The Ice Dragon and the Flame Princess

Nokomis

Rating: PG13
Genres: Humor
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 6
Published: 24/02/2006
Last Updated: 24/02/2006
Status: completed

or, The Tumultuous Courtship of Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley: A Parody.

Chapters

1. The Ice Dragon and the Flame Princess

1. The Ice Dragon and the Flame Princess

Notes: No characters, places or cliches belong to me. Many thanks to the lovely Rainpuddle13 for the beta!

***********

Ginny was in the Quidditch locker room, hot and sweaty after a particularly harrowing game against Slytherin. At one point, after yelling a particularly vile insult against Malfoy, she had been smacked with a Bludger, knocking her from her broom.

Malfoy, utterly ignoring the fact that she was both his foe on and off the field, as well as the loudmouth who had just said something very uncomplimentary about his mother’s hygiene, had swooped in to catch her heroically.

He clutched her to his chest, copping a feel as he saved her life, and Ginny felt a surge of lust zoom straight to her heart. Yes, she was quite sure that every tingly feeling she had was centered in her heart, as she opened her frightened eyes and unclenched her frightened fists from Malfoy’s Quidditch uniform.

“The professors would have stopped me before I hit the ground,” she said.

“Then I wouldn’t have gotten to cop that feel,” Malfoy pointed out pragmatically. “You’ve certainly filled out over the summer, Miss Weasley. Very nice.”

“You would have won the game,” Ginny said, blithely ignoring the reference to her new and improved bustline. “And then Pansy would have given you quite a few feels.”

“She’s an unstable bitch,” Malfoy said without really wanting to. His mouth was forming words he hadn’t ever dreamed of speaking to the Weasley girl’s face. “And your hair is so beautiful in the sunlight.”

Ginny gave Malfoy an odd look. “Do you fancy boys? Because none of my brothers would have a go with you.”

“I don’t fancy boys,” Malfoy said, annoyed. “I meant I fancy you.”

“Humph,” Ginny said as they touched down on the ground of the Quidditch pitch and she was immediately accosted by various friends, faculty and family making sure the evil Slytherin and the mean Bludger had left her unharmed.

She had finally extricated herself from their well-meaning claws, and now sighed at the pleasurable prospect of a hot shower. She stripped down and entered the showers, shocked to find a naked and wet boy soaping himself.

“Malfoy, what are you doing here?” she yelped, thankful for the strategic steam that preserved her modesty.

“Clearly, I’m showering,” Malfoy drawled, turning a bit to give her an even better look at his godlike physique.

Ginny licked her lips and then called Malfoy a ferret and a Death Eater wannabe (since she could see that he didn’t at the moment possess a Dark Mark) and just for kicks insulted his manhood, which in all reality was a very fine specimen but she was sure that all males had some sort of innate inferiority complex that would make the insult work.

Instead, Malfoy just offered her a chance for closer inspection, and Ginny had agreed before she really knew what was going on.

The action was halted before it got truly out of hand at the sound of the locker door opening.

“Eep!” both Draco and Ginny cried, realizing that they were seconds away from being caught in a very compromising position.

“Look, over there!” Ginny hissed. “A broom closet!”

They scampered to the closet, grabbing two towels along the way, as being wet and naked in an unheated broom closet in the Highlands in autumn is no laughing matter. Pneumonia wasn’t quite as sexy as teenage fantasies about playing nurse in the Hospital Wing might make it out to be.

They settled in the closet, Ginny perched on an overturned bucket, modestly keeping her knees locked together and one hand on the knot in her towel, and Draco slouched against the wall, looking lean and mean with his low-slung (of course) towel.

“You know, you’re kind of alright, for a Weasley,” Draco said.

“And you seem as though you might be more than just a horrid little snot of a Death Eater,” Ginny said appraisingly.

They made out for a minute.

“We mustn’t!” Ginny cried, pulling away, coming to her senses and clasping Draco’s hands in her own. “It’s so wrong, because our families hate one another and we’re on different sides of the war and you’re in icky Slytherin!”

“But we’re so right together!” Draco said, pulling her close and kissing her soundly.

Ron walked in and turned red as his hair before shrieking like a girl over his sister’s propriety.

*

The next day, Ginny studiously ignored the set of smoldering grey eyes fixed on her in the Great Hall over breakfast.

“Students!” said the Headmaster, a man who looked, sounded and was nonsensical like Dumbledore, who was in fact dead, yet no one really acknowledged this turn of events or the fallout. No one was prepared for things at Hogwarts to be any different, after all, so they all practiced the Muggle-like tactic of seeing what they wanted.

“I’ve a grand idea,” continued the Headmaster. “We’re going to pair up students in an attempt to stop this silly inter-house rivalry that the faculty has, admittedly, been fostering for generations. Since the school was opened, in fact. But, anyway, here are our COMPLETELY RANDOM assignments for which you must complete this highly personal survey with.”

Ginny was shocked to see Draco Malfoy’s name on her fancy little card designating her partner. Ron, ignoring the fact he’d been partnered with Pansy Parkinson That Bitch himself, fussed and yelled and generally made a spectacle of himself at the notion of Draco Malfoy being near his sister.

Ginny noticed curiously that he seemed to have forgotten all about the previous night’s towel-clad escapades.

Draco sauntered across the hall and drawled lazily at Ginny, “Meet me tonight to do this ridiculous survey, Weaselette.”

Ginny unleashed an impolite barrage of insults on his family, appearance and legitimacy, then agreed.

That night, they stood before the Room of Requirement.

“Won’t, you know, every other person ever have thought of meeting here?” Draco asked. “The library’s usually quieter.”

Ginny shook her head. “I don’t like to be near so many books. Gives me the willies.”

Draco wisely let that one slide. “Well, let’s get this over with,” he said, and they entered the room.

A large, four poster bed dominated the room. It was covered in black silk sheets, with blood red pillowcases contrasting decadently. Candles flickered around the room, bathing everything in a soft, romantic light.

“This isn’t an educational environment,” Draco said. “It looks exactly like my private room.”

Ginny looked around. “It appears as though the Room read our minds and knows that our outward disdain and dislike only mean we’re hot for one another’s bods!”

Draco shrugged and said, “I’m not one to turn down a hot piece of tail.”

Ginny threw off her robes, and was slightly shocked (and mildly disturbed) to see that the Room of Requirement had provided her with some sexy lingerie. Red lace teddy, black lacy garters, a rather tarty pair of fishnets and, oddly enough, stiletto heels she hadn’t realized she was wearing.

As Draco feasted his eyes Ginny sort of picked at the itchy bits, reflecting that the plain white cotton knickers her mother persisted in buying her were a great deal more comfortable. Then Draco swept off his robes to reveal black silk boxers that perfectly matched the bed, and they fell into each other’s arms passionately.

And thus, Draco Malfoy deflowered Ginny Weasley, in a room filled with flickering light and slippery sheets. Actually, they slid off the bed half-way through, and the actually deflowering took place on the floor, but Ginny left that part out when she replayed it in her mind. She also added some unicorns and fireworks, but that was only natural.

Afterwards, Ginny professed her love. Draco, unlike every other teenage boy in the universe, did not freak out, but instead soulfully stared back into her eyes and told her she was the only one who meant anything to him.

They decided a secret affair was in order, since neither really wanted to tell their friends who they were doing. They’d never hear the end of it.

**

Ginny sauntered into class the next day wearing her Room of Requirement-furnished fishnets and a red and black vinyl corset she had picked up at Hot Topic. It had been a bit of a jaunt, all the way across the Atlantic, but she felt her individualism was best expressed by wearing trendy goth-punk clothing from a retail store in an American mall.

“You’ve been moved up a year in Potions,” Professor Snape informed her. “Come back later.”

“Alright,” Ginny said, surly and full of badass attitude.

She came back later, and ignored her brother in order to sit next to Malfoy, acting as though Snape had commanded it. Malfoy was so radiantly beautiful in the dim light of the dungeons that he appeared to be an angel.

Ginny tossed her blood-red hair and glanced at her brother, who was drooling over her boyfriend. She then paid attention to the other people in the class, and discovered that everyone was eyeing Malfoy like a Hippogriff eyed, well, Malfoy.

She resisted the urge to announce he was hers, eyes off, but remembered that they were keeping their relationship a secret. During class she answered everything right, beating out even Hermione, and after class she stuck around to chat with her new boyfriend.

“So when did you become such hot stuff?” she asked, pouting sexily.

“You know nothing about me, Virginia,” Malfoy menaced, looking as dastardly as a sixteen year old boy was able.

“Ginevra,” Ginny corrected automatically.

“Ginevra?” Draco asked with a raised eyebrow, somehow managing to look noble and disdainful.

“You shouldn’t assume my name was Virginia, just because I’m Ginny,” Ginny admonished. “Why would a pureblood family name their daughter after a state in America?”

There was nothing else to say after that, really.

*

Three hours later, they decided they couldn’t bear to be apart, so they began their quest to make love on every surface in Hogwarts without being caught, despite the fact that Hogwarts was a very traditional institution that didn’t even like girls wearing gaudy hairclips.

After a marathon session in the Room of Requirement, Ginny was about to nod off when Draco spoke up.

“So, do you prefer the newer or older Weird Sisters music?” Draco asked, lying languidly on his side, head resting on his elbow and blond hair falling artfully into his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Ginny asked in horror.

“Starting a conversation?” Draco answered. “You know, when two people exchange words politely to learn more about one another?”

“We don’t converse,” Ginny said. “We exchange witty repartee, we argue, we get all hot and bothered and we shag like bunnies. That’s it.”

“But the arguing and witty repartee grow wearisome after a while,” Draco said.

“Then we skip straight to steps three and four,” Ginny replied. “This is not a relationship built on deep trust and understanding.”

“I thought girls wanted a sensitive, caring boyfriend,” Draco said, confused. “I was trying...”

“That was very nice, but mostly I’m in this for the mind-blowing sex and the thrill of the forbidden,“ Ginny said. “Save the conversation for someone who cares about you as a person.”

Draco looked at her suspiciously. “Am I allowed to say that?”

“Of course not,” Ginny said airily. “If you said that you’d be a pig, and I’d have to cut you off out of sheer principle. But I can say that because I’m a girl who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to take it. You’re hardly going to cut me off, after all.”

*

“Oh,” Ginny muttered. “Dear. Dearie me.”

There was no denying the result of the test. She was pregnant.

Her first thought was an uncomplimentary one about the way the pregnancy potion bubbled a cheerful pink, signifying that she was indeed in possession of a baby Malfoy. Well, the test didn’t specify that the baby was a Malfoy, as she hoped there wasn’t enough demand for such a thing, but it did confirm the baby itself.

Wait, maybe the baby wasn’t a Malfoy. That would simplify things quite a bit. The absolute only flaw in the plan was that she couldn’t recall actually having sex with anyone else, but everyone knew how fickle memory was.

Her second thought, following the few non-sequential thoughts she’d had after the first one, was that she absolutely was not going to tell Draco about this baby. The jokes about Weasley fertility would be endless, and she didn’t want her child growing up fatherless and with a mother in Azkaban for murder to boot.

Then she remembered, in a fit of woe, that Draco was, more likely than not, earning himself a one-way ticket to Azkaban because he’d gone and become a Death Eater for some flimsy reason involving his love and loyalty to his family. Besides, they’d broken up again on Tuesday and she definitely wasn’t speaking to him.

It’s better to just let him go, she thought to herself, since she loved him so.

When she entered his room to tell him the news, she found him packing his things.

“What are you doing?” she asked, horror-struck at the thought of being left.

“Joining the war,” Draco said.

“You can’t go!” she cried. “I love you!”

He dropped his white mask and said, “I love you too!”

They embraced, and Ginny never wanted to let him go. However, Draco stood firmly by his beliefs, and the next day, he went to the front lines of the war. She clutched her belly, where the child they’d made was growing, oblivious to the fact its father might die at any moment. She hadn’t even told Draco, because she didn’t want him to fret.

“I’ll take care of you,” she whispered to her unborn child.

Over the next few weeks, Ginny cherished every missive Draco sent her.

Dear Ginny,

This whole war thing kind of bites. I mean, they didn’t say that I’d be standing around in these robes- which are wool and quite overwarm in the summer - all bloody day. And there isn’t nearly so much of the infamous Muggle-torturing. Mostly we play Exploding Snaps.

Love me while I’m gone,

Draco.

She wrote back an epic letter explaining the depths of her feelings.

Dear Ginny,

I appreciate that I’m irresistible and hard to get off your mind. I would however like to hear how my Mum’s doing. And the Falmouth Falcons. I really miss sex with you.

Draco

That was the last letter she got. After a few agonizing weeks, she wrote Vincent Crabbe, who replied:

Draco says writing letters is boring. He’d rather play with the werewolf cubs.

Crabbe

Ginny was so angry after that letter that she burned all her pictures of Draco and put him firmly out of her mind.

****

Four years later...

*

Ginny groaned, and held her head in both hands. “What did I do last night?”

“Pretty much everything,” came a sleepy, contented voice to her left.

Ginny yelped, having thought her question both rhetorical and addressed to no one other than her Pygmy Puff. She made sure that her naked body was covered by the blanket, then looked over to see a tousled blond head and familiar sharp features.

“Well, this is awkward,” Ginny said. She considered how to extricate herself from the bed preserving both her dignity and her gag reflex.

“Not as awkward as it was the first ten times,” Draco offered, rolling over and shoving a pillow over his head. “Merlin, woman, must you always upchuck at the sight of me?”

“Yes, because I always catch sight of you after consuming half the alcohol in Britain,” Ginny grumbled, coming back from the bathroom chastely covered by a ratty robe and glaring at the wizard in her bed.

“It’s not my fault you’re a right tart once you’re besotted,” Draco said. “I’m a right manly man, after all, and can’t be expected resist a decent pair of bazoombas when they’re thrust right in my face.”

Ginny managed not to blush, which she thought was an extreme level of abuse to her self-control. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said instead, running over the lines she practically knew by heart. Draco was right; they did seem to fall drunkenly into bed with increasing regularity. In fact...

“You know, we have rather a long history,” Ginny said reflectively. “Remember that whole tragic-romance thing we had going at Hogwarts?”

“Please don’t remind me of that,” Draco said. “I spent rather a lot of time with my head in a Pensieve trying to get rid of the worst of those memories.”

“Hmm, never thought of that,” Ginny said reflectively.

“That’s because you’re a dumb Weaselette,” Draco mumbled into her pillow. Ginny felt no qualms about kicking a naked man when he was down.

*

The next day, Ginny sauntered into her new job as Healer at a company that made broomsticks, and was shocked to see none other than Draco Malfoy sitting behind the big boss’s desk.

“Um,” she said. “Are we waiting for the owner to show up?”

Draco gave her a cold look. “I am the owner.

“But Death Eaters don’t make broomsticks!” Ginny said. Had she accidentally supported the dark side when she’d purchased that new Cleansweep?

“Well, I do,” said Draco testily. “Are you gonna work for me or not?”

“Sure,” Ginny said, distracted by his masculine beauty. “Hey, do you want to make out on your desk? It’s in no way inappropriate, what with me being your employee and whatnot.”

“Sure,” said Draco. “I’m always willing to lose face with all my investors and other employees and my secretary in order to get in some on-the-clock snogging.”

*

Two weeks later, Ginny awoke and felt terrible.

“Glurg,” she said, hugging the toilet. “What’s wrong with me?”

She then looked in the mirror, and let out a scream at the sight of the crazy Wiccan tattoo covering her collarbone.

Quickly, she Flooed her mother, pointing to the mark and babbling, “What’s this? What’s this?”

“Oh, dear,” Molly said. “You’d best come over. We have something to tell you.”

Ginny arrived to find the house devoid of all Weasley children and grandchildren, and her parents looking as though the world was about to come to an end.

“What’s wrong with me?” she wailed. “You’re really making me quite nervous.”

“That tattoo,” Arthur said, “means that the ancient curse upon Weasley women has begun to work its magic upon you.”

“Ancient curse?” Ginny said, growing more nervous by the moment.

Molly nodded gravely. “You will find yourself inexplicably in love with beets.”

“Beets?” Ginny asked.

Arthur nodded gravely. “They’re quite healthy for you, and Weasley women historically speaking weren’t fond of them. So they were cursed so they would finally eat them and stop wasting food.”

“That’s a relief,” Ginny said. “I thought it was going to be some sort of arranged marriage with a family we hate or else certain death.”

“Of course not, dear,” Molly said. “That’s quite silly, isn’t it?”

*

“So,” said Draco the next time they met. “I have an interesting proposition for you.”

Ginny felt wary, but agreed to hear his interesting proposition. As it turned out, it was nothing flabbergasting. Rather, Draco simply wanted to take her out for a proper dinner.

“We seem to be thrown together a lot,” he concluded. “Seems like we may as well go with it.”

“Sure,” Ginny said.

She headed back to work, straightening her Healer uniform and tending to the injuries that were inevitable when one test drove a newly designed broom.

She thought again about the issue that had been bothering her, and made a decision. She would talk to Draco about it tonight.

She spent an extra amount of time getting ready, arranging her hair artfully and wearing her most spectacular set of dress robes, the red ones her mother deemed slatternish but the male population appreciated greatly.

Draco looked surprised, then utterly appreciative of her choice of wardrobe, trailing a finger over her mostly bare shoulder before murmuring, “Dinner is all it takes to get you into something like this?”

Ginny smiled, then announced, “I think we should get married.”

Draco chocked on his wine and gasped, “What? No!”

Ginny sighed. “A sham marriage, clearly.”

“I’m stuck on why,” Draco said. He had composed himself, but his face was oddly red and his hair sticking at an odd angle. Ginny thought he looked rather flummoxed.

“Well,” Ginny said, sighing, “Because I pinky-swore Colin Creevey second year that if I hadn’t gotten married by the time I was twenty-two, which seemed quite a bit older when I was twelve, thank you very much, I would marry him.”

“So if I don’t pretend-marry you then you marry Creevey?” Draco asked, amused.

Ginny decided it was time to turn into a sultry siren; otherwise she might end up with the hyperactive photographer. “Please?” she said, trailing her hand along his arm. “I’ll do anything.”

*

“Oh, my, is that young Mr. Malfoy?”

Ginny wished that the floor would swallow her up as she heard her mother’s voice. She briefly considered Apparating, but just then Molly entered the room, a huge smile on her face as she took in the sight of her daughter’s lover.

Draco looked wary as he saw the ecstatic look on Molly’s face. “Hello, Mrs. Weasley,” he managed.

“Oh, he has such wonderful manners,” Molly gushed. She swept him up in a big hug, as Draco looked increasingly uncomfortable.

“Oh, is the boy here?” Arthur popped into the room, hair sticking up at eccentric angles and smiling vacantly as he clutched a plug and a remote control. “Look, Muggle things! Aren’t they quaint?”

“Erm,” Draco said. He turned to Ginny and whispered, “I thought your father had managed to provide for a large family on a small income.” He glanced over at Arthur, who was theorizing about the uses of a large wooden spoon. “Isn’t he a bit batty for that?”

“It’ll pass,” said Ginny, who had become used to her father behaving, well, like a madman on occasion. Usually on important occasions, instead of being the quietly competent man he was when nothing of import was occurring.

“Well, I’m off to fiddle with my toys in the shed,” Arthur said. “It’s been nice to meet you, son.”

“Son?” sputtered Draco. He glared accusingly at Ginny. “You didn’t tell me that just walking in this hovel would somehow initiate me into your barbarian, unfashionable clan.”

“Well,” Ginny said, “I sort of told them we were engaged.”

Molly stared off in space, oblivious to the heated exchange going on a mere arm’s length away.

“Why the bloody hell would you do that?” Draco asked. “We agreed to keep this sham a secret. On the pain of death, we promised!”

“Mummy!” came a cry. An adorable blonde girl, with bouncing curls and a smile on her perfect round cheeks, came bounding down the stairs.

“So they’d finally stop fussing about our illegitimate love child?” Ginny offered meekly. “I kept hedging around their constant badgering about who the daddy was, but finally they put together the facts that Ron saw us making out at Hogwarts and the fact that my daughter had blonde hair, grey eyes and impeccable taste in wine and realized it was you.”

“Damn it,” said Draco, resigned. “Shower or silk sheets?”

Ginny shrugged delicately, uncomfortable with speaking of underage nookie while her mother stood idly by and her daughter shone with a radiant inner light as she precociously read her favorite picture book.

“What’s she called?” Draco asked, giving the little girl another look. “And why did you keep something like that a secret?”

“I had any number of thin excuses,” Ginny said, “but mostly I didn’t want you to see me fat. It took a bit of time to get rid of the baby weight.”

“Ah,” said Draco, thankful of being spared having to tell a fat and cranky woman how much she was glowing. “And the name?”

Ginny had the grace to look abashed. “Priscylla.”

“Priscylla what, exactly?” Draco demanded.

“Priscylla Maia Weasley,” Ginny said, then spelled it out so Draco could understand the brevity of the situation.

“But why?” Draco asked, both horrified at the thought of his progeny bearing such a horrid name and selfishly grateful he’d finally discovered a name more terrible than his own.

“Well, the Healers give you rather a lot of deliciously mind-numbing potions when you give birth, and no one bothered to stop me. I think I thought I was signing into a hotel under a silly alias.”

Draco eyed the child. As a rule, he found children to be annoying little brats who were constantly sticky and asking inappropriate questions.

“Who are you?” asked little Priscylla.

Draco felt his dislike was justified.

“Prissy,” Ginny said in an insipid little voice that Draco felt was utterly unnecessary and only pandered to the rugrat. “This is your daddy.”

Draco immediately objected to being called daddy, unless it was in very special and very adult circumstances, in which case, if that happened to be your bag, then he wasn’t going to stop you. Ginny and the child wholly ignored his wishes.

“Then why haven’t I seen him before?” Priscylla asked.

“Because,” Ginny said, then clearly drew a blank. She turned to Draco. “Honey?”

When had he become honey? Merlin, three hours ago Ginny had been screaming any manner of dirty nicknames which he heartily approved of while riding him like a bucking bronco. This parenthood thing was already cramping his style.

“Well,” he said slowly, “I haven’t been around because your mother’s a bit of a trollop and felt no need to tell me about your existence. Really, she’s a lovely lady, your mum, very considerate.”

The way Ginny was glaring at him made him realize the necessity of a tactical retreat. “Oh, look at the time,” he said, pointing wildly at the nearby clock. “I have some very important business meetings at the company I own and manage myself since my parents, though sadly not dead or imprisoned because I don’t want to angst constantly, squandered away the family fortune on a mad dictator, and I was forced to start my own company which has skyrocketed in worth in a mere ten months, despite the fact that the wizarding economy is dodgy at the best of times and utterly without prospect during the aftermath of a catastrophic war.”

“Erm,” Ginny said, unsure of the proper response to such an outpouring. “How are your parents?”

“Quite well,” Draco replied. “They’ve gone to the continent until everything’s blown over. I would take you to visit them, but then I’d have to admit to them that I like you, and I’m not quite prepared to go that far with this train wreck.”

“Well,” Molly said quite suddenly. “Draco, you must come to a family dinner tonight. Since you’re family.”

Draco wondered if it was possible to use the Killing Curse on oneself.

Ginny gave him a pleading look.

“Fine,” he said. “But I’d best be getting something very good and very naughty in return.”

“Fine,” agreed Ginny.

That evening, Draco stared aghast as an entire rabble of Weasley brothers marched in.

“Rabble, Rabble,” muttered the masses as Ron took the role of spokesman. “I can’t believe you’re marrying that! He’s evil! He’s too smooth to be trusted! He’s much too handsome to be taken off the market for some slattern!”

“Rabble,” agreed an anonymous Weasley brother.

Draco felt very uncomfortable. “Excuse me,” he muttered, sliding out of his chair and slipping to the bathroom.

He found, to his alarm, anti-Apparation wards, and was trying to squirm his way out the window when Ginny found him.

“It isn’t that bad,” she said.

“Yes it is,” Draco said, wiggling his bum to try and dislodge himself. There was no reason for a window to be this small. “That demon child kept flinging potatoes at me.”

“Prissy isn’t that bad,’ Ginny offered.

“I’ve been to your flat a dozen times. Why haven’t I ever seen her?”

Ginny blushed. “I leave her here. She’s just so inconvenient, and asks all sorts of awkward questions when I want to have a night of drunken escapades. And she really is a bit of a creepy child, all precocious and wide-eyed. But Mum likes her well enough.”

Draco nodded. “At least she doesn’t have pink hair.”

They both shuddered. After some effort, Ginny and Draco’s combined efforts dislodged him from the window.

“You know,” he said reflectively, “we could just... leave.”

“Leave?” Ginny’s eyes shone with hope. “All of this?”

“Every bit,” Draco confirmed.

“What are we waiting for?”

***

In case it escaped anyone’s notice, this was humorfic. Parody. Not serious in the slightest bit. Hope it you enjoyed! ~Nokomis305