Caoimhe (Kiva) Levecque lives in 21st century Boston, a Political Science major working the average office job. What happens when an accident sends her into Les Miserables? Clearly, it will be a struggle to fit in and total culture shock. Follow Cao...
(I'm sorry D: I love this song and I just couldn't help it!)
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"How fortunate you are to have a wedding in a church!"
Caoimhe raised an eyebrow at Musichetta's exclamation. Since when did people not have weddings in a place of worship? She understood that in her time, people were fond of destination weddings or nonreligious ceremonies, but she had assumed that in this time, religion was important. Yet, why was it so shocking that she was getting married in a church?
"Yes, that is fortunate," She had no choice but to agree since she didn't want to seem confused. Musichetta was sitting beside her as she got her hair done by Isabelle once again. This time, she had put it in an large bun with curl framing both sides of her face. She was already in her dress or rather, Alexandrine's dress. It was uncomfortable, physically and mentally. Caoimhe didn't like wearing Enjolras's dead sister's dress, but she went through with it.
"You look very beautiful!"
"You look well yourself!"
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Everyone had been unprepared for the wedding, so Musichetta had to made do with what she had. She chose her yellow dress with dark purple flowers that she had brought as a backup to her dress for dinner. Her hair was pinned up as well, however she had no curls. Her make up was already done as well. It had been decided that the wedding would be a small affair considering they had to begin their return to Paris tomorrow, so Musichetta wasn't too upset over the lack of fashion. She could only pull off so much.
There was a knock at the door. Isabelle paused but Caoimhe stopped her, "Musichetta can get the door, Mademoiselle. You're nearly done."
So up Musichetta went, opening the door. Combeferre stood before her, formally dressed. He cleared his throat, "It's almost time, Marie..."
She was beginning to hate that name. Marie was not her name, it was Caoimhe. But now she was stuck with it. Isabelle curtsied, "We're nearly done, Monsieur Combeferre."
"My, my, my... If Enjolras's marble facade doesn't crack when he sees you, I might doubt he's human," Combeferre teased, "No offense to your employers, Mademoiselle. It's just that young man is quite the statue..."
