Mar. 21st, 2009 07:46 pm
birthrightgreen: (...You're not serious?)
Hello, you've reached Surreal SaDiablo. I'm not available at the moment, but please leave me a message, and I will get back to you as soon as possible.
birthrightgreen: (Some men die)
Post is up in [livejournal.com profile] oldestbeloved's journal here.

Let's get this party started. ;-)
birthrightgreen: (Some men die)
So, here we are on the historic occasion of Sam and Surreal FINALLY getting married.

The wedding will be October 31st. Because it is in the Realm, time is all bendy anyway, and feel free to still come even if you want to do Samhain parties around the 'verses. Wedding and reception will go on as long as they go on. We'll probably write up the wedding itself as a post, then let the reception go from there.

All muses, all universes, who know Sam or Surreal or are coming as dates of people who know them are more than welcome. Methos is officiating, so yes--that means he and Wes and Fred will be out of hiding for the event. *g* Also, just wrap your minds around that for a bit--Methos is officiating. *mad giggles*

We hope you all can make it!
birthrightgreen: (Corset by mirrorqueen)
Oh, this one is easy, sugar. Revenge. Absolutely. There are few sensations that are more exquisite. The feel of the knife sliding through skin. The twist of the blade. The cries for mercy from one who has spent his life torturing, raping and breaking little girls. The screams that echo through Hell, when he sees his handiwork in your dead mother’s ripped throat, and feels his skin peel away. The taste of his blood when you lick it off your arms. The feel of the heat when you sink into the sulfur pool and listen as the beasts devour what you left of him. The peace, gentle and calm that settles over you when his cries finally cease, when you deliver the final death blow from your mind into his pathetic, skinned bones. No coming back to torment anyone in hell; you send him to the Darkness and you know that finally, it is over. Everything you have worked for, trained for, every assassination, every trial run, it has all paid off in this moment. The release is nearly orgasmic, cheeks flushing, breath quickening through it all, building to that point. It is done. And you are finally completely free.
birthrightgreen: (Everything has a price)
It was hard won, and bittersweet, and there were more losses than I think any of us had reckoned on. Dorothea was dead, painfully so, and Hekatah thrown into the Darkness as well. The Blood were purged of their taint, and only a few remained in Terreille at all. In Kaeleer, even, there were fewer left than we might have wished, more tainted by the immigration than we realized, I think.

Daemon and Lucivar were strained, separate, the vision of what he had done to Marian and Daemonar's shadows lingering between them. Saetan, I think, understood more, but still, the words had hurt and his torture had taken a toll, and what they were forced to later, even now I do not know. My own body was bruised, by my own insistence, and I think for a long time Daemon was broken. But more than that, he came home expecting Jaenelle. He came home expecting a wedding band.

I came home expecting my mother still to be there.

We were both perhaps too hopeful in what we expected.

Everything has a price, you see. Even triumph. It's a lesson we Blood learn young, and the price of forgetting that there will be a price is often far higher than what we reckoned on paying.
birthrightgreen: (Sam and Surreal ethereal)
Samael has asked me to marry him, and I have assented. We have not set a date, yet, but when we do, I shall let those of you wishing to attend know.
birthrightgreen: (Material Girl)
I did win one, of sorts, though I can’t say that it’s one I’m personally proud of achieving. Though, I suppose, one should always take pride in one’s work. It isn’t my work anymore, of course. I gave it up from the night I found Jaenelle bleeding and broken on the bed, but it was before, and I always had mixed feelings.

I hated many of the men who came to my bed, but not all. With a few regulars there was at least a sense of familiarity, and sometimes there was even pleasure. No matter how I came to it, I rarely hated sex itself after the things I learned. There were days I despised myself for that, that I could take pleasure even in the games of the bedroom. But it was that ability to find pleasure, as well as the complete ability to control it that made me what I was.

I was, quite simply, the best. The highest paid whore in all of Terreille. I graced a house by deigning to practice there. No madam would turn me away, because I paid her price, and I made us both rich when I worked there. I set my price, and when I raised it—they paid. Few women in my line of work can truly say that. Few had the freedom I had. I traveled. I went where I pleased. I had homes, times away from work. I was recognized. I was admired. I was free.

But that appellation—that was how they knew me. “The highest paid whore in Terreille. I suppose it is some sort of award in a land known for it’s cruel games between the sexes and a place in the only profession where men were allowed to dominate. I made the rules. I overcame my past. I prospered. And that means something.
birthrightgreen: (With Baby)
It's not a title she ever expected to hear. It's one she worked hard to convince herself she didn't want to hear, because children were not something you wished on any whore. Everything got harder then. While living with Falonar, the same sort of resistance was there. I don't want a child, she had told him, even as her eyes watched Daemonar flying near the rafters.

A year ago, she changed her mind. Two months ago, the world changed.

Life goes on, and old habits reassert themselves. She started training as soon as she'd recovered from the birth and courtesy of the power it took to wear the Grey, she was almost back in fighting form, though her body was still rounded in ways it hadn't been before, and the fullness of breasts that were aching and heavy with milk tended to throw off her balance in subtle ways. Her body was hers again, and yet there was a sure knowledge at her core that it wasn't really, wouldn't really ever be hers again.

It belonged to the sleeping bundle in the crib in the nursery, with her bright green eyes and softly pointed ears that not even her father's blood added to her grandfather's had erased. Surreal hadn't expected that part of her new station. The fierce protectiveness, yes. She had seen it often enough in Titian's eyes to expect it. But the utter surety that she was no longer her own was unnerving in some ways.

In others, it was perfection.
birthrightgreen: (Deadly)
What part of "assassin" don't you understand, sugar?

I've killed countless members of my own species. Mostly males, but a few females as well, and sugar, believe me, I'd do it again if it all comes 'round again.

I like to think I never killed anyone who didn't deserve it, at least, but honestly wondering that is not something that keeps me up at night. People who knew to hire me, knew that I went for honest kills. No rivalries. No wanting to get someone out of the way who had slighted you. I killed males who hurt little girls. Males who raped and broke witches. Males who left children bleeding in the streets when they were done taking their pleasure with them. Males like my father, and males like the man who raped me, and all those clients who preyed on me when I was on the streets. Who hit me. Who tried to get away without paying for the things I let them do to me.

I killed the first one while he was still inside me, after he'd beaten me beforehand. I killed him, and I took his money, and I ran. It was instinct, pure and wild and broken, and it earned me a reputation that at least stopped them from hitting me most of the time before they took me, and made sure they paid for the "pleasure." Then Daemon honed it. He had me trained. He found me contacts. Finally, there were clients who paid more for one flick of my knife than I made in a month on my back.

I'm retired, now. I don't hire myself out for pleasure or death. That doesn't mean I won't kill again. "Murder" is not a crime among the Blood, and I always have my blade at the ready.
birthrightgreen: (Gray-Jeweled Witch)
Dearest Sister,

When Samael explained the concept of a fan letter to me, I admit that I was stumped. Why anyone would write letters to entertainers is beyond me. Yes, they work hard at entertaining, but I can't say I've been overly impressed with most of it. There's a writer or two I might consider sending such, but most of them seem to be dead and they might not appreciate such a foreign opinion as mine.

But then it became perfectly clear. A letter to someone expressing appreciation and admiration for the things they do? Well, that could only go from me to one person, and that's you, sugar. You are the only person in all the Realms I can contemplate writing one of these letters to. Your strength, your dedication, your understanding of what must be; your care for each of us, your grasp of the necessity of sacrifice; and your willingness to be the sacrifice, to not ask more of anyone than you ask yourself--all that and more make you worthy of praise.

You are my sister. My friend. My inspiration. My touchstone. My guidepost. You have made our world one I feel safe bringing my daughter into. You have made the Blood once again a legacy I am proud to pass on to her. You have given us our very selves back, and that is something to celebrate. You have made my dearest friend happier than I ever thought he could be, and that alone would make me love you even if there was nothing else. You gave me a home. A name. A place to be myself and make a difference.

Thank you. I love you, more than these words can say, for who you are and everything you have done. I am ever at your disposal, whatever you need, and am always here to Serve.

Your sister,
birthrightgreen: (Saetan's Niece)
If you could pick anyone in the world, alive or dead, to be your parents, who would it be and why?

I would not trade my mother for anyone. There is nothing that would tempt me to choose anyone else. She risked her life for me, just to have me, and died for it eventually. And then again, in the end, she gave up her existence as demon-dead to step back into the Darkness to save us all. She was strong and she was courageous and she was beautiful and did what she needed to do to keep her child safe and fed, and I loved her.

My father on the hand, I'd be happy to be rid of even more than I am. I look in the mirror and I see his skin, his hair. I sent him to Hell and I would gladly erase him even further if I was able. I think, instead, I would choose Saetan. I know Lucivar and Daemon have had their issues with him, but those were not of his making, but Dorothea's. He's a good man, and a good father. Jaenelle was lucky when he stepped in as hers. He is kind, and he is wise. He understands what it means to Serve in a way that keeps the Blood strong, and he wears his Jewels with authority, even now as a Guardian. He took that step to wait, to serve, to protect our world.

Who would not want such a man to be their father?
birthrightgreen: (With Baby)
She's so tiny. The thought keeps flying around in my brain, when I touch her. She's learning to grasp hold of things, but slowly, still catching up from her early birth, and her fingers are so very small. The skin over them feels as thin as paper some days. Morghann keeps telling me she's healthy. She's fine. She's eating, and she's growing, and just the other day she smiled at me for the first time.

The smile, that small gesture of recognition, felt like a knife through my heart. It was so sweet. So...innocent, and innocence is not something I've any experience with. There is so much out there in the world ready and willing to harm her, and she has no defenses of her own. Just me and Samael standing between her and the world.

I know too well what the world is capable of. I know the darkness that lurks in the hearts of too many men. I know how easily a blade can pierce flesh. I know the color of blood, the stains it makes inside and out, the ones that will never come out. I know pain from both sides.

And there she lies, perfect, but so fragile. So easily harmed, so easily lost in just a moment, a fragment of time.

I am not one to give in to fear, to let it take control for more than second. I've fought it all my life until I became the thing to fear in the night.

But when I look at her, when she smiles at me, I am terrified.
birthrightgreen: (memories can hurt)
If you had asked me this a hundred years ago, I would have said no. Demon-dead, perhaps. Guardians, possibly. But not ghosts. The dead who are strong enough make the transition to demon dead. Those who are not fade back into the eternal night. The concept of being caught between the two was too terrifying to contemplate.

It still is, but now I feel I must believe, because I have seen them.

Everything grew misty, farther away. I felt the world spin and the air crackle, and then there they were.

The first was a girl, hanging by her neck in a tree over a patch of witchblood. Her leg brushed over me, and but for Jaenelle's presence, I would have screamed. There were others. Girls missing their hands. One missing a leg. A leg the men who raped and killed her served for dinner. Misty shapes unable to move on, unable to leave Briarwood, unable to leave their bodies. They had been so very strong, surviving so much, but in the end, they were too damaged, too broken by the things done to them to make the transition to cidru dyathe.

I didn't want to believe, but how could I not, after that? I have not seen a ghost since that night, never seen those girls again, never been back to Briarwood after I fled with Jaenelle.

But I will never forget.
birthrightgreen: (Baby!)
Samael and I would like to take a moment to welcome into the world our daughter, Titian SaDiablo Connor.

She was early, which scared us both, but thank the Darkness she is healthy and strong, and Morghann says she is going to be just fine.
birthrightgreen: (Baby)
"Mother Night, that hurts," Surreal gritted out between clenched teeth. Women did not do this every day. It was impossible to think that anyone went through this much pain for something that was supposed to be a joyous event.

Of course, said joyous event was weeks early, which had to mean it wasn't even the actual pain she would have later. She squeezed her eyes shut, fingernails biting into her palm until she drew blood, trying to deflect the pain from her abdomen and the tightening there. She had held off her moontime before, and knew how horrid it would be the month she let it come, and somehow she had expected it to be like that, not this.

She had fought. She had been beaten. She had been raped. And, possibly, if she really cast her memory back to the latter she would admit that pain was far worse than this, but that wasn't somewhere she liked for her memory to go, and so right now she clung tightly to the thought that this was possibly the worst pain she had ever felt. Making it worse was that laced over the pain was fear, cold and clutching at her in a way nothing had since possibly that night at Briarwood.

It was too soon. She didn't know nearly enough about babies and how they were supposed to come, but Morghann had said not until the beginning of March, at least, possibly the middle of the month, and it was not anywhere near that yet.

Another contraction clutched at her, and she felt tears seep out from under her squeezed tight eyelids.

Scared, and hoping he could somehow stop this betrayal of her body of her and the baby it carried, she sent for Samael, and then she did something else she never thought she would do.

She prayed.
birthrightgreen: (Not that girl)
ooc: Based on my interpretation of Surreal's feelings in canon and tangential RP done with [livejournal.com profile] hayllian_whore last year.

This is the moment when the gods expect me
To beg for help but I won't even try
I want nothing in this world but myself to protect me
But I won't lie down, roll over and die
All I have to do is to forget how much I love him
All I have to do is put my longing to one side
Tell myself that love's an ever-changing situation
Passion would have cooled and all the magic would have died
It's easy, it's easy

It had always been her passion, she thought. Lips and tongues and touches that seared across skin. She remembered them, holding them close, and fighting off the chill that came after with remembered laughter instead. The fantasy was just that, but she dreamed how it could have ended. To have known that, for one moment, in a life barren of love. It was easy to dream, to wonder what could have been if she hadn't been who and what she was and he hadn't been who and what he was. There were times when men grunted above her, and she got through it by thinking of him, closing her eyes and picturing his face until, for once, her cries of pleasure weren't faked.

It was easy )
birthrightgreen: (Sam and Surreal ethereal)
This concept of kissing under a plant is something that is new to me. In a culture such as mine, I'm surprised we didn't come up with some sort of tradition along these lines, but there is none I know of. Oh, there are Winsol kisses, of course, but nothing such as your mistletoe.

It was an interesting experience, hanging the plants. Rather, I ordered them hung, after Samael explained, because clambering up on ladders is not something I find myself able to do with any sort of grace at this time.

Even with the explanation of its purpose, I did not expect it to become the focus of our entire party, but that is what happened. Perhaps it is just the excuse for licentiousness? The approval to meet others who are not your mate under a plant and have it all be acceptable. I admit to participating in it, but only on a small scale. The Doctor is a most agreeable man, and quite a proficient kisser. In another time and place, I might have sought to pursue something a bit more with such a man, but it is not that time, nor that place and the kiss will slide to a momentary still shot from an agreeable evening.

The second kiss will linger longer, for all that there have been many others between us. It was different, perhaps, than kisses I am used to. There was familiarity in it. The kiss of lovers well settled with each other, and that alone is something new. Triumph in it, that so many were enjoying our hospitality. Excitement for the coming year and the changes it will bring. Happiness in finding our way through this year. Want, need, yes, but not the overwhelming force of it.

A kiss between lovers.

I think, perhaps, that it is more memorable than any other I have received.
birthrightgreen: (Dream of a Place Called Home)
Surreal and Sam are hosting a tree decorating party: http://oldestbeloved.livejournal.com/183751.html

She wasn't sure whether or not anyone from Kaeleer would come, but she hopes some of her family can make it. :) Party will likely go on for quite a while, so feel free to drop by any time.
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