The Adventurers
ever-neutral THIS IS YOUR FAULT. There, I said it.
What follows after the cut is around 600 words of a fic starring Damon and Crow.
I REPEAT, NOT MY FAULT :D
Damon sometimes thinks about writing memoirs, but then he doesn't know how to call them: Damon and His Crow doesn't really have a good ring to it: he's pretty sure he's not even the lead in the story and it's probably good to put off adding the lies to the narrative at least until chapter two.
So really, it should be something like The Crow and His Damon, The Crow's Adventures, The Crow and His Companion, The Crow That Could and The Boy Who Watched.
He thinks he's sort of maybe the romantic lead of the memoirs, but really, sometimes he's not even that.
Like this once when Crow brings home two female peacocks and those three make disturbing cacophonous noises that cause feelings in Damon that remind him of stakes through hearts and the burning sun.
And once again, Damon can't sleep.
"Shut up Pigeon," he yells into the next room, not even lifting his head off the pillow, only for a second removing his glass from his lips.
Crow will hear him, and he will ignore him.
"This drink's not even cold," Damon gets up from his bed, throws the glass into the fireplace and leaves the house.
("Anything you can do, I can do better," he sings on the way to the bar.)
The bar's dark and loud and Damon can already tell he won't be coming home alone tonight.
(He'll have something to show to Crow, the damn bird, something other than his compilation of one hundred and two jokes about crows; they're mostly insulting, he guesses that's why Crow never laughs at any of them.)
Forty eight minutes after he first steps into the bar, his mission's accomplished.
He times himself, of course he does, for purposes of detailed comparison and evaluation.
(There's an entire notebook Damon's dedicated to creating a very detailed point system, made with the intention of Damon always winning: if Damon at any point in time actually gets more points than Crow, the next day Damon will find that page torn and Crow will be whistling away like nothing concerns him, ever. But Crow was gone for sixty seven minutes today before he brought Loud and Louder with him, so there's that.)
The two blonds whose names he's already forgotten are on one of his sides each, each of his arms across one of their shoulders, a drunk tangled mess of skin and alcohol and blond hair. He traces fingers over their pale skin and they giggle.
Damon smiles, satisfied.
(Crow hates the ones that giggle.)
Before dawn, Damon gets out of bed, hoping the lack of blonds in his bed means they're gone and that he won. He puts on a pair of pants, but when he gets to the kitchen, the blonds (Really, they must have had names, right?) are still there. To be specific, they're making pancakes and coffee in the kitchen and giggling.
(At least they're still giggling.)
But...
Then Crow flies into the kitchen, and one of the blonds screams.
The two peacocks follow in step.
Oh I see what you're doing, Damon thinks and stares at Crow.
(You show me yours and I'll show you mine.)
"Don't worry ladies, he's harmless. He's a companion of mine."
Then of course, it goes like it always does: the Blonds may have liked Damon but cohabitation with a crow and two peacocks is a menage a six they do not want to get themselves into.
They're out of the kitchen in four minutes, as soon as they can get dressed.
It seems Crow dismisses the peacocks, because they leave as well.
And then there were two.
When they're out of the house after breakfast, Crow lands on Damon's shoulder, pushes his claws into Damon's skin.
"Shall we?" Damon asks.
He's pretty sure Crow would smile at him, if he could.
They walk into the sunrise together.
What follows after the cut is around 600 words of a fic starring Damon and Crow.
I REPEAT, NOT MY FAULT :D
Damon sometimes thinks about writing memoirs, but then he doesn't know how to call them: Damon and His Crow doesn't really have a good ring to it: he's pretty sure he's not even the lead in the story and it's probably good to put off adding the lies to the narrative at least until chapter two.
So really, it should be something like The Crow and His Damon, The Crow's Adventures, The Crow and His Companion, The Crow That Could and The Boy Who Watched.
He thinks he's sort of maybe the romantic lead of the memoirs, but really, sometimes he's not even that.
Like this once when Crow brings home two female peacocks and those three make disturbing cacophonous noises that cause feelings in Damon that remind him of stakes through hearts and the burning sun.
And once again, Damon can't sleep.
"Shut up Pigeon," he yells into the next room, not even lifting his head off the pillow, only for a second removing his glass from his lips.
Crow will hear him, and he will ignore him.
"This drink's not even cold," Damon gets up from his bed, throws the glass into the fireplace and leaves the house.
("Anything you can do, I can do better," he sings on the way to the bar.)
The bar's dark and loud and Damon can already tell he won't be coming home alone tonight.
(He'll have something to show to Crow, the damn bird, something other than his compilation of one hundred and two jokes about crows; they're mostly insulting, he guesses that's why Crow never laughs at any of them.)
Forty eight minutes after he first steps into the bar, his mission's accomplished.
He times himself, of course he does, for purposes of detailed comparison and evaluation.
(There's an entire notebook Damon's dedicated to creating a very detailed point system, made with the intention of Damon always winning: if Damon at any point in time actually gets more points than Crow, the next day Damon will find that page torn and Crow will be whistling away like nothing concerns him, ever. But Crow was gone for sixty seven minutes today before he brought Loud and Louder with him, so there's that.)
The two blonds whose names he's already forgotten are on one of his sides each, each of his arms across one of their shoulders, a drunk tangled mess of skin and alcohol and blond hair. He traces fingers over their pale skin and they giggle.
Damon smiles, satisfied.
(Crow hates the ones that giggle.)
Before dawn, Damon gets out of bed, hoping the lack of blonds in his bed means they're gone and that he won. He puts on a pair of pants, but when he gets to the kitchen, the blonds (Really, they must have had names, right?) are still there. To be specific, they're making pancakes and coffee in the kitchen and giggling.
(At least they're still giggling.)
But...
Then Crow flies into the kitchen, and one of the blonds screams.
The two peacocks follow in step.
Oh I see what you're doing, Damon thinks and stares at Crow.
(You show me yours and I'll show you mine.)
"Don't worry ladies, he's harmless. He's a companion of mine."
Then of course, it goes like it always does: the Blonds may have liked Damon but cohabitation with a crow and two peacocks is a menage a six they do not want to get themselves into.
They're out of the kitchen in four minutes, as soon as they can get dressed.
It seems Crow dismisses the peacocks, because they leave as well.
And then there were two.
When they're out of the house after breakfast, Crow lands on Damon's shoulder, pushes his claws into Damon's skin.
"Shall we?" Damon asks.
He's pretty sure Crow would smile at him, if he could.
They walk into the sunrise together.