deep_red_bells: ([Expressive] Smile)
You've reached Baileigh's voicemail. She's not here right now. Leave her a message, and she'll be happy to call you back! And she promises not to do so while speaking in the third person, like she's doing now.

[both in character and OOC comments welcome. the mun is a nice girl, she doesn't bite, promise. The mun can also be reached at lttlmisslst on AIM. The muse can be reached at AsInBumble, also on AIM]

deep_red_bells: ([Text] Princess Huffypants)
Baileigh had just about decided that staring at the squiggling lines on the EFM readout would make anybody crazy, and she made herself stop obsessing over every little bump and rise and stare at the blank TV screen instead. “This is stupid,” she declared for the fifth or sixth time, ignoring for a moment that it had been her decision to come to the hospital and make sure nothing was wrong. “I fell. It’s not the end of the world. I’m sure when I get fat and try to wear heels, I’ll fall again. The stupid vamp getting in a sucker punch has nothing to do with my uterus. I should‘ve just gone HOME. They won‘t even let me have my phone. I could at least play a game of Stick Wars, that‘d make me feel better. Julian‘d let me play Stick Wars. Stupid hospital. Stupid nurses. Stupid Cain. Stupid, stupid vampires.”

Claire looked up from where she was sitting as Bee declared once again that this whole thing was stupid. She could have pointed out that it was Bee's idea to come to the hospital but she was sure it would just fall on deaf ears once again. "We just needed to make sure the baby was fine, you did fall pretty hard." She replied as she listened to her friend rant. "They're probably worried about your phone interfering with the machines here or whatever." She nodded to the machine that was currently attached to Bee.

“I’ve fallen way harder,” Baileigh pointed out, pouting down at the transducers strapped to her abdomen. They itched, stupid, stupid things, and they kept having to move them because Beanie kept moving and they were losing her heartbeat. Hi, duh. She was moving, wasn‘t that a good sign? “Okay, yes, that was before. Before is before. But she’s fine. I’d know if she wasn’t fine. This is stupid. Julian’s going to flip, Cain flipped, Annie’s gonna flip and they’re all gonna put me on house arrest-- stupid fucking vampires.” She plucked at the soft, worn scrub pants they’d given her to wear. “I’m kinda pissed the last one got away,” she finally admitted, glowering. “The bitch bit you. She needs to die. Any other time she would‘ve.”

Claire almost felt bad for the fact that she had been the one to contact the others; not Julian because he deserved to know but maybe she felt a little bad for calling Cain who then called Annie. She knew they were going to flip out. "It's okay, I'll come keep you company?" She offered with a faint smile as she crossed her ankles, glancing over at the machine to watch the heart beat for a moment before looking back. "It's okay, I'm fine." She motioned at her neck. "See, no bite marks." But she could understand and she did with a little frown. "I'm kind of pissed she got away too. Do you think she saw me heal?" There was something else she wanted to ask.

In which Claire gets bad ideas, and Baileigh is singularly unhelpful in dissuading her from them. )

ooc: anyone else in the verse who's in the state is more than welcome to stop by as well, I just have limited subject room and those were the muses I knew were on their way. :P
deep_red_bells: ([Wedding] Flowers)

It’s Saturday, May the 9th, early in the evening. The temperature is cool, a fair amount of clouds in the sky, the scent and feel of rain charging the air--but thus far, the precipitation has held off. The inside of Mr and Mrs Jacquemart-André's residence is gently lit, filled with white and pale colored roses and lilies, romantic music is playing softly, the entire atmosphere one of elegance and candlelight.

ooc: all threads are up, and seriously--feel free to post wherever you want. That's why I set things up this way. If you were invited, this post is your playground. The only thing I ask is that non-wedding party members not crowd up the ceremony thread too much with reactions, especially once the vows start--we just don't want it to get lost in the shuffle. :) Otherwise, have fun!

deep_red_bells: ([Julian] A killer pair)

They were roomies.

It didn't seem to matter that they'd technically been together for over a year, or that they were getting married next month, or that they would have a baby in six months--they were roommates. Getting anything out of Julian when he was in these moods still took a team of wild horses. She tried not to let it bother her, tried to remind herself that it was how he'd been brought up, how he had to be, but dear God--a year. And he still failed miserably at communication.

Part of her wanted to snap and lash out and yell, still. She couldn't promise herself that she wouldn't, but she was going to try talking first.

She scooped Irina-the-puppy up in her arms--a feat which was getting harder every day and would be impossible soon--kissed the top of her fuzzy head in apology before sitting her down on the floor and taking her place beside Julian on the couch. In typical dog fashion, the puppy shook it off--literally--and trotted off into the kitchen, most likely to eat. "What's wrong?" she asked simply, settling against the cushions and throw pillows and propping her chin in her hand. Not much point in beating about the bush--especially after the snideness and the slamming doors and the nearly two bottles of wine.

deep_red_bells: ([Emote] Sad)
She waited on the front steps.

It was a damn near childish thing to do, but she didn't feel like putting up with questions and explanations and pretending to be civil when she just wanted to break things. And slamming the door behind her was satisfying. She couldn't have done that if she'd waited downstairs for Claire to knock on the door.

So she stalked downstairs and slammed the front door and waited outside on the steps. Aware that it was childish. Just not giving a damn.
deep_red_bells: ([Expressive] Tired)
She had no idea what she was going to say. 'Just spit it out' sounded lovely and all, but it was much, much easier advised than put into practice. She sat curled up on the farthest end of the couch, Ruhun at her feet and Irina laying quietly at her side, a throw pillow clutched to her chest like a shield, a piece of armor. Her stomach churned in ways that she was sure had more to do with nerves than any sort of pregnancy related sickness...though her sudden aversion to Julian's aftershave disturbed her quite a bit. It just kept getting more and more real. She'd like to have told herself that it was all in her head, but she didn't see much point in self-deluding. Part of her knew. She didn't need a doctor to confirm it.

Now she just had to face the music and tell her fiance they were going to be parents.
deep_red_bells: ([Text] Little girl lost)

Baileigh told Julian that she and Claire were going shopping because she’d forgotten to pick up something important, something she’d have to remember to stop and buy just to keep up the appearance. She really hated lying to him, but telling him this now would, well, ruin their trip. What a stupid thing to even consider, but she needed to figure out just how the hell she was going to break the news to him and a few days past a week seemed like a reasonable amount of time. She was likely kidding herself to think that he wouldn’t be able to tell that something was wrong, but she could try.

She knocked quietly at the door to Adam and Claire‘s place, unsure of how she’d managed to stay on her feet this long, how she’d managed to keep smiling until she was out of the house. She knew she was hanging by a thread; all she wanted to do was curl up somewhere and hide.

She hoped talking to someone she could trust to keep things to themselves would help.
deep_red_bells: ([Appearance] Soft)

The first touch of citrus against her lips burned. It was a terrible habit she had, biting her lip when she was tense or nervous, and that habit had continued even through the time her mind had been nothing but a sucking black hole. She'd bitten off the top layer of skin in several places, and the acidic juice that slipped over her lower lip as she bit into the pulp of a lime slice was quick to point it out to her.

She loved tequila. Especially expensive, good quality tequila that went down like water. She liked the way the salt balanced out the burn and the citrus enhanced the flavor on her tongue. It was definitely her poison of choice, but she didn't allow herself to have it very often. But tonight, she needed it. The sting and the salt and the burn and the way her inside went lax after the first five or...ten shots. "Don't try to keep up with me," she'd warned Sark before they'd started to pour their shots, because it took much more alcohol to break through the durability that being a Slayer blessed her with. But oh, she could feel the beginnings of it, relaxing the tension in her shoulders and neck, coating her mind with a thin haze, pushing blood and heat to her cheeks.

She needed this. Anyone that thought alcohol wasn't a healthy way to work through stress and tension could go straight to hell.

She sighed and toyed with her glass with one hand, sucked the sharp tang of lime juice from her fingertips and settled her back against the headboard. Her smile came easier as she watched Julian lean over and pour another shot. She waited until he'd swallowed the burning liquid before she rolled to her side and rested her head against his shoulder. They'd been near silent for most of the evening, and she hated it. She was trying hard to hold together for him, but that he could barely stand to touch her or even look at her, was hardly even talking to her...she was having trouble not breaking down crying. "Hey," she said quietly, tentatively, closing her eyes and humming softly as the room seemed to rotate slowly. "You know...I don't think we've ever done this before."


deep_red_bells: ([Emote] Soft and awed)
She couldn't shake the eerie feeling that she was being watched.

And it was very possible that yes, she was being watched, and simply hadn't spotted the one doing the watching yet. Either way, her anonymous admirer had either made a very good study of her, or had just lucked out with his choice of meeting places. The rare bookstore was an absolute paradise for her closet bibliophilism, but it also had a dim, mysterious sort of feel that had her constantly glancing over her shoulder, expecting someone to be breathing down her neck...or not breathing at all, she supposed, would be more accurate.

It seemed to be par for the Slayer course. You needed at least one forbidden little tryst with a vampiric suitor. Hell, in Buffy's case, there'd been two. Baileigh clearly had some catching up to do.

A wry smile touched her lips, fingertips brushing over a display of a set of Jane Austen novels that one could own for the low, low price of $8,500. Maybe her secret admirer would be kind enough to actually tell her his name. If she was lucky.

And if, she added silently, pulling out her cell phone and glancing at the time--8:52, eight minutes away from their pre-arranged meeting time--he decided to show up.
deep_red_bells: ([Appearance] Hair tuck)

Never in her adult life had Baileigh been a shy person. The awkward and often painful environment of high school aside, she was the sort of person who could meet someone and, in five or ten minutes' conversation, could form a strong and lasting friendship, no matter what walk of life said person came from. She liked people, all people. She liked talking, about anything. Therefore, she liked talking to all kinds of people, about anything.

None of which anyone watching her tonight would be able to guess, as she'd spent the beginning of the evening staring at her drinks and making idle chit-chat about the weather, or Mohinder and how he was doing, or the presidential race that she'd paid absolutely no attention to but people usually liked to talk about politics, didn't they? All of which had killed, maybe, fifteen minutes and one drink. Now that all of that had been exhausted, she was left staring at the watery iceless remnants of her tequila and tonic and clutching for something, anything to say.

Frustration and embarrassment finally kicked in, and on some level she welcomed both. They made her babble, and at least if she was babbling, she was saying something. "I'm usually much better company," she confessed, half-mumbling into her drink before tossing back what little was left in the glass. "Really. I...make conversation. I have things to say. I'm...cheerful! I make jokes, I tell funny stories, I...can think of halfway decent topics of conversation, I'm just..." She blew a strand of hair out of her face, gazed down at her woefully empty glass for a moment, then back up at Sylar. "...just not really running a hundred percent right now, and I swear, on the soul of my grandmother and I really, really did love my grandmother so I promise when I swear on her immortal soul I'm very, very serious, it has...nothing, at all. To do with you. I promise."

deep_red_bells: ([Expressive] Shy smile)

It was probably really stupid, since they were just going for a walk, most likely to the park as Searchlight was in the middle of scenic nowhere, but she wanted to look pretty. Mainly because according to Hank, she'd very much resembled a dead fish for the last week. As if things hadn't sucked enough with the dreaming and the brain hijacking, she'd also looked like hell. Yay.

So she prettied up. She put on cute capris and a pretty sparkly top and fussed with her hair until it was frizz free and shiny. She put on a little makeup to give her features some color, since for some reason that pastiness was trying to hang around. She seriously considered sneaking down to the kitchen and snagging a shot or two of the brandy Denny kept stuck back (alcohol induced rosy cheeks were better than pastiness any day of the week), but eventually decided against it. Alcohol might make her sleepy. Sleep was the enemy for at least another week.

"Terry, Spike, anyone else that cares!!" she called as she hopped past the library, still trying to put on her shoes and retrieve a stake while tucking her cell phone into her pocket and oh yeah, walking. "Going out, be back later, have cell in case the world tries to end and all that, and PS, someone borrowed my turquoise slides while I was gone and unless I get them back the punishment is death if I find out who it was!"

"Nobody touched your sodding shoes, pet!"

"LIES, death I tell you!" she yelled back, at least half-teasing, sifted through a backpack full of stakes that stayed parked next to the kitchen door until she found one of the 'good ones.' She might be off active duty for a bit, but really, what kind of idiot vampire slayer left home without a stake? Now where was that boyfriend of her's...
deep_red_bells: ([Expressive] Listening)
That, Baileigh decided as she studied her darling S.O. from the doorway of the balcony, was a brooding position if she ever saw one. From the way he held his wine glass when he picked it up to the line of his shoulders and back. Brooding of the bad variety or just plain brooding, she couldn't tell without seeing his face...well, if she could even tell from his expression at all, which was debatable. She'd discovered pretty quickly that she wasn't going to discern anything he didn't feel like letting her see, and she'd decided to stop letting herself think she had him figured out.

She didn't mind it. The brooding. It was his turn, really.

She sighed and nudged the door open, slipped outside, tiptoed barefoot over to him, keeping as far away from the railing as she could get. It was a spectacular view, it really was, she just couldn't stand to peek over the edge. It made her insides feel like they were cringing. She bent down and kissed his cheek quickly, brushed her fingers across the back of his neck as she circled around his chair to tug the other one closer and sit down next to him. "Still no penny," she remarked lightly, tucking her legs beneath her and resting her chin in her hand. "Couldn't find one. I'll have to owe you. So...talk?"
deep_red_bells: ([Emote] Bored)
An airport bathroom’s lighting, Baileigh had decided, would not do even the likes of Catherine Zeta Jones any favors. It would turn even someone as va-va-voom gorgeous as her a delicately putrid shade of yellow and blue and green at the same time and somehow reveal every flaw and imperfection on every layer of skin right down to the dermis.

It just didn’t seem possible for her to look that pale and waxy, not with the Nevada sun keeping her skin a perpetual dusky bronze. It was both fascinating and revolting, and wow, had she reached a new and impressively pathetic level of 'flighty, ditzy and easily amused'.

Well, she was nervous, which lead to babbling, even if it was internal babbling. She was also extremely irritated that she’d stepped in gum in the parking lot and only just realized it about fifteen minutes before Julian’s plane was supposed to land. Supposed to land being the operative words, since it seemed those little arrival time numbers they threw up on the big board were really just an elaborate game of Bingo and no one had caught on to the joke yet. Whoever was behind that needed to be shot (and people that chewed gun also needed to be shot--not lethally, just in the arm or leg, but still: shot) because even after she got the mess scraped off the sole of her Marc Eckos and made a mad dash back to the gate, the now five minutes turned into thirty, then forty, then forty five, and she being so very lacking in the forward thinking department had not even brought a damned book. Sending goofy text messages to Annie and quietly mocking other people’s questionable fashion sense only entertained for so long, and the one person she’d tried to strike up a conversation with apparently only spoke Caveman Grunt. It was a bit like trying to talk to Callahan, only even less stimulating.

All things considered, marveling at her corpse-like appearance in the bathroom mirror had been so much more fun. And since the chances of finding a nun to discuss how The Walrus and the Carpenter had made her believe all religion was evil were slim to none, she supposed she’d just…keep sitting here and keep picking invisible lint off of her capris until the damned plane landed.

God, she hated being bored...but hey, at least she wasn't really nervous anymore.

...Yeah, not a fair trade.
deep_red_bells: (Default)
True to her word, Baileigh put on the shiny red lipstick and the snug jeans and left her hair down, for no other reason than that Ford had requested--probably  jokingly--that she 'look hot' for their hunting outing. She felt a teeny bit silly, but what was the harm? Any good Grace would suffer a little silliness for her favorite Will.

After explaining to Hank and Cain that she was going out with a friend in need of a pick-me-up, she waited out on the front porch steps and killed some time sharpening a few wooden stakes with a Bowie knife, unconcerned of how she probably looked to her neighbors, a twenty-something reasonably attractive girl spending her night kicked back on the porch whittling at sticks. Hardly the weirdest thing she'd ever done to get the neighbor's attention...no, that would be starting a small fire in her backyard to burn some clothing, an entire outfit that had been ruined when she'd run amiss of a very smelly demon.

She still mourned the loss of those shoes.

Hearing the crunch of gravel at the base of the driveway, Baileigh stuck the knife back down in her boot and got to her feet, dusted wood shavings off of her jeans as what she assumed was Ford's car pulled up to the house.

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deep_red_bells: (Default)
Baileigh Solis

December 2010

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