The Rabbit Done Died Meme

[sneaks]

The Rabbit Done Died"The rabbit died" is an old saying meaning one is pregnant, coming from the now no longer practiced rabbit test.

Congratulations!

You're pregnant. Knocked up. Eating for two. Have a bun in the oven.
Insert your own cliched phrase here. No matter how you say it, you're
downright fertilized. Even if you're not typically in possession of a
womb, somehow it happened. Are you scared? Happy? Gassy? A combination
of everything? And who's the father, anyway?

1. Post with your character with their name and series in the subject line. If
you want to avoid any of the options, this would also be a good place to
list them.
2. This is one of those RNG memes, so you'll want to go to our good friend Random Number Generator and roll 1-6 for how far along you are. Or just pick what one you'd prefer.
3. If you're replying to someone, roll 1-4 for how you factor into this madness!

So, how far along are you anyway?

1. Two months - Sooooo all this sickness is kind of annoying, isn't it? At least you can still fit in your old clothes, right?

2. Four months - Okay, so things are getting a little tight. Time to break out the flowy stuff!

3. Six months - OH MY GOD IT'S AN ALI-- oh, no. It's just the baby moving. Although it's still kind of creepy, isn't it?

4. Eight months- Please. Please let it be over. Have mercy.

5. Overdue - C'mon kid! I'll buy you a pony! NO! TWO PONIES! My baaaaaack.

6. Wildcard - Your choice!

What's your role in this whole mess, person replying?

1. YOU ARE THE FATHER - Well, now you've gone and done it. Are you going to take responsibility, or head for the hills?

2. Friend - You may not have done the deed, but you're going to be there to help your buddy. No matter HOW weird the circumstances!

3. Enemy - Do you feel a 'HAW HAW' coming on? This is just too funny.

4. Wildcard - Second verse, same as the first.

Not my meme. Shamelessly copied!

Comments

Irene Adler || BBC Sherlock || Default to 6 months, can roll if preferred.

[womanwhobeatyou]

((Because this keeps working out so well))

Re: Irene Adler || BBC Sherlock || Default to 6 months, can roll if preferred.

[the_new_sexy]

[It has been three months since the Woman last graced Sherlock Holmes' doorway. Three months, no word. He can only assume she is surviving and thriving, because that is what she does. Her new addition to that life---that of an oncoming child, won't change that.

He does, however, know that with the changing of the seasons, they're getting closer to that "oncoming child" simply becoming a "child". The idea of a baby is so much easier when it is simply a "to be in the future" thing.

He opens the door to the flat and starts upstairs when he realizes something is different. There's a different air to the room, and it's set him on edge. He continues up.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[Irene is standing in the middle of the main room, her back to the door as she contemplates that odd little smiley face drawn on the wallpaper. From the back, she looks as she always has, though her hair is a shade of reddish brown it had never been before, and it is loosely pulled up, off the back of her neck but nowhere near as involved a coiffure as before.

But despite her seemingly relaxed contemplation of the wall, her attention is on the footsteps coming up the stairs. She knows it's not John Watson. There's a pretty young thing ensuring that halfway across the city. There's a half-finished pot of tea on the side table, the porcelain now tepid to the touch, courtesy of Mrs. Hudson.

She counts the footsteps, waits for his hand to touch the door. She doesn't turn around when she speaks, but then she doesn't have to.]

If I were a potential client, would I have bored you by now?

[the_new_sexy]

Probably.

[he looks at the tea. Mrs. Hudson, of course. But where was John? He should've been back by now.

It didn't matter. Something strange had hit him in the gut at the sight of the Woman. Something had changed since---well, since. Things were always changing with them, he told himself. Nothing to be that terribly surprised about. But how much had she changed?]

[womanwhobeatyou]

[There's a quiet laugh at that, and she turns to face him. The changes had been subtle the last time she'd come, easy to miss if one were to be willfully obtuse. This time she's very obviously pregnant, abdomen rounded but still high, the fetus not yet having settled low on her pelvis, not quite time yet. Her clothes are still expensive, well cut, but fitted far more for comfort than looks, with a pair of slacks and an empire waist top that draped for freedom of movement. She's even conceded to the necessity of wearing flats.

The clothes are spotless, freshly pressed, and she'd showered at the hotel to wash away any trace of the flight she'd stepped off of not eight hours ago.

She rests her hands on her hips, a small concession to the instinct to rest them on her belly conflicting with the desire to leave them at her side, and a harsh, Brooklyn accent slides effortlessly into her voice.] Your landlady thinks as much. Think that's why she let me in. Figure she'd be nice before you threw the poor defenseless mother-to-be out on the street.

[the_new_sexy]

She made you tea, as well.

Isn't caffeine considered negative during pregnancy?

[womanwhobeatyou]

You're being solicitous. Do I look that delicate?

[the_new_sexy]

At the moment?

[womanwhobeatyou]

[Totally ignoring the question.]

You're looking well, Sherlock.

[the_new_sexy]

And you're managing small talk. Should I be flattered?

[Sherlock fails to respond with "oh and you look nice" because the thought of complimenting her never crosses his mind.]

[womanwhobeatyou]

If you'd like to be. [A compliment would have been unexpected. But this circling is normal, as normal as anything can be for them, and she likes it this way.]

You're not telling me why I'm here.