Lost Creek Hollow a secret club for super cool party people only.

today was the day that sionnach had been practicing for her entire life. the day the most fabulous creature in existence was ever born. this was cause for celebration all over the world, naturally -- but none seemed more excited than her adoring parents, liffney and rannoch.

sionnach, being one of liffney's longest and most reliable tenants (respectful, always paid a week in advance, clean, non-smoker), was ready for her new start in life. she expected great things - no, she demanded great things. truth be told, the last few weeks she had begun to get restless fetus syndrome. on top of that, earthquakes of some sort had started to recently roll through her complex.  her apartment, a fairly respectable uterus in a good neighborhood surrounded by good people, was beginning to feel overcrowded, unstable, and going to the dogs.

that was because aengus was fat, and hogging all the space.

thank glob he was the first to go. as aengus jostled past the three of them, packed tighter than mackerels in a sardine can, sionnach couldn't help but aim a roundhouse kick at his head. oops! sorry! didn't see you there! for such tight quarters, she managed to pack a good wallop - hopefully hastening aengus-pengus' bustling down the corridor.

she had planned a great entrance, and was waiting patiently for her turn. she envisioned aengus, being the first to bumble his way into the new world, looked something like this as he burst through the cervix wall:

yikes...

good thing the liffnoch had three spares..

she supposed not everyone was born with talent or grace in their life. certain people just exuded gravitas, winning the charisma lottery -- aengus probably had won some sort of lottery, but not one worth winning.  maybe his lottery in life was sustaining multiple headwounds.

that was probably second time in two minutes that aengus' head had received some sort of battery to it. was it possible to be born with a TBI?

aengus was definitely born with a TBI.

next to go were the twins - tiara and tibia, or something. she hadn't really bothered getting their names. it was bad enough they shared a living space, but they also emanated some sort of weird mccolye-slash-olsen(post drug addiction) twin vibe. sionnach didn't jive with that.

byeeeeee. her apartment sans three chowderheads was suddenly nirvana. god, she deserved this peace and quiet.

 sionnach reclined back, doing the fetal equivalent of sinking into your couch after a long but prosperous day. she was going to enjoy this new solitude, this new lease on life. she was just about to crack a cold one when another ominous rumble rolled through the building, sounding eerily like it's time to go.

abruptly, sionnach felt something push her along like the guiding hands of a crowd beneath her; she imagined she was being lifted, carried, crowd-surfing under thousands of adoring fans -- damn right, they were lucky to have even touched her leather jacket as she was carried aloft to fanatic screams and a dope bass beat.

enter sionnach:

(this is where sionnach pulls a katelyn ohashi right down the birth canal. no liffey, she is not possessed, and no liffey, pretty sure murdering your children is illegal in like at least 40 states. not 100% certain about the southern ones. actually, now that i think of it, i'm pretty sure you could make a case for "stand your ground" and possibly "womb trespass". idk. you'll figure it out.)

apparently doing cartwheels down the birth canal was such an exhausting ordeal that once sionnach had been appropriately inducted into the world of the living, she hiccuped,  stretched her tiny little paws with their tiny cute little toebeans into the air, and promptly fell to sleep alongside her stinky siblings.

god, what a fucking angel.