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Post by damon salvatore on Dec 4, 2008 13:18:17 GMT -8
Setting: The Venetian. Top floor empty but of one dark vampire. A hotel decorated lavishly, expensive, riches for the richest. And the highest rooms were all dedicated to one Damon Salvatore for the moment.
No lights were cast upon the walls and rooms, every lamp shut off and the curtains drawn to block out the rising sun when it came. It had been another one of those long, uneventful nights and Damon had come home slightly inebriated and exceptionally bored. Sure, he'd managed to seduce a few women, gotten in his time of feeding, but that was no different than any other night. After so many centuries, the routine had just become that of second nature. No interest. Just... plain... boring.
Sighing, Damon tossed his clothing off to the side and slid on to the top of his luxurious, black covered bed. One arm draped over his eyes, the other across his stomach as he felt all the alcohol he'd imbibed burn out of his system. The sun was set to rise in a few minutes time and he knew he should at least pretend to get some rest, but even that had become another boring routine. For a brief moment he entertained the idea of harassing Beatrix, the little bundle of intriguing darkness that she was, or even perhaps cause trouble for the old group in Fell's Church. Something. Anything to relieve the boredom, liven things up. He missed causing trouble and disturbing the natural flow of things.
Something, soon, had to change. For the worse of other people, perhaps. Or just the entertainment of himself.
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Post by shinigami on Dec 7, 2008 23:00:14 GMT -8
Damon tosses his clothing off to the side and slid onto the bed. You'd expect clothing, tossed to the side, to make a noise when it hit the ground; his clothing doesn't. That's because it doesn't hit the ground. That's because Stefan catches it. Marvel: he actually managed to go undetected, at least until now. He may've had some help with that; when Dark gives you her blessing to hide, well, the shadows just love you a little bit more; they're the glove to your hand. He doesn't say anything yet. The hotel room is dark; very, very dark. Very, very, very dark.
Dark? Did we mention how dark it was yet? Because it was very. Still, they were vampires; they were better than cats. They could see in the dark, as long as there was the slightest bit of light for their eyes to take in; for their pupils to absorb. So Stefan sees Damon.
He doesn't say anything yet, though. Oh, no. He wants to see how long it'll take Damon to notice that the clothes didn't hit the floor when they should've. A second. Two. Three. And he tosses the clothes at Damon's head.
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Post by damon salvatore on Dec 15, 2008 21:17:52 GMT -8
The moment Damon heard the clothing fly through the air, a distinctive rustling of fabric headed straight for his face, his eyes snapped open and he shot up in the bed. For a moment he merely glared at the clothing that had fallen on his pillow, and then his head slowly twisted around to look at Stefan. To say he was surprised at his brother's audacity would have been a lie. He should have known Stefan would hunt him down eventually. If he'd been trying hard enough, actually kept his guard up, he never would have been found, but alas, he really wasn't on his game lately, now was he?
"Stalking me again, little brother?" Damon drawled, tossing the clothes back on the floor before making himself comfortable yet again. It was clear in his tone that he was NOT PLEASED. Not at all. For one, Stefan had let himself in without invitation, to HIS home, HIS property. And secondly, he had just tried to assault him with HIS clothing. Not cool. Not cool at all. "The fair Elena not enough for you anymore? Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't swing that way. Best to cut your losses now and get the hell out of my room before I kill you."
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Post by shinigami on Dec 16, 2008 19:00:17 GMT -8
The play of emotions isn't easy to read, but Damon can read them clearly if he cares to look; as clearly as he can feel Stefan's presence, now that he's stepped out of the shadows, so to speak. The room is still dark. "You -- " Oh, the play? This: from chagrin, to dislike, to patience, to disgust, to horror!, to shock, and back to patience. Stefan manages to end on a measuring look.
There are a lot of replies he turns over in his head. After all they've been through -- no. Things are different now.
He says: "As you wish." And he steps out of the room: quick, of course. You'd blink, and miss him. He didn't even leave his silhouette. But Damon's rooms are vast, and he's only left that one, and only for a moment. Stefan reappears in the next moment with a paper bag held in both hands.
"I brought a present." He's -- trying to be -- diplomatic. It's kind've hard.
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Post by damon salvatore on Dec 17, 2008 19:43:01 GMT -8
For a moment, Damon thought he would actually get what he wanted, to be left the hell alone, but no. No. He should have known his brother better than that. He just couldn't leave things alone, could he?
"Oh, hell," Damon hissed, slamming his fist down hard enough on the bed that a spring popped loose and shot out of the mattress. "What is it? What do you want? After countless centuries, haven't you learned I am not a man who likes presents, nor am I a fan of elicit stalkers that include my saintly little brother? Well? What?"
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Post by shinigami on Dec 17, 2008 21:35:37 GMT -8
"Five," Stefan says. He doesn't move, but his eyes do: they track the movement of the spring, before flicking back to his brother. Five, he says, and he means: five centuries. Or so. Not countless. His jaw clenches, too. A fine jaw, lovely; women want to touch it. Elena often does, before she -
He takes a deep (unnecessary) breath. It steadies him. He isn't a saint, see. Stefan tosses the bag at Damon; if it hits him, well. He didn't do it on purpose, right? If it breaks, well -- hey, he tried, didn't he? He thinks about what the girl said; that he should try a hug. This doesn't seem like the optimal moment, alas.
"And we didn't spend so many of those together. And I seem to recall you being more've a stalker than I ever was. How many people're you stalking now? Are you just stealing into their dreams, or are you also stealing their panties?"
"...gagh."
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Post by damon salvatore on Jan 4, 2009 11:38:16 GMT -8
"We both know stalking is no fun when you don't get a little treat out of it every now and then," Damon drawled, leaning back against the pillows with a faint smirk. It's superior, smug, even if he is very unhappy at the moment. "And that is my favorite part of a women, what hidden underneath their clothing."
"And you? Obviously you're shadowing me. But for what purposes I really couldn't give a damn. So why don't you just hurry up and give me your silly little present and then be on your way. Unless you have something else to ask of me, that won't involve me wasting any more of my time...?"
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Post by shinigami on Jan 6, 2009 13:17:27 GMT -8
Cue, The Look.
The look he gives Damon is one of weary disgust, but no anger, as would've been the norm even a decade ago. He finds himself thinking about the blonde who'd directed him to Damon's hotel, about the way she'd looked down -- he can imagine the sort've things Damon's done to her. Still, she's escaped with her life intact, at least. Others haven't been half so lucky.
"How are we even related?" he says, voicing a thought both brothers probably've had frequently. Stefan tosses the paper bag at Damon. He uses human strength to do it. No force. When, and if Damon opens the bag, he'll find inside a very old, very excellent Italian vintage, as dark as any reliquary, as dark as a devil's last curse.
"First, I want us to drink together. Then I want us to go on a road trip together," Stefan says. "As brothers." He's actually in earnest. "It won't be a waste of time. What are you spending your nights doing, anyway? Whoring? Aren't you tired of that yet?"
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Post by damon salvatore on Jan 13, 2009 11:47:49 GMT -8
Damon smirks in amusement at the old look. Secretively, Damon had come to expect that look and even find great entertainment in causinging it. "Didn't anyone ever tell you you're face will freeze if you keep looking like that?"
With a sigh, Damon caught the bag soaring through the air at him, leaning back as he peered into the bag. "I've often asked myself the same question... Ah, but unfortunately you know your vintage."
So the choice was: Kick Stefan bodily from his home and drink it himself, or listen to what his brother had to say. He did bring the proper offerings. Call it a business deal of sorts.
"I'll listen to what you have to say, fine. But the road trip we will negotiate once the logical part of my brain is drowned in wine."
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Post by imaginihs on Jan 16, 2009 21:36:22 GMT -8
Stefan hesitated for a moment -- he held himself quite still; quite careful. Then he relaxed into a smile. It would be all right. Bonnie would owe Elena twenty dollars ("They'll get along," she'd said, before he left, "Because I want them to.") and he would stop hating Damon. They'd be brothers, and it would be all right.
The truth is Stefan had a beautiful smile. All those years and years, centuries and centuries, spent wracked by self-hatred and guilt had robbed the world of his smile; it was good, good to see that it was back.
"I'm going to take the fact that you're drinking up a sign that you want the logical part of your brain to be drowned by alcohol. It'll be fun, Damon -- we'll leave Las Vegas and hit the South. Maybe go down to Mexico?"
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Post by damon salvatore on Jan 28, 2009 1:41:40 GMT -8
Damon watched closely as Stefan hesitated, before visibly relaxing and smiling. To which he merely rolled his eyes at before gracefully removing himself from the bed. Clothes? Who needed clothes? Besides, it was HIS home. He'd do whatever the hell he wanted to and Stefan would just have to deal with it or leave.
"Don't get too comfortable, little brother," Damon said, his expression dark. Brood-like you could say. "There's nothing in this little negotiation that says I'll like you or get along with you. Think otherwise and you're bound to be disappointed."
At Stefan's words, he tossed a glare over at his brother, before dropping into the nearest chair. Fluid as a hunting cat, and just as lazy too. "No, take it as I'm a fan of vintage. I always was liable to bribes. And who in their right mind would ever want to go to Mexico? There's nothing there of interest. Why not New York? Or take a private jet to Japan? I always did have a fancy for those pretty little Asian women."
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Post by shinigami on Feb 9, 2009 20:35:26 GMT -8
"We could do New York," Stefan says, slowly. The truth is that he wanted to take Damon in a direction that wasn't even close to the side of the country Fell's Church was on. Also, he had recently watched The Motorcycle Diaries, and Mexico seemed as good a direction as any. Go South, he'd thought, and go West, because there wasn't anything anywhere else for the brothers. Cain and Abel had nothing on Stefan and Damon for drama and tragedy.
"The private jet might defeat the purpose of 'road trip.' And," he pauses, then continues in a voice pregnant with disgust, "I'm not going to play your wingman. This road trip'll be about -- maybe not LIKING each other, but being with each other, sometimes, without," here, the faintest of smiles, just a shadow of a smile, "trying to kill each other. Think about it as a challenge. You like challenges, don't you, Damon?"
Stefan paused again. "Let's leave tomorrow night."
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