hh_mirror | The Hat marries people, yo. (Open to those who signed up)

One bright Hogwarts morning, fliers with small, numbered Hat-shaped plastic tokens are sent out to a select group of students via house elf. “Your presence is required at an Awards Ceremony in the Great Hall tonight,” the flier states. “Attendance is mandatory. Formal dress is required. Prizes will be given.”

And so, at the appointed time, the students are ushered into the Great Hall. It has been lavishly decorated for the occasion: streamers, flowers, a champagne fountain, the works. At the front of the hall sits the Sorting Hat, likewise decorated in a wreath of flowers and lots of bling. It sits imperiously and waits until everyone has taken a seat and the beautifully decorated doors have been closed and barred.

“My dear students,” it begins, “we are gathered here today for a wonderful ceremony. A ceremony of magic and beauty, and it is my privilege to be here with you. Now, before you can get your wonderful awards--” here one of the Hat's folds dips in what might have been a wink on something with a face--”are you all carrying your special prize tokens?” It waits for a little longer while the attending house elves (all carrying bouquets of multicolored flowers) check to ensure that yes, everyone in the room has one on their person. “Wonderful! By the power vested in me by the Board of Education, I now pronounce you married!”

Before the shock and outrage can set in, the Hat rushes into the next part of its speech. “No use getting upset, it's legal now! This place has become a haven for loose morals, and you're helping to fix that! Don't worry about your belongings, you won't have to spend a second sweating and becoming undesirable for your new spouses! While you've been here, the house elves have moved your sundries out to your new homes for you, isn't that nice of them? They've even been allowed to charm your new homes so that you can't remove your objects from them! Let's hear it for the house elves!” It doesn't pause for applause. “Now, I'll let you happy newlyweds get to the business of consummating your new relationships in the name of ~~duck waffles~~ procreation. Your tokens are numbered with your new addresses, and a map has been provided at the door. Don't try to run, the ushers have been provided with cattle prods and given the permission to use them.” The Hat waves a strap at one terrified-looking bouquet-holding elf near the front, who pulls a cattle prod out of the flowers and waves it around. “And now, onward! Onward to happy families! Onward to El Mundo Del Sombrero!”

The doors open. The armed house elves swarm, herding the students to a tent village on Hogwarts grounds. Resistance is futile.

Once arriving at the tent whose number matches the number on their token, each student will meet his or her new spouse(s) ...

((The tents in El Mundo Del Sombrero are wizarding tents that appear to be one-bedroom houses complete with bathrooms, kitchens, living rooms, etc. inside. Rearranging and addition of objects is allowed, removal of objects for the purposes of moving elsewhere or returning to the castle is not due to the charm on the tents. Players are allowed to NPC the house elves shocking their own characters if an escape attempt is made. Note that characters will not be barred from returning to the castle later to do other things, e.g., use the library; they just can't move back into the castle. Congratulations on your nuptials.

Feel free to RP in this post, or to post your own separate posts that take place within the dubious sanctuary of your brand-new tent!))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Married. Pickles! Married!

He couldn't be tied down to one chick! ...Let alone one dude! Even though, fucking shit! Damien? Did that mean he was married to the AntiChrist? Because, um, that was pretty freaking metal. No matter what country you lived in. Or. ...City. Tent village. Wherever you lived. Maybe not in the country.

At any rate, Pickles' idea of dressed up was basically a suit jacket (http://www.velvetgarden.net/images/photos/20061012-18.jpg) donned over a pair of jeans and a Children of Bodom Hate Crew (http://www.endlesswar.net/SOB/images/merch/2004/knuckleblack.jpg) t-shirt. Which wasn't really dressed up at all, but, hey, for a guy who was prone to walking around in nothing but a pair of tighty whities and sweatbands? It was pretty dressed up.

The Anti-Christ. Man.

((There are so many posts, I missed this one the first time through.))

It wasn't the sudden shock of being married that bothered Damien the most. When the dust settled from this... escapade, he could find some kind of magical judge to get the whole thing annulled. It certainly wasn't a legally binding ceremony, no matter what the insane Hat might think. It wasn't even the choice of "bride" that ruffled his feathers.

It was the fact that the house elves had not only raided his room in Slytherin, but the filthy bastards had also managed to find his Black Chapel.

A life-sized crucifix (http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v239/Catremistrae/?action=view&current=omen310.jpg) stared mournfully into space from a corner of the living room. Since the closet space of the tent was a little cramped, the elves had hung Damien's shirts and ties from Jesus' outstretched arms. On top of the crown of thorns was Damien's riding helmet. ~~All he was missing was a sign that read: Cheer Up, Emo Jesus.~~

"Dude. Check out the size of that frickin' Jesus."

Um. Pickles glanced back to Damien, staring for a few long seconds, from Damien... to the crucifix... and back. Hmm. This was a bit awkward. Maybe it was because the Son of God was currently being used as a tie rack. Multi-purposeful! But, yeah, kind of weird.

"Is that frickin' yours, man?" Pickles asked, with slightly widened eyes, pointing his bottle of vodka at the crucifix. Yes, he had a bottle of vodka. When you were Pickles, that was pretty much as ordinary as carrying around. ...Whatever normal people carried around with them regularly.

"No, it's the dog's," Damien shot back testily. As if it understood him, a large black Doberman entered the tent and flopped down on the floor next to its master's feet. Damien was torn between picking the ties off of the statue and finding it a new home, or actually throwing more clothing over it and hoping that it could be explained away as an odd home furnishing. At least he'd cleaned the blood off of it.

The prospect of alcohol was inviting, but Damien would rather kiss a dead rat than touch anything his housemate had previously had his hands on. "Jesus never had to put up with this," he muttered as he looked for some of the brandy he'd kept in his room in the castle.

Dude. The Anti-Christ was kind of a dick.

...Awesome.

Pickles raised both eyebrows at the Doberman trotting into the tent, trailing them over Damien and his mass search for alcohol. Uh? Pickles had a great bottle right here! Oh well. He just tipped the bottle to the dog, accidentally sloshing a bit of vodka onto the floor of the tent. Oops. ...Somebody would get that later. "Nice crucifix, man," he greeted the Doberman, respectfully, and glanced back to Damien.

"So~o. ...That mean you knew Jesus?"

Saying that Damien was kind of a dick was like saying that Pickles was kind of drunk. It was more than a condition, it was a state of being.

The dog made a move toward the puddle on the floor, but backed away after Damien shot it a look. "No, I did not know him then," Damien said icily. "The son of a harlot is here, spreading his filth and disease in the castle." The maggot of humanity lives again." He spoke with the passion of the determined and very, very crazy.

"So, I'm guessin' you two, uh. You two didn't get along, huh?" Pickles asked, a bit stupidly. Oh, riiiight. Anti-Christ. You know, Anti...Jesus. That made sense now. He totally knew that. Totally. No wonder he'd be looking so mad. Still, you know. It was Jesus. Jesus and the whole... nails and cross and... He glanced to the crown of thorns with a noted nod. Pretty damn brutal, all of that Jesus stuff.

Anyway. "Wait, whoa. Jesus? Is frickin' here? Are you for real, man? Because, I mean. Whoa. Jee-sus." Pause. "Literally."

Damien just stared at Pickles, an expression somewhere between utter astonishment and contempt. "Do people really come this stupid, or is there something special in what you're drinking?" he asked.

"Jesus is here to end me," Damien said to answer Pickles' question. "He's here to stop my father's plans for this world. I know it."

Huh? Pickles took a look at his vodka bottle, tilting his head and debating. Maybe something in the coke he'd snorted earlier? No? He seemed pretty normal to himself. "Nah, man, 's just vodka," he offered back helpfully, wiggling the bottle again and shrugging, in a near content obliviousness as to the dig Damien had just made at his expense.

Jesus was here to end him? Dude, talk about huge mass wars. That was pretty metal. If he should say so himself. "So, like, some big fight or something?" Pickles paused for a few seconds, eyes widening a bit. "Dude, could I watch?" And could it be in their next video? Yes?

"I suppose you could call the battle for all of humanity, and the souls of the blessed and the damned a 'big fight.'" He clenched his fists. "The battle will be short, for the wretched Christ is no match for my powers." He was really getting into it, now. "Then mankind will be freed from their prison of devotion, and rejoice in the pain of my father's kingdom."

Oh man, now Pickles had done it. Damien was just getting warmed up on the subject.

The Hat marries people, yo. (Open to those who signed up)

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