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It feels like some cruel joke when the island decides to change itself on the first day of the month. Not that she'd been thinking about breaking the news to Dean then, not really. Too much of a chance that it'd be misconstrued as some ill-timed and tasteless joke, and Faye thought that it was probably better that she come to a point where the very thought didn't make her want to hurl. It never came, of course. Every night passes with her stomach twisting unpleasantly, even with Dean's warmth pressed against her back, comforting and constant. Every meal has her trying to subtly tally up what she's eating, keep away from foods she once loved that wouldn't be good for the baby, putting the life of another before her own even when Faye feels like she can't even begin to think of it, of this, as creating something separate from the two of them. She looks normal in the mirror. Fatigue is a job hazard, a life hazard.

Yet the doctor was sure.

If there's one thing she's grateful for, it's that being tired all of the time means that she slips into sleep easily. Nightmares will occasionally strike as they do, but there's always this chance of ignoring the problem for a day longer. Two.

Faye waits a week before she decides, just out of conscience, that she can't wait anymore. Curled on the side of their bed, she stares at the patterns in the wall, blanket pulled high and over her shoulders as she waits for Dean to slip in as he always does when she stays over.

When Faye cuts across the path outside the Compound on her way back to the clinic, she wishes more than anything that she could cut the thread of tension that winds deep in her stomach. That niggling sense of dread that tells her that what the doctor has to report might not be at all what she wants to hear. She would give anything to not give a damn, to be content to solve all problems with a painkiller or two— sadly, the desire for self-preservation seems to outweigh, and before Faye steps into the building, she finds herself shaking out the nerves on the steps, a deep breath slipping between her teeth before she pushes inside.

She can do this.

Nothing can get worse than waking up to discover that you've missed fifty years and don't remember a thing, right?

Right.

It doesn't help that she's aching all over, groggy to no end, and that all she wants to do is crawl back into bed and sleep the day away. One wouldn't know it by her outfit though, a devilishly red halter looped around her neck and shorts that show off the length of her legs, skin still relatively pale in spite of the sunning she does every week.

She saunters in, and maybe she looks twice as confident as she feels.

"Hey," she greets, happy to have found a familiar face. "So... as requested, here for the results. Sorry for making you come in off hours."

With everything that's happened on the island as of late, Faye Valentine's concern about her health has ranked low on her list of priorities. A little bit of fatigue and soreness isn't much to worry about; delayed menstruation is probably just time catching up with her at last, now that she's arguably settled, and now that there's enough air to manage a breath or two. More important than her problems is attending to Dean, watching over Castiel, overseeing everything that Edward does. It at once runs contrary to her nature, and yet doesn't at all— to watch over others hasn't been Faye's modus operandi since she was a child, the years thereafter spent too wholly on herself, on making sure that no one would stamp her out of existence. That she wouldn't be shackled to a debt she never asked for. But it had been her nature, once, to watch out for others.

Maybe that's what makes the transition easier than what anyone might expect.

She passes a shallow breath between her teeth, steps into the clinic when she knows Dean isn't around, hand lingering on the wall and unsure how to do this, how to ask someone about her health when she hasn't truly set foot in a clinic or hospital for years.

"I know I didn't set up an appointment," Faye says uncertainly, leaning over the counter, "but I was hoping someone would have a few minutes to talk to me about some symptoms I've had recently."

If I tried to sum up the past few weeks for you, I'm not sure that I'd do a very good job of it. A lot's happened, and some of it feels like it's been in a blur, while in other ways, I'm still stuck. Somehow, it reminds me of what Spike told me once, that he had a way of living both in the past and the present, and it made everything appear as though in a dream. My heart still hasn't stopped beating faster than it has any right to, but it feels uneven, like it's trying to keep up with two different times. More than anything else, I want things to stop revolving around me. I want to stop feeling like I'm in the eye of a storm, that stepping out will only split me up as I'm scattered to the wind. I have anchors, I tell myself.

I might even have a home.

But I'm not the type of woman who can stand being trapped in her thoughts for long. There are butterflies, too, that appear at intervals, always where I can hardly see, and where they disappear before I turn my eyes in their direction at last. I keep moving, letting the bright yellow light push away with the momentum, until I've somehow managed to walk the space from my hut on the west coast of the island— how it is that we have cardinal points when the earth's purportedly flat, I'm not sure— over to the Compound, around the back, splaying over the trampoline and just staring up at the sky. The springs creak when I notice a familiar face in the distance, and this might be the first time the smile turns on immediately. That's the mark of friendship, right?

"Murdock," I call out, sitting up against the rim. "Come. Chat."

You can live through anything, now. You'll survive if the world is turned inside out. And it will be. Sooner than you think.

There are days when sleep seems to be a shroud that slips over Faye in waves, occasionally clinging to her shoulders, eyelids heavy as lashes touch her cheeks. It's easy to sleep here. It grow still more so by the day, only the occasional interruption keeping her up at night, but her life has been a transient one ever since she woke up in that chamber, and so she's learned to cope with that long ago. People might disappear. People will, if patterns persist. But she'll survive through anything.

She always has.

A touch, cold like ice, brushes against her arm. Another, against her calf. A hand brushes away the sensation with an irritated flick, only to feel something hard knocking against her knuckles. Brow furrowing, Faye's hand turns, pressing harder still against a smooth, rounded surface, until glass jars against glass and her eyes fly open. Revealing butterflies in the sky.

The most beautiful butterflies in the world.

Her breath starts to shake as she glances down, gold darting between pearls of cerulean blue, marble after marble closing around her from all sides, scattered across the sandy beach, a sharp pain under her hand as she shoves herself to her knees.

"No. I need a knife, I need—"

Hands desperately grabbing through air, she tries to push them away, every one of the butterflies, until a face suddenly appears only yards away.

"Get back."

[ There are a thousand blue marbles scattered across the beach, most of them pooled by Faye's side, her 2012 NDPD. The butterflies mentioned in the narrative are not real; they're the result of nanomachines in her bloodstream. Faye thinks that the marbles are biological weapons as she once encountered in her world, but they're actually harmless, although she's very obviously panicked as a result. ]

At the start of the New Year's Eve party, Faye had to remind herself that if there was any night for which she had to hold back on drinking, it was then. While normally not a person who hit the bars too often, there were definitely some drinks that she sorely missed from back in the day, bourbon whiskey burning the back of her throat with each blessed sip. But tomorrow was significant for more than just the start of a new year, and while in almost any other situation, Faye might have shrugged it off entirely— this time, she couldn't.

Groaning, Faye pulled herself to her feet before the sun crept above the horizon, reminding herself that she could push through the pounding against her temples for this. It wasn't very long before she returned from the Compound, arms laden with a simple chocolate cake and a carefully wrapped book from the shelf, complete with a ream of brightly colored origami paper, the same sort she'd enjoyed playing with as a child.

Sneaking back into the hut, she hoped that Edward hadn't already taken off for the day.

He told me to leave the past in the past. That it didn't matter. That everything we have to learn from the past, we've already taken in, and that getting trapped is... pointless. There's nothing to learn from it. Nothing to gain. For a long time, I fought against that idea in my head, because I guess I never really let go of the notion that I had a past at all.

But I do. And whether I like it or not, he's part of it.

There was this gym that I'd seen Jason climbing around before. Never really that I looked out for on the island, because when you have an abundance of trees and all too much bamboo to know what to do with, you're not short on objects to train with. But now that the island's turned into cities and buildings, let's just be honest: I don't know what to do with myself. I can't go punching walls, and the ghostly natives aren't about to stop for my boot anytime soon. So, armed with that little slip of paper, I go around searching for that gym. I find it before too long, not too far from the Compound, right around New Atlantis just as it was before. With heavy wrought iron and plenty of pads sprinkled around, it's just about the best place for me to be.

Dropping my leather jacket on the ground, wearing nothing more than a tank and trousers in the wintry air, I start punching the nearest bag with a sharp exhale.

At first, when Faye steps behind the opera house to find that Redtail has been altered, changed to allow for steam valves rather than her usual gas engine, she's furious. It's been months since she'd flown in the craft, short on fuel as she is, and having even the thought of escape torn from her is more than she can swallow in all of his snow, weather that she's been unaccustomed to since long before she landed on the island. A girl like her's meant for sun, for balmy beaches and summer breezes, the smell of suntan lotion as familiar to her as anything else. A girl like her keeps her ship in just enough shape to rush through space, stopping only when she gets lost in it, unafraid to push herself to her limit, and still ends up among the stars.

But a taxi passing by calls back her anger and draws her attention to the steam that rises into the air in whorls and puffs. Peering around the craft, she finds no fuel. No gas tank. Hours later, she's shoveled coal, sparked a fire, and the hiss of steam seems to manage just about everything— except that all gears have taken a turn for the worse, stuck in disrepair.

"Could be worse," she sighs to herself, tugging her jacket more closely around her shoulders as she rummages around in the back for a canister of oil and her tool kit, climbing out of the cockpit and situating herself underneath the belly of the ship. "So, how do we get you to fly again?"

Before anything else registered, as Faye Valentine slowly emerged from sleep that morning, she became distinctly aware of a mattress under her back. Of a down-filled pillow pressed up to her cheek. Of sheets, warm and smooth, and wintry air teasing at her cheeks where they peeked above the covers. Thinking it a dream, she tried to coax herself back to sleep, furiously burying her nose further into the pillow and enjoying, for once, what it felt like to sleep in a proper bed again.

But the very moment she began to try, she found herself growing increasingly alert, until she finally sat up with a disgruntled sigh, a hand scratching at an uncomfortable woven collar as her eyes blearily blinked open, only to fall on a dimly lit room and a crackling fire in the distance. Eyes traveling from one end of the room to the other, Faye leaned forward, her back in a hunch, as she tried to parse out what had happened. Obviously, she wasn't on the island. And this wasn't anywhere close to Bebop. The only real friend she'd made from an era like this was James Norrington, who had left the island long ago. So what had happened?

Ruffling her hair with one hand, Faye's free hand slipped under the pillowcase, until she felt the cool, smooth surface of metal and closed her fingers around an unfamiliar pistol. Loaded, she noted thankfully, checking the barrel. And through the shiver, she lowered herself to the floor, gripping the weapon tightly in hand as she decided to check the next room over, prepared to knock out an opponent if need be.

A deathwish is usually made long before it's realized. Before she was ever made Valentine, Faye was the type of girl who chased after dreams and would leap off the edge of a cliff without looking down. Reckless abandon was encouraged by a pair of parents so caring and attentive that she never wanted for anything, parents who cleared the path of brambles and branches for their daughter, never letting her feel so much as a scratch. To the girl who lived a life of safety, danger and risk were intoxicating and quickened the heart in a way that not even love could, forming thoughts that persisted even when memories had long since faded and broken away.

From early on, Faye was made to be a hunter.

It shows now, in the bright red that runs down from her knee and the harsh breathing that barely manages to fill her lungs. Her gun is held still and the aim true, save for the slight rattle of the weapon that comes from hands being raised through sheer willpower alone. All around Faye, their blood painting books dusty from disuse, are the bodies of Splicers. Figures, she's murmured to herself, that they'd all be hiding out behind stacks of books. Figures, that even men who lose their minds are nothing other than cowards.

Her breath is ragged with a slight protest, an unwillingness on Faye's part to let go. She just has one more. One more Splicer, who lopes around with predatory intent, that Faye needs to put down. She can do it. She could do it. But her vision is starting to swim and adrenaline is learning to fade, replaced by fatigue as her heel grinds against tile and startles the creature, inspires a flying rage.

"Shit," she bites out, raising her voice as she stumbles back, firing a couple of shots that barely clip its shoulder. "Dammit, hold still!"

It really said something about how much there was to do on Tabula Rasa, that Faye Valentine had offered herself up as a prize for a volunteer auction. With gambling being as fickle of a beast as it was, Faye had no way of guaranteeing that someone decent would win her as their prize. But maybe a part of her just didn't care anymore, would have been fine even with the dregs of island society opposite her at the dinner table, just as long as it meant having something interesting to deal with for a night. That was why she hadn't bothered asking around after this 'Felix Unger' character, figuring that it was best left to her vivid imagination until the night of the date.

And meanwhile, she could at least settle on a dress, an understated skin-toned fabric accented with a bright azure belt, the pattern sweet and feminine. While it was perfectly possible that Mr. Unger had seen her walking about the island in her hot pants and wouldn't be fooled by the facade, Faye preferred to put on a show, whatever would get her the most yield. Fine dining didn't exist on the island, and clothing she could get with enough pleading at the box's side, but Faye would have settled for plain old chivalry right then.

She waited by the entrance of the Winchester, having left a note in Felix's inbox to meet her there rather than at her doorstep. Hopeful she was (barely), but foolish Faye wasn't.

If he wasn't the type of man to take on a second date, she wasn't going to help him try.

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.

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?"

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."

Mother's information
Player name: Di
Pup name: Faye Valentine
Pup journal: attitude
Length of time this pup has been on the island: One year; since 2/2/11.

Father's information
Player name: Fahrbot
Pup name: Dean Winchester
Pup journal: weary_head
Length of time this pup has been on the island: Four years; since 2/11/08.

General information
Estimated due date: Late November.
Is this pregnancy planned or a surprise for your pups? Surprise.

How do you see this pregnancy and subsequent child impacting your character? How will this contribute to their overall storyline and development on the island? Please include an explanation of how this affects both the mother and the father (if the father is currently on the island).

Faye Valentine is a woman who hailed from a very loving family and had what was arguably a normal childhood. She had every intention of going out and grabbing life by the horns, starting a family of her own once she'd accomplished some of her dreams, but being caught in as serious of an accident as she was set that back entirely. She currently believes herself barren, so the surprise itself will have an immediately strong impact on her, and will in fact even be negative, as she's of a rather fatalistic mindset.

The short-term impact thus forces her to look at some of the issues she has surrounding abandonment; the longer goal would be to help her see that it's possible to maintain a family, particularly with someone she loves, and thus introduce her to a part of life she's always wanted, but gave up on long ago.

Dean will be over the moon from day one. While his sister is young enough that he's raising her as his own child, the familial distinction is clear in Dean's mind, and a child of his own is something he's wanted ever since Sam was old enough to leave home.

He will be an extremely hands on parent, interested and involved in every facet of the child's life, and also, possibly to Faye's annoyance, there for every step of the pregnancy. He'll likely propose within a month of finding out, and while he'll be shot down, this won't deter him at all from being there for both mother and child in every capacity he can.

In long terms, Dean is already well used to juggling many responsibilities and the needs of small children, and will take the changes that come with a new baby in stride. Above all, he'll be thrilled to be a father, and won't take it for granted for a second.

You are creating a new character that will need to be NPC'd through infancy and possibly become a played character in the long run. Please describe how you think this character may grow - what sort of person they will become, their personality and eventual place in the island as a whole.

Although she'll likely come to terms with being a mother before the child grows to notice one way or the other, a child reared in part by Faye Valentine is almost certainly going to experience a strange amount of distance from her mother. On the other hand, Dean is an intensely loyal person in a very tactile and immediate way, likely to be very hands-on about parenting. Being shown two completely different reactions from her parents, we believe the Valentine-Winchester child would grow up very curious, and potentially very insightful. With an aunt only a few years older, she'll also never want for company, probably the meeker of the pair of children.

With her parents coming from the worlds that they do, we also anticipate that the child would end up facing a lot of chaotic and emotional times over the years, growing stronger for it, but always with the complete devotion of her parents. At current— and, of course this is subject to change depending on what events take place— we picture the child growing up bright and even-tempered with plenty of inner steel.

Do you understand that committing your pup to a pregnancy plotline is making an extremely long term commitment that can not be easily backed out of because of character bleed, the father of the pup leaving the game, breaking up of the parent pups' ship, or boredom with the storyline? Yes; neither mun has any plans to drop the characters.

Do you also understand that due to the sensitive nature of such plots and the need to be considerate of players who might have experienced these issues in real life, plots involving miscarriage (real or threatened), stillbirth, or death of the baby after birth require moderator approval? Yes.

If you plan on multiples (twins, triplets, etc), please explain your canon-based justification for this. N/A; there will only be one child.

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you know the first rule of combat?

shoot them before they shoot you.

we couldn't make sense

we have some promises to keep

quietly killing the time

and the lady knows it's understood

did you say your prayers?

yes, we're going to a party party

but my mind didn't change and I still feel the same

i'm a rocketeer; let's fly

stripping flowers at a petal pace

give us back a taste of the way things were before they made the laws

bury me in straight laced shoes, a box backed suit and a stetson hat

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

hey hurry up, lately it's been hard enough

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

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