deep_red_bells: ([Expressive] Got my eye on you)

One.

The Watchers say some of us have a sense of who and what we are our entire lives. We dream about them, the other girls like us, we see them fight, we watch them die. That never happened for me until I was called. I wonder if it was because I was so close to Buffy’s age--if Willow’s spell hadn’t worked, and Faith had ever fallen, the legacy would never have passed to me. It would’ve gone to a younger potential, a girl who would have more years in her, to someone stronger, faster, lither. Funny to think of, isn’t it? Mid-twenties, and already a senior citizen, so far as the world of the Slayer was concerned.

Two.

It was as though ghosts were determined to haunt me everywhere I turned. There was Willow. There were the vampires. There was the girl. There was the girl’s unofficial Watcher--and that, well, that was the last face I expected to see. I’d always wondered what happened to him. Now, I knew. I pleaded with whatever shreds of humanity the witch had left in her to send him back, to let him change what had been an unfair fate for so many. It was no great surprise that she refused.

Three.

It’s been centuries, and I still can’t describe just how it felt to die. Memories can be such subjective things as it is; sometimes all I can remember is how much it hurt, while other times, I can only recall the sense of completion and the feeling of release. There is something in me--in all of us--that craves nothing more or less than an end.

Four.

Her visits usually went like this: for the first day, sometimes the first two days, if I were lucky, I couldn’t get enough of her attention, her voice, her smile, the scent of her perfume, her vivacious and child-like spirit. She would let me dig through her purse and put on her lipstick, then chase me about with a Kleenex in hand, laughing at how I‘d managed to smear the vibrant red mess all over my face. She’d make promises and I, being a child desperately craving a connection to her wayward mother, would believe them. Then, the arguments set in. Every Spanish curse word I ever knew, I think I learned while I was hiding in my room, listening to my mother and my grandmother, the two most stubborn and temperamental women I have ever met, try to outmatch each other in volume and venom.

 Five.

Watching that wasted ball of mud fade from view was like losing a limb. No, it was worse. I died to save that world, and to see what became of it…looking back on it, I think that was the exact moment I stopped caring. It was worse than losing a limb. It was cutting out one’s heart with a rusty implement and somehow living the rest of one’s life with an open wound and empty chest.

Epilogue.

Here is where the curtain should close. The actors should take their final bows, the stage should go dark, the audience should go home, and the door should be closed and locked behind them. I wish that I could tell you my own story would end so neatly. It won’t. It will end in fire and it will end in blood, as it was always meant to. When that will happen, no one can say, and for now, I can only let it fade into grayness and static, and wait. If I am honest with myself, I am not ready for it to end yet. When I think of the end, the pain is still the most vivid memory, but when that changes, the gray will fade to black, and I’ll feel it again. The release, the completion. Finished.
deep_red_bells: ([Appearance] Legs/shoes)
[choices 'verse only] 227. TEN things you do in the morning.

1) Wake up
2) Use the bathroom
3) Brush teeth
4) Wash face
5) Flatten hair into something presentable
6) Let the dogs out
7) Get Irina in a good mood via cooing and belly tickles
8) Change Irina’s diaper
9) Feed Irina
10) Eat breakfast [/choices verse]
 
Read more... )
deep_red_bells: ([Expressive] Mommy & bb)
More than slayer or wife, daughter or friend, 'mother' is the most important name she's ever carried.
deep_red_bells: ([Future] Road goes ever on & on)

Tori Amos, "Spark"
she's convinced she could hold back the glaciers // but she couldn't keep baby alive // doubting if there's a woman in there somewhere // here, here, here // you say you don't want it again and again but you don't // don't really mean it // say you don't want it, the circus we're in but you don' t // don't really mean it

The Weepies, "Not Your Year"
scattered shadows on a wall, you watch the long light fall // some impressions stay and some will fade // tattered shoes outside your door, clothes all on the floor // your life feels like the morning after all year long // and every day it starts again // and you cannot say if you're happy // you keep trying to be // try harder, maybe // maybe this is not your year

Regina Spektor, "Samson"
oh we couldn't bring the columns down // yeah we couldn't destroy a single one // and the history books forgot about us // and the bible didn't mention us // not even once // you are my sweetest downfall // I loved you first

Evanescence, "Missing"
please, please forgive me // but I won't be home again // maybe someday you'll look up // and barely conscious, you'll say to no one // "isn't something missing?"

Joanna Newsom, "Peach, Plum, Pear"
but it's late in the day and you're well on your way // what was golden went gray and I'm suddenly shy // and the gathering floozies afford to be choosy // and all sneezing darkly in the dimming divide // and I have read the right books to interpret your looks // you were knocking me down with the palm of your eye // this was unlike the story it was written to be // I was riding its back when it used to ride me // and we were galloping manic to the mouth of the source // we were swallowing panic in the face of its force // and I am blue // I am blue and unwell

Plumb, "I Can't Do This"
I’m standing still // I’m oh, so peaceful // I can’t pretend that I’m fine // I get so ill, crazy, agitated // when I’ve not really died // I can’t do this, I can’t do this // I can’t do this by myself

Tori Amos, "Hey Jupiter"
thought I knew myself so well // all the doubts I had // took my leather off the shelf // your apocalypse was fab // for a girl who couldn't choose between the shower or the bath // and I thought I wouldn't have to be with you

Missy Higgins, "Where I Stood"
I don't know what I've done // or if I like what I've begun // but something told me to run and honey you know me // it's all or none // there were sounds in my head // little voices whispering // that I should go and this should end // oh and I found myself listening // 'cos I don't know who I am, who I am without you // all I know is that I should // and I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you // all I know is that I should // 'cos she will love you more than I could // she who dares to stand where I stood
deep_red_bells: ([Text] Queen Bee)

--The Gilmores named Lorelai (They eat a lot. They talk fast. They drink insane amounts of caffeine. They make random and sometimes vague pop culture references)
--Piper Halliwell (at least while she was pregnant, and also that out of all the Charmed Ones she pines the most to have something normal)
--Natalie from Love, Actually (IDK, I just see me doing some of the stuff she did)
--Allie from The Notebook (I get like that when I'm angry)
deep_red_bells: ([Spike] We are so better than you)
1) He smelled like leather, cigarettes, and whiskey
2) He thought she was an idiot. But a cute and likable idiot.
3) He was a vampire.
4) He needed a friend.
5) And a place to stay.
6) He could be very charming when he wanted to be.
7) And also very damned annoying.
8) He'd saved the world.
9) He knew what she was.
10) He wanted to help her.
deep_red_bells: ([Expressive] Downcast)
She doesn't fear the thought of death or pain; it's the thought of leaving nothing worthwhile behind that scares her the most.
deep_red_bells: ([Appearance] Shadows looking up)
I feel like I've been on one since I retired, and sometimes, it's really boring.
deep_red_bells: ([Expressive] Can't fight the moonlight)
The lighting inside of a salon was always over-bright and, in Baileigh’s opinion, intentionally unflattering. The reflection looking back at her looked tired and somewhat jaundiced with smudges of grey underneath each eye. She hadn’t bothered with makeup this morning, choosing an extra hour’s sleep over time spent on her appearance. She wondered for the hundredth time how her grandmother had managed to make time to get her hair done and always looked polished and together. She suspected it probably came down to experience.

Some of her earliest memories of her grandmother were of her patiently combing through the tangles in her unruly curls and neatly plaiting it into a tidy braid. And of course, no matter how tightly she’d twisted the locks together, they’d be an unruly mess again by the end of the day, but she’d never once lost patience, ever insisted they cut her hair to a convenient, manageable length.

As she’d grown up, Baileigh had figured out through trial and error how to manage it herself; the thickness, the curls, the coarse texture. She’d babied it, conditioned it, trimmed it, combed through it twisted lock by twisted lock with painstaking care. She’d started to twist it back when she went out to slay at night when, after Spike’s repeated warnings that it was a possibility, a vampire had fisted a hand in the strands and left her rather helpless to break his hold. She’d cursed it more often than she decided she loved it.

People ‘ooo’ed and ‘aaah’ed over it and lamented how much they wished they had hair like hers, to which she’d always replied they’d think twice if they had to deal with it. It was her most eye-catching, attractive, unique attribute. Everyone she’d ever been intimate with loved to toy with it, play with it. When people looked at her, they looked at her hair first, the rest of her second.

She surprised even herself when the first words she said to the stylist were “cut it off.”

There was a lot of protesting that bordered on downright refusal, but Baileigh stuck with her decision. No, she wouldn’t cut it off a few inches at a time. She’d change her mind. She didn’t want an out. She wanted to look in the mirror and see her face.

She needed a change.

Finally, after she refused to back down, the thick mass of curls was gathered at the back of her neck, secured with an elastic and sawed through with the blades of the scissors. What was left was trimmed neatly until nothing but a couple of inches and a wisp of baby bangs was left. When she stood up, she felt as though she’d never find her balance again. So much weight had been lifted off of her shoulders, her neck, that she tottered unsteadily and grabbed the arm of the hydraulic salon chair for support before turning to face the mirror. Her eyes seemed huge, all of the sudden, luminous and wide. Her ears didn’t stick out like she’d feared. Possibly they only ever had because they’d always had so much hair shoved behind them.

She would need a week or two before she could decide if she liked it. Regardless, it was just hair. One of the few things in life that was pretty much guaranteed to eventually come back.
deep_red_bells: ([Expressive] Not a happy girl)
1) The ocean
2) Warm weather
3) The desert
4) The girls
5) Slaying
6) Spike
7) Having a glass of wine at night
8) Caffeine
9) Being able to eat whatever I want
10) All the cute strappy heels I missed out on wearing over the summer
11) Having the time and inclination to fix my hair and put on makeup
12) Sleep
13) Day of the Dead celebrations
deep_red_bells: ([Emote] Defeated)
There is no such thing as a bloodless battlefield, but as much as she prepared for the possibility, she never truly thought it would be hers staining the ground.
deep_red_bells: ([Emote] Smirk)

I have in the past. I think most women have. When you’re not in the mood and your S.O. starts with the nuzzling and the nibbling, all you can think is ‘Oh, hell. Do I turn him down and take the cold shoulder and pissiness for the rest of the night, or do I roll over and let him have a go so I can get back to sweet, wonderful, blessed sleep.’ Don’t look at me like that. You guys are like a dog with a bone when you want sex--no pun intended--and you give us such passive aggressive crap if you don’t get it. And back then, well, some nights I just really didn’t want to put up with the pissiness, so I went with the giving in and letting him have a go so I could get back to sweet, wonderful, blessed sleep.

Of course now I don’t need as much sleep. So I think I’m probably the one that does most of the nibbling and nuzzling now, and unless I’ve already completely worn him out, I don’t get turned down.

Yeah, it's so hard being me.


deep_red_bells: ([Appearance] Scratched)
1) I love you
2) I'll never leave you
3) I'm sorry
4) You're not alone
5) You did the right thing
6) You're not a coward
7) I'm proud of you
8) You mean more
9) It's all right
10) You're beautiful
11) You're perfect the way you are
12) I'll never hurt you
13) I love you
deep_red_bells: ([Expressive] Mommy & bb)
She always smells so good and so sweet, and part of her wonders if it's just as much the purity and innocence that causes it as the array of Johnson & Johnson products they bathe, rub and dust her in every day.
deep_red_bells: ([Appearance] Pigtailed)
1) Candy
2) Chocolate anything
3) Pumpkin pie
4) Sweet potato casserole
5) Count Chocula, Frankenberry & Boo Berry cereal (they only really sell it around Halloween)
6) Silly costumes
7) New shoes
8) Scarves and mittens
9) Sweaters
10) Pumpkin spice lattes
deep_red_bells: ([Expressive] Mommy & bb)


“The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.” --Rajneesh



It didn't seem right, to have been confined to a bed for eighteen hours and yet feel as though she'd not only run a marathon but met a troop of UFC champs at the finish line who'd knocked her down proceeded to beat her with sticks. She'd sustained a lot of injuries since she'd been called as a Slayer, and thought she knew what pain was and what her limits concerning it were. After hours of hard labor without a drop of pain medication, she discovered she'd grossly underestimated what she was capable of getting through.

It hadn't been easy. She'd yelled. She'd cried as Julian combed his fingers through her hair or dabbed the sweat from her face and neck or rubbed her back, anything to try and soothe her. She'd sworn rapidly in Spanish, used every filthy and angry curse she knew and invented a few creative and colorful phrasings of her own--probably not fit behavior for a new mother, but she'd worry about censorship once she got through the labor. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd clutched Claire's hand hard enough to fracture the bones, despite the conscious effort she made to keep her strength in check. She'd been at the point where she didn't think she could do it anymore, that she didn't have it in her to ride through another contraction, before the pushing had even started. She must have even said it out loud, because everyone around her had begun the mantra of you can do this, Bee, you can do this. They didn't add that she really didn't have much choice, kindly, but she was more than aware of that fact all the same.

For months she'd counted every little kick and stretch and shift and movement of the little person growing in her belly. They'd listened to her heartbeat at every appointment, talked to her, named her, read her fairy tales and nursery rhymes, played Mozart and Beethoven for her. She'd thought they were already completely in love with her, but she realized how wrong she'd been when she heard the first beautiful, gasping cry of her daughter in a suddenly still and small room. It was terrifying, and joyful, and just like that, all of her uncertainty was gone. They took her away, and all Baileigh could think was No, she's crying, what are you doing, you can't take her away, you have to give her to me.

It was a little startling, the way the pieces fell into place, when they finally got her cleaned up, weighed, measured and thoroughly checked, and Cain carried the swaddled and now somewhat calmed newborn and settled her into Baileigh's arms. She was so small, she could barely feel the weight of her at all, but one look into those tiny, watery eyes, eyes the very distinctive shade of deep blue that belonged only to babies and kittens, and she thought Oh, well...of course, it all makes sense now. And if the world had shifted before, it was nothing compared to the way it moved now. The world didn't just revolve around little Irina Lazarey, the entire universe did, and woe betide anyone that tried to say differently.
deep_red_bells: ([Appearance] Bruised and bloodied)
--The Bringers
--Multiple vampire attacks
--Multiple demon attacks
--Dana
--Losing my memories
deep_red_bells: ([Future] And we all got hurt)

She never wanted this life; this was his choice, not hers, and there is a part of her she keeps locked away that will never forgive him for choosing immortality over her.


deep_red_bells: ([Emote] Sad)
1) John Mayer, "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" and "Daughters"
2) Idina Menzel, "I'm Not That Girl"
3) Coldplay, "The Scientist"
4) Ben Folds ft. Regina Spektor, "You Don't Know Me"
5) RyanDan, "Tears of an Angel"
6) Jen Titus, "O Death"
7) Alison Krauss, "You Will Be My Ain True Love"
8) Sheryl Crow, "Riverwide"
9) VAST, "Pretty When You Cry"
10) Sarah Brightman, "Tell Me On a Sunday"
11) Ohio, "How to Be Perfect Men"
12) Stone Sour, "Bother"
13) Missy Higgins, "Where I Stood"

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deep_red_bells: (Default)
Baileigh Solis

December 2010

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