A short introduction for this fic: This story is mostly based upon my ongoing storyline in the Elite League Limmie game over in the RPF, and this thread can be considered as a companion of sorts. As such, all of the characters and storylines contained herein are of my own design (unless otherwise noted). Anyone not familiar with the game thread is highly recommended to read it in order to better understand what is going on here. The 272 season in the game is the beginning of this portion of the story, so beginning there would be a good idea. I don't own Star Wars or any of the related in-universe aspects. I just write the story. Big thanks to @Trieste for getting me addicted to Limmie in the first place. Without him, I might actually have a life outside of the forums. And to @JM_1977, for being interested in helping me go down this path to literary weirdness. And here we go: A single hair popped off of Gark’s head, and the Bothan reached up to try and pat it down really fast. For some odd reason, he never had luck with keeping his hair nicely matted down; it always seemed like a patch here or there was always unkempt, no matter what he did to try and mitigate the issue. “You look terrible,” Dirxx said. “Thanks,” Gark replied. “This is the reason why I never comb my fur unless absolutely necessary.” “And I bet this is the same reason why you don’t wear suits, either,” the Besalisk team captain said, a grin on his face. “Real original insight there,” Gark said with an air of sarcasm in his voice. “You’ve known me how many years, and you’re finally figuring this out?” “Just thought it wasn’t all that important,” Dirxx said, ruffling out the sleeves on his blazer one final time. “Tell you the truth, I don’t play ‘dress-up’ too well either. They just don’t make a lot of formalwear for guys my size. I’ve had this get-up for the last decade, and yet it hardly ever comes out of my closet for events.” “You only attend the Elite League Awards ceremony every year,” Gark said. He had just noticed another hair pop up, so with a sigh he began his quest to smooth that one down as well. “I’d show up in shorts if I could get away with it,” the Besalisk said. “It’s just one of those times where you just have to bite the laser blast and deal with it.” “Hey, are you asleep in there?” came the voice of Polis Vayne, one of the assistant captains for the Senators. “The people out here are getting bored!” “Fine,” Gark said. He finally matted down the rogue hair, but then another one on the other side of his head decided now would be a good time to spring loose of its moorings and make a scene. “At some point, I’m just going to go out there without having every last hair down on my head.” “At least you have fur,” Dirxx commented. “Some of us just have scaly skin.” “You don’t get drenched easily,” Gark reminded his team captain. “Wet Bothan isn’t exactly a rosy smell to behold.” “I see your point,” Dirxx said, frowning. “Anyways, I’m headed out.” He stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Gark alone. The Bothan paused for a moment; he still couldn’t believe this was happening. Had someone come up to him in 272 and said that he would be a superhero and kick bad guy butt, then he might have let that slide as slightly possible, because there was always a chance that something crazy like that would ensue. But had the same person asked him if he believed that a year later he would be entering into a lifelong relationship with a beautiful woman, he would have laughed in the face of said person. He, the out-of-luck loser bachelor, actually entering into a meaningful relationship with anyone would have been bucking the odds in a major way; this situation was just one of those ‘you have to see it to believe it’ moments for Gark. But, on the other hand, he didn’t actually mind this whole process too much, either. It could have been worse; at least it wasn’t a funeral. “Get out here!” Polis said. “All right,” Gark said, rolling his eyes. Smacking himself in the head to rearrange the hairs, thereby causing several more hairs to fly up out of position, Gark finally just left it as is and left the room. The main sanctuary of the religious institution was rather small, as only about fifty or so people could actually fit in. But that was the main point of choosing this location to have the wedding; it was small, and so was the guest list. Gark wasn’t trying to be elitist; he just didn’t want to make this whole thing a major planet-wide event. He was just one Bothan in a sea of stuff. There was no reason to make a scene out of all this, like some important people on other planets did by broadcasting their weddings over the HoloNet for all the suckers at home to watch. No, this was going to be neat, tidy, and most of all a small event. Life was going to go on as usual after this for almost everyone, so not much was going to change. People weren’t going to lose sleep over the outcome, although Gark had certainly not slept well the night previous, and was thus feeling extremely sleepy. Gark walked up the center aisle, looking at everyone in the crowd as he passed as they stared back at him. He could see most of the Senators team and staff there, in addition to Londy Whiste, Jed Ortmeyer (no idea what he was doing there, other than Pam probably inviting him) and a few people he honestly didn’t know. Up front were the other personnel, namely Dirxx (whom had volunteered for this crazy venture as Best Man, but Gark could think of worse people to undergo this task). Polis stood off to the side as one of the three groomsmen, along with Riff and Venn (who also looked rather shaggy). Over to the other side were the bridesmaids, namely Alysha, Izzi, Demetra, and Bel. Each one was decked out in a red dress; Gark could tell who had decided on the design. It was odd to see their hair put up in anything other than a simple ponytail, Gark thought, especially for Izzi, who almost never changed out of her ponytail look. Obviously they had gone to great lengths to get their hair done specifically for this, and this was one more reason why Gark was extremely glad that this ceremony was going to be small-time; no need to try to defend his players’ decision to put their hair up like this when they never did so at other times. It sounded ridiculous, but the media just looked for things to talk about like that, and he wanted no part in the whole fiasco of how a few famous women arranged their hair. As soon as Gark took his position up by the altar, he could see the chaplain standing there, just looking plain bored. Gark couldn’t blame him; the man probably did these kinds of things every day, and thus all the enjoyment of the moment had probably gone stale long ago. “You’ve still got a few hairs loose on your head,” Dirxx commented from behind Gark. “Like I said before, they never stay,” Gark replied. “Riiight,” Dirxx commented. “Look lively,” Polis hissed. Gark straightened his back; he hadn’t been expecting this for a few more minutes. The organ started up, and everyone was staring towards the back of the chapel. A thought passed Gark’s mind that he wanted to just run and hide; could he go through with this? But then his conscience got the better of him, and he stayed perfectly still. He even had to stifle a huge yawn that came through his system; ugh, this was going to be a long one today. The doors opened in the back, and Gark swallowed hard as he waited. Finally, his bride came into view from around the corner. She was wearing a flowing and stunningly-white wedding gown, strapless by her preference (although Gark didn’t really care how about that detail; it was the woman wearing it who counted, not the formalwear). Her dark blue skin contrasted sharply with the white slate that was the dress; if anything, if made her even more attractive, because it helped cut her figure even better than Gark had ever imagined. Me’lin strode into the chapel to the sound of the music, the entire crowd standing. Typically, the father of the bride would be there, but he wasn’t able to attend for his daughter’s wedding, so Me’lin’s sister instead accompanied her in. Everyone stood at attention, and Gark stiffened his back more. If he stood like this for about fifteen minutes, he’d probably start having back pain, he thought. So he finally loosened up a little bit. As the Twi’lek finally made her way to the front, the two shared a look at each other. Gark gave a very slight shrug, and Me’lin flashed a quick smile before turning to the chaplain. The man stepped forwards and started the ceremony. Gark wanted to move around in place; the chaplain’s voice was monotonous as all get out, and the Bothan wanted to know whose idea it was to get this guy to do the service. Also, it felt too warm in there, which compounded his sleepiness. As the minutes passed, Gark wanted to yawn, but he didn’t dare. That would be extremely rude, not just to the people in attendance, but mostly to his wife-to-be. She would be so upset if he suddenly interrupted the service by letting out a long, prolonged yawn. So he gutted the whole thing out, although he definitely wished he could get some rest. Finally, it seemed to be time to get to the best part, or the worst part, if one was a partier who didn’t really like having their independent freedom being constrained by this whole institution. The chaplain asked him if he was going to follow all the prescribed rites of marriage, and Gark said “I do” in a partly sleepy manner. He had needed to partially wake himself up to get to that. Now Me’lin was asked the same question. Gark watched her face intently; he didn’t think she was going to turn him down at this point, after all they had gone through. But as with many other things in Gark’s life, he wasn’t certain of anything until it actually happened. “I do,” she said. “Fine. I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the chaplain said. “You may now kiss the bride.” Dirxx pushed Gark in the back a little bit, and he almost stumbled clumsily over the end of Me’lin’s dress. But the moment was genuine, and the two newlyweds kissed each other for several long seconds. This was accompanied by a long round of applause from the people in the crowd, many of whom probably were bored as well. When the kiss was over, Gark looked at his new wife, who gave him another smile back. He then took out the ring that Dirxx tossed him and placed it on Me’lin’s finger. She had asked him days earlier if he wanted one as well, but Gark had politely declined. He didn’t want to have a ring on his finger mostly because it would probably get smashed at some point, and he didn’t want to have to deal with that afterwards. “Hurry up, would ya?” Dirxx hissed. “Some of us are hungry.” “Always thinking with your stomach,” Gark said, shaking his head. Dirxx was a basketcase when he was hungry. “Ready to go meet our adoring fans?” he asked Me’lin. “You just want a piece of cake,” she replied, winking. “OK, that too,” Gark said. “But it tastes so good . . .” “Let’s,” the Twi’lek said. She reached out and grabbed Gark’s hand, clasping on to it tightly. Gark typically would have blushed at this point, but he had developed enough of a sense for this mushy romantic stuff by now that it didn’t affect him as much nowadays. Also, perhaps some distraction, especially some cake, would help him wake up. Gark stuck the knife into the cake, Me’lin hanging on his shoulder as he did so. Everyone seemed to be staring straight through him, so what should have been a simple maneuver seemed to become ten times harder. The cake seemed to harden up almost immediately, and a bead of sweat formed on Gark’s face as he meticulously made the first cut. Finally the knife cut through the entire cake, and then he took a sigh of relief. Placing it down in another spot, he cut out the first piece and put in on a plate. “To the hungriest guy I know,” he said. “Get up here, Mr. Best Man, because I know you’re dying to have food.” “Way to call me out,” Dirxx replied, taking the plate. It looked so tiny in his large hands. “But, I won’t ever turn down food.” Some laughs came from the crowd. After about ten minutes, the cake had been completely cut up, and everyone was sitting down at the tables. Gark was sitting with his groomsmen, and had to laugh with them when Venn got some cake stuck in his fur and was trying to frantically clean it out with his hands. “Saving some for later?” Polis joked. Venn gave him a dirty look and kept on cleaning. “This is good,” Riff commented, finishing off his plate. “Have seconds?” “Is everyone on this team a glutton?” Gark asked. “No . . .” Riff said quickly, trying to defend himself. “I’m just hungry, that’s all.” “Don’t worry,” Gark replied. “There’s more food up there. You just need to go and get it.” As Riff stood up and walked away, Me’lin came around and placed her elbows on the back of Gark’s shoulders. “Hey,” she said. “We’re supposed to be greeting everyone, silly, not sitting around here playing with our food.” Once again, Venn provided a dirty look after hearing this, and Polis laughed. “All right,” Gark said. “Excuse me,” he said to the other two as he stood up. “How was the cake?” the Twi’lek asked. “Tasty,” Gark said. “You make that yourself?” “No,” Me’lin replied. “But I’d be willing to learn how. All I need is a recipe, and I’ll whip one up for us to split someday.” “I’d like that,” Gark said. Now he had cake on the brain; just great. Oh, and sleep, but that wasn’t edible. As the newlyweds walked around the room, Gark wasn’t quite sure why they were still there. They knew just about everyone there, and the few people Gark didn’t know were Me’lin’s friends. Gark wasn’t quite sure what they made of him with a first impression, but he hoped that it wasn’t anything negative. Gark had to congratulate Jed on becoming the head coach for Thyferra, which Jed tried to downplay a little because it wasn’t his moment to really gloat, and Pam hadn’t said much because both she and Gark knew that there would be plenty of time to talk later about team stuff. Due to the small guest list, it was a short walk around the room before Me’lin finally said that they could leave. Gark was already feeling rather sleepy, so leaving sounded like a good idea. As the party wound down, Me’lin prepared herself to do the traditional toss of the flowers behind her. Before this happened, Dirxx had already commented that this whole thing was just going to cause a problem, because it would pit four teammates against each other. It was a tradition, of course, but he wasn’t sure if any of the four bridesmaids would play fair in this instance. Gark looked behind him as the Twi’lek tossed the flowers over her head, watching their arc as they fell towards the ground. Bel tried to jump and grab it, but she was brought down to the ground by Alysha. Gark wanted to facepalm, but that would be rude. Izzi somehow managed to snatch them out of the air by outstretching Demetra, and she celebrated a little as the other three looked extremely unhappy. “You realize that this means nothing, right?” Polis said behind them. “Shut up, Polis,” Alysha and Izzi both said in a disgruntled tone. “Sor-ry,” Polis said, looking away. The newlyweds got themselves into Gark’s speeder as the crowd behind them cheered, although Gark guessed Dirxx was just doing it because he liked the cake. As he settled into the driver’s seat, the Bothan was hit was a real tired feeling; he could definitely drive to the new S’rily residence, but he couldn’t guarantee anything after that. He had finally hit the sleep wall, and he needed rest. During the drive, Gark yawned several times, each time making his mind more muddled. He tried to blink to clear his head, but the fog of sleep deprivation was starting to set in. Finally, the speeder parked in the driveway of the house, and Gark got out first. It was customary for the man to carry his new wife into the house, but Gark wasn’t quite sure if that was such a good idea. No doubt he could lift Me’lin off her feet easily, but it was the matter that he was afraid of dropping her on the ground if he finally just hit the energy wall. So he just decided to open the door for her and let her walk in. She gave him an odd look, but didn’t say anything. Once inside, Gark made a beeline for the couch. He sat down on its plushy seat, and his mind started to fade. He was able to get his suit jacket and shoes off, leaving a black dress shirt visible. “I’ve got a few things I need to get done,” his wife said. “Hope you don’t mind too badly . . .” But Gark didn’t really process this statement. As soon as Me’lin left the room, the floodgates of tiredness opened, and Gark fell over on the surface of the couch flat on his face, out cold. When Me’lin appeared again about half an hour later, she saw her husband sleeping soundly on the couch. Smirking, but understanding as always, she went off to find a pillow and blanket. Propping Gark’s head up on the pillow, she stretched the blanket over him before busying herself once again.