Baileigh Solis

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.

based off this image


She collects the symbols.

Things have changed in subtle ways over the years, after all. The types of ceremony. Religious beliefs that were lost, new trends that became popular, old customs that were remembered. She has a box full of jewelry, mostly rings, of course, made from a wide range of metals and gemstone adornments, whatever was the fashion. She’s kept a few other things. Strands of rope, wine glasses, dried vines that once held flowers twined into crowns. Sticks of incense, trinkets and gifts, wood carvings, pieces of tulle and silk and satin and cotton cut from dresses and clothing, lace garters, glass jars full of sand.

Sometimes it was necessary to keep up appearances, and sometimes they simply wanted to, for fun. Most of the time they didn’t bother with it, merely shed the old life and the names that went with it, and stepped into new roles, with new names and new rings. As husband and wife.

They know who they are, after all, in themselves, and to each other.

The rest is just symbols.

Most men, Baileigh thought absently, glancing around the empty room that would be hers and Julian’s during the summer, bought cars. Cars, and motorcycles. And…gadget type things. Not houses. And yet the men she’d chosen to surround herself with seemed to enjoy buying houses.

As well as cars and motorcycles and gadget type things. And islands. And boats.

They were the Cullens. All of them, hell, herself included, factoring in her penchant for shoes and clothes shopping. Minus the stupid sparkling and vampirism and total lameness, they were the goddamn Cullens.

The paint and the border weren’t what she would‘ve chosen, but they were inoffensive enough that she wasn’t going to gut the room entirely. In fact, she was all for keeping it pretty basic. They could add things here and there over time. She slipped out of their room and moved to the one next to it, that would be their child’s, the nursery. She wondered if Adam would mind of they had an adjoining door put in…but they’d worry about that for next summer. She’d definitely want to paint in here…not pink, though. Maybe yellow if she could find the right shade.

They had a whole house that had to be furnished, after all, and she hadn’t a clue where to begin, had difficulty naming what was the biggest priority. Not that money was an issue, but it was a really big house. A really damn big house. That all of them, the whole adopted family, could live in, quite comfortably. And still have their own space.

It was going to be nice. The dogs already loved the yard. And everyone would be together and close. It was gonna be a lot of fun.

Assuming that nobody killed anyone. That was always a possibility when dealing with the Petrellis & Co.

Baileigh stepped out of the room just in time to see Claire hurtle down the hallway with a slightly horrified look on her face. “There’s still a giant fish on my wall,” she explained breathlessly. “Why is there still a giant fish on my wall?”

“Awwwwwww, they left Clarence!!” Baileigh squealed, grinning. “What, you don’t like Clarence?”

“No! Everywhere you move he watches you! It’s creepy!”

“And what are you doing that you don’t want him watching? Maybe we should leave him up to keep you honest.” Baileigh laughed at Claire’s look, then squealed and squirmed away when Claire dug her fingers ticklishly into her side. “Oh God stop it there’s a baby in there there’s a baby in there okay okay, we’ll go get Clarence off the wall. Or rather we’ll con one of the big strapping men into taking Clarence off the wall. Maybe we’ll stick him on the nursery wall. Baby Lazarey might get a kick out of him, you never know.”

“I am begging you not to inflict that thing on my Beanie,” Claire pouted up at her teasingly.

"I make no promises," Baileigh replied somberly, and cracked up laughing as Hiro came out of Claire's room looking equally horrified.

"Why is there a giant fish on the wall? It is very ugly!"

"Poor Clarence!" Baileigh sniffled dramatically and stuck her head into the bedroom. "I still love you, almighty Clarence! You see and know all!"

Yep. It was gonna be an interesting summer.

[ooc: Claire (girl_ofsecrets) is used with permission and love. Hiro (powered_otaku ) used with less permission but equal love. :P ]

“Sometimes you find your destiny on the road you took to avoid it.” - The International

=================================

( It wasn't her destiny. )