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Apr. 27th, 2020 03:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greatfertilizer posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
columbariaShe doesn't even make it to the altar, in the end.
It's the moment Chuck sees her in her wedding dress, slinky and silky and only white because the dress shop couldn't produce a pastel green that didn't look like an Easter egg--that's what does it. She turns around, the wedding photographer's camera clicks, the wedding planner awws, and Chuck looks at her like she's the only woman in the world, plant-based or otherwise.
And all she can think is I can't spend the rest of my life with that.
Which might be the shittiest thing she's ever thought about anybody--for one thing, Chuck's not a that, and for another, he's her fiance. He's about to become her husband. And suddenly the whole idea makes her want to vomit pollen.
The pictures the photographer gets are probably terrible, Ivy's frozen smile turning into a grimace as she mutters, "I--I gotta go," and runs past Chuck and out the door of the hotel room they're using to get ready in. She can't do this. She can't do this. She needs to get out of here, and how is she going to get out of here?
There's only one person in new New Gotham who knows exactly how to get out of a jam she didn't mean to get into in the first place, and it's the one person who wasn't in that room.
(Which, again, Ivy's fault. That stupid argument after the rehearsal dinner--itself a stupid idea, practicing this and then going out to the Olive Garden en masse--where she'd said stupid things like It's not your wedding, okay? Just because I'm getting married doesn't mean you have to be involved in everything! You're the maid of honor, not some kind of...of conjoined bride twin thing. Was that a complete bridezilla move? Was it some kind of casual dining sangria mishap? She really should have stopped after four glasses, but everything seemed easier when the faux-Italian decor felt a little fuzzy around the edges.)
All of that means she has to find Harley, and her best guess is a hotel room one floor down, on the other side of the building, where a sign reading LAIR OF HONOR has been taped to the door. She knocks on the door, then knocks harder, her voice coming out as uncertain as she feels. "Harls? Are you in there?"
It's the moment Chuck sees her in her wedding dress, slinky and silky and only white because the dress shop couldn't produce a pastel green that didn't look like an Easter egg--that's what does it. She turns around, the wedding photographer's camera clicks, the wedding planner awws, and Chuck looks at her like she's the only woman in the world, plant-based or otherwise.
And all she can think is I can't spend the rest of my life with that.
Which might be the shittiest thing she's ever thought about anybody--for one thing, Chuck's not a that, and for another, he's her fiance. He's about to become her husband. And suddenly the whole idea makes her want to vomit pollen.
The pictures the photographer gets are probably terrible, Ivy's frozen smile turning into a grimace as she mutters, "I--I gotta go," and runs past Chuck and out the door of the hotel room they're using to get ready in. She can't do this. She can't do this. She needs to get out of here, and how is she going to get out of here?
There's only one person in new New Gotham who knows exactly how to get out of a jam she didn't mean to get into in the first place, and it's the one person who wasn't in that room.
(Which, again, Ivy's fault. That stupid argument after the rehearsal dinner--itself a stupid idea, practicing this and then going out to the Olive Garden en masse--where she'd said stupid things like It's not your wedding, okay? Just because I'm getting married doesn't mean you have to be involved in everything! You're the maid of honor, not some kind of...of conjoined bride twin thing. Was that a complete bridezilla move? Was it some kind of casual dining sangria mishap? She really should have stopped after four glasses, but everything seemed easier when the faux-Italian decor felt a little fuzzy around the edges.)
All of that means she has to find Harley, and her best guess is a hotel room one floor down, on the other side of the building, where a sign reading LAIR OF HONOR has been taped to the door. She knocks on the door, then knocks harder, her voice coming out as uncertain as she feels. "Harls? Are you in there?"
