deep_red_bells: ([Appearance] Neck)
I've tried. I've tried to be optimistic and hopeful and even let Annie makes jokes about it and I've failed miserably on all fronts.

Tonight is the first night of the full moon and her whole life could just...end. I keep trying to tell myself it doesn't have to be that big of a deal, because it's only three nights out of the month, but it's three nights that she'd have to be locked up, chained down, and alone.

I wouldn't deal well with it.

Everyone keeps telling me not to feel guilty. Put yourself in my place, then tell me you wouldn't feel guilty as hell.

I want the world to be fair. Just once.

I don't think that's too much to ask.

Update-age

Sep. 9th, 2008 07:22 pm
deep_red_bells: ([Text] Grace)
Annie's awake. Drugged and incoherent, but she's awake and apparently she's gonna be okay.

Now it's just a waiting game. We'll know for sure Saturday.
deep_red_bells: ([Text] Break me)

Annie's still out.


...Fuck.


deep_red_bells: ([Emote] Pain)

(ooc: companion piece to this)

"There's something wrong with you, and I think it's catching."

Annie merely grinned at her and rose smoothly from the admittedly impressive but patrol-time-wasting backbend. “Oh, come on…just because someone died doesn’t mean we have to act like someone died.”

She knew better than to give Annie the glare, but the glare what was she got anyway. She hadn't been there. She couldn't begin to understand...

“I know the attack last night wigged you out," Annie continued, her tone softening just a little as the fell into step beside each other. "But it’s all gonna wig you out. This gig is life and death, babycakes with the pretty belly chains--"

"Mock me now," Baileigh interrupted, holding out one hand while the other strayed to the dangling charm at her navel, that she still wasn't quite used to having there. "But you'll have one soon enough."

“Nah, I’m getting tattoos, not piercings. My man likes me all natural. Besides, if I get a piercing, it’s gonna be something dirty. Anyway, I was waxing philosophic, shaddup.”

She almost asked how the hell tattoos were more 'natural' than piercings, briefly entertained mentioning that she'd spied some really kick ass nipple rings while on her body jewelry shopping spree and had actually been kicking around the idea of getting one done, decided it was best just to shut the hell up and let her get her philosophical waxing over and done with. "Sorry. Continue."

“Thank you, Grasshopper. Life and death…we can’t save them all and we know it. So you have to see meaning in the horror. If no one dies, we don’t know there’s a problem. Lives are lost to save others, and one day? Maybe if we did our job good enough there won’t be anything left to kill people. Cues won’t be there because the baddies won’t be there.”

Right. And on that bright, shining happy day, the Keebler elves will come out of their hollow trees and bake everyone some of their delicious and addictive cookies, angels will fly down from heaven and serenade everyone with blessed Hallelujahs, and pigs will not only fly but start break dancing in the street. It'll be one big party. She got what Annie meant. She did. She was just more than a little doubtful that they, any of them, would ever be...finished.

Not until they died. Which was not a comforting thought.

Annie tipped her head on Baileigh's shoulder, linked her arm through hers and leaned heavily on her, forcing her to walk supporting both of their weights. She was just about to playfully shove her off when something very big, very furry and very fast leapt over their heads and took off running in a streak of grey.

There you are, you son of a bitch. )

word count: 829

note: tú me estás jodiendo = you gotta be fucking kidding me, in Spanish.

deep_red_bells: ([Emote] Defeated)
Her skin had been warm, still. Soft and pliable beneath the press of fingertips against her wrist, pointlessly and almost laughably searching for a pulse. The blood had been fresh, the shining, bright red that they simply can't quite recreate on any crime drama no matter how hard they try. Her whole body, a mess of ragged flesh, ripped at and torn apart. It wasn't a sight she'd be able to forget anytime soon. Things that should never, ever be visible or outside the skin were in plain, gory view, or spattered against the walls.

And they were too late to save her. By minutes.

Minutes. If they'd just run a little faster. If Karina hadn't stumbled. If Baileigh hadn't turned to make sure she was okay. If they'd left the house a little earlier for patrol. If they'd done any number of things to collect a few handfuls of precious seconds together, they could've caught up to the werewolf sooner. They could've saved her.

We can't save everyone. People die. It happens, we're still way ahead as far the numbers go. Right?

She presses her forehead against the cold tile of the shower and shivers. The spray went freezing at least ten minutes ago--it happens pretty quickly in the house, you can't usually hope for more than a few minutes of hot water. She's clean, blood and dirt washed away, but she's slow to notice the chill. Like it's settled somewhere deep down and she can't tell the difference anymore.

She knows, she knows she shouldn't let it get to her. So many people die every day. They really can't save everyone, they're not meant to.

It's just that the numbers don't really matter when you're staring down at the body, wondering who she was, who she belonged to, who was going to miss her and what she would've become...if only they'd been a little bit faster.

She can try to comfort herself, she can stand under the water all night, but the guilt--or whatever this ice block that's settled in her stomach is--won't be washed away so easily.

word count: 350

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Baileigh Solis

December 2010

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