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| Daughter of the Year; Ze Sequel to Father of the Year | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: December 14, 2007, 12:15 am (11,135 Views) | |
| Battery | February 27, 2008, 1:50 pm Post #406 |
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Some Kind Of Monster
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I loved Cliff saying “Look dude I need to have a word with you” to Harold But ooops, he was pretty harsh to Cliff.... And I really can't believe Cliff asked if he can try with Emily again after she and Evan divorce... Crazy Cliff And Evan is really sweet But I don't blame Emily for thinking about Cliff and Cecily at all.... As usual, I really can't wait for more of this awesome story :horns2
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| Verity | February 28, 2008, 1:04 am Post #407 |
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The Story Girl
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Vanessa- thanks!!! The dinner scene was very hard to write because I didnt want emily to seem too bitchy. It was tricky. Maisy- I'd need to look at some more Lolita outfits in order to describe one for Cecily. I don't even know which color to begin with.Maggie- Well, if Evan and Emily don't work out, we can always fight over Evan. This next chapter is kind of boring, but it does move the plot along a bit. And I love writing Kirk in bed and drunk Cliff. Chapter 113 Kirk Hamster was indeed a very busy soul late that same evening. He had Alejandra as busy as a beaver under the bed covers going down on him, while he carpet munched on Cheyenne. Meanwhile, at the same time, he was happily fondling Akane’s titties. Kirk’s bed was definitely quite the three ring circus. Cheyenne let out a grown of pleasure as Kirk performed. He slithered his tongue in and out of the labyrinth of womanhood, making little gurgling sounds as he worked. His heart skipped a beat every time that she squealed in pure, unchained, ecstasy. Kirk was actually about to burst into ecstasy himself as Alejandra kept the rhythm going down under, without missing a beat, the bed even squeaked along with her rhythm. Kirk’s little heart began to race, pounding with all of its might. Tiny, little, salt sprinkled tears began to dot his eyes as he hissed like a cat from the extreme pleasure. Knock. Knock. “You have got to be fucking kidding me, Kirk thought as the blood began to slosh through his veins, pulsating with Alejandra’s rhythm. Knock. Knock. Who on earth would be bugging me at this hour?” thought Kirk. He then got his answer. “Hey Ham Man!” the voice of Cliff Burton bellowed from outside the door. “You got a minute?” Did he have a fucking minute? Kirk was beyond the throws of passion, with Akane’s chest puppies in each of his hands, and his tongue up Cheyenne’s coochie, all while getting head from Alejandra. “Quirk!” Cliff called again. This time he opened the door, since it was unlocked. Apparently Kirk wasn’t too concerned with locking the door to his hotel room during his sexual escapades. Not only did Cliff traipse right into the room, but he also flicked on the light as well. Kirk, Cheyenne, and Akane were nearly blinded by the light, for they had been in the dark for a couple hours already. Akane even yelped as she covered her eyes. Meanwhile, Alejandra was still slithering around under the bed covers, still doing her business. “Hello Cliffy,” greeted Cheyenne, as she tossed her long blonde tresses over her tit. “Want to come join us?” “Cliff,” Kirk chirped. “What the hell are you doing here?” He put his arms around Cheyenne’s titties to shield them from Cliff’s eye. “Honestly Hamster,” Cliff retorted. “I’ve seen her tits before. She has nothing to hide.” He walked over and flopped down on the sofa, and of course he took out a cigarette. “I’m feeling lonely Ham Man,” he went on as he took a very long and smooth drag off of it. “I think that I’ve reached the epitome of loneliness. I feel so empty inside. Anyway, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to come to my room. We could order up some room service, and one of those crappy pay-per-view movies.” “I love you brother,” Kirk sighed. He ran his fingers through his sweaty web of raven curls. “Really I do, but with all due respect Cliff, I’d much rather spend my evening getting laid by three beautiful women, than gorging out on overpriced and overrated food, and watching bad television.” “That’s what I figured,” Cliff murmured sullenly. He took a long puff on the cigarette, glancing over at Kirk’s bed. “You got three of them in there with you?” he asked. “I sure do,” Kirk nodded, sending his delicate curls banging against his cheeks. “Jesus!” exclaimed Cliff. “Look at you. You’re a little man whore.” He furrowed his brow at the bed. “Where the fuck is the third one?” he asked. “Here I am!” said Alejandra as she came up from under the covers. A few telltale curly black hairs were stuck to her lips. She frowned upon seeing Cliff. “Not him again,” she groaned. “He isn’t going to kick me out of here again. Is he?” “It’s like the international extravaganza,” Cliff observed as he looked over the three women that Kirk had in the sack. After all, he did have a Spanish babe, an Asian chick, and all American Cheyenne in there with him. At the rate that Kirk was going, he could have his own Untied Nations. As Cliff went back to his cigarette, Kirk watched him. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for the guy. Cliff looked very depressed, which was a strange sight since Cliff was never depressed. Not even when he had left Metallica. He was actually more pissed off than anything. “You’re more than welcome to join us,” Kirk said kindly as he gestured towards the bed. “There’s plenty of puss to go around for everyone.” “That’s right,” chimed in Cheyenne with a wink at Cliff. “The more the merrier.” It would be a dream for her to get Kirk Hammett and Cliff Burton in bed with her at the same time. Her lifelong dream was to get the entire band in the sack with her at once, and she had been pretty darn close a few times. Kirk was positive that Cliff was going to say yes. How could he not? Not only was it a guaranteed lay, but he would also have a smorgasbord of lovely ladies to choose from. However, to Kirk’s shock and complete disbelief, Cliff just shook his head and put out his cigarette. “Nah,” he replied as he played with the end of a strand of hair. “I’m not really up for it tonight.” “Are you feeling alright?” Kirk asked. “The Cliff that I know would never turn down a chance to get it on with three beautiful ladies.” He turned to his harem of women. “Isn’t that right girls?” All three girls nodded and agreed. “Sorry Ham Man,” Cliff said as he stood up. “But you can have these three ladies all to yourself. I’ve been there, done that shit. My days of banging three chicks at once are over.” “You’re getting old Cliff,” Kirk said as he leaned back into his pillows. Akane started to immediately caress his chest and shoulders, while Cheyenne started working on giving him a neck rub. “Maybe I am,” Cliff replied with a shrug. For some reason, jumping into bed with a naked Kirk and three gnarly, slutty, over-fucked women just didn’t seem that appetizing. He was getting old, but not only was he getting old, but he also felt that he was getting more mature. *** Since he was feeling rather down and lonely, Cliff decided to go down to the hotel gift shop where he bought a six pack of Spitfire Ale, a bottle of John Powers Irish whiskey, and three packs of cigarettes. “Keep the change,” he mumbled to the store clerk as he took his paper bag of purchases and held it as if it were a baby. He didn’t even wait to make it back to his room. As soon as he was alone in the elevator he popped open one of the beer bottles. He was nearly done with his second beer by the time that he had reached his room. He got out his key and fumbled for a few minutes with the lock. It was so hard to unlock a door while under the influence. Finally the door busted open, and Cliff staggered drunkenly into his room. Since he had been in there with Emily until two that afternoon, he had missed the maid service, so his room had not been cleaned. As he stumbled over to the night table to set down his grocery bag, he swore that he could smell Emily’s perfume still lingering in the air, as well as in the bed linens. Actually, the pillow smelled just like her, and even had a couple strands of her hair that had been left behind. “She sheds like a fucking angora cat,” Cliff mused as he plucked one of her hairs off of his pillow, and dropped it, where it leisurely drifted down to the floor. Cliff plunked his ass down on the edge of his bed and picked up Emily’s empty tea cup of wine from last night. He placed the cup on the night table and opened the bottle of Irish whiskey. He poured the glass full to the brim, and then raised it in the air. “To Emily,” he said to himself, and then he chugged it, the whiskey cascading down his throat and happily meeting the globs of cake icing from earlier, that were plastered within the pockets of his inner stomach lining. Without even taking a moment to think, Cliff poured himself another glassful of whiskey. “To finding a beautiful woman with poise and class, who will even take it in the ass!” he toasted, and then he polished off that glass as well. “To me being lonely for the rest of my life,” he toasted the third time. “To Geezer Butler,” he said the fourth time. He shakily poured his fifth glass of Irish whiskey within five minutes. The liquid overflowed from the top of the cup and sloshed all over the night table, Cliff’s hand, and his prized, ugly-as-fuck, Ojibwa, fringy jacket, the whiskey saturating the suede sleeve like an infectious disease. “Oh fuck,” he groaned as he immediately set down the whiskey bottle. “Oh well. Nobody fucking likes this fucking jacket anyway. Those fucking Native Americans probably ripped me off and fucked me in the ass. They probably think that I’m world’s biggest sucker.” He picked up his very full cup and again raised it in the air. “To being a sucker,” he toasted as he swigged it. After doing his fifth full glass of whiskey, the room began to spin, and move quickly around him. He melted back down into the bed, reaching for a joint and his lighter. He tried to light the joint, but he was too shit faced to even figure out how to get the lighter to even work. “Fuck,” he muttered. After twelve unsuccessful attempts to get the joint lit, he hurled it across the room. “Fuck you!” he screeched as he did so. He slowly lifted himself into an upright position and picked up the whiskey bottle. He took a greedy swig, drizzling a good portion of it down the front of his jacket, his hair, and faded Black Sabbath shirt. Now his jacket would need to visit the dry cleaner for sure, but Cliff didn’t care. Fuck it. With a slam, he placed the bottle back down on the table, and reached for one of the beer bottles, knocking over the bedside lamp in the process. Cliff had just popped open the beer when the phone rang, startling the fuck out of him. He staggered over to the desk to answer it. “I don’t want to buy no fucking Girl Scout cookies!” he barked into the receiver before throwing it down. Cliff stumbled over to his beer and took a swig. “Who the fuck calls at motherfucking midnight anyway?” The phone rang again. Cliff answered it again “Don’t fucking call me again!” he roared. “Do you know what fucking time it is? It’s fucking midnight! Don’t fucking call people at midnight! Didn’t your fucking parents ever teach you any manners?” “Well… you should know Daddy,” a little voice replied from the other end. Cliff collapsed into the desk chair at once. “Oh…fuck. I’m sorry Cess. I didn’t know it was you….I love you Cecily,” he blurted out. “You’re drunk Daddy,” Cecily said quietly. “You think Princess?” Cliff chuckled as he lit a cigarette. “So baby girl,” he babbled on. “Did Emily’s old man spend most of his evening talking smack about me?” “A fair amount of it,” Cecily replied. “Oh Daddy, why did you have to get so wasted tonight?” “Because I’m not happy,” Cliff whined. “I’m lonely. I don’t like spending nights alone.” “Where’s Miss Cheyenne?” Cecily asked. Cliff sighed, letting out a stream of thin smoke into the air. “She’s moved on to the greener pastures of Kirk Hamster’s bed sheets,” he replied. “After all, I can’t pull off the satin pajamas thing. Could you imagine me in satin pajamas Cess?” “No,” said Cecily. “But I can imagine you in red and white striped pajamas with red, fuzzy, slippers.” She then took a serious tone. “Daddy,” she said sternly. “I can’t believe that you asked Mr. Harold if you could court Miss Emily if she were ever to divorce Mr. Evan!” she demanded. “Why the fuck not?” returned Cliff. “I mean, don’t seventy percent of all marriages end in divorce? From now on, I’m going to do things the right way, and that means that you ask the dad’s permission.” “Jackson didn’t ask your permission,” shot Cecily. “Actually he did,” Cliff replied. “When he wrote to me, he asked if I’d let him take you to a dance at his school.” “Really?” said Cecily, her heart skipping a beat. “Should I make the little fucker beg?” Cliff asked. Cecily sighed. She was still very much undecided about what to do regarding Jackson. Part of her wanted to skin him alive, but the other part couldn’t wait just to see him again, and have him kiss her for real. “Are you mad at me Cess?” Cliff asked. “I just had to do it. I had to ask. I mean, Emily and me are just meant to fucking be together. Maybe it won’t happen until a few years from now, but I know that she’s the one for me.” “Daddy,” said Cecily. “I want my Mom to be happy, and she’s so close to being happy with a man who loves her, and treats her well. Please don’t mess this up for her.” “She back yet?” Cliff asked. “No,” answered Cecily. “I wonder if he’s fucking her somewhere,” Cliff muttered under his breath. “Daddy!” Cecily scolded. “He can’t be fucking her right now anyway. It’s past midnight. It’s their wedding day. Its bad luck for him to see his bride on his wedding day.” “Oh yeah?” asked Cliff. “Who the fuck says?” “The wedding people,” Cecily answered with a shrug. “Which brings me to one of the two reasons that I called: I need you to do me a teensy, weensy, favor for me.” “Does Pussy Cat want me to perform a bass solo at her wedding ceremony?” Cliff asked. Cecily could hear him pop open another beer in the background. “Not quite,” she answered. “I left my dress shoes over at Mom’s house. I need you to bring them over here to me tomorrow afternoon sometime. The only shoes that I have here are the lavender ones that Mr. Kirk bought me, and even though they are very chic and adorable, they don’t go with my bride’s maid dress.” “Can’t dashing Saint Evan bring them over?” Cliff asked. “He can’t see the bride,” returned Cecily. “It’s bad luck. If you had ever made it to your wedding day without calling it off, you would know this by now.” “Yeah, yeah,” Cliff sighed. “And that worthless murder pussy mother of his is too busy being a bitch to bring them over.” “Exactly,” answered Cecily. “She just would rather not bring me my shoes because then she could throw me out of the wedding for not being dressed properly. I have to have them by four in the afternoon though. We go to have pictures taken at four-thirty.” “Well we can’t have that,” said Cliff as he finished his beer, and chucked the empty bottle into the trash. “Even if I have to ride to Emily’s parents’ house in a winged chariot pulled by purple unicorns in order to deliver your shoes by four, I’ll do it Cess.” “Winged chariot pulled by purple unicorns?” Cecily repeated. “Have you been smoking weed again Daddy?” “Actually,” said Cliff. “No I haven’t. I’ve just been drinking. I think you’re rubbing off on me Cecily.” Cecily heard him pop open yet another bottle of beer. “Just don’t get too drunk so that you’re too hung over,” she warned. “Cecily, I’ve played very technically demanding, intricate, bass solos flawlessly while being so hung over that I couldn’t even spell my own name. I’m sure that I can deliver your shoes.” “Okay,” Cecily answered, but there was a fair amount of uncertainty in her voice. “So what was the other reason that you called?” Cliff asked as he lit another cigarette. “You said that there were two reasons.” “Oh yeah,” said Cecily. “I just wanted to check up on you, and say goodnight…. I love you Daddy.” “Awwwww,” Cliff replied as he dumped his near full beer in the trash. Cecily deserved better than a father who drank himself silly every time that he was alone. “I love you too. Cecily Virginia, I don’t know what I’d do without you…” |
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| Lucifer's Angel | February 28, 2008, 9:44 am Post #408 |
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Heavy Metal Seanchai
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Lucky Kirk Hmm, so Cliff is growing up, he turned down three hot chicks? What is this world coming to? He sounds really depressed though I hope he doesn't do anything stupid at the wedding, then Emily will never take him back, or forgive him, and her dad might kick his ass
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| maisy blue | February 28, 2008, 11:03 am Post #409 |
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Some Kind Of Monster
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Ewww Kirk. He's got his hands full- literally.I'm really anxious to see what's going to happen, but slightly worried for Emily. Although I know she wants to be with Cliff, she deserves some stability and happiness. She deserves something to go as she expects, although a little kidnap-'n-elope wouldn't be TERRIBLE. We'd have to find someone for Evan, though. "International Extravaganza" cracked me up!! Kirk's like the United Nations. So Jackson might be back in the picture? VERY interesting. MORE SOON< please!
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| Verity | February 28, 2008, 6:46 pm Post #410 |
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The Story Girl
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This chapter was very hard to write. I don't do good writing emotional stuff, and prefer writing lighter fluff. It was quite stressful writing actually, but I'm just sort of stressed out now in general. ![]() Chapter 114 Evan pulled up his jazzy, little, silver, Audi in front of Emily’s parents’ house later that night. The clock read 12:15 AM. “Guess what dearest,” said Evan as he turned off the engine. “Hmmmm,” mumbled Emily, as she fucked around with her purse. “It’s now officially our wedding day,” Evan replied. “What do you think of that?” “It’s not our wedding day yet Evan,” Emily responded. “It’s past midnight,” Evan said with a shrug. “Yeah, but for me, a new day doesn’t begin until after I’ve gone to bed,” answered Emily. This had been a notion that she had picked up from Cliff, who’s days often began around four or five in the afternoon, and ended at six in the morning, especially when he was either recording an album, or on tour with Metallica. “Well I’m sorry,” Evan said flatly. “I’ve just been looking forward to this day for a very long time.” I somehow managed to hurt him again, thought Emily as she uncomfortably played with the strap to her purse. I must have taken my asshole pill tonight. “Well…maybe I don’t want it to be our wedding day yet,” said Emily, in a much sweeter tone. “Because you know that it’s bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other before the ceremony on their wedding day, and I don’t want any bad luck.” “Sweetheart,” Evan returned as he lovingly took her hand and caressed it. “Nothing can come between us, nothing in this whole, entire, world. Even my Mum. If she bothers you too much, we’ll move far away from her. That’s how much I love you Emily. There’s absolutely nothing that could ever separate us.” “Nothing,” Emily repeated quietly. “Nothing,” Evan said with a nod. He leaned over and gently touched the nape of Emily’s neck with the very tips of his smooth, smooth, fingers. For a man, Evan had such lovely hands. They were almost as lovely as Mr. Kirk’s, even though he didn’t use an exfoliating apricot and oatmeal scrub on them, nor did he get weekly manicures like Mr. Kirk did. A shiver went down Emily’s spine as Evan touched her. However she wasn’t sure if it even was a good shiver. It left her feeling very, very, cold, all the way down to her bones. He closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to hers. Evan must have noticed it too, for he didn’t kiss Emily as long as he usually did. He actually cut the kiss quite short, as he opened his car door, so that he could get out and walk Emily up to the door. “Goodnight sweetheart,” he said as he gave Emily’s hand a final squeeze. “The next time that I’ll see you, we’ll be standing at the altar.” Emily gulped. What a very, very, very, intimidating thought. She hastily yet quietly made her way inside, careful not to disturb her sleeping parents, aunt and uncle, and Cecily. The house was completely dark, except for one light in the parlor that her mother had left on for her. She took off her shoes and crept up the stairs to her bedroom. As soon as she opened the door, the faint smell of pot, stale beer, and lemon verbena, trickled out into the air. Her room smelled like Cliff. He had been in there earlier. As she changed into her pajamas, she couldn’t help but notice her life size Barry Manilow picture hanging upon her door. She smiled. Never in a million years would she ever have dreamed that Barry Manilow would make her think of crazy, old, Cliff. She carefully hung up her red dress from Cliff, and moved the wedding dress that was still in its plastic dress bag, off of her bed where Cliff had left it. Cliff. Cliff. Cliff. There seemed to be constant reminders of that man everywhere, and it was driving her nuts. She let her hair down out of its up do, and shook it out. “This room should be my sanctuary,” she said as she frowned at her dresser. She noticed that one of her picture frames and her designer gown scrapbook had been moved. Cliff must have pawed through them. “He’s so fucking nosy. I can’t believe he went through my stuff,” she sighed. “He’s such a pig.” Emily slipped into the bed, but she was far from falling asleep. What the fuck was her problem? She had just had a wonderful romantic evening with a man who adored her, and who wanted to give her the world. Why couldn’t she be happy? She didn’t want to turn into one of those high maintenance bitches who could never seem to be happy with life. She decided to go see Cecily. Even though Cecily was a little girl, and couldn’t offer much advice, just being around her was an instant comfort for Emily. She knew that Cecily often stayed awake late into the night, and could very well still be up. Sure enough, as Emily peeked into the hallway, she could see a light drifting out from underneath the door of Cecily’s room. She knocked on the door. “Cecily,” she said gently. “May I come in?” “Of course Mom,” she replied. Emily opened the door to find Cecily in a cotton light purple pajama tank top, with matching light purple cotton pajama pants that had dark purple stripes on them. A book sat on her lap, and Queen Victoria was comfortably curled up at her side. “Hey Cess,” Emily greeted as she made her way over to Cecily’s bed. “How was your evening with my parents?” “It was fun,” said Cecily. “Your family was so nice to me.” “Of course they would be,” replied Emily. “I love you, so they love you too.” “Your dad gave me an Australian hat,” Cecily reported as she closed her book. “He would,” Emily sighed. “Did he beat the shit out of Cliff?” “Verbally,” answered Cecily. “He really let him have it. He was quite brutal. I actually felt kind of sorry for my dad.” “Cliff will never want to show his face around here again,” said Emily. “He has to,” Cecily replied. “I left my dress shoes at your house. He’s bringing them over tomorrow.” “Did my Daddy threaten the shotgun?” Emily asked. Cecily nodded. “He did. But do you want to know what my Daddy did?” she asked. “What?” Emily asked. “He asked your dad permission to come see you if things don’t work out with Mr. Evan,” reported Cecily in a gossipy tone. “Isn’t that just the tackiest thing that you’ve ever heard? I do declare! My Daddy has the nerve of a canal horse.” However to Cecily’s surprise, Emily didn’t seem that annoyed or riled up about it. She kept her head down, playing with the hem to her pajama top. “Well you never know,” she said with a shrug. “Not all marriages make it Cecily.” Cecily just looked at her. Emily reached out to pet Queen Victoria. “Are you saying that you and Mr. Evan might wind up divorced?” asked Cecily. “Well we could,” Emily answered. “Anybody could.” “Well then why are you even marrying him?” Cecily asked. “Aren’t those vows supposed to be sacred? Aren’t they supposed to be until death do us part?” “You’ve been hanging around way too much with Kirk,” Emily scolded. “He did more than just keep you locked away in a hotel room for three days. He brainwashed you.” “I just happen to believe in truelove and romance,” Cecily retorted with a shrug. “Cecily,” Emily went on. “I appreciate that you are a romantic soul who wants life to be beautiful. And it can be beautiful, but things seldom ever work out like a fairytale. It’s just a fact of reality.” “Well all I can say is that if I ever get married, I’m marrying for one reason and one reason only: love. And I never want to get divorced either. I want to love stay in love with my husband forever. I don’t want to go through fifty trillion guys like Claudia did.” “Sometimes people get married for other reasons other than love,” Emily sighed. “Sometimes it just makes more sense to marry someone in particular because it’s just easier to.” “It’s easier to marry Evan then my Dad?” asked Cecily. “Well, for one thing,” returned Emily. “Evan at least made it to his wedding day without calling the whole thing off. My folks like him. I already have a town house with him. If I decided to call the whole thing off with Evan, and marry your father instead, I’d probably have my family mutiny. Things would be so complicated.” “Why on earth would you marry my dad?” Cecily laughed. “You said that you would never take him back.” “People say things they don’t mean out of anger all of the time,” Emily murmured. “I don’t know why I want to take him back….Probably because I’m a glutton for punishment. You know… nice girls liking to take up with bad boys that cause a ruckus. I’m being stupid.” “It’s not stupid if you love him,” said Cecily. “I do,” Emily nodded. “I adore Evan, he’s so sweet. He really, really, is, despite his terrible mother….But Cliff is the love of my life and he always will be.” Cecily bit her lip. Damn. Things had sure changed a lot between her parents during the past week. It was only a week ago that they had claimed to hate each other. Hate didn’t melt away that quickly. They must have never stopped loving each other. “But,” Emily continued as she gave Cecily a quick hug. “Evan is a wonderful man. He does make me happy, he’s stable, and I know for a fact that he’s never going to hurt me. Marrying Cliff might be what my heart wants, but marrying Evan is what my brain wants. It’s the right thing to do.” “You can’t marry Mr. Evan,” Cecily murmured. “I can marry whoever I want Cecily,” shot Emily. “You’re just a child. You don’t understand. When you’re older you’ll know what I mean.” “It’s not fair,” Cecily said firmly. Emily rolled her eyes. “And just what isn’t fair?” she demanded. “It’s not fair to Evan,” Cecily explained. “You’re right about Mr. Evan being sweet, and wonderful, and so caring. It’s not fair to him that you don’t love him with your entire heart and soul. Evan deserves that kind of love. He gives it to you, and he deserves it back in return.” “Well!” snorted Emily as she got up from Cecily’s bedside. Her chitchat with Cecily hadn’t gone quite how she had expected it to. It left her feeling even more confused. “Aren’t you little-miss-know-it-all,” she retorted. “I just don’t want to see anybody get hurt,” replied Cecily. Emily was tired, testy, and her nerves were rather frayed. She didn’t have much patience to spare with cerebral mind games. “And if I called Evan up right this instant to tell him that I’m running off with your father, that’s not going to break his heart? Get your head out of the clouds Cecily!” she shot. “This is more of your sick little campaign to get me back with your father, and it’s not going to work. I’m marrying Evan tomorrow.” She didn’t mean to snap at Cecily like that, but the girl wasn’t making things any easier for her. She thought about making seeking counsel from Mr. Kirk who was like having a happy, bouncy, girlfriend, with fabulous ebony curls. But for some reason, she felt that he would probably tell her the same thing… |
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| maisy blue | February 28, 2008, 8:20 pm Post #411 |
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Some Kind Of Monster
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This was BEAUTIFULLY written. Really great. I could completely imagine the scene between Emily and Cess. I saw Cess tucked in her bed with her puppy, the soft light of the lamp shining on her as she read, and Emily pushing open the door a crack before she entered. I can also hear Emily's voice and the heartbreak in it. You did such an amazing job with this, Ashley. You really did. I'm so sorry it wore you out emotionally. Writing dialogue is really difficult, and this chapter was almost entirely dialogue, so ... just, wow. Thank you for giving us this to read. It's quality, through and through. |
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| Battery | February 29, 2008, 8:34 am Post #412 |
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Some Kind Of Monster
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Uh lala, Kirk got himself quite a harem “You’re getting old Cliff,” Kirk said as he leaned back into his pillows. Akane started to immediately caress his chest and shoulders, while Cheyenne started working on giving him a neck rub." what an image :horns2 And I feel so, so, so, sorry for Cliff Getting drunk when you're sad is the worst thing And Emily.... She's totally confused... Last chapter was really, really touching... I really can't wait to see what will happen next... !!! |
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| Lucifer's Angel | February 29, 2008, 10:04 am Post #413 |
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Heavy Metal Seanchai
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Yeah, I third that Cliff and Emily so love each other, but they can't have each other. That is so sad It might take a miracle to get them back together
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| Verity | February 29, 2008, 11:41 am Post #414 |
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The Story Girl
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This chapter is just silly. I needed something to balance all of the seriousness and the darkenss of drinking alone, so it is quite quite quite silly, especially the beginning. It was the chocolate covered raisins that I was eating. Chapter 115 The sun sparkled and gleefully danced like a woodland nymph right through the hotel room window. It was just a beautiful, pristine, fine, summer day, the kind of summer day that springs up in a romantic movie, or a Monet painting. However, there was one wretched soul who was not feeling quite so sprightly that morning, or should we say afternoon. “ERRRRRGGGHHHH,” the voice of Cliff Burton groaned from underneath the covers of his bed, sounding just like a beached whale in the process of having a vasectomy. A cheerful, effervescent, bluebird flew in through the open window, and happily chirped a little tune as he lifted up the bed covers with his beak. He flew over to Cliff’s left side and gingerly took a long wisp of his hair in his mouth in order to move it out of the way of his ear. “Chipachee! Chipachee!” the little birdie sang right into Cliff’s ear. For an answer, Cliff lethargically yawned and rolled over without even opening his eyes. However, he did open his mouth sending a putrid stream of beer and whiskey smelling foul breath right into the little bird’s face. The little bird nearly keeled over, but he was a tenaciously little fucker, and he held on. He flew around to Cliff’s other ear, and began to belt out a light and romantic melody. “Chip, chip, chipcheep!” he sang. Gently, the little bird leaned in and with his beak lightly pecking Cliff’s cheek. Like a bolt of lightning, Cliff shot himself up right. “What the fuck!!!” he roared. The little bird flew right in front of him, frantically flapping its wings. “Get up Mr. Burton!” the little birdie chirped. “Get up! Get up! And start another day!” Cliff, dressed in nothing except a pair of worn bellbottom jeans sat in the middle of the bed, the bed sheets strewn about, and his hair was tangled up in all directions like a wet hamster. He stared at the little bird with fucked up and blurred vision, his heavily hung over brain trying to process what the fuck was going on. I didn’t drop acid last night… Did I? he thought blankly. That would remain one of the greatest mysteries of all time. “Up, up, up!” sang the bird. Cliff was up immediately. He leapt up from the bed and grabbed one of the many empty beer bottles that decorated his bedside table. He threw it at the bird. “FUCK YOU!” he screeched as he threw it. The bird was fast and wily, and was able to fly out of the way. The bottle hit the wall and smashed. “No Cliffy! NOOOOOOO!” the little bird sang as he flew around for dear life. Cliff began to hurl a monsoon of beer bottles at the bird, each missing him, and crashing against the wall. “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!” he screamed after each bottle that he threw. Finally, the little bird buzzed right out of the window into the London air, and Cliff had run out of beer bottles to throw. He collapsed onto the bed, his head feeling as if it were about to explode in true, hardcore, hangover, fashion. He wearily looked at the bedside clock. In blurred vision he could just make out the digital numbers. 3:15 PM it read. Cliff hugged his pillow close, as if it were a beautiful woman. “It’s 3:15 in the afternoon, I was awakened by a singing bird, I’m sicker than a dog, and I’m hugging a fucking pillow,” he sighed out loud. “Cecily my dear, I am in the depths of despair.” The depths of despair. Cecily! “Holy shit!” Cliff exclaimed as he jumped out of the bed like a jackrabbit being impaled. “I forgot all about Cecily and her fucking shoes!” Somewhere, deep, down in his alcohol saturated brain, he remembered Cecily saying something about needing them by four in the afternoon. Shit. He had forty-five fucking minutes. Emily’s town home was about ten minutes away if he ran all the way, and then her parents’ house was another half hour. He didn’t have much time to sit around thumping his dummy. There would be no shower, or blow drying his long, silky, hair. He threw on his favorite Misfits shirt, and his cowboy boots, and quickly washed out his mouth with a quick swig of Listerine, the pungent liquid nearly stinging the lining of his gums. He wiped the blue liquid off of his lips with his washcloth and then stumbled out the door. The elevator took its own sweet time as it moseyed its way down to the lobby. It stopped at the tenth floor. Cliff hated riding in the elevators with other people. He especially hated it when he was in a hurry. To his surprise, a rhinestone adorned designer shoe stepped through the door. Cheyenne. She was dressed in a deep, indigo blue bikini. Apparently she didn’t give a shit about traipsing through the hotel without some sort of robe, cover up, or wrap around her. She was clad out in the bikini, her long blonde tresses, ever-so-slightly shielding the part of tit melon that was peeking out from the bikini’s cups. A towel was thrown flimsily over her arm. Sunglasses were perched on her head. “Hello Cliff,” she greeted cheerfully. “I’m going down to the pool. Care to come with me?” she asked. “Do I fucking look like I have time to go swimming right now?” Cliff snapped. “You look well rested,” replied Cheyenne. “Please Cliff,” she begged. “One of my oldest and most cherished fantasies is getting to rub suntan lotion all over your chest, shoulders, and thighs.” She yanked on Cliff’s shirt, pulling him closer to her. “Cheyenne,” said Cliff. “In case you haven’t noticed...I haven’t fucking had a tan in my entire life. I’d burn like crab cake. Don’t you have Kirk to go slather suntan lotion around on?” “Kirk’s off getting a Daji Himalayan mud bath at the spa,” Cheyenne answered. “He wants to look his best for the wedding tonight.” Jesus, thought Cliff. Hamster is such a prima donna. Not even Emily, the bride, is getting a mud bath. “I have to deliver Cecily her shoes so she that she doesn’t have to go to the wedding barefoot,” Cliff replied as the elevator finally stopped at the lobby. “And I have to haul some ass.” “Let me go with you,” said Cheyenne. Hanging around with Cliff Burton was a hell of a lot more exciting than going to the pool by her self. Especially for a Metallica obsessed groupie. “I can keep you company.” Cliff looked down at Cheyenne and her three inch, rhinestone incrusted, high heels that had the little Chanel logo C’s on them. “You’ll only hold me back,” he answered. “I’m on a very tight schedule. You can’t run in those shoes.” Cheyenne frowned at her shoes. She kicked them off right there in the hotel lobby. “Now I can run,” she replied. “Kirk bought them for me yesterday at the boutique down the street. He bought me several pairs actually. It’s no big loss. I’d rather spend the afternoon with you.” “Very well then,” Cliff sighed. “But if you fall behind me, I’m not going to wait for you.” *** Eight minutes later, Cliff sprinted up the walkway to Emily’s house, while Cheyenne lagged far behind, her feet rather blistered from running on the pavement barefoot. Cliff knocked on the door. Evan, halfway dressed in his tux answered it. Cliff Burton was the last person that he had expected to see. What the hell did he want? Couldn’t the ass leave them in peace on their frigging wedding day for crying out loud! “Cliff,” he mumbled. “What are you doing here?” “Cecily forgot her shoes,” Cliff explained. “For the wedding.” “Oh,” said Evan. “They’re probably up in her room with her things. You’re free to go up there and fetch them.” And with that, Evan ran to go tend to one of the groom’s men whose tux didn’t fit. Cliff stepped inside. Even though the groom’s men had taken total reign over the town home, it was still quite neat and tidy. If Metallica had stayed there for the afternoon the place would have been condemned by the Health Department. Evan definitely had tidier and neater friends than Cliff did. He made his way up the stairs to Cecily’s room. Meanwhile, Cheyenne had caught up and knocked on the door. This time it was answered by one of the groom’s men, a short, stocky, chap named Willum. “Great Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!” he whistled at the sight of a bikini clad, big breasted, blonde chick standing upon the doorstep. “Looks like our ship came in today. They weren’t joking when they said that Fitzgerald weddings were the best.” “May I come in?” Cheyenne asked sweetly. “Are you kidding me?” Willum shot. “You don’t even have to ask.” He led Cheyenne into the living room, where three more groomsmen were lounging around half dressed. “By Jove!” one of them exclaimed. “I’d say that somebody ordered Evan one last moment of bachelor fun.” “Huh?” Cheyenne asked. “Was it you Willum?” asked one of the groom’s men. “Wasn’t me,” Willum replied. “But I’m sure happy that she’s here.” “What’s your name sugar?” one of the guys asked as he fumbled with his silk bow tie, trying to tie it. “Cheyenne,” Cheyenne replied as she made her way over to him. “Here,” she said. “Let me help.” She began to help him with his bow tie. It was made from the finest black silk. “Cheyenne,” one of the groom’s men repeated, caressing it. “There,” she said once she had finished the bowtie. “You’re all set.” “How’d you learn how to do that?” the groom’s man asked. Cheyenne shrugged. “I’m good with my hands.” “I’ll bet,” said Willum provocatively. “Are you going to dance for us?” asked another. “Huh?” said Cheyenne. “Of course she’s not you dolt!” shot one of the groom’s men. “She’s here for Evan. Somebody must have ordered her as a present. He’s in his room. Let’s send her on in.” He turned to Cheyenne. “Evan needs you,” he said. “He needs help with his bowtie too.” He winked at her. “Uh okay,” mumbled Cheyenne, for the first time feeling self conscious parading around in front of a bunch of horny men in her bikini. As she walked out of the room she could hear them whistling and whispering about her. She felt like a skank, and she didn’t like feeling that way. Maybe I am too good for this, she thought. Maybe I should clean up my act a little. Maybe I do deserve better. She made her way up the stairs to Evan’s room. Cliff had already grabbed Cecily’s shoes, and had made off to Emily’s parents’ house. The fucker had left her stranded at Evan’s. She knocked on the door, though it was open a crack. “Evan?” she said as she poked her head in. “Your friends said that you needed my help.” “They did?” Evan asked as he whirled around. His eyes went wide at the sight of Cheyenne in very little clothing. His cheeks flushed scarlet. Cheyenne’s eyes also went wide. She had always thought that Evan Fitzgerald was rather handsome, but in the tux he was a dreamboat. It was almost too much for her to handle, and her heart did a somersault. Evan looked stunning with his dark slightly wavy hair combed all pristinely, the tailcoat that he was wearing making him look very tall and lean. His vest and bow tie were made from finely woven white pique and it was tied very neatly. “I guess you don’t need my help,” she stammered, looking away from him because looking at him only made her feel giddy, like a schoolgirl. “Actually,” returned Evan. “I do. I’m having trouble getting this to stay.” He handed her his boutonnière. “It keeps falling crooked.” “Oh I can do that,” said Cheyenne. She confidently took the pin and boutonniere and gently set to work, careful not to poke too many holes in the lapel of his fine tailcoat. With her being so close to him, Evan could smell her perfume. It smelled very nice. It was cheap but it had this happy, sprightly, quality to it. “There,” she said as she finished. “You look like the perfect groom.” “You’re good at that,” Evan returned, smiling at her. “Well, I have had to pin flowers in hair before,” explained Cheyenne. “I’m good at it. Anyway, I probably should get going. I was supposed to be going to the pool, but I came here with Cliff instead. He left me here though.” “Cliff left you here?” Evan repeated. “He was in a hurry,” Cheyenne said with a shrug. “I was holding him up. It’s alright though. I can walk back to the hotel.” “What an ass,” Evan sighed. “You are not walking back to the hotel barefoot and in your bathing suit. You’ll cause an accident,” he joked. “I’ll drive you back. I’m all set and ready to go. I have plenty of time before I’m supposed to be at the church.” “It’s your wedding day,” Cheyenne mumbled. “You must be busy.” “I’m never too busy to help out a lady,” Evan replied with a smile, showing his pearly white teeth. “You wouldn’t happen to have a towel or something that I could put around me?” Cheyenne asked. “To cover me up a little?” Evan nodded, and threw her a maroon colored robe. It was warm and soft against her skin. It smelled like him. “Thank you,” she said. “Your friends I think got the wrong idea when I showed up here in my bathing suit.” “Their minds are always in the gutter,” Evan said as he slid on his shiny, patent, shoes. “Don’t mind them.” He held out his arm to her. “Shall I take you back to your hotel so that you can go back to your leisurely afternoon of swimming and sunning?” he asked. Even just the accent made Cheyenne tingle between her legs. Emily was such a lucky lady. “Absolutely,” she replied as she smiled and took his arm. For once, it was quite nice getting to be with a man who didn’t want to just fuck the shit out of her…. |
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| Lucifer's Angel | February 29, 2008, 11:46 am Post #415 |
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Heavy Metal Seanchai
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The part at the beginning was funny as fuck Cliff must've really been hungover. And the groomsmen thinking Cheyenne was "entertainment". British men aren't so stuffy after all Hmm, is something going to happen between Evan and Cheyenne? Mrs. Fitzgerald is going to shit herself
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| Simone | February 29, 2008, 1:28 pm Post #416 |
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Mistress of Puppets
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Omg,I can't believe how many things happen since my last visit HOLY SHITZ-O! Emily wanting Cliff over Evan??? omfg! and the chapter with Emily's parents was epic! I soooo can't wait to hear the wedding!! It will be sooo romantic,unless Emily thinks of calling it off Omg Verity,you truly are talented! :horns2
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| Battery | February 29, 2008, 6:58 pm Post #417 |
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Some Kind Of Monster
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Hyahahaha.... The scene with Cliff and bluebird was fucking hilarious , next time I'll wake up hung over I'm waiting for one :horns2 "The depths of despair. Cecily!" hahaha, I loved that And I'm really curious to see what will turn up between Cheyenne and Evan... They surely like each other.... You rock!!!
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| maisy blue | February 29, 2008, 11:42 pm Post #418 |
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Some Kind Of Monster
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I LOVE chocolate covered raisins. Ohmigod. Sorry- I love certain candy.This whole chapter reminded me of Zippidydoodah... I saw this little cartoon bluebird, a very vintage Disney one, fluttering around. Maybe he wore a tophat. Poor bluebird- he makes a special stop for Cliff and Cliff doesn't appreciate it ;) My favorite?
That would so be me. That's me about everything. Bluebirds, alarm clocks, bugs, poopy diapers, no iced tea... Okay, Evan and Cheyanne? That's something I didn't see coming. Wonder what Evan's mum is going to think about that? Hahahahaha The wedding is going to be so interesting. Oh, and Cliff needs some new pants. I love Cliff, but his bell bottoms are over 25 years old, and I'm not sure he's taking care of them. They probably stand up on their own when he's not in them since they are so crusty. Or does he have a seamstress make him new pairs every so often? Does he also own a denim bell-bottom tuxedo? That would be rad. Sorry for the crazycakes comments, I just got back from an Asian New Year thing (I know it's late in the month, but whatever) and I'm sooo tired. Love this story.
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| Verity | March 1, 2008, 1:19 am Post #419 |
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The Story Girl
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Maggie- let me know if you ever see a bluebird when hungover. I haven't yet. Maisy- Hoorah for chocolate covered raisins!! I think that Cliff and Cecily both are overdue for a well deserved shopping expedition. Vaessa- Cheyenne and Evan would be quite the fucked up combination, wouldn't they. I'm glad that you liked the beginningSimone- Thanks for reading!!! I'm so happy to see your siggy with King Diamond. It makes my day. Chapter 116 Cliff pulled up in front of Emily’s parents’ house at exactly three fifty-eight PM, pretty fucking good considering that just forty-three minutes ago he had been lying half naked in bed, in a drunken stupor. Cliff turned off the engine to Emily’s car and wearily got out. He wished that he had had Cecily meet him outside, but he had been too wasted last night when she had called to think of that. The last thing that he wanted to do was go inside where he might see that wretched Harold dude. He knew that he was not welcome, and it was kind of inappropriate having him lurking around on Emily’s wedding day. With a heavy sigh, he made his way to the front porch and knocked on the door. The beer and whiskey from last night began to splash around mixing with his stomach acid. He felt like he might need to go hurl into the bushes at any given second. Fortunately, Kerry answered the door. She had on a black jogging suit, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her canvas tennis shoes were stark white, with not even one smudge or fleck of dirt on them. She gave Cliff a warm and friendly smile. “Mr. Burton!” she exclaimed. “You must be here to see Cecily.” “I have her shoes,” Cliff mumbled. She probably knew that he had made a complete ass out of himself last night by asking Harold his permission to see Emily again. He felt like a total loser, and couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with her. “She’s upstairs getting ready,” Kerry reported. “Cecily darling!” she called. “Your father is here with your shoes!” She turned back to Cliff. “As you can see we’re all running late around here. Emily isn’t even in her gown yet.” She led Cliff inside the house. To Cliff’s relief, Harold didn’t seem to be around. “Speaking of running late,” Kerry added. “I’m running late for a hair appointment.” She grabbed her purse, car keys, and sunglasses, and went flying out the door. Sweet, thought Cliff. I’m alone. I don’t have to deal with any parental bullshit. I’m a lucky motherfucker. Cliff was pulled out of his thoughts by Cecily as she came down the stairs. “Hi Daddy!” she greeted. Cliff whirled around to see Cecily making her way down the staircase. His mouth dropped open. He barely recognized her, and he was completely speechless. All that he could do was stare at her. “Thank you for bringing me my shoes,” Cecily chattered. Without her shoes, her dress was a bit too long for her, but she was daintily holding up her skirts with her fingers. She gratefully took the shoes, and plopped down on the settee to put them on, a cloud of delicate, soft, creamy, peach satin surrounding her as she did so. Cliff just stared at her, his heart swelling with pride. She looked amazing. Her hair had been fixed so that it hung in curls down her back, but the sides were pulled back in order to show off her pretty face, and fine bone structure, bone structure that Mr. Kirk would most definitely approve of. Cecily had finally gotten her wish of a mother to help her with her makeup. She was wearing just a little bit of blush, lip gloss, mascara, and ash colored eye shadow, but a dodo like Cliff would never even notice. Emily had also loaned her a pair of pearl drop earrings and a matching pearl choker, that made Cecily’s neck look very slender and delicate. A tiny rhinestone tennis bracelet that Cliff had actually bought for her that past Christmas adorned her right wrist. Claudia would shit over how poised, beautiful, and grownup her young, plain looking, foul mouthed, daughter had turned out to be. “How are you feeling?” Cecily asked as she fumbled around with buckling her shoes. “You look wasted.” “I am,” Cliff admitted, still looking at her. “But I feel alright. I’ve been worse….Uh Cecily,” he said. “Hmmm?” Cecily mumbled not looking up from her shoes. “You look beautiful,” replied Cliff. “You really and truly do Cess.” “Really Daddy?” asked Cecily looking up, most pleased to have her father’s approval. Cliff nodded. Cecily jumped up and ran into his arms. He hugged her gently, careful not to smash down her dress or curls. “You’re like all fucking grown up,” he choked as he hugged her. “Not really,” Cecily returned. “I can’t drive yet.” “Oh God,” Cliff moaned at the thought of Cecily driving, by herself, alone. “Don’t worry Daddy,” Cecily chattered on. “I have four years yet, but I’ve already picked out the car that I want you to buy for me.” “And just who the fuck says that I’m buying you a car when you turn sixteen?” Cliff shot, amused. “I don’t know,” Cecily replied innocently. “You said that you like to buy me shit, and I am your only daughter. Doesn’t that warrant a car?” “And what kind of car is it that you’ve already picked out?” Cliff asked. “I can’t afford to buy you no Ferrari or anything. I don’t make the money that Lars, Kirk, and James all do. You’d have to hit up one of them.” “I don’t want a Ferrari Dad,” replied Cecily as the two sat back down on the settee together. “I’d probably just crash it anyway.” “Why do you say that?” Cliff asked as he untangled some of her curls. “Because,” Cecily answered. “I’ll be taking driving lessons from you.” “Even in that pretty dress, you’re still Daddy’s little smartass,” Cliff shot. “It’s true!” Cecily laughed. “I want a candy apple red SUV with big, big, huge-ass, tires so that I can take it off roading, and run over shit.” “Okay,” Cliff nodded impressed. At least she didn’t want some fucking convertible or something that he totally couldn’t afford to get her. “But only on the condition that you take me off roading with you,” he added. “And you have to put the Misfits in your CD changer.” “Yes sir,” Cecily giggled. “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Emily’s voice roared from upstairs. Cliff and Cecily looked at each other. This certainly did not sound very good. The two of them dashed up the stairs to Emily’s room to see what she was pissing and moaning over. Emily was standing in the middle of her bedroom in her bridal gown…well sort of. Bridal tent was more like it. Emily was nearly swimming in it. The shoulders of it were way wider than Emily’s were, so the entire top of the dress barely stayed on her frame. You could drive a truck through the waistline of it, and it was way too long. “Mom!” Cecily exclaimed as she and Cliff entered the room. “Are you alright?” “Do I look alright?” Emily snapped testily, tears beginning to sting her eyes. “So this is supposed to be the totally smoking badass wedding gown that Kirk picked out?” Cliff snorted. “It looks like you’re wearing fucking tent Pussy Cat!” Emily hurled a shoe at Cliff. It smacked him right on the head, which still had a bit of a headache from his hangover. “Ouch!” he squawked as his hand flew up to his head. “What the fuck did you do that for? You bitch!” “Is this some sort of sick joke Clifford?” Emily screeched. “Uh oh,” said Cliff. “You called me Clifford. I must be in some deep shit, and I don’t know why.” “You know why!” Emily spat. “I never, ever, ever, in my entire life would have thought that you would stoop down to something this low Clifford!” she ranted. “How could you do this to me? This is my wedding day!” She was crying heavily now. She was inconsolable. “I didn’t fucking do anything!” Cliff yelled. “The dress!” Emily shrieked. “It’s too big!” “Well I can see that,” said Cliff. “It’s practically falling off you. Not that I would mind if it did.” He purred as he gazed at the drooping bodice. Somewhere underneath all of those mounds and mounds of silk lay a beautiful pair of titties. Lonely titties. “I thought you had changed Cliff!” Emily went on. “I thought that you had grown up, and cut the bullshit! Obviously I was wrong!” “But Pussy Cat,” Cliff replied. “I have grown up. Last night, I had the opportunity of a lifetime. I had the opportunity to jump in the sack with Kirk and three gorgeous ladies. I said no. I passed.” “I sure wouldn’t have,” piped up Cecily. “I would have jumped into that bed in a heartbeat. Was Mr. Kirk naked?” “Cecily Virginia Burton!” Cliff gasped while looking at her, horrified. “He had chicks in there with him.” “So?” Cecily said with a shrug. Cliff glared at her. “You’re too pretty to be bicurious,” he spat. He tossed his long, un brushed, hair over his shoulder. He’d deal with Cecily and her kinky, adolescent, weirdness, later. “I should have known better than to trust you!” sobbed Emily. “How could you be so cruel and hurt me this way?” “I don’t understand why you’re angry with me,” said Cliff. “I didn’t make your wedding dress.” “You’re the one who picked it up for me!” Emily yelled, her professionally done makeup running down her face as she cried. “There were two gowns that came from Paris! You took the wrong one! You fucked me over Cliff…Again!” Oh fuck, Cliff thought. She thinks that I grabbed the wrong dress on purpose, just to be an asshole. “Pussy Cat,” Cliff began. “Don’t call me that!” Emily shot. She went to lunge at him, but instead she tripped over her way too long dress, falling onto the floor where she sat in a mountain of white silk, and a fit of fresh tears. Her neatly done hair was now half falling down. “You still look beautiful Mom,” said Cecily as she ran over to her and threw her arms around her. “I can’t wear this dress tonight,” Emily wailed. “Weren’t there two dresses though?” Cecily asked. “We can get the other one. I mean, the other bride sure isn’t going to be able to fit into your dress. Not by the looks of this one she’s not.” “We don’t have time for that shit Cecily,” Emily said quietly as she held Cecily close, happy to have the little girl for comfort. “My wedding is in less than two hours. The shop would be closed by now anyway. How would we ever track down the bride who has my dress?” “I guess you’re right,” Cecily mumbled. “You still look gorgeous though.” She turned to Cliff who was standing off to the side. “Doesn’t she Daddy?” “Emily always looks gorgeous,” replied Cliff. “Even if she were too get married wearing nothing except a roll of toilet paper and a cowboy hat, she’d still look mighty fine. Actually, that could be arranged.” “Just shut the fuck up Cliff,” Emily quipped. “You’ve already fucked things up enough.” Cliff sighed. He made his way over to Emily and crouched down next to her and the ocean of silk. He put his arms around her, hugging her. “I am so sorry,” he said. “But I in all honesty, I had no fucking idea that I took the wrong dress. You got to believe me Pussy Cat. I don’t know jack shit about dresses. The only reason that Cess has pretty clothes is because you pick them out for her. The dress shop was slammed busy so they let me in the backroom, and I just grabbed the first dress bag that I saw. I didn’t know that I was going to grab Rosie’s dress.” “Rosie?” Emily repeated through sniffles. Cliff started to sing and air guitar the opening riff to Whole Lotta Rosie “Ah yes,” Emily sighed as she wiped away some of her tears with the back of her hand. “ACDC.” “You got it,” nodded Cliff. “I feel like an over frosted cupcake,” Emily groaned. “But you’re a sexy over frosted cupcake,” replied Cliff. Emily just looked at him. She felt very silly in her gigantean wedding dress, with her eye makeup all smeared down her cheeks, and her hair falling down. So much for the professional makeover. But mostly she felt silly because she had acted like a neurotic psycho bitch to Cliff, and he didn’t deserve that. “I’m sorry Cliff,” she said quietly. “For what?” Cliff asked, as he stood up. “For throwing a shoe at you,” replied Emily. “And for wrongfully accusing you. It really shouldn’t have been your job to pick up my wedding gown in the first place. I’m a bitch.” “That you are,” Cliff nodded. Emily shot him an icy look. “But you’re a bitch who’s going to get to wear the wedding gown that she herself designed for her wedding.” “Oh Daddy, that’s a fantastic idea!” Cecily gasped. “Mom can wear the beautiful gown that she designed. She has it right here in the closet! It’s a sign.” “I don’t know,” Emily stammered. “The Fitzgerald’s bought this gown.” “And it’s much too big,” said Cliff. “Do you think that they’d rather you show up to the church naked instead? Well Evan might.” “You’re right,” Emily sighed. “But we have to hurry. The other dress takes a while to get into because of that damned corset, and the photographer will be here to start shooting photos any minute.” “Well then,” said Cliff. “Let’s get down to business. Cecily, go get Emily her totally badass wedding gown, while I help her find her way out of this abomination.” Cecily didn’t need to be told twice. She happily trotted over to Emily’s closet and pulled out the other wedding gown that had been wrapped up carefully in plastic. Meanwhile, Cliff tried to rescue Emily out from all of the excessive mounds of silk that had consumed her entire frame. “You look lost in there,” he joked as he helped Emily slide the dress off over her head. It was so big on her that they didn’t even have to unzip the zipper in order to get it off. It was quite heavy too, from all of the silk and beading. You’d have to be professional weight lifter in order to wear such a dress. Finally, they had gotten the last layer of silk over her head, and Emily was standing there in her chemise and drawers. “You know,” Cliff said as he cast the dress aside. “We could always take that dress and build a fort out of it.” “Very funny,” quipped Emily as she shivered. “It’s true,” Cliff replied with a shrug. “All we’d need is some beer and a little weed. We could hold a fucking bonfire underneath that dress.” Emily shook her head as she looked disdainfully at the pile of silk that now sat on the floor. “It sure as hell is big enough…” she agreed. |
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| Lucifer's Angel | March 1, 2008, 9:12 am Post #420 |
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Heavy Metal Seanchai
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OMG, that dress sounded horrible Yeah, that does sound like Rosie's dress :horns2 Poor Emily, how the hell was Cliff supposed to know? And that SUV sounded badass
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And I really can't believe Cliff asked if he can try with Emily again after she and Evan divorce...
:horns2




He sounds really depressed though

I soooo can't wait to hear the wedding!! It will be sooo romantic,unless Emily thinks of calling it off

8:42 PM Jul 10