I was born with lightning in my heels.

Moira doesn't plan on actually going to the Thornton rec center; yet here she stands, in the main lobby, glancing at various pamphelts in her hand. A customer at Coombs & Co. happened to have one of these flyers in her hands, advertising a nutritional pregnancy course, and Moira, having a moment of, oh fuck, this baby is actually happening, noted the information for later. She's still trying to keep her pregnancy a secret; she doesn't need James' father, or, God forbid, her damn mother, finding out. She's in her second trimester now, apparently, and she has to actually deal with the stress in her life.

But she's not thinking about that now. She's thinking about how she woke up from her post-work nap knowing, with absolute certainty, that she was carrying a girl. She'd scryed after, just to make sure, and in a rare instance of her magic actually working right in recent days, the water confirmed her earlier vision. She doesn't know if James would want to know or not; she doesn't know how to tell him, really.

She doesn't know where things stand with James, and it's a thought that frightens her just as much as the baby herself does. She's not prepared for motherhood; she's not prepared for much of anything these days.

So she stands in the lobby of the Thornton rec center, wringing her hands as she tries to read the information about the classes while simultaneously also hoping she blends into the walls.

James is right; they absolutely need to talk about what's going on between them and where they want it to lead. She doesn't know if this is the best approach, standing outside his cabin, dressed casually in jeans and a green cardigan, but Moira wants to discuss this. She wants to know where they stand and how James really feels about everything that's happened between them.

So she knocks, even as tired as she feels, more tired than she ought to feel, she suspects, and she waits for James to open the door.

Moira fell asleep in her own bed, after performing her usual ritual of checking and double-checking the perimeters around her cottage. She remembers having a glass of wine and some mint ice cream before curling up with a childhood favorite, some Gothic fairy tale in the realm of one of the Bronte sisters. For once in this long, hellish month, she managed to find some peace, for both herself and the world at large, even if she had danced with James Thornton, and not entirely hated it.

She should have known it was too good to last.

When she awakens, her head is throbbing, her vision blurred, and her sheets beneath her have transformed into brittle, harsh ground. The air is suddenly cold and harsh, and as she moves about to get her bearings, she realizes she is not alone. She sits up, struck by the fact that she appears to be worlds away from her cottage, and when she turns her head just so, she finds James Thornton laid out beside her. Her chest tightens with fear as she focuses in more thoroughly on her surroundings.

"Oh, motherfucker!" She exclaims loudly, reaching over and shaking James by the shoulder.



(OOC: Fun times! Moira and James are currently at a secret labyrinth somewhere, without David Bowie, unfortunately. Or maybe he is there, we just don't know.)