © Walter D. Reimer Part One
SPONTOON ISLANDS CONSTABULARY SERVICE REPORT No: 37-0207 REPORTING: Ketcham, Robert, PC 31 DATE: 17 FEB 37 SUBJECT: Recovery of Salvaged Porcelain. On this date at approximately 5 a.m., this constable was summoned to the residence of Karok-son-K’rick, aka Ignatius Loyola Brush, SIPC, retired, after hearing reports of a disturbance on the premises. Upon arrival, it was discovered that the source of the disturbance was owing to the actions of two of the sons, B'onss-son-Karok and K'nutt-son-Karok, who had apparently attempted to store several porcelain commodes, salvaged from the wreck of the S.S. Kamanamaihows (Report 37-0198) in the rafters of the residence. Said residence being of native construction, the structure collapsed, trapping the brothers in the wreckage and necessitating their rescue. No serious injuries were sustained, but this proves once again the old Island maxim, "People who live in grass houses shouldn't stow thrones." Respectfully submitted, R. Ketcham, PC 31 ***
Reggie: I’d like to say that proposing marriage to Willow last Christmas (and to Grace in February – Great Scott, was that only two weeks ago? Memo to self, ask Lodge about time displacement thingies.) was the hard part of our impending nuptials. Well, you can’t blame a buck for wishful thinking, now can you? Today was Paperwork Day, a secular (?) holiday in which chaps march down to the various places that worship paper, and there beg of the high priests in charge for little rubber stamps showing divine favour. A lot less fun than, say, your average Sunday morning in Bognor Regis, but perhaps preferable to having your head smacked by a ballpeen hammer about six or seven times. Just. Embassy Row on Meeting Island isn't like how it is, say, in downtown Berlin or in Northwest D.C. A pawful of them are old houses that got converted. Strictly speaking, some of them are consulates, and not embassies, but the distinction is something only my valet, Lodge, could elucidate. Anyway, all of them (except for the New Haven embassy) have neat little flags flying above freshly painted doors behind neatly tended lawns. (The New Haven embassy hasn't had a paint job in a while, smells of cooking cabbage, and you can still see where the old seal was. I often wonder if Willow-Grace or her father ever walk by it.) I was off to the American embassy, to get all of Willow’s paperwork in order. She held an American passport, after all, and I wanted to be sure I could get her back to England. To be sure, I wasn't going to England, or anywhere else in the world, without her at my side. Of course, once I was done there it was shift ho for the British consulate to get my own affairs in order. Memo to self: time it just as they’re serving tea. Les duCleds (a sporting canine with whom I have shared many a soul-shriveling experience) and his fiancée Inocenta de Ciervos (the inflictor of many a soul-shriveling experience, but I daren’t say that to Les) had tagged along, since he was on a similar errand. No fixed time, as the embassies around here don't seem to be terribly rushed. Anything happening breaks the tedium of lying around on the beach all day, sipping drinks from cocoanuts. Our appointment was with the legal counselor to the American Embassy. Nice looking tortoiseshell cat in a trim suit. He seemed, though, to have his mind somewhere else, as he kept glancing up at the ceiling with a nervous twitch. Inocenta found a way to put him at ease. She was looking closely at his tie. She grinned, pointed at it, giggled, and squealed: "Royal Reddie Blue!" Les and I looked closer. Sure enough, the moggie was wearing a Penn tie. This bit of recognition broke the ice, and he relaxed a bit. It developed he was Penn Law. "Inocenta is Royal Reddie Blue by adoption!" She proudly showed off her ring. Since the proposal, it had been re-sized for her paw, and the ring's stones swapped out for some ruby and sapphire elements. It was duly admired. Upon further information that Leslie and I were brother Quakers, out came a bottle of scotch, and four glasses. Three glasses were filled. I opted for orange juice. Fiancée’s orders, you see. Our brother Quaker had just raised the glass to his lips, when with a thunderous boom, the strains of "O Promise Me," played on what sounded like a mighty Wurlitzer shot out to shake the heavens. The glass was dropped to the floor, the tailfur bottled, and out came the claws. I could now sense what had been bothering the fellow. Either that or the fact that the music was making the chandelier sway somewhat ominously over our heads. This continued for about three minutes, and five different changes in key, until with a mighty wheeze, the song cut off. I was sorely tempted, at this point, to offer a prayer for the soul of whoever would abuse a musical instrument in such a fashion. The counselor stooped, picked up his glass, and filled it right to the top. “I wouldn't mind it so much if Mrs. Brunswick would pick at least one key, and STICK TO IT!!!" "Mrs. Brunswick?" The cat gritted his teeth, which slightly interfered with his cherished objective of draining his glass. "Lulubelle Mae Brunswick, the pride of Springdale, Arkansas. Mistress of a repertoire on the organ of about six songs, practiced endlessly. Not that it does her much good, as you can hear." I could hear. What had gone on were not finger exercises. More like finger spasms. Les rubbed inside an ear with his finger. Evidently only just now had his hearing come back. "Good Lord, doesn't the Ambassador have something to say about that music?" From seemingly out of nowhere, another blast of noise erupted in the room, causing the counselor to drop his glass again. "The 'bassador has somethin' to say about that music, Suh! It's the finest music that He ever put on this Earth, for it signifies the most wonderful event that can ever befall two furs!" Turning the head increased the volume of noise, but allowed at least some identification. The blast of noise was coming from a smallish armadillo, dressed in black trousers, a white shirt with black string tie, a black frock coat, and a large black hat. If he had any knowledge of local weather conditions, he didn't appear to socially recognize them. The counselor, biting back a few choice words, opened his mouth. "Um, allow me to..." "Allow yourself to hush, son!" The cat's tailfur bottled up again, but he did indeed hush, somewhat involuntarily. The armadillo put one paw each in his lapels, puffed out his chest, and sounded off like he was trying to out-shout a locomotive. "Gentlemen! And, may Ah say, *very* charming lady! 'low me t'introduce mah self. Ah'm Samuel Hezekiah Joel Moses Brunswick, but seein’ as that's gonna be a jawful for y'all, ah'm known far an' wide as Marryin' Sam Brunswick, th' pride of the Great State of Arkansas!" The cat cleared his throat. "The Ambassador was just confirmed by the Senate, and arrived..."  Samuel Hezekiah Joel Moses Brunswick & Lulubelle Mae Brunswick Art by Cherushi - http://cheru-cheru.deviantart.com/ - (with Amonomega) Larger file (600 KBytes) Here - Characters by E. O. Costello & Mitch Marmel "Just in time t'tell you to hush, son. Y'all gonna get a sunburned tongue, y'keep jawin' like that. Yes, ol' Franklin D. hisself – Lawd rest his soul - has sent yores truly heah. Kinda a ree-ward for all mah sterlin' years o' service to the Great State of Arkansas in the Senate, an'..." At this point, he broke off, as the cat began to cough. Evidently, some of his scotch went down the wrong way. Maybe. The Ambassador frowned. "'steada standin' round, flappin' yore gums, an' waterin' yore brain, y'all gonna tell me what these fine young folks are here for?" The cat looked unaccountably nervous at this question, and managed to stammer out. "Well, sir, there's some paperwork to be cleared up before..." The armadillo's bushy eyebrow raised high enough to nearly lift his hat. "Cleaned up 'fore what, son? Y'all picked a heck of time t'hush up. Out with it, boy!" The moggie clenched his paws by his side, gulped, and squeaked out. "Well, sir, you see they're getting...uhm...married, and..." This time, the Ambassador's hat really was lifted by his eyebrows, as a look of pure joy and eagerness crossed his face. He bolted to the doorway, and bellowed even louder, if that was possible. "LULUBELLE MAE! POWER UP THAT PYE-ANNER OF YORES. PAIR O' YOUNG’UNS DOWN HERE GONNA GET HITCHED!" This caused an inarticulate noise indicating joy from somewhere above, and there was a loud clatter of paws on stairway. Into the room bounded a slightly smaller armadillo. Or, at least, she would be slightly smaller were it not for an incredibly-sized beehive hairdo on top of her head. "Whar's the youngun's at, Sammie?" "Well, shucks, Lulubelle, y'all seen me marry enough folks t'recognize a young bride, ain't that right?" The Lady Ambassadress did indeed recognize the bride, and she clattered over to Inocenta, and began to shake her paw vigorously. "Well, now! Don't that beat all! Ain't you lucky you folks stopped by right here! My Sammie, you know why they call him Marryin' Sam?" I blinked, and raised a paw. "Because he likes to marry people?" A boom of laughter from the mel himself. "Son, since th' day Ah became County Judge for the County of Waspington, of the Great State of Arkansas, Ah have personally married 'zactly ten thousand, four hunnerd and twenny-two..." "Twenny-three, Sammie. Y'all keep forgettin' US." “Now, you hush, Lulubelle. That wudn't business, that was for mah own benefit. Now, where was I?" The cat tried to get a word in. "I think, Mr. Ambassador, you were about to let me do the paperwork..." "Yap-yap-yap. Ah can't heah mahself think, without you buttin' in. Ain't nothin' worse than a blabbermouth cat. Now Ah don't personally see why we gotta mess 'round with all this fool paperwork. Ah got me mah Bible right here. Lulubelle Mae, you git your pretty banded butt upstairs, an' when Ah give y'all the signal, you start in..." I could tell I was flagging, as the room temperature dropped a bit, and Les looked alarmed. "I say! Errr, there's something you really ought to know..." "Son, what Ah don't know 'bout marriage ain't worth knowin'. Now, don't you fret none, son. Ah know y'all nervous 'bout hitchin' up..." Here, he gave a sidelong look at Inocenta's slightly expansive tummy. "Real nervous." Neither Inocenta nor I were slow in picking up the fact that the Ambassador was obviously adding two and two together and getting sixteen and a quarter. Inocenta flushed, and Les tried to set something straight. "Now look here, you've got entirely the wrong..." The Ambassador waved a paw. "Now hold on, son! It ain't the first time Ah seen this sorta thing." His mate nodded her head, and smiled at Inocenta. "Now don't you worry yore head, honey. The first chile ALLUS takes whatevah time it wants, ain't that right, Sammie?" "'course that's right, Lulubelle Mae!" At this point, he strolled up to me, and put a paw on his shoulder, which required him to stand a bit tip-toe. "Now, son, this sure is one 'portant day for y'all, but you ain't never gonna ree-gret it. Now Ah can tell yore just plumb crazy 'bout this heah young 'un, an' lemme tellya, y'all couldn'ta picked a finah specimen of deerhood." "Oh! I say!" Too late. It was off to the races, and the Ambassador began to launch into what was obviously his set speech, heedless of the fact that I could feel myself turning a deep red with embarrassment, while Inocenta was turning a deep red with other, more hostile emotions. From the look of him, it was all Les could do to keep from going off like a pound of duCleds' finest black powder. "An' Ah have great pleasure in joinin' in holy wedlock, these two FINE young 'uns...uhm...hey boy (this addressed at the cat), what y'all say these two young folks are named?" The cat tapped his foot, and crossed his arms across his chest. "Mr. Leslie duCleds, and Miss Inocenta de Ciervos." The Ambassador scratched his head. "Doo-clay? Shucks, Ah ain't never heard that kinda name fore a deer, 'fore." The cat frowned. "Mr. duCleds is the other gentlefur, sir. The canine." The Ambassador looked startled, and blinked. "Y'all tellin' me that this young lady is marryin' this buck AN' this dawg at th' right same time?" Mrs. Brunswick burst in, luckily drowning out the explosive noises Inocenta was making. I’m not sure what sounds I was making, but the councillor told me later they were similar to a steam engine about to explode. "Now, Sammie. It ain't right fore y'all t'go 'roun' makin' comments 'bout folks like that. Ah'm sure 'round these parts, it ain't much of a much fore some young lady t'have more'n one fancy gent. *Ah* ain't got no problem with that. Now, you take organ music. Ah went t'one of them there what does th' preachin' round these parts, an' Ah said Ah'd be right tickled t'play "O Promise Me" fore them when they was doin' a weddin, an' lemme tell y'all, Ah got SUCH a funny look! But shucks, Ah'm shore this young lady knows what's she's doin, ain'tcha, darlin?" All eyes turned to Inocenta. All but mine, that is. I very prudently walked over to the desk and took charge of a large tiki-head wastebasket, about two seconds before Inocenta got there. Inocenta then proceeded, starting out briefly in English, but then moving into Spanish, to lay out her feelings on the subject. To the not-so-secret satisfaction of the legal councillor.  Ambassador Brunswick, bouncing wastebasket, Inocenta art by BlueWolf0 - http://www.furaffinity.net/user/bluwolf0/ It was at the point where she started to wrestle with me for control of the wastebasket that the Ambassador, pleading urgent business elsewhere, made a hurried departure, one hurried further by a tiki-head wastebasket bouncing off his hardened back. Inocenta stomped out of the office, muttering. The Lady Ambassador was impressed. She turned to Les. "Whooooo-eee! She's a LIVE one, ain't she?" ***
Les: It took me a while to get Inocenta back into the office and even longer to get her calmed down, but finally she sat still long enough to help me and the counselor get her documents in order. When everything was duly signed and sealed, Reggie stepped up to the plate to get Willow’s papers set up. The cat looked a bit askance at Reggie, but there’s very little a Penn grad won’t do for another Penn grad. It’s the basis on which the Alumni Office works. With everything done, Reggie left for the British Embassy while Inocenta and I went back to Shepherd’s. She needed a nap after almost assaulting the Ambassador. And I needed to think. No, not about writing to President Long to tell him his taste’s in his mouth when it comes to ambassadors. My marriage (okay, there’s that pink fog again. Ah, much better) to Inocenta. Specifically, the ceremony. The duCleds Family are rather arid and rigid Presbyterians, the closest thing we could get to French Calvinism after we emigrated to America. Inocenta, I knew, was Catholic. A bit of a conundrum. I went over the options: A civil ceremony, a Catholic service presided over by that ram – what was his name? Oh yes, Merino – a native priestess, or . . . nude on a beach under a full moon. I immediately (albeit regretfully) discarded the last option. While it all might sound very romantic (and I know that Inocenta would agree to it in an instant) I had to admit that my in-laws might object. To be blunt, I didn’t want to see Papi naked, and I didn’t want Mami to get any ideas. She’s seen me in my fur once (that I knew of), which was quite enough. Besides, I didn’t want to tweak the collective tail of Delahare society too much. I’m sure that Uncle Pete was getting all kinds of hell from the bluenoses for marrying Aunt Toni. I dropped Inocenta off at Shepherd’s (with a good-bye…well, kiss) and headed back to the Grand. We’d agreed that it was sensible to stay apart until we were married, in order to silence various wagging tongues. Of course, how and where Inocenta wagged her tongue in private was our business. The solution hit me as I was walking back to the Grand. Of course! Two ceremonies! Inocenta and I will get hitched in a civil ceremony by a local magistrate, and then follow up with a huge formal wedding back in Wiltmington. No one can argue with that. next |
