ashes to ashes

"I'd feel wooed over less," the vocalist pointed out, not missing a beat and jesting gently, "I'm honestly fuckin' shocked your eyes aren't glued shut together right now. You should've been tryin' to catch some z's when they closed their eyes." Laudable as he found her constitution for staying awake to marvel over the lives she had spent the past nine months creating, the undeterred adamancy stemmed from a deep-seated wisdom that neither of them would be catching a wink of slumber soon enough when they didn't have nurses at the beck and call of a button to usher their babies away and look after their needs. It was a song and dance they had practiced hardily once before with AJ, but a good many years had passed them by since. Lower lip protruded in a petulant pout when she withdrew from him as if he were stealing riches untold, although he had to roll her eyes at the absurd thoughts she had already come up with to cover her tracks over faulty scanning. "No athletes here yet. You're gonna 'ave to wait a couple years to see if any of them got the skatin' chops I did. Seriously, when can I hold both of 'em?" Nagging for her attention was not the slightest bit uncommon, albeit seeing to her well-being had come first during and after the labor, ensuring she had whatever she desired that the nurses couldn't provide for her as they could the snoozing bundles that she now cradled. Mismatched eyes round with impatience, he folded his legs in a criss cross fashion, his arms dangling uselessly at his knees. "I'll see to everythin' that has to get done so you can rest when we get settled at home. Doctor's orders. We're just gonna do the childproofin' when we got the time in the next week. They can't hold their heads up yet, so they're not gonna go crawlin' away nowhere and get into anythin'. If that's what you're frettin' about." If anything, their trailer would probably end up the safest home on the whole lot; the Fawn couple weren't renowned for their meticulous scrutiny save for a select few areas where care had rooted its way into their bones and sprouted through the tendons and flesh. The resonance of spring existed within the pair of little ones that were safely ushered into the world. A hand persevered to reach out before she handed over one of the twins, curling his index finger in the palm of Baby A's diminutive hand. "I'll take care of it. Don't worry 'bout anythin'," Cyrek repeated, hoping to dissuade the stress that was palpable in the spindrift of her vocals, spread thin by the long hours.

“NOT SURE IF I SHOULD TAKE THAT AS A COMPLIMENT or as an insult that some of my comments are less impressive,” she mused with no actual truth behind it as some of her attempts to flirt with him tended to lean more towards truly corny and cheesy than anything else. And yet, it would hardly stop her to potentially make a fool of herself in such a way as it would have when they were younger, as she didn’t want to see another day when he felt she wasn’t giving their romance her all—even when she had barely half a brain cell after going through labor twice. “It was tempting,” she admitted, as her eyelids did feel heavier than she ever knew before and there had been a couple times her head had begun drooping forward without herself noticing. “But then I’d have to hand ‘em back over to the nurses, and I wasn’t ready to let go yet.” There was plenty of time to be spent with them, especially considering she was about to begin on a maternity leave of being with them on a near constant basis, and yet in her current mood (and possible lack of critical thinking outside of the exact here and now), the thought of allowing them out of her arms was possibly tragic to consider. His pout wasn’t easy to ignore, and it was close to successful in getting him what he wanted as it otherwise always did, except when her hazel hues fell back upon the babies’ faces and she was reminded why she wanted to hold so tightly onto them. It was as if she was peering down at her own heart taking physical form, unprepared for the emotion even just their sleeping forms stirred up within. Stella could sense he was already preparing himself to take at least one of them away from her, and she would relent…eventually. “Just don’t want to forget ‘bout it ‘cause our lives are so crazy and then something happens. Look at ‘em. We can’t take any chances.” Protectiveness that had previously been reserved for Cyrek alone, whether it was from fights he threw himself into or his own body giving him health hardship, had been extended to the two bundles, or perhaps it already had been when she was walking on eggshells through the entire pregnancy so it didn’t resemble the first in any way. Her gaze did leave the two when he had doubled down on handling everything she was concerned about, eyes swirling with emotion looking to him with appreciation. “Should I say again how you’re the best husband or is it gonna lose its meaning if I say It too soon after the last?” 

Until she was then narrowing her eyes at him a moment later. “And you can’t my word for it?” Even with exhaustion weighing heavily on both their shoulders, they still found the resilience to have a battle of stubbornness out with one another, rarely a moment when they couldn’t find room for that when meaningless banter was such a natural part of their interactions. Checking it out for herself, she studied the nose of the one in his arms before raising to do the same to his own on his face, humming in thought. “Maybe you’re onto something.” It wasn’t full agreement, but it wasn’t disagreement, either. “Still hope they get more of your features. Imagine ‘em with a headful of your curls; it’s only gonna make ‘em even more adorable.” If Cyrek would let her, and there were a few nights where his hands were laying on her stomach and hypotheticals were spoken of for hours that he did, she could go on with an endless list of things she hoped they would inherit from him, starting with his eyes down to his loyalty and creativity. Stabbing the piece of pancake he had plopped back in the styrofoam container with her fork and a bit of indignation stemming from inadvertently proving him correct, she put it in her mouth, speaking around it, “Oh, great, that’s gonna be what they get from me. Then we’re gonna have eighteen years of endlessly repeating ‘Clean your room,’ ’til we lose our voices.” Especially since it was a reminder her husband still had to give her at times when the two were really busy and she’d leave clothes or other belongings around their shared space. Yet, she still wasn’t as bad as she once was, not after his frustration over it had been expressed. Once she had shoveled a few more bites into her mouth, she could only be distracted with food for so long before she was looking back at all three of them with fondness. The thought crossed her mind that she shouldn’t have put up such a fight about handing them over, as the unbeating organ in her chest was ready to be jumpstarted against all vampiric logic at the sight of him captivated with them, a mirror of the love she felt for the newborns painted across his features. “See what it’s like once you’re holding ‘em? Now tell me it wouldn’t be impossible to hand ‘em over to a nurse right now, I dare you.” No opportunity could be passed up to prove herself right, even if it was only teasingly so. “Think I could fall right off this bed right now, and you might not even notice.” Leaning back against the unsatisfactory pillows on the hospital bed, her cheek found his shoulder to rest on while she resumed her previous pastime of staring at them. “You just got two more fingers to be wrapped around. Honestly, maybe we should hold off on telling everyone there’s two; they’re all gonna wanna see ‘em, and I wanna keep ‘em all to ourselves for just a little bit longer.” 

"Betcha' I can stay on the mechanical bull longer than you," Ace said with a grin, a taunt if it was anything else. "Twenty bucks to see which one of us can ride it longer? Although I think I already know the outcome, but you can try."

In all honesty, Ace doesn't even know if he's going to win. But, it was always fun to make these kinds of bets. He likes the thrill of things and adding money to it doesn't hurt. It's also to make the stakes higher or just plain entice the other person to take up his challenge.

Ace is a local, has been going to this event for a majority of his life. He's had his fair share of riding that bull and has definitely lasted in riding it for at least eight seconds. He's going to try and break his record and having someone go against him is getting him excited.

"Would you prefer a higher amount? I don't mind it." he says before looking over to the mechanical bull. The person who was riding it is barely three seconds in and they're already slipping, then falls off of it. Ace laughs, amused at the person who fell and couldn't last a mere three-seconds on it.

"JESUS FUCK, ACE." Did it count in using such a name in vain when it was a religious figure she didn't believe in? Not that such would stop her anyway. "This place is so fuckin' loud I didn't even notice you comin' over here. And here I thought Doll House was gettin' rowdy." It was potentially the exact bull in question that had a fair amount of people riled up and causing the high volume, cheering when happening when someone stayed on for an impressive amount of time and flew off, it felt like. Despite earlier mentioned interest, she hadn't actually gotten a chance to see someone be flung about on it as she had been in search of lemon bars, no avail up until that moment. "I'm soo close to taking that bet 'cause I got my fair share of experience in ridin' something wild even if I've never mounted one of those things-" Trust Stella to come up with some kind of crude comment regardless of the topic not calling for it. "But I'm not really interested in hangin' 'round this place long." Technically, her ban probably had never gotten rescinded, her picture probably posted up somewhere to be kicked out were she seen in the the establishment, after a long list of pulling knives on customers of the lounge years ago. "'Specially 'cause my dates waiting for me outside. I'm on the hunt for one of those famous lemon bars that are supposed to be in here. You seen where they are? Not exactly tryna walk out of here empty-handed without one." It would truly make the trek all the way over to Glitter Gulch all for null. "C'mon, you know I can't turn down a fuckin' challenge, 'specially not if you're gonna stand here and egg me on. But I really gotta get back outside before someone else tries to steal away my cowboy. And that's the only reason you're keeping that twenty bucks."

QUITE CONTRARILY TO HER OWN, that now only consisted of one other person, her husband's family spanned far and wide, and was amassed of plenty of people just when looking at those that resided around the area of Sin City. There were some she was closer to than others, most notably the Adlers despite the way she often avoided stepping foot in their household as a teenager unless it was to try and sneak her way into his second story window and avoid the disgusted gaze she managed to always earn from his foster father. Atticus had managed to worm his way into her heard, Astrid earned her respect and fascination, and Annaki....well, the biker tried her best to avoid her altogether. The only other name left on the list regarding that portion of the family she had married into was cloaked in more mystery, even more so after all was said and done with what had happened to their foster mother. (Was it all suspicious as hell? Yeah, but she tended to default back to what Cyrek's opinion was as it wasn't her family to otherwise go against his thought on.) It potentially was the reason she had approached Rosalind in the first place, though, a natural curiosity if the person lived up to the legend. It wasn't as if she could talk to her at the wedding, and while her date was preoccupied, it wasn't as if there was a long list of people she did want to otherwise talk to. "Guess it takes a certain type of person to be interested in mechanical bulls. Or watching people get hurt. I dunno, kinda thought you'd be into that sorta thing." Her filter failed her, if it ever existed, as she just simply couldn't resist commenting on the irony. "What made you show up then? Thought you'd be into it 'til you got here?"

It wasn't exactly the anniversary celebrating nine years that they could have imagined, but they were juggling a pair of newborn twins now that took precedence over their little jar of travel funds temporarily. Guiding themselves through the hump of the first six months would be the worst part, and the best in others. Cyrek had tried to make the best of it with the local event going on in the heart of the city — and he'd been trying to drum up ideas in his head from the start of how he could capitalize on entertaining her to the fullest, though he didn't plan on leaving her side long throughout the evening while they were there, and definitely not once they left. They were bound to run into friends while they were there, but they had agreed to minimalize their time spent elsewhere and any talk of the kids for the night... until he got a little sidetracked hunting for a tray of chocolate chip cookies and fried Oreos that were off to the other venue, and still waiting in line for their lemonades by the time she showed up. The clammy hands of death were mercilessly cold, but his heart was warm in the palms of her hands. "Hey. Are you plannin' on doin' that all night when you come up behind me? It's so bloody hot in all these buildings with all these people, I almost wish I wore less clothes." Rolling his eyes at himself, he turned around to face the hands that had greeted him, brightening up the first glimpse he had of her features. Were it fundamentally plausible, hearts would have sprouted from his spiked hair and floated up to the ceiling, and that wasn't even scratching the surface of her outfit. Pulling her in close, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, then her lips. "Sorry for leavin' you hangin'. Does this make up for it? I'm actually still waitin' for the drinks. I saw these desserts, and I was gonna grab one 'cause I know what you like and... then... they kinda belong to Cupid's, so they told me to bugger off. Maybe we should skip there next. Unless you want another round of dancin' with me."

“WHAT’S THE FUN IN HAVING ‘EM OUT if I don’t get to give ‘em a squeeze every time the thought crosses my mind?” Her logic wasn’t exactly sound, and yet she was standing ten toes down behind it, intent on showing her full appreciation for the look he was sporting that night to the point where no one around them could have a sliver of a doubt that he was the sole thought on her mind ever since they had walked through the burlesque’s doors (and arguably, before that, as she was getting distracted in putting together her own themed look by wanting to take in his before they even made it out of their own bedroom). “You take anything more off and I’m really gonna have to be fighting off every person in here from drooling over you,” she joked, the faux annoyance he presented in response to having her hands on him not dimming the joyousness that played on her features the moment she was spoiled back with his full attention, especially when he turned back towards her and she flourished under the gaze of his mismatched eyes. The grin was still present on her face when his lips adorned her cheek, a following one on the upturned tiers themselves, humming with mock consideration in response to his question. “I dunno, really did think I lost you there for a hot minute. I think one more kiss is necessary to make sure you’re really in the all clear.” There wasn’t an ilk of seriousness behind any of her words; if Cyrek truly did want time to catch up with friends or explore the cowboy-themed event by himself, she would have relented (if so with a bit of a pout), but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to continue on with their never-ending banter that seemingly started much longer ago than the nine years they were celebrating that night. “Desserts?” That was the one word that could possibly pull her focus from the other type of sweet she was hellbent on keeping her hands on, except when he had since turned towards her and her hand was instead preoccupied with wounding her fingers around his and playing with the gem on his engagement ring as she did so. “Why’re they parading ‘em ‘round here if they won’t even let you have any? We can go there next, but it depends on whether you got your fill of dancin’ yet. I don’t wanna get all the way there and find out you still wanted to keep going.” It was a natural back and forth that they two would find themselves in when planning their next move, checking repeatedly to know it was what the other truly preferred.

Shuffling a bit as the line moved ahead, even though it wouldn’t have been the first time she was so enraptured with him that the rest of the public place they were standing in couldn’t garner a hint of her focus, Stella had no interest in any space being introduced between them now that she had latched onto his side after the brief intermission to their night together. Like a flower leaning towards the sunlight that gave it life, once his hand was on her face she was angling towards him, appreciating the stardust reflecting in brown and green under the flashy lights of the burlesque club. “Not fair, you can’t judge me for being a bad dancer before when no one was even interested in ever dancing with me, least not since you at junior prom. I just needed a little practice after all those years of never doing it.” And there wasn’t anyone she was more interested in getting all of that practice in with than the kingpin. One could pose the argument that she held no interest in moving with any groove for her early twenties when he wasn’t there to take her hand in time with the music. “I’m fine doin’ anything ‘slong as it includes getting to be right up against you,” she cheesed, smile large enough to prove she knew just how sappy her words sounded, and yet there was no dishonesty to be found in them whatsoever. “Think we should definitely grab these lemonades before deciding on anything else, ‘cause all this leather is just making me even hotter, plus these fuckin’ jugs that feel like they practically weigh ten pounds each. I’m hopin’ we make it home 'fore I gotta deal with them, though, ‘cause I really don’t feel like finding a place to use the pump here or at Cupid’s. Or spend any of our date night doin' that instead of appreciating how I got the best-looking date at this whole thing.” The grin that had previously been on her face returned, this time with a naughtier streak than it carried before. “You get my heart pounding just as much as you did nine years ago,” she admitted, as if he needed to hear it when just about every one of her actions made it loud and clear just how much she adored him, possibly even more so than when they were younger, were it possible. “Not gonna stop ya if you really wanna go testing it out, though.” Leaning into him as her free hand grabbed a lemonade in a plastic cup from the bar’s top, her other one had wasted no time anchoring herself against him, fingers dancing up his arm that sat around her waist. “If you still got some dance left in you, then don’t let me stop you from getting it all out. Just telling ya now that I want a taste of those desserts before the night is over….and also those ones over at Cupid’s, too.”

Unexpected visitors were a part of living within the tourist trap of Las Vegas, or anywhere around it. As a fortune teller, she was burgeoning on the credence that there was an electromagnetism in the air that pulled people together here. Folks that shouldn't see the light of day or shove themselves together in the same room again. In one evening, Salem had somehow been transported from Romi's friend to talk of the fucking city, it seemed. Last night, she had been compassionate about it — this morning, awoken to the sound of Stella practically banging down her door, the fae was pissed. Nonplussed as she started to shove it open, she was met with another barrage of her friend's impatient fist, snaking out a hand like a cat's paw creeping 'round the bathroom door and slapping it aside, hissing, "Will you cut it the fuck out long enough for me to open this thing? It needs to be oiled, and god willing, I will ask you to pay if you break my door."

Romi was in the bathroom when she heard banging at the door and for a second, her heart practically leaped out of her chest, thinking it was her father trying to track her down for some reason. But after she heard Salem answer the door and seemingly handle it, her anxiety lowered just a bit. Coming down off of last night was turning out to be quite the bitch and she grimaced when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Her body was technically clean, sure, but she still looked like shit. Averting her eyes, she opened the door to the bathroom--just in time for Salem to welcome in none other than a very pregnant Stella. Shit. She watched as their mutual friend trapped them in the trailer together, not the least bit surprised at the psychic. She wondered if she'd planned this. Romi had known for a while that the rift between her and Stella put the fae in the awkward middle, though it's not like Romi had demanded she'd take a side. In all honesty, the ex-heiress didn't even have a problem with Stella--it was the other way around. Due to a series of unfortunate events, Romi had lost the mother-to-be's trust a long time ago and she knew that the brunette didn't love the idea of Cyrek being her sponsor. Shit. She had to call Cy--she'd promised Salem she would.

The awkwardness between the two of them was palpable and the blonde stayed quiet for a moment, trying to find the words to say. Did Stella know that she was here? Had she already heard about what had happened at the wedding? Had...everybody heard about it already?... There was once a time when Romi had so desperately wanted to be Stella's friend--had looked up to her, even. But the few encounters they'd had since then had proved to be thorny at best and she didn't have to be a fucking rocket scientist to piece together that Stella didn't like her. So what was left to say?

"NO, I WON'T, 'CAUSE IT'S FUCKIN' insufferable out here in the sun." Despite her rude words, there was a lack of actual sourness behind them, as anyone who knew Stella Fawn was aware she would inject force were it needed. The fortune teller wasn't someone worthy of her venom, though, which is why regardless of the words stated, they fell flat of being truly toxic. "You can ask me to pay, but you see this belly? It means I got no fuckin' extra income for your door," she reasoned with a shrug that was only half in jest. "You gonna take that away from a newborn?" She sighed, dramatically and with no true disappointment. "Didn't think you were that kinda person." Regardless, she still pushed her way into the mobile home, not expecting for Salem to practically swap positions with her and pull the door shut on their way out, mouth hanging open for a split second before she turned to be met with the eyes of the topic of the conversation she tried to start. As much as she wanted to talk about the youngest Weiss, she didn't think she actually wanted to speak to her, no matter how unfair that came across. Her stare was impenetrable while Romi floundered around filling the now awkward space, though she had to admit her frustrations with Salem leaving that in such a position with no room on having a say to get out of it were mutual. "Thanks," she responded dryly to the best wishes, gratitude not exactly exuding from the single word, though one palm did come to rest at the base of the now large bump, as if it was an inevitable gesture any time someone mentioned the baby. She wasn't kicking now—for once, and Stella had to wonder if it was because she could feel her mom was revving an engine on anger and didn't need an extra light to spark. "Can already tell she's gonna be a force to be reckoned with, already she kicks up a storm when she's got an opinion." Her hip cocked to the side, as much as it could without her losing her center of balance that had now shifted with the extra life she was carrying around. "I'd say the same to you 'bout the new stepmom, but I heard it wasn't really a night of celebratin' to you. Or that you did a lil' too much of that 'forehand." It was an quip she didn't need to slip in, cruel almost in how unnecessary it was to possibly rub salt into a fresh wound. "I'm only gonna tell you this once, 'cause I do think you're smart 'nough to heed the warning. But Cy's been real fuckin' kind being your sponsor, and if it leads to draggin' him into whatever shit you got goin' on, you'll be a spot real worse than this trailer." It was a nondescript threat, but unsubtle in exactly what she meant. Plopping herself down on the seat nearest to the door, as being on her feet was a struggle at the point she was currently at, her eyebrows rose, no more sure than Romi of how to start a real conversation, at least one that wasn't just indirect insults or threats. "So, is she a bitch? The new mom, I mean. Is that what set you the fuck off?"

The rodeo always brought in a huge crowd to the Cupid's Arrow. Wolfgang was celebrating his third year of working at the bar, and regulars, friends, and co-workers had all turned out to celebrate. While usually a server, floating around the bar, the owners had him stationed behind bar tonight, dishing out the signature drink - the rodeo clown - as a guest tender. Wolf had dressed the part, more or less; he was wearing his brown boots, a pair of dark blue jeans, a matching cowboy hat, and - of course - a brown leather harness across his otherwise bare chest.

The bar was packed, the music was high and energetic, and a large, muscle-bound bartender named Spike was waving from his seat in the dunk tank. Wolf looked up as another patron approached him at the bar. "Why, hello there!" he said with a bright smile. "Happy rodeo days. Can I get you anything? If you get a 'rodeo clown,' you get to ring the bell. But I won't tell you what's in the drink or what happens when you ring the bell."

"YOU LOOK FAR TOO HAPPY TO BE WORKING something like this," Stella commented dryly, knowing she'd detest it were she in his shoes, before answering any of the questions or offers posed, though amusement was playing in the shadows of her deadened (no pun intended) expression. Really, she shouldn't have been surprised, as his current joyous demeanor was no different than what she had observed during sound checks when setting up merchandise stands at each and every venue the Vain Rogues played at, even if it never failed to be at least slightly jarring to her just by how juxtaposing it was to her own. "Full sobriety, so unless you can promise me there's no alcohol in that rodeo clown, I'm gonna have to pass on that one. You got any good mocktails for this thing? 'Cause I've already had my fill of lemonade by now from over at the Doll House, and I don't think I could handle another sip of one." An eyebrow rose, as if she was studying the Wolfgang himself for a moment, or possibly even the situation itself, eyes squinting in concentration as she did so. "Or is that the secret code word that gets me the chance to sending ya dunking into some water?" The queenpin thought something along the lines had been mentioned by her husband regarding the bassist, though, majority of what he had said after Cyrek had made the declaration of what he himself planned on wearing wasn't paid full attention to, too caught up in her own daydreams of imagining exactly that picture of her husband. (Luckily for her, reality did live up to dreams there.) "I mean, no hard feelings, but I've been told I've got a mean fuckin' arm when anyone sees me throwin' darts, so I think it means I kinda gotta take that challenge on and see if the same is true when it comes to a softball and a target."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY ORDER ISN'T READY YET? I called that shit in like, an hour ago. I don't really care if there's one fuckin' cook back in that kitchen at this hour; I'm not askin' him to go raise the chicken himself at the farm himself before making a couple orders of eggs." Arguing with an annoyed Stella Fawn would have been a risky game at any point in her life, as she certainly didn't pushback well, but the hostess meeting her back with a bored expression over would have been the only thing saving her from an even worse verbal lashing than were they to try to argue with a hangry and sleep-lacking mother were she instead to try to argue back. "Spend too damn much money at this place for this shit," she huffed under her breath when she all but ungraciously plopped her ass down into the booth across from Iris before even registering the invitation, after raising an incredibly polite middle finger to said cook she was complaining about when passing by the serving window into the kitchen. "Gee, thanks, but I guess that's what I get since my twins have started a pact of takin' turns on who is gonna need a change the second my eyes close. I'd make my own damn eggs if I could trust myself to turn on a stove right now without burnin' the trailer down." Long fingernails that were unusually devoid of her normal halfway chipped off black polish tapped against the table in impatience loud enough to hopefully annoy the waitress into offering her a cup on the house, before deadpanning, "You gonna share your woes t'make me feel better, or you just haunting this place at this hour for the fantastic company?"

HAZEL HUES RAN DOWN THE SAME LIST FOR the umpteenth time from where her chin was perched upon his shoulder, practically having it memorized by that point and still unable to come any closer to a solid conclusion as the time remaining to do so was slipping by between their fingers. Instead of sighing at his unhelpful joke, the corners of her lips lifted a bit to accompany the roll of her eyes as she pulled away, only bound to make herself grow more frustrated if she kept reading down the list of names once more when it wasn’t necessary as she had them burned into her head. “So we’ll cross everything off that we can’t possibly come up with another name to go along with it?” There had already been a fair number of proposed suggestions vetoed, one of which that had been included in a previously aired episode of the Forensic Files marathon that had been running on the television since they had finally found a moment to crawl into bed with the two newborns at least momentarily finding slumber, and she was itching to get rid of more but unsure which exactly to put on the chopping block even as he handed the notebook back over to her, placing the capped end of the pen between her teeth in focus. “So which one’s your favorite out of these then? You say yours first. Or pick two and I’ll tell you my favorite out of those. And then we’ll go from there for the second one.” Pulling the pen out of her mouth however, her shoulders drooped then, turning back to ask him, “But how are we gonna pick which one gets the favorite from this list and which one gets what we come up to go with it?” There had already been a number of scenarios where her heartstrings felt as if they were being tugged on when she had to decide between the two, lingering hormones even causing her to feel guilty when choosing between which one to feed first over the other. Mood changed for the slight better as a snort left her nose, teasing him, “Well, we can’t pick something too close or you really will never stop mixin’ the two of ‘em up.” Even with just the nicknames, she found herself correcting him already or, sometimes just allowing the kingpin to think he had correctly identified who was who lest she hurt his ego after already righting him a number of times in one day. Dropping the notebook onto the water bed, small waves rippling from the weight of it, she sighed a second time. “I don’t know what’s got my eye; that’s the problem. I don’t wanna pick something and then it be totally wrong later on. This is too stressful. You sure we can’t just keep callin’ ‘em Thing One and Two ’til we just naturally think of the perfect names?” Her bottom lip protruded a bit, at least somewhat soothed by his touch, yearning it more when he was dragged off to work for long hours to keep the family afloat while she was crawling out of bed about once every hour for another two feedings, finally able to get comfortable in their bed but never for what felt like long enough. Scooting across the water-filled mattress in a manner that was much more graceful than what she was capable of for the last nine months, there was no opportunity at the present moment for her to invade his personal space that she wasn’t going to take, not that she was ever known to allow one to pass by even before they were together, and she rid the small space that was between them then. “Y’think looking at ‘em will just give us the answer? What if they’re just so cute there’s no perfect name for either one of them?”

ANDREA HAD ALWAYS BEEN A GREAT HELP, but she had especially been a good sport when the abilities of what the queenpin was able to accomplish on her own around the store had slowly becoming less and less, meanwhile, she had been picking up more time at the record store when she was even less capable behind a bar (and, against what she once hoped for, tips did not come in a surplus once she had passed having a cute baby bump). It wasn't surprising that the blonde attentively took to being called over, even if neither one was expecting the announcement that left her lips. It wasn't that Stella was entirely surprised, the Braxton Hicks had ben lingering around for awhile at that point, and she had already felt some that had been shrugged off and not exactly mentioned to her husband earlier in that day (which maybe on second thought wasn't the brightest, though she hadn't wanted to get him excited nor panicked for any falsehood). As Andrea's words sped up, she tried to practice the opposite and slow her own breathing. "Hey, it's all gonna be chill. Promise. Also remind him not to forget the bag. And the cassette player. I got a whole punk playlist for this thing." Any music lover wouldn't dream of not having one. "Maybe you should take a couple deep breathes, too." Maybe Stella should have been a bit more alarmed herself, as this was a new experience. It wasn't that she felt overly prepared, despite the many sleepless nights where a baby that was already seemingly taken after her night owl babies was active as ever gave her plenty of time to think about how the current moment would go, and every best and worst case scenario, but there was a rare settlement that had fallen over her now that it was actually happening.

Or maybe she was just too focused on every current physical feeling in her body to fly off the handle with her own alarmed ones.

"Y'know exactly what time in the afternoon it is? I think I'm supposed to tell 'em that when I get to the hospital. Actually, can you just bring that clock that's on the wall behind the registers in here? I gotta keep track of how longs between each--fuck, contraction." Standing wasn't exactly a good idea when she tried to lift herself from the chair again, falling back into it unceremoniously. "Also, Andrea? Tell him I'll kill him if he gets in an accident on the way here. That reminder is more important than the baby bag."