birthrightgreen: (Another Day with Daemon)
OOC: This comes out of AU RP, not canon, and definitely not TM-ish RP. But it the prompt, so I let her go with it.

When I awoke the next morning, I ached all over. That warm, pleasant ache that radiates from your core into each muscle. My shoulder blades were raw, but then the kitchen floor isn’t carpeted. My wrist throbbed from the small puncture wound, and my neck had more than one bruise on it.

It was … I just lay there, taking account of each hurt, pulling it to my heart and cherishing it. He’d known what I could take, what I craved, things Falonar had never understood about me. Things born in shame but which made me now what I was, a perfect counterpart for that part of him. I rolled over, the soft sheets sliding over skin as gently as his hands had, after.

Open. Vulnerable, in a way I’d never let myself be. The emotional aftershocks of it were still making my head spin, even as remembering it brought a wave of heat to my cheeks. There should have been shame. Regret, as my fingers danced over the empty space in my bed where he’d never laid and never would. But I couldn’t muster it up. It would come, I was sure. Later and wash over me and hurt more for the knowledge of how for the first time in my life, I’d felt like I’d come home. Like I belonged.

My fingers danced over the mark on my wrist again. I did belong. He’d marked me. His. Physical proof of what had always been. Then. Now. Forever.

I could wait.


Apr. 10th, 2006 10:29 am
birthrightgreen: (Dream of a Place Called Home)
Surreal wandered downstairs in search of breakfast, casually dressed in trousers and a sweater. She wasn't sure where Rainier was, as he'd been gone when she woke, but it seemed a good time to explore the house a bit more on her own. Her things had been delivered from the family townhouse, what few of them there were. Mostly clothes. A few books. The majority of what she'd collected in her life had been left behind in Terreille. Not that she regretted the loss, not really, but it was so much of her past that looking around she couldn't help feeling that she was back to that rootless existence.

Except that he wanted to buy a cabinet for weapons for her to practice with. Put up targets for her to practice throwing at, in his beautiful dance studio no less. And he'd told her she could redecorate if things didn't please her.

She still couldn't imagine that. The same impulse that had kept her from redecorating Daemon and Jaenelle's townhouse kept her from considering that here, even if it was different.

And it was different. Everything was different.

She flushed a little under what she was sure were the servant's knowing eyes as she helped herself to the rather bountiful breakfast they'd laid out on the sideboard.

He loved her. He'd said so.

She flushed more, mumbling her thanks, then focusing her attention on buttering her roll as the maid poured her some coffee before retreating. It wasn't like her to blush like this, damn the man. She'd been the highest paid whore in the history of Terreille. She'd seen it all and done most of it. She wasn't supposed to blush at the memory of three little words that had turned her world upside down.

There was guilt there, niggling. She wasn't supposed to love him, she was fairly sure. She'd made promises, rash ones. No vows of celibacy--she wasn't an idiot, and she knew herself--but promises nonetheless. Even if only to herself and he'd never asked for them and wouldn't be upset. No right to be.

They'd made their choices and they were the right ones and they were both happy with them and he'd be happy for her and want her to be happy the same way she wanted him to be happy. All she'd ever wanted was for him to be happy, so why did she feel like...why the guilt for taking a chance on her own happiness?

She left her food mostly untouched, sipping at her coffee as she got up and wandered to perch in the window seat, looking out at the street.

She loved him. A wry smile flitted across her lips. Both hims. Because of honor, family, and love itself, she'd walked away from one of them. She had a chance with Rainier, though, for something new. Something unprecedented in her life. Something she'd never really dared to hope to have for herself. And she'd taken that chance, agreeing to stay with him here. To make his home hers. But now there was a new layer to that. She should have known how he felt. He made it clear enough in every glance, every touch. But somehow it seemed too...improbable that anyone something she couldn't put a word to, but someone like him...improbable that someone like him could love someone like her.

But he did. She could feel the truth behind the words. He wanted her here. He loved her. He wanted her in his life.

She glanced back around the room. This could be her home. He could be her home. Was...her home, maybe, already, without her consciously deciding that. She had a chance at happiness that she hadn't had before.

All she had to do was take it.
birthrightgreen: (Not that girl)
The tree did not make a satisfactory target. The knives stuck in it well enough, but it didn't bleed. Graysfang was astute enough to stay behind where she was hurling things and not present himself as a target, but he stayed close enough to let her know he was there if she should need him. Not that he knew what he could do, and his puppyish distress was palpable in the air.

She ignored it steadily, just as she was ignoring the ache in her arm. When it hurt too much to ignore, she just switched arms.

And it wasn't helping. She needed something...more. She needed a target. Something to kill, and the sheer unfairness of the fact that there was no one left almost made her sob with her own helplessness to vent any of the rage that had been building up since the night she'd taken the blade to her own skin to make the pain stop, if only for a minute.

Nowhere to put it anymore, and no resolution for her. Kartane's blood spilled, and those who'd raped her purged, and there was no one left to extract vengeance from, but the rage and the pain were still there.

Rainier had been good to his word. He hadn't told the family about that night. He hadn't alerted anyone, and the scars were almost gone. Long sleeves hid them easily. He'd worked to heal other things since, but...centuries of rage and self-hatred didn't just go away. Somewhere inside she recognized that.

She couldn't do that here, anyway. Graysfang wouldn't understand he couldn't tattle. He'd run for help, thinking it was an accident. And they were all here. She couldn't...they'd see the blood. And she'd told him she wouldn't do it again, no matter that the temptation was almost overwhelming. The physical pain had blocked out the rest for a while.

She could spar, but she pitied anyone who picked up the sticks...though another part of her whispered that she'd let them win, just so something else would hurt. She pushed that thought away viciously. She wasn't weak. She wasn't...she was strong. She wouldn't give into it again. Not the weakness of hurting herself, not the weakness of tears, not the weakness of needing anyone.

The tree, however, wasn't working either. She wondered, almost idly, if Daemon was right that she wouldn't just kill for the pleasure of killing. Where did you put the rage, when there was no one left to hate?

She wanted her mother.

She pulled her knives out of the tree with a snarl, then threw them at another tree. Again and again and maybe the exhaustion would set in and then she could stop.
birthrightgreen: (Dream of a Place Called Home)
Long day and I'm ready -
I'm waiting for your call
'Cos I've made up my mind
My heart aches with a hunger and the want that you were mine
No I cannot deny

So for one night, is it all right
That I give... you
My heart, my love, my heart
Just for one night
My body, my soul
Just for one night
My love, my love
For one night, one night, one night

When morning awakes me
Well I know I'll be alone
And I feel I'll be fine
So don't you worry about me
I'm not empty on my own
For inside I'm alive

That for one night, it was so right
That I gave... you
My heart, my love, my heart
Just for one night
My body, my soul
Just for one night
My love, I loved
For one night, one night, one night

For one night, it was so right
That I gave... you
My heart, my love, my heart
Just for one night
My body, my soul
Just for one night
My love, my love
For one night, one night, one night
One night...

[ooc: don't ask me for sure which this is for, she just keeps humming it and made me post. *wry*]
birthrightgreen: (putting up hair)
She wasn't nervous. She had nothing to be nervous about. It wasn't like it was a romantic evening. They'd just worked so hard on the case, working to catch the rabid witch who'd been slaughtering innocent males. And they had, with Jaenelle's help. Now Jaenelle and Daemon were back on their honeymoon and she...

She was here in Amdarh, back how she had been, nursing the bruises Falonar had left. So, why, exactly was she changing her dress? The one she had on was perfectly acceptable. She was going out dancing with a friend. She could use a friend right now. What she couldn't use was a male thinking he was just going to sweep in and carry her off.

Not that he was probably thinking that, but she was suspicious.

He was a male, and years of seeing them abused by her own sex still hadn't made her trust them as a gender. Then again, she didn't trust most people.

With a growl at herself, she finally settled on a black dress with enough slink to impress and a enough swirl to make a statement on the dance floor, no matter how elegant and formal. Hair pinned half up, the rest left down. If people stared at her ears, so be it.

She was ready. It was going to be fun. She kept repeating that. Fun. With a friend.

Just a friend. He wasn't expecting anything. He wouldn't be that foolish.

She just wished she knew what he wanted.
birthrightgreen: (With Baby)
ooc: Since in-game Surreal is a bit confused and possibly bordering on uncharacteristic brooding right now, I am taking the liberty to write this prompt from a future/AU perspective. It's 80 or so years after the end of the books and short stories. Think of it as a "what could happen" sort of thing. :-)

She'd shared her bed with others for most of her life, albeit usually in far more strenuous occupation than this snuggled sleepiness, but never in even the height of sexual pleasure had she been this utterly aware of someone else. Every breath, soft and snuffling. The tiny mouth searching for her breast with more determined persistence than any client or lover had shown, and Surreal was more happy to surrender it than she had ever been.

One finger traced her daughter's cheek as the infant fed, and an unusually soft smile lit her face. There were words for what she was feeling, she was sure, but she wasn't sure what they were. When she tried to speak them, she found tears in her eyes, so she just subsided.

The bed moved slightly as a long, lean form stretched out next to her. One arm slid around her waist, and long curls brushed her skin as he rested his chin lightly against her shoulder, looking down at the miracle they'd made.

"She's beautiful," Rainier said softly in her ear. "Like you."

A child of three races now, the baby's ears were less pointed than Surreal's, her skin paler, like her father's.

"I think she's going to have your eyes," Surreal said, glancing at him with a smile.

He grinned, pleased by this private acknowledgment of paternity, though truly it wouldn't be publicly acknowledged for a few years in an official ceremony. Fathers' places were precarious in Blood society, though less after the Purification of decades before.

"What do you think we should call her?" he asked, touching the baby's arm almost wonderingly.

Of all of this, that was the easiest part for Surreal. Her smile grew as she looked down at the baby.

"Titian. I want to name her Titian."

Rainier dropped a kiss on her shoulder, and somewhere in the eternal Darkness, the spirit of her mother smiled.


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