"Is it finally morning? It felt like I would never be able to wake up," Marianna says, struggling to sit up in her bed. Her eyes are red from tears shed in sleep. Her hair is tousled and tangled, the pink streak above her left temple nearly lost in the brown depths of the rest. "Although, I feel as though I hardly slept, so how could I fear not waking up?"

"You slept, darling, but it wasn't the restful sleep you deserved." Dava hands her a brush, instinctively knowing she can't stand to be seen with her hair mussed.

"Could you get me a glass of water?" she asks, stretching her arms above her head. She notices her jeans are draped across the bottom of the bed. Funny, she thinks. I don't remember taking them off. At least my shorts are still on- no need to worry about my morality. Then again, I'm already pregnant. Who'd want me in this state, and especially after I barfed in the gardenias...

Dava has left the room in search of a glass of water, so Mari steps cautiously out of the bed. The room spins slightly as her feet touch the carpet, and every movement, every feeling, seems larger than usual. The deep-pile rug seems deeper; her feet seem to sink to the ankles into the pink weave. The ceiling seems higher, the walls further apart, the bed softer... She hopes that if she falls and hits her head, the nightstand will not feel harder. Marianna puts on her jeans, brushes her hair back into a quick ponytail, and pads softly to the dresser.

She rummages through the centre drawer, looking for a shirt, and finally decides on a plaid flannel shirt. August really is too warm for wearing such things, but Mari plans on spending the day in blissful air conditioning. The shirt selected, she opens the top drawer and pulls out a black chemise. That way, she reasons, if it gets too warm, I can just unbutton the shirt- or take it off completely.

"Some people might not appreciate that," says Dava, coming in with a cheap plastic tumbler of water.

"Well, I'm comfortable with my body. If other people aren't, maybe they should move somewhere where babies are born differently."

"True... Sweetie, I couldn't find a glass anywhere in your kitchen. The only beverage-holding container I could find, actually, was this one. A souvenir from last year's Science & Gourmet Food Festival?"

"Good guess, considering it says 'Science & Gourmet Food Festival' on it. Dava, sweet, don't call me by pet-names, please. I know I call other people by cutsie names, but I happen to like my given name. Use it, if you feel you must use any sort of address."

"Yes, ma'am!" Dava salutes. "Uh... Marianna... I think I'd better leave sometime soon. Most of your guests, if they even stayed the night, left hours ago, just after dawn. Daniela is... swimming, with Coli. The house is empty except for you, myself, and Pollythene. As far as I know, she is still sleeping. I'd rather not be here when she wakes up."

Marianna frowns. "Is she still mad that I didn't let her take credit for the spell and everything?" She reaches for the brush she has placed on the dresser. "I mean, she would have gotten expelled from Wizard school and had all of her powers revoked. What was she thinking- take credit! That's dangerous!"

"I know it and you do, and even she understands it now, I think... No, Marianna. Polly's anger runs much deeper than anything Wizardly." Dava turns to leave. "I heard her waking up. I'll see you later?"

"Wait!" Mari runs up to Dava, throws her arms around him, and kisses him soundly on the mouth. "I don't know how it happened, but I find myself loving you again... be careful, love- my latest relationships have ended... less than desirably."

"Especially for Neil," grins Dava, "Stuck with Daniela for a spell."

"And now with Doreen. But, maybe they'll be good for each other."

This time, he kisses her, twice, before saying, "Don't worry about other people. Worry about-"

He's cut off by a slamming door down the hall. A quilted sign- 'Polly's Room'- swings wildly on its hook. "Ah, shite... I'll see you tonight, then. I better go have a talk with her," Mari sighs. "Kiss-kiss!" She watches Dava's rapidly exiting figure as he walks down the stairs and out the front door. Then she turns to pay a visit to her daughter.

Dream Sylvia Dryad lies on her back, slowly rebuilding her mental blocks as she watches clouds traverse a perfectly blue sky. She's been in the same lounge chair since perhaps midnight, at least ten hours, and she's been thinking and rebuilding since at least two o'clock. Unable to watch the sunrise from UPChuck's patio, she instead watched the retreating night while her fiance slept.

Around eight, he got up to make breakfast (eggs benedict and a bloody Mary), and ate sitting on the stairs watching the ocean- or, rather, watching Daniela and Coli frolic naked in the surf. At nine, he gave up on both watching the girls and trying to force-feed Dream. Now, at ten o'clock, he has gone inside to begin a day's work, writing short science-fiction stories for online magazines.

Dream reflects on this, on her earlier morning activities, and on the puffy clouds. Somehow, the clouds are easiest to think about right now. She isn't quite sure how she is going to let this affect her... in fact, she isn't quite sure how she is going to refer to it. "Sex" seems too vulgar, and "making love" and the other euphemisms seem too... gentle? She feels she's been ravaged, and yet, she sorta, unexpectedly, liked it. Maybe, she muses, I should talk to Marianna. She and Suki are the closest to 'expert' in this field among my immediate friends. That decided, she focuses on finishing her mental blocks in time to have lunch with Uly. Skipping breakfast was a bad idea.

UPChuck, at his computer in the kitchen, has his hands poised over the keyboard. He stares expectantly at the screen, a blank word-processing document staring right back. No words appear, and as he's been at it for an hour, this is becoming rather annoying. "Damn you, computer! Why can't you write this story for me?!" He pulls another tortilla chip from the bag on the counter, skims it through a bowl of picante, and shoves it in his mouth. "Stupid machine," he mutters under his breath. The computer chooses that moment to bomb.

Cursing lightly, he cuts the power and reboots. "Don't know why I ever switched back to these things... can't rely on them... at least you didn't get anything important, little bugger... bloody machines..."

"Uly?" Dream has finally wandered her way into the kitchen, and is completely confused by finding him muttering at what appears to be a normally operating computer. "Are you... alright?"

"Perfectly fine," he says, turning and smiling contentedly at her. He rises, hugs her carefully, and kisses her on the temple. "Are you okay? You've been... well, to use a phrase of Marianna's, catatonic."

"Oh... yes. I had to rebuild my mental blocks. They somehow fell down last night-"

"I felt it," he interrupts.

"And I had to put them back up before I changed my mind about... anything..." She puts a hand to her head. "Actually, I'm feeling a little dizzy. Do you have any orange juice?"

"I hope so." He takes one step across the tiny bachelor kitchen to the refrigerator and opens the door. The fridge is unexpectedly packed with food- unexpected by Dream, that is, who'd thought UPChuck took all his meals at Club Calypso. "Ah, here it is," he says, pulling a pitcher out of the back. "It was fresh-squeezed yesterday morning, when I was having another dry spell in writing."

He pours her a tall glass, and she downs most of it in one gulp. "I guess I needed that more than I thought I did," she says, breathing quickly before finishing off the last inch of juice. "Now my blood sugar should return to normal... I should probably have some real food though. Let me cook lunch?"

"I don't know if I should- you might be appalled by the dead animals in my fridge."

"I know that's a lifestyle choice you've made," she says in an understanding tone, but the shudder that runs through her vegetarian body says something altogether different.

"I'll cook, and I promise to keep dead animals out of it, okay?"

"You do that... do you mind if I check my email on your computer?"

"Not at all. If you'd like a little more privacy, there's another computer in the bedroom. I was just using this one because the picante was already out."

"Privacy? I don't think I need to worry about privacy with you," she grins as she starts up his internet server.

He smiles to himself and chuckles under his breath. UPChuck... what's happened to you? You've gotten all domestic- next thing you know, you'll be staying home nights to be with the wife, instead of going out to the Club. Then again, he thinks, glancing over his shoulder at the blonde-haloed Dream, that may not be such a bad thing after all...

"Polly-Pam?" Marianna knocks tentatively on her daughter's bedroom door. There is no response, so Mari opens the door.

Pollythene's bedroom is decorated completely in pink, gold, and white. Flowers and angels abound. Everything is organized 'just so,' even the brush on the vanity set at a perfect right angle to the edge. Fresh-cut pink and white tea roses are arranged immaculately with baby's breath in a porcelain vase. Soft piano music plays from the CD player hidden in the armoire, surround sound supplied by tiny, wireless speakers hidden on corner shelves behind stuffed animals. This is no CD of a professional pianist, but Polly herself playing her favorite classical selections flawlessly.

Polly herself is nowhere to be seen. Marianna pulls open the paneled double-doors to the walk in closet. From her perch on the top shelf/ loft, among stuffed animals and rarely-used shoes, Polly glares at her mother.

"Polly-Pam..." Mari says, climbing the ladder to the shelf in an attempt to gain eye-level with Polly. "Oof! I'm too fat for this. Polly, what exactly are you upset about? I know you like Dava."

"Sure I like him. He's my godfather, a great role-model, and an overall nice guy. But 'Uncle' Dava is just that- an uncle. Not a stepfather. I don't want him to be my stepfather." Polly pushes out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout.

"Pol, he... we aren't going to get married. I'm just having a close relationship with him. It's not an engagement."

"Mommy... what if it leads to an engagement? No offense to Dava, but he isn't meant to be a husband and father. Especially not my father. Mommy, why won't you marry UPChuck?"

Marianna blinks. She smiles oddly, blinks again, and shakes her head. "Did I hear you right?" she asks. "Me- and UPChuck? Polly, do you forget he's engaged to Auntie Dream?"

"Don't I know it!" she cries. "She doesn't really love him- even I can tell. She's more concerned with her career!"

"Pollywog, Dream's career is pretty important to her, but I think she knew what she was doing when she proposed to UPChuck."

"You're just bringing out all the bad nicknames today, huh?" The tears coming to Polly's eyes overshadow the sarcasm in her voice.

"Oh, don't cry, baby... I can't do anything about other peoples' engagements. You were the result of my own irrevocable engagement!" Mari climbs onto the shelf with Polly and hugs her. "I'm sorry you don't like the way we 'adults' run our lives, but I guess you'll just have to live with it- even if you do see a better way."

"But... why? Things should always be the way I want them," pouts Polly.

"You're special to me, Polly, but sometimes the rest of the world doesn't appreciate you or your opinions. You have to learn that... I did."

Polly merely sighed heavily in return.

"Do you want to come to the doctor's with me? I have to have a picture taken of Jamie, and if you ask nicely you might get to listen to his heartbeat."

"Can I?" Polly's eyes grow wide with wonder, and once again she seems more like the five-year-old she is. "Oooh, I wanna hear the baby!"

"Come on... I'll make breakfast while you wash up. Hurry down, though." Polly scrambles down the ladder ahead of Mari, eager to hear her new brother's heartbeat. Marianna takes a little longer to climb down, carefully, and takes her time going downstairs to the kitchen as well. No sense straining herself to get there when all she's going to do is stick a pair of Toaster Tarts in the toaster.