`you've lost than loooving feeeeling [ALEX]

[penn justice prescott]

It had all been a whirlwind for Penn; he had only been back in town but a day or two and he was already getting swept up in the wedding hysteria that had seemed to have seized the town at gunpoint. It didn’t take long after reuniting with Alyson for her to sink her claws into him. As of now, she’d managed to charm her way into getting him to do a multitude of favors for her pertaining to the wedding, including calling the florists to double check their order and running the menu off to the catering service. He was a man’s man; the kind of guy that goes camping, guts fish, and enjoys a cool beer at the end of the day, but when it came to Aly, he was about as soft and malleable as putty. She could get him to do just about anything with a simple flutter of her eyelashes and a pout on her pink lips.

So here he was, once again at her service, getting stuck with pins by an awful little woman with prodding fingers, all for the sake of getting fitted for a suit. He’d suggested to her just using one of the suits he already owned. After all, he had about a million considering he was the son of a lady who abhorred casual attire and had also worked at a real-estate firm for close to twenty years. Alyson nearly clubbed him over the head with her wedding planning book for that; she wouldn’t let him go till she’d outlined how it was of the utmost importance that he matched Finn and the rest of the groomsmen.

“Ouch!” he exclaimed, feeling the prick of the sneaky little needle in his Achilles tendon. The seamstress, perpetrator of the wound, slapped him on the leg as if he were a naughty school boy misbehaving. “That’s what happens when you squirm,” she hissed, continuing on with hemming on the legs of his pants, which incidentally, were entirely too long. Penn scowled, looking at his reflection in the floor length mirror. He looked uncomfortable; stuffy even. It had been forever since he’d suited up. He’d had no cause for it; suits were generally considered impractical Bangladeshi heat.

Once again he felt a jab in his leg, this time more painful. “Jesus!” he yelped, skirting away from her grabby hands. “What did I tell you?! Just hush up and let me do my work!” the lady squawked, pushing her glasses father up the bridge of her nose before she ducked her head in concentration. “Fine, I’ll just stand here and quietly bleed,” he grumbled, running a hand over the sever cut of his hair. “THERE WILL BE NO BLEEDING IN THIS SUIT!” she warned loudly, her jowls quivering with frustration. Great. Getting yelled at by an old harpy with a potentially dangerous needle was so what he needed at the moment. Aly’s charm was wearing thin right now and Penn was beginning to remember how much he didn’t want to do this.