prodigalsavior: (Disbelieving)
[ooc: After this.]

Well, that needed to not happen again, Damon thought to himself as he moved through the city, blending with the crowd and shadows. The bright lights were all around, but that just kept even more people's attention off of him. There were too many other things to look at.

He'd forgotten how easy it was to hunt in the city, and he had to wonder why the hell he'd ever left. It wasn't for anything...god. It seemed so long ago. Thinking he'd be the one to free Katherine. That she'd love him forever, that they'd hunt the night and lord it over everyone else, just the two of them.

That he wouldn't be alone, haunted only by the girl who'd been taken and the brother who'd damned him.

Fuck, but what was that saying? The more things changed...

A girl bumped into him, and apologized before thinking she could slip past him. Damon's hand slipped out and grabbed her arm, hard and fast. Before she could bother protesting, he had caught her gaze, compelled her to silence. Then slinging an arm around her, he guided her down the street, looking for a quiet place for a snack.

Maybe that would take his mind off the level of fucking horror these last few months. Or keep him from taking out his phone and sending a text for another night of...not aloneness.
prodigalsavior: ([Rebekah] Alcohol makes it better)

Tell me where to now 'cause the lights are up
And the covers and the gloves are off
There's no win or lose so go ahead make your move
Let's just pray that it's good enough
There's a war in my heart getting tired of fighting
When you say that you love me it hurts like lightning

In the end, he couldn’t stay. He tried; God knew he tried. He wanted to be there for her, to make sure she made the transition all right. For as long as he could, he stayed. He fought with Stefan and went toe-to-toe with Matt and snarled for her right to choose her own path rather than being forced to be what Stefan wanted her to be: some other version of himself, fettered to human morality.

Damon knew what it was to lose yourself; to lose everything you hoped for and dreamed of; to let go of your life; to have to forge a new one. Stefan was going to keep her trapped in a cycle of denial, for fear of what she could become, but…

But she’d chosen Stefan. It didn’t matter that she had to know, now, that she’d met him first. Didn’t matter she likely remembered <i>everything</i> he’d ever made her forget. She’d chosen Stefan.

And a few minutes later, Ric had died in his arms, and after that he didn’t see much point in sticking around.

Besides…he’d promised to go.

*          *          *

There hadn’t been much reason to stay. Elijah said they’d done enough. Nothing left to bury; nothing left to burn. He was angry, she thought, at what she’d done. Or maybe he was just angry at their mother, or himself. She couldn’t be certain. Where Nik’s anger was obvious, and he never had let you wonder about what you’d done…Elijah was cold. Contained. Remote.

Rebekah wasn’t sure if it was anger, then, or who it was aimed at, or if he had just shut down in grief, shattered into pieces he couldn’t pick up.

If he was angry at her, he didn’t lash out. When she cried, he held her; when she woke in terror from nightmares, he was there.

But he wouldn’t let her in; wouldn’t let her see his own grief; most certainly wouldn’t talk about it.

The modern world was still new to her, and she drifted through the streets of New York, so changed from the last time she had visited it with Nik, before they’d gone to Chicago. Kol came and went; Elijah stayed; and she wondered if she would ever get the chance to really live, or if the next thousand years would be a more grief-stricken version of the last.

*          *          *

He hadn’t meant to follow them )
prodigalsavior: (Default)
"I'm not like you."

Damon had spat the words at Matt, rejecting his words, his offer, and they echoed in his head now and again. But when he walked away, there had been only one place he felt he could go: home. Part of him was certain he should have gone elsewhere, somewhere he could disappear.

The other part of him half-wanted to be found, wanted to see if they would come after him, come to find him.

Florence had always been home, a place where he could settle into like a second skin. Funny now, how badly he'd wanted to get out of it when he'd been human. Now, it was a beacon, always.

He'd settled back into the exclusive house on Via Tornabuoni, its polished wood and marble frescoes and inlaid floors soothing something inside of him. Tonight, though, he'd left it for the clubs he knew a lot of students frequented. They always made such easy hunting, the girls all but begging to be embraced by darkness. It was almost too easy.

He had a drink in his hand, sitting on a couch in the VIP section. Several girls were vying for his attention, but he was only half paying attention, his thoughts half a world away.
prodigalsavior: ([Rebekah] Alcohol makes it better)
Every now and then, the constriction of the village tightened around him until he wanted to throw something through a wall. It wasn't often--for the most part he'd learned to be content in his three years here--but when it happened, it was like a restless burning he couldn't shake.

He was a vampire, a predator. Once upon a time, he'd been death lurking in the shadows. He took what he wanted. He didn't ask for permission.

And now...well, on several levels, yes, he had everything he wanted. People weren't happy about it, but so far no matter how badly he acted, no matter how far he pushed against the boundaries, no one snapped back. He didn't know what to make of that. Shouldn't they be snapping back? Shouldn't someone be drawing lines?

Granted, he was all ready to rip through the lines already drawn, as well as someone's throat. He remembered the last real taste of fear he'd had, the night he and Rebekah had hunted those girls through the club, and he shivered just a bit. Biting his lower lip, he sent her a message.

My room. Now. I have a plan.
prodigalsavior: ([Elijah] Right kind of wrong)
After Rebekah's reaction to Klaus's presence, Damon had been even more determined to make certain to get some time with both her and Elijah. He got the message to Elijah, his room, after closing. Elijah's room was something he wasn't quite ready for, uncertainty of just how a morning after meeting in the kitchen would go, and really not wanting to find out until things...something.

He didn't know.

He just knew that he wasn't ready to give up what was really just supposed to be a one time thing.

He'd told the Original siblings that he needed to close up a few things, and to meet him back at his room. Rushing back, he'd made sure of a few things--stocked on blood bags; actual candles lit because, well, it was sort of a Valentine's Day recreation in some ways; lacing some wine with blood.

With a bit of a smirk to himself, he sent a message to let them know everything was ready, then poured himself some of the wine and waited for them to arrive.
prodigalsavior: (Lips to neck)
[Continued from here.]

Elijah groaned at the roll of her hips against him, pressing up against her again. She was warm and wet against him and the only thing in the world he wanted was to bury himself inside of her. Her nails only heightened that, sending shivers over his skin.

Damon watched them both and shifted closer, kneeling next to them. His fingers lifted Rebekah's hair out of the way as he pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear, nibbling a bit before murmuring, "An excellent idea. Do we want to tease him a bit, or should you shift just a bit..." His fingers found the inside of her knee and trailed upward toward her core, the backs of his nails dragging along Elijah's side in turn. "And start this off with a bang?"
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