InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "I am the King of Pants!"

DO NOT EAT TOM RIDDLE'S SNAKE (missmegan) wrote,
@ 2009-08-31 20:00:00

Entry tags:

meme, one hundred prompts, rpg

one hundred prompts; choices; teddoire.
Rated D for dramaz, and E for emo. And A for awkward. I may write other ficlets as sequels to this one, maybe from the prompts, maybe not.

Also this probably has absolutely nothing to do with actual choices. :| Maybe as an UNDERLYING tone? :D It's also short. D: It's also random kind of (more so than I expected). It also proves that, no, I can't really write emo. :|

WORDS; 933.

There they stood. A minister in front of them, and rows full of people behind them, friends and family, waiting and watching. Victoire was gorgeous (though Teddy always thought she was), and the fact that Teddy had been convinced into a suit was worth noting. The church was a nice one, well lit with the sun shining in the window like beams of golden lights falling from heaven above. The minister was saying something, reading from that little book of his, but Teddy wasn't so sure he could hear him.

He heard Victoire say something, and Teddy glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. The minister was saying something to him, now, but it sounded like gibberish to him. Then the minister stopped, and Teddy felt that all eyes were on him. He blinked, and then took a step back, looking back and forth between Victoire and the minister.

Teddy was supposed to say something. What was he supposed to say? What had they said? It'd be so much easier to answer them if he knew what the question was. How could he answer if he didn't hear the question? He took another step back, unsure what to do. He wanted to ask what the question was, but the words (what words? he didn't know what to say!) were caught in his throat. Victoire was looking at him, clearly expecting something. The answer, she was expecting the answer! The answer to what though?

He felt sick to his stomach. Sick to his head. He felt dizzy, he didn't know what he was doing. It was hot in here, how could it be so hot? It was like a furnace. Why was he in a furnace? He didn't even like warm temperatures, it didn't make sense for him to want to hang out in the hottest place of all.

He had to get out of the furnace, he realized. He'd be burned alive if he didn't and roast man wasn't on the dinner menu! Who would want to eat a roasted him? He'd taste horrible. Like... something horrible! No one would want to eat him, it would be a complete disaster. They'd be put in jail for serving such a horrible dish. He didn't want to spend the night in a jailcell, especially if he was half-eaten and roasted.

Victoire was looking at him curiously, and he saw that she said something to him, but he couldn't hear it. She was expecting something from him, what was it? Oh, yes, the answer. He knew the answer, it was on the tip of his tongue. Wasn't it? Yes, of course. But what was it?

But he had to get out of there, though. Surely the answer could wait until he went outside, cooled off, maybe puked up his breakfast tacos? Why did he eat so many tacos that morning, he wondered briefly, and then licked his lips.

Out of the furnace! Out, out, out!

Turning on his heels, he ran (well, stumbled) like a bat out of hell, pushing open the church doors, tumbling out them. He was met with relieving fresh, cool air, and the doors swung shut behind him. He tried to walk down the steps but his legs felt like gelatin, and he crashed to the ground on the third step from the bottom. He still felt sick, but the cool air was helping, a little.

Leaning against the railing, closing his eyes, and undoing his tie. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to just go home, lie down, and sleep forever. Sitting on that third step, against the railing, his eyes already shut, he passed out without even realizing it.

His senses flickered, he heard voices, but he wasn't sure what they were saying. A splash of cool water hit him in the face, and he gasped in shock, his eyes blinking open. He was surrounded by people, and a man he didn't recognize was looking at him curiously. The man said something, but all Teddy heard was "feeling", and right now Teddy was feeling like absolute trash. Then the man said something to someone over Teddy's head, and all he heard was "wrong", and "delirious".

Delirious? Did the man mean him? Teddy didn't feel delirious, he felt like he had been trampled by cloven-foot goats. A thousand goats with sharp hooves, and who liked to eat muggle fastfood on a regular basis, making them stinky and fat. Ugh was the general word describing Teddy right now, but it felt so much more complex than that.

The man said something to him along the lines of "Blah blah blah name?"

Teddy got up a bit of strength and asked back, "Name... what?"

Then he passed again, his head hitting back against the railing. All he could really think was; the tacos. It had to have been the tacos, he would think later, for lack of a better reason. He'd only had... well, he'd had about twelve well-sized tacos, but he had been nervous that morning. He'd later realize that he should have chosen to have a bowl of cereal. Tacos were not the prime choice for breakfast, and after the Not Wedding incident, Teddy would be queasy about eating tacos again, having sworn them off to avoid feeling that terrible ever again.

Too bad he never realized that it had come from drinking that concoction of milk (which had soured, just a bit), raw eggs, and chocolate chips. Not that he ever drank that again, either, however, but that was due to taste rather than fear of sickness.