[OOC: This is timey-wimeyed somehow to before he runs into Stefan and Katherine. :) Cause otherwise, he'd not be very good to talk to but I wanted her to run into him!]
Damon has seen a lot in his time in Chicago. He has been in the city for almost a year, and it's subjected him to several near apocalypses, disasters, sparkling (yes, he was made to sparkle), a happy-go-lucky Elena for a week, and a curse from a witch that got progressively worse each day.
He hasn't seen anyone singing in the middle of the park or no apparent reason. All things considered, it could be a lot weirder. This is Chicago.
It doesn't stop him from looking sideways at her in confusion. "You know this is not a karaoke bar, right, or are you just that drunk?"
When he's that drunk, clothes are usually removed but to each their own.
It takes her a moment to face him, since she's staring up at the sky as she sings--trying to figure out if she's still in the same location after all and if it's only the shadows of the night playing tricks on her. Astrology was never her favorite branch of magic, though, and so she looks over at the other man without quite figuring the map of the sky out.
And she's so startled that she stops singing.
"Damon," she exclaims in a voice that is a pure combination of joy and relief. She runs over quickly, a flash of white dress and red hair, and throws her arms around him.
So she was just crazy after all. This is Fell's Church, it was nothing more than a moment of panic. Because if Damon's here, Bonnie knows she's home.
Damon stares. He is not at all expecting this reaction. First of all, there is no one... in his over hundred years of living and non-living who would look at him and approach him like that. Secondly, he has no idea who she is, but she's saying his name.
He makes a face. He really hates the Rift. This is not the first time someone has claimed to know him when he had no idea who they were. However, even they didn't react to him like this.
"Lets back away a few steps, shall we?" Damon says with a small smirk as he does take a step back, sliding his hands up to remove her arms from around him. Gently enough considering he never likes when someone knows more about him than he knows about them. "Much as I completely understand the overwhelming and impossible-to-resist urge for women to tackle me, I don't know you but... you apparently know me."
She backs away, though the confusion at his words is evident on her face. "Damon?" she asks uncertainly. And something is weird about this, she immediately decides, other than the fact that this doesn't look like Fell's Church and that her sort-of-boyfriend suddenly has a very weird sense of humor.
"It's me," she says, giving him a funny look. "Bonnie? Damon, what are you--"
And then it hits her, what's different about him. "Wait, what happened to your accent?"
The idea that this is a dream is seeming more and more likely with each passing moment.
Damon reads that confusion immediately, and he doesn't understand it. It makes no sense to him, because he has no idea who she is.
"...I know exactly one Bonnie. Bonnie Bennett? She looks absolutely nothing like you, and she severely dislikes me. Running to m with open arms? Not on her top list of Ways to Greet Damon Salvatore."
Sarcasm? Sure. A slap? In certain circumstances, yes. However, reacting with happiness at the sight of him? Never.
"What accent?"
This went from complicated to more complicated fast.
"Italian," she manages to reply. But oh dear sweet Druids, she wants to wake up. She wants to wake up now. Bonnie begins pinching her arm, and nothing happens. Again and again, eyes squeezing shut as if that will help.
When she uncertainly opens an eye, he's still standing there. And so, she begins singing. The frustration at the events, and probably at the singing itself, is evident.
"Oh my life is changing everyday in every possible way. Though my dreams, it's never quite as it seems, never quite as it seems."
"No, never had an Italian accent," Damon fills in, and he has no idea what's happening. He's never even pretended to have an Italian accent. Why would he need to? He can compel people if he needs to lie for whatever reason about who he is.
It sounds like a lot of unnecessary work. He makes a face when she starts singing again before he steps forward, trying to place a finger over her lips.
"Shh."
The singing isn't helping, but he's ninety five percent certain that it's Rift induced.... and five percent certain that if it's not, she's just crazy.
He did have an Italian accent. He does. And why is he saying he doesn't know her? Is he teasing her? She doesn't get it.
The finger over her lips doesn't stop her from singing, she just sings up against it for another moment or two. But then, just when she stops worrying about the song and begins to examine Damon, she finds that she can stop. "Your eyes are wrong," she says, pulling away from him. "They're supposed to be black. And the accent..." Okay, so, obviously she isn't waking up. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it's not a dream, maybe it's a visions Bonnie bounces on her heels a bit, up and down, trying to see if she can figure this out before it ends. She loves doing these sorts of interpretations, maybe this could be fun after all.
"Damon Salvatore. Born in Florence? Brother Stefan, Dad Giuseppe? Vampire? Fell's Church? Katherine, Elena, Meredith, Matt? Any of this ringing a bell?"
There's no teasing going on. It's complete confusion on his face as she answers him, and it increases into annoyance when the finger doesn't stop her singing.
Damon raises an eyebrow at her, shaking his head. "My eyes are fine," he says. "They're perfect. Who the hell wants black eyes?" He makes a face at the thought. Wouldn't it be an immediate giveaway to the whole vampire thing? With the blue eyes, he gets away with plenty. He has no idea why her demeanor has suddenly changed. Nothing else seems to have changed.
He still has no idea who she is.
"...No, born in Mystic Falls. Stefan's my brother. Giesuppe, yes. Vampire, yes. What Fell's Church?" Damon shakes his head in confusion. How does she know so much about him? It's... starting to annoy and frustrate him. Fell's Church was where Katherine was supposed to be hidden, but she wasn't there. "Yes, yes, no, yes. In that order."
Damon folds his arms across his chest as he looks at her with suspicion now. "How do you know so much about me?" And why is some of the information
( ... )
"Because you're a figment of my imagination, obviously." But he already knows that, she's sure, seeing as how he is a figment of her imagination. She isn't sure why her brain's changed Damon in the way it has if it is a dream, but if it's a vision, she decides she should go find out what she's supposed to be finding out.
And it's probably not happening in this weird conversation.
"Well, I should go figure out what's going on so I can wake up." And she gives him a lovely, dimpled smile and begins wandering away.
"Obviously?" Damon asks, raising an eyebrow as he stares at her. He slips his arms across his chest trying to figure out what to think of her. "You must have incredibly attractive figments of your imagination, but believe it or not I'm real."
He is trying to figure out if it's worth it to follow her, but she knows things about him. Some things.
"You're not asleep. You're in Chicago," he fills in as she starts to wander away.
"No it's not," she insists. And she is very purposefully not looking at any skyline, because if he's telling the truth about that, he might be telling the truth about being real.
"You're not Damon," Bonnie goes on. "If you were, you'd know me. Not just because you're my sire, either. You'd know me intimately." Because he is not real, and because he seems to be a bit of a butt head, Bonnie sticks out her tongue at him.
Damon rolls his eyes when she sticks her tongue out at him. "What are you? Three years old?"
He folds his arms across his chest, not looking impressed at all.
"Sire?" He makes another face before he shakes his head, waving a hand in her direction. But she's a vampire, that's good to know. "No, I don't know you intimately, but I'm sure you want me to. Believe what you want, it doesn't actually matter to me."
She'll figure out the truth sooner rather than later when she takes a look around, when days pass and she doesn't wake up from the 'dream'.
Admittedly, sticking out her tongue isn't the most mature thing she's ever done. But this is all overwhelming and she feels like she might burst into song again.
She wants to avoid that.
"You shouldn't be rude to a witch," she says instead of admitting to anything else.
Damon lifts an eyebrow at her as he looks at her there.
It's an amusing statement given how much of an ass he can be to the Bonnie from his own world that he knows. It's a thing. He's an ass to everyone including people who can kill him. It's a wonder he's survived as long a he has.
"And you shouldn't be wandering into unknown territory," he says with ease, folding his arms across a chest. "Or mistaking reality for a dream, but who am I to say anything?"
"You're Damon Salvatore," she mumbles, now mostly just trying to quell the desire to start singing at him. Her palms are tingling with the nervous anticipation of it. "You alway say something."
And she begins pacing, a small path, only three or four steps back and forth. She isn't sure what to think. What is it that you're supposed to do in a dream to find out if it's a dream? Pinch yourself, she knew, but she'd tried that.
Reading. She'd heard that reading was hard in dreams, the words became all distorted because your brain couldn't conjure up the right letters and form them into sentences and words fast enough. "Do you have anything with words on it?" she asks him, looking back up. "A driver's license, a letter, whatever?"
Damon has seen a lot in his time in Chicago. He has been in the city for almost a year, and it's subjected him to several near apocalypses, disasters, sparkling (yes, he was made to sparkle), a happy-go-lucky Elena for a week, and a curse from a witch that got progressively worse each day.
He hasn't seen anyone singing in the middle of the park or no apparent reason. All things considered, it could be a lot weirder. This is Chicago.
It doesn't stop him from looking sideways at her in confusion. "You know this is not a karaoke bar, right, or are you just that drunk?"
When he's that drunk, clothes are usually removed but to each their own.
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And she's so startled that she stops singing.
"Damon," she exclaims in a voice that is a pure combination of joy and relief. She runs over quickly, a flash of white dress and red hair, and throws her arms around him.
So she was just crazy after all. This is Fell's Church, it was nothing more than a moment of panic. Because if Damon's here, Bonnie knows she's home.
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He makes a face. He really hates the Rift. This is not the first time someone has claimed to know him when he had no idea who they were. However, even they didn't react to him like this.
"Lets back away a few steps, shall we?" Damon says with a small smirk as he does take a step back, sliding his hands up to remove her arms from around him. Gently enough considering he never likes when someone knows more about him than he knows about them. "Much as I completely understand the overwhelming and impossible-to-resist urge for women to tackle me, I don't know you but... you apparently know me."
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"It's me," she says, giving him a funny look. "Bonnie? Damon, what are you--"
And then it hits her, what's different about him. "Wait, what happened to your accent?"
The idea that this is a dream is seeming more and more likely with each passing moment.
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"...I know exactly one Bonnie. Bonnie Bennett? She looks absolutely nothing like you, and she severely dislikes me. Running to m with open arms? Not on her top list of Ways to Greet Damon Salvatore."
Sarcasm? Sure. A slap? In certain circumstances, yes. However, reacting with happiness at the sight of him? Never.
"What accent?"
This went from complicated to more complicated fast.
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When she uncertainly opens an eye, he's still standing there. And so, she begins singing. The frustration at the events, and probably at the singing itself, is evident.
"Oh my life is changing everyday in every possible way. Though my dreams, it's never quite as it seems, never quite as it seems."
Reply
It sounds like a lot of unnecessary work. He makes a face when she starts singing again before he steps forward, trying to place a finger over her lips.
"Shh."
The singing isn't helping, but he's ninety five percent certain that it's Rift induced.... and five percent certain that if it's not, she's just crazy.
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The finger over her lips doesn't stop her from singing, she just sings up against it for another moment or two. But then, just when she stops worrying about the song and begins to examine Damon, she finds that she can stop. "Your eyes are wrong," she says, pulling away from him. "They're supposed to be black. And the accent..." Okay, so, obviously she isn't waking up. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it's not a dream, maybe it's a visions Bonnie bounces on her heels a bit, up and down, trying to see if she can figure this out before it ends. She loves doing these sorts of interpretations, maybe this could be fun after all.
"Damon Salvatore. Born in Florence? Brother Stefan, Dad Giuseppe? Vampire? Fell's Church? Katherine, Elena, Meredith, Matt? Any of this ringing a bell?"
Reply
Damon raises an eyebrow at her, shaking his head. "My eyes are fine," he says. "They're perfect. Who the hell wants black eyes?" He makes a face at the thought. Wouldn't it be an immediate giveaway to the whole vampire thing? With the blue eyes, he gets away with plenty. He has no idea why her demeanor has suddenly changed. Nothing else seems to have changed.
He still has no idea who she is.
"...No, born in Mystic Falls. Stefan's my brother. Giesuppe, yes. Vampire, yes. What Fell's Church?" Damon shakes his head in confusion. How does she know so much about him? It's... starting to annoy and frustrate him. Fell's Church was where Katherine was supposed to be hidden, but she wasn't there. "Yes, yes, no, yes. In that order."
Damon folds his arms across his chest as he looks at her with suspicion now. "How do you know so much about me?" And why is some of the information ( ... )
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And it's probably not happening in this weird conversation.
"Well, I should go figure out what's going on so I can wake up." And she gives him a lovely, dimpled smile and begins wandering away.
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He is trying to figure out if it's worth it to follow her, but she knows things about him. Some things.
"You're not asleep. You're in Chicago," he fills in as she starts to wander away.
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"No it's not," she insists. And she is very purposefully not looking at any skyline, because if he's telling the truth about that, he might be telling the truth about being real.
"You're not Damon," Bonnie goes on. "If you were, you'd know me. Not just because you're my sire, either. You'd know me intimately." Because he is not real, and because he seems to be a bit of a butt head, Bonnie sticks out her tongue at him.
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He folds his arms across his chest, not looking impressed at all.
"Sire?" He makes another face before he shakes his head, waving a hand in her direction. But she's a vampire, that's good to know. "No, I don't know you intimately, but I'm sure you want me to. Believe what you want, it doesn't actually matter to me."
She'll figure out the truth sooner rather than later when she takes a look around, when days pass and she doesn't wake up from the 'dream'.
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She wants to avoid that.
"You shouldn't be rude to a witch," she says instead of admitting to anything else.
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It's an amusing statement given how much of an ass he can be to the Bonnie from his own world that he knows. It's a thing. He's an ass to everyone including people who can kill him. It's a wonder he's survived as long a he has.
"And you shouldn't be wandering into unknown territory," he says with ease, folding his arms across a chest. "Or mistaking reality for a dream, but who am I to say anything?"
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And she begins pacing, a small path, only three or four steps back and forth. She isn't sure what to think. What is it that you're supposed to do in a dream to find out if it's a dream? Pinch yourself, she knew, but she'd tried that.
Reading. She'd heard that reading was hard in dreams, the words became all distorted because your brain couldn't conjure up the right letters and form them into sentences and words fast enough. "Do you have anything with words on it?" she asks him, looking back up. "A driver's license, a letter, whatever?"
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