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weepingfromacedartree · 9 months

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I am very bored. Here's another snippet of my WIP, for anyone as bored/starved for content as me.

August 2nd, 2019

“Look at them. They’re shameless.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘oblivious.’”

“You're right. I would tell them to get a room, but they’d just waste it. They’d sit atop the king size mattress and play Go Fish.”

Daphne uses one hand to swat Benedict in the gut and the other to stifle her laugh. Her endeavour to remain somewhat quiet may be pointless, though. Colin and Penelope are within earshot, but appear too engrossed by their conversation to notice any one of the hundreds of party-goers passing by them. Still, Daphne grabs Benedict by the hinge of his elbow and pulls him away from the merrily unaware pair.

“How long until we’re attending their wedding, do you think?” he asks, once the two of them are out of view.

“Ooh — good quest—”

“Who’s wedding?” Anthony interrupts, seemingly appearing out of nowhere with his bride in hand.

“Colin and Penelope’s, of course,” Benedict replies, not-so-subtly wiggling his eyebrows.

“Ah.” Anthony sighs contemplatively, gently nodding his head. “Never.”

“Don’t be such a downer,” Benedict shoots back.

“I’m not, I —”

“Yes you are, love,” Kate interrupts, laughing lightly. “In case you forgot, there was a time when either one of us would have said the same about our wedding. And look where we are now.” With that, she briefly extricates her hand from his grasp to point at the massive white wedding around them.

“I fail to see your point, love.” Anthony laughs too, although it doesn’t succeed in covering up the hint of petulance rising in his voice. “We are nothing like them. We loathed each other, they’re just…” He cranes his neck to get a look at the duo in question; they are a few metres away, still talking closely by a bush of red roses. “Friends.”

“No offence, Anthony,” Daphne chimes in, “but you don’t have the best track record in seeing what’s right before your eyes.”

After muttering something unintelligible beneath his breath, Anthony forces a smile. “Could we please go back to discussing mine and Kate’s wedding — which in case you forgot, is real and is currently happening — instead of some made up, hypothetical, fantasy wedding that will never happen?”

“Who’s wedding will never happen?” Francesca asks, suddenly appearing from behind the growing group.

“Mine, obviously,” Eloise jests from right beside her. Kate offers a more useful answer.

“We’re placing bets on when Colin and Penelope’s wedding will be held.”

Without a moment of hesitation, Eloise scoffs and says, “Never.” When informed that Anthony already called “Never,” she updates her bet.

“Fine. A hundred years. Perhaps, then, he’ll be good enough for her.”

“What made you two so bitter?” Benedict asks. “I’ll say four years. Oh — Frannie, are you making a spreadsheet?”

“Of course.” She does not even look up from her phone, disappointed that her brother ever felt the need to ask a question with such an obvious answer; she's always in charge of the spreadsheet.

Simon is the next participant to appear out of the blue. After instinctively placing a hand on his wife's round belly, he smirks, turns to the rest of the group, and asks, “What is it that we are betting on?”

“Christ,” Anthony mutters. He points to Eloise. “You, go track down Gregory and Hyacinth and wrangle them over here. I’m not going through these parameters again.”

Once every Bridgerton sibling and spouse is gathered in a circle in the middle of the wedding hall (save for Colin, still blissfully unaware of the situation unfolding just a few metres away from him), they all agree to bet on the exact timing of this foregone conclusion.

“I say two years,” says Daphne. “One year to get together, another to get married.”

“I don’t know, babe.” Simon casts a glance over his shoulder to where Penelope and Colin still stand by the rose bushes. “They look even closer than they usually do at these sorts of functions — and that’s saying quite a lot. I could see them getting married within the year.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Daphne chuckles so fully that she braces a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “No. No offence, but you are giving those two far too much credit. I fear even my bet was too optimistic.”

On the other side of the circle, Gregory clears his throat. “No, I see where Simon is coming from. Penelope looks quite pretty tonight — plus, love and marriage are in the air… Who knows? Maybe they’ll run off and get married tonight.”

When his answer is met with a chorus of boos and questions regarding his sanity, Gregory simply shrugs.

“Stranger things have happened. Put me down for tonight, Fran.”

“Fine. Your funeral.” After typing the last few digits, Francesca looks up from her phone and over to the bride. Smiling, she asks, “Are you ready to partake in your first official Bridgerton bet, Kate?”

“I would be honoured to,” she says, a smile lighting up her own face. For the first time since this discussion began, Anthony actually looks to be enjoying it; he places a kiss on his wife’s forehead as she considers the possibilities. “Unfortunately, I am not quite as optimistic as Daphne. I’ll say ten years from now — that’s how long it took for Anthony and I to figure things out and get married.”

Her response receives a few “awws” from the group, but Anthony looks at her skeptically. “Don’t forget that Colin and Penelope have known each other their entire lives,” he tells her. “By that logic, they would have gotten married during primary school.”

“Fine, then. Nine years from now, since they had such an ample head start.”

“Kate is on the right track,” Hyacinth chimes in from her spot beside Gregory. Before continuing, she plucks a sausage roll from his hand and plops it into her own mouth.

“Hey —”

“Those two are absolutely hopeless. I mean, look at them.” She raises her arm, indiscreetly pointing to the spot where Colin and Penelope still talk amongst the roses, still unaware of the bets currently being placed on their future wedding. “It’s unsettling, just how oblivious they are. They’ll continue on just as they are until one of us intervenes.”

“Get to the point, Hyacinth,” Gregory grumbles, guarding the rest of his sausage rolls from her carefully.

“Seven years. Once I graduate from uni, I’ll devote my time to selflessly ensuring that our brother finally figures his shit out.”

Although not intended as a joke, this earns her a few chuckles from the group. Not from Anthony (or Gregory), though.

“Don’t you think there could be a better use of your time following uni? A job, per—”

“Better than true love? I think not.” Before Anthony can protest any further, Hyacinth turns to the only Bridgerton who has yet to place her bet. “Frannie, what’s your pick?”

Looking up from her phone screen again, Francesca glances around the group with a conflicted look passing on her face. “Since I’m the one keeping bets, should I not act as a neutral observer?” When her question is met with a unanimous “No,” she places the final bet.

“Fine. Three and a half years.”

“What is going on here?”

Violet appears just behind Francesca. Her face is fixed with an expression that is quite familiar to the group — the one marked by a pleasant smile and panicked eyes. It’s the expression her children see at every social event that they happen to cause trouble at. In other words — it’s the look they’ve seen at least one time at every social event they’ve attended in the past twenty or so years.

“Nothing, mum,” Francesca says quickly, depositing her phone back into her purse as discreetly as she can manage.

“Just congratulating Kate and Anthony on hosting such a beautiful, drama-free wedding ceremony,” Benedict chimes in.

Violet’s face starts to relax into something a bit more naturally pleasant, obviously sharing the opinion. Not that she fully believes her children are not up to no good, but she’s willing to save herself the headache and not investigate their suspicious activity any further.

“Well, I suppose it’s fortunate that I found you all in one place. It’s time to gather in the garden for the family photos.” She scans the group around her, smile suddenly faltering. “Oh, dear — where’s Colin?”

Most of the group can’t help but keep in their smirks, giggles, and — in Eloise’s case — audible groans hidden. Before Violet can question their strange behaviour, though, Anthony steps forward. He places a reassuring hand on his mother's shoulder and tells her, “I spotted him loitering by the refreshment table a moment ago. I’ll grab him and meet you all outside.”

As soon as he turns on his heel, he spots them still standing beside those red roses. They’re standing even closer than they were a few minutes ago, leaning towards each other as Colin shows her something on his phone.

Walking towards them, Anthony doesn’t think much of their decreasing proximity. Or how his younger brother had been too engrossed in their conversation to notice the trouble brewing just a few metres away from him in the last fifteen minutes. Despite his siblings’ fun and games, he stands firm on his original conclusion.

They are friends. Why wouldn’t they be close?

But as Anthony closes the gap between himself and the aforementioned friends, he overhears the last few remnants of their conversation. The words cause him to stop dead in his tracks.

#cutting off this scene rather abruptly for spoiler reasons #srry guys #polin #bridgerton #fanfiction #no but idk how I'm gonna survive this drought much longer #wake me up when the SAG strike ends 😭

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