wake me up, I'm about to give it up

People made a big deal out of the clothes box, and Faye couldn't understand why. Or, perhaps that wasn't entirely accurate. That a box could provide an unlimited amount of clothing was certainly interesting, downright near creepy for anyone who hadn't encountered magic before (and Faye was in that number, as weird as that felt to say). But most people didn't bother with that. Most people were taken instead by the sense of humor that the box had, coughing up outfits that were anything but appropriate— some too dowdy, others reminders of pasts that nobody was fully able to escape. The latter bit didn't bother Faye, really. People were like that. People were inconsiderate, selfish, weak, soft, and just about any other insult that she could throw, and they were that on a regular basis, kindness being somewhat of an exception. That the box took after people was strange, but nothing more than that.

Which was what brought her to the laundry room that morning.

Sliding to her knees, Faye tucked her hair behind an ear as she reached in, the tiniest of smirks on her lips before she closed her eyes and pulled the first thing out that she felt. A peek from the corner of her eye told her that it was bright. A searing orange. Opening her eyes all the way, Faye found that what she was holding onto was a pair of shorts. Hot pants.

Basically, an outfit precisely like the one she wore, baring too much (or not enough, to those who thought her a tease), but in a different hue. Faye laughed, holding it up to herself, amazed.

"Guess somebody out there likes me."

hey hurry up, lately it's been hard enough

Swindling people wasn't always about the money. Of course, the money was a good touch, and the reason why Faye took to it so much back home, racking up woolong until she could take herself on long, regular shopping sprees. More often than not, though, it was the thrill of being a cheat, with the risk of being caught on her shoulders at every turn. Trying to move that magnetic anklet on her leg just right, trying for nonchalant, so people wouldn't notice the soft thud of dice against the table as they came down in her favor. Not everything she did was cheating, of course. She knew full well that the best swindling happened when it was only an occasional thing, racking up enough truth to make people just slightly too wary to start pointing fingers. She was skilled in these sorts of games, had learned about probability long ago, to the point where even in an honest game of poker, she swept the table more often than not.

So even though all they had to gamble for on the island were mangoes and bananas, she still desperately wanted to cheat some people out of their hard-earned efforts, just to see how they'd react, and if the people on the island were half as naive as they proclaimed to be.

When a man stepped into the room, tall and handsome, a shade of a smile in his eye, Faye laid out a spread of cards that she'd managed to find in the rec room, looking at him invitingly.

"Wanna play?"

try to shut me up, when you know you should wish me luck

If there was one thing which was good about the bookshelf, it was that it made it possible to learn about just about anything, provided one was lucky enough. Faye had entered the rec room in a fit of curiosity that morning, gradually making her way around to all of the magic items on the island. The jukebox had taken up a slow, quiet jazz number in the background, one that reminded her of a certain saxophone player from a lifetime ago as she walked over to the shelf, running her hand along the smooth wooden panel, and staring at what it had to offer. Books about space. Books about Mars, about expeditions that even she could remember now, from before time had decided to leave her behind for half a century. Books about Welsh Corgis. Even a book that looked more like a set of records, one that flashed to her from the end, a familiar seal on its spine that she refused to look at any more closely (and fortunately for it, it disappeared by the time she looked at it next). But the collection that caught her eye the most, a series of photobooks with wide, glossy covers, was a set of books on Singapore.

She'd hesitated for about five minutes, a couple of others coming and going, before she pulled them out and settled on the couch, trembling fingers brushing over the surface of each.

Which was when the jukebox decided to change its tune, something orchestral, which practically vibrated the room around her as a man walked inside. With her brows furrowed, she stared at the direction of the box, then at the familiar face. "Does it always do that when you arrive?" she asked, eyebrow arched.