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He might spy her some windswept autumn afternoon, walking along the crest of a hill in a sturdy fleece jacket, her red-gold hair rippling on the breeze. Or he might spot her on the porch, sometimes with two small children, a girl with strawberry blonde hair and a boy with dark brown hair; sometimes alone, bending over a musical instrument, bowing the strings and bringing forth a melody at once stately and rippling...

Perhaps, if he should wander the halls of the Mansion late at night, he might spy her gliding along, almost soundlessly, seemingly lost in her thoughts, like a ghost wandering the shadows...

Title nicked from the classic song "Season of the Witch" (by either Donovon or Vanilla Fudge, not sure who did it first). Primarily for a Feanor, but anyone who wants a Viv, feel free to tap the typist!
He might come upon her in the basement bar some evening, nursing a glass of white wine, a woman with lustrous red-gold hair, old enough to have a history, but still young enough to have a future. She's tapping her foot to the rock band, as she perches on a stool at the end of the bar, and there's a slightly nostalgic look in her face, as if she'd been to places like this in the past and it's only recently that she's started coming down here.

She'll look up and smile to him, a slightly fey smile from a woman with her share of past woes. "Hello there. Come for the band?" she asks.

{For Robert Frobisher} Haunting Artistry...

It might be on some quiet afternoon that a darkly melancholy cello solo can be heard rising from one of the salons of the house. And if Frobisher should follow its strains, he might find a red-blonde woman sitting with her back to the room, deeply immersed in playing, her knees straddling the instrument as she bends over it, almost tenderly, even motherly...

Two wee babies are nearby, contained by a plastic baby fort: one, a girl with blonde curls, rolls a cloth ball about the thick blanket that covers the floor, while the other, a boy with a fuzz of black hair and an intrigued glint in his blue eyes grips a side of the fort, peering through the grid-like side, watching the woman.

And Vivien came out of hiding! Looking primarily for Frobish, but anyone is welcome to say hello, if they tap ye typist!

"This is it..." [Semi-closed post]

The evening of the day after what she's guessed is Mother's Day, after a cool but muggy day threatening rain. Viv is resting in her room, too big to be comfortable, and it should be any day now that the twins will be born. She's set up a crib she'd found in the attic and there's a basket of baby clothes and toys she's collected from the Plothole over several days and weeks, not wanting to wear out her welcome.

The humidity has made her sleepy and so she sets aside her book, settling down on her pillows, closing her eyes.

A rumble of thunder awakens her from a light snooze, but that's not the only thing that's awakened her: she's having an odd feeling in her belly, a tightening that's a prelude to the contractions to come, and having been through this twice before, she knows exactly what is happening.

She climbs off the bed, trying to keep her breathing steady and deep, as she fumbles for a bag of baby things she's put together before shuffling to the door.

She's only just got the door open, when a pain like the worst menstrual cramps imaginable twists her insides. Unsteadied, she grips the doorframe, emitting a choked cry of pain....

For the folks who offered to help out with the delivery. This is the moment: Warning for medical matters, pain, blood and eventual character death.