[tvd] chinese whispers fic | the one where caroline rides a horse and the salvatores win top chef
Title | A Chinese Whispers Fic; Or, The One Where Caroline Rides A Horse And The Salvatores Win Top Chef
Authors | catteo, swirlsofblue, cranmers, jane_wanderlust, kelpyfinners, bogwitch, kachera, steph2311, ovariesofsteel, nereemac, lizwontcry, Jeremy_finch, elenarain and waltzmatildah
Artist | pamsblau
Fandom | The Vampire Diaries
Characters/Pairings | Rebekah, Damon, Stefan, Caroline, Klaus, Elijah, Finn, Bonnie, Elena, Jeremy, Katherine, Alaric (Rebekah/Damon, Katherine/Jeremy, Bonnie/Finn)
Rating | MA
Word Count | 10000
Summary | This fic was written by a team of authors who were only given the several hundred most recently written words to work from each time they added a new section. It doesn’t make sense, it’s not supposed to make sense! It’s supposed to be crack, and it is! Crack, glorious crack! The title says it all, really…
ONE: The Part Where Caroline Rides A Horse And Rebekah Rides Damon
The clock on the kitchen wall tells him it’s four twenty seven. AM or PM is anyone’s guess as the little hand fails to tick a languid journey around the circular face. Damon makes a brief mental note: must buy batteries.
Amends: rechargeable batteries.
From the inky black that still shrouds the windows, drapes pulled slightly askew as he wanders back into the living room, he guesses the harsh light of morning remains hours out of reach.
He takes to cataloguing the damage done as a means to pass the time. A resounding crack in the plasterboard where his shoulder-blades had connected roughly with a support beam. Jagged fragments of vase and lamp and picture frame, shattered, confetti-like, along the length of one hallway. He winces as he bends to collect the larger shards. Notes he can no longer tell the Ming from the Portland and offers up a soft sigh of relief that they’d only been replicas of the real things.
There’s a dent in a silver serving tray that looks suspiciously like the curve of Rebekah’s ass. Which is odd because he doesn’t remember them making it as far as the liquor cabinet. Which is empty so…
Hmm. Okay.
“What are you doing?” He double-takes at the sight of her, naked and dishevelled at the base of the staircase. Imagines glass shards pricking at the soles of her feet and shudders at the inevitability of bloodstains on his oriental carpets.
“I’m vacuuming.” His reply swallowed by the airy roar of the device’s motor.
“It’s the middle of the night.”
He doesn’t really see her point. Tells her.
“I don’t really see your point.”
“Come to bed.”
Which is funnier than it should be but only because, by the smell of her, she’s been rolling around between Stefan’s sheets since they parted ways at the top of the stairs. Naked and breathless and, admittedly, kind of sore. Jesus.
“We could have sex again,” she offers. As though she can read his mind.
And he must admit, the thought of fucking an Original in his brother’s bed is seven levels of tempting, but…
“I’m vacuuming.” Because this mess won’t clean itself up. And it’s not like he can trust anyone else to do it for him. At least, not properly…
She pouts, but then…
“I’ve never used one of those before…”
With a degree of reluctance that is only almost embarrassing, he finds himself handing over control. And when exactly was it that he became this person? This person that could enthusiastically share cleaning tips with his naked sexual conquests.
He thinks there must be something about this particular one and the almost wistful way in which she’d regarded the newest member of his collection. The Dyson DC39. Purchased especially because Ric has allergies… Also, the lifetime (heh) HEPA filter warranty and the latest in Radial Cyclone technologies had also been a top selling point.
But she’s not quite doing it right he notes. Her sweeping motion with the nozzle entirely too haphazard to ensure optimum debris collection. And he arcs his chest around her bare back then, slides one arm along the length of hers and grips the handle just below where her fingers are tightly entwined. Guides the head of the cleaner into a more fluid motion that is easier to maintain.
“Oh,” he hears her whisper. Soft against the side of his neck. “I think I understand it now…”
Which is lucky.
Because that’s the moment Caroline chooses to ride in.
“Is that a - ”No. Ridiculous, he thinks. I’m obviously drunk.
Vaguely, he feels his grip loosen on Rebekah’s hand. Notes out of the corner of his eye that she keeps up the fluid, efficient motion he’d taught her moments ago but is too busy gaping at Vampire Barbie 2.0 sitting atop her rather large black horse. Side-saddle, he notes. As if it matters.
“Yes. It is a horse. No, you’re not drunk.” She rolls her eyes. “Okay, maybe you are drunk. But this is still me. On a horse.”
“In my living room.” Ask him later, and he’ll tell you this is the most hilarious scenario to be part of in almost a century. Right now he’s too busy thinking about the possibility of the animal making a mess on his new Persian rug.
Because there is no other logical action that he can think of, Damon rubs a hand over his face and heads for the liquor cabinet. He’s almost there when he remembers it’s disappointingly empty. Luckily, he remembers he keeps a bottle hidden in his room especially for the rare instance in which he runs out downstairs.
“Excuse me.” He doesn’t wait for an answer before speeding up the stairs.
“Nice ass, Damon!”
“Bite me, blondie!”
A still naked Rebekah continues vacuuming as if nothing awkward has happened. “Well. I see Niklaus is going for big and bold. He always did seem to overcompensate.”
Caroline laughs, despite herself. “What the hell am I supposed to do with a horse? And why are you naked?”
“That’s rather obvious, isn’t it? You ride it. Which works as an answer for both questions, doesn’t it?”
“But I have nowhere to keep a horse. Or money to pay someone else to keep it for me. Or the desire to own a horse! They’re pretty, yes, but that’s it! When your crazy sociopath hybrid brother asked me if I liked the horse I was looking at, I didn’t think it was so he could make up his mind to buy me one!”
The Original gives up on the vacuum when she hears the younger blonde’s hysterics. Notes, rather proudly, that she’s managed to make the carpet look quite like new. “Caroline, this happens to be a very beautiful horse. You happen to look fabulous riding it, as much as it pains me to say, but if neither of those things matter to you, then just give it back.”
A rather loud plop, followed by a rather strong odour, serves to punctuate Rebekah’s words of wisdom.
Rebekah rolls her eyes as she realises that it doesn’t matter how proficient she is at naked housework, the Persian rug is done for. Damon’s going to be furious. He still hasn’t gotten over Stefan’s sorority girls breaking his crystal decanter during a particularly vigorous game of ‘Twister’ last month. Apparently he was saving it for an especially significant dramatic moment. She realises she’s probably going to have to keep him occupied. Also, she really needs to find out what ‘Twister’ is.
“Where are you going? You can’t leave me!” Caroline’s looking a little wild around the eyes.
Rebekah wrinkles her nose in distaste as she navigates her way around the rug. “I’m going to distract Damon. You should probably get rid of this. And maybe that.” She gestures vaguely towards the horse. “No hurry. We’ll be a while. I’m sure that Nik would be only too happy to keep you…” She pauses a beat. “Busy.”
She blurs upstairs to the sound of Caroline’s new horse snorting in perfect tandem to Caroline herself. Rebekah gives a passing thought to the parquet floors as she goes - manure is so tough to remove from wood. She’s spared any further rumination on the finer points of housekeeping by Damon, wrapping his arm around her waist and tackling her to the bed.
“God, you’re sexy when you vacuum.” Damon lifts an eyebrow, pouts slightly, picks up a twenty-five year aged malt and slowly pours it over her body. Busies himself for the next twenty minutes licking it off. It’s the most fun Rebekah’s had since she learned that vinegar could remove lime-scale. Damon’s teaching her a lot. Her back arches as Damon buries a head between her legs, fangs bared. She forgets all about housework.
Meanwhile, downstairs, Caroline is finding that there are a lot of things that a horse won’t do. Make a tight turn in a crowded sitting room for example. There are all kinds of things trodden into the carpet and she decides that it’s probably best to leave whilst she still can. The last thing she needs is an irate Damon sprinting down the stairs. The back view was quite enough to be coping with for one day.
Besides, she has an original hybrid to deal with.
She aims the horse towards the French doors and discovers, as they crash through a window, that the steering is nowhere near as good as her Dodge. She’s not sure if the screaming coming from Damon’s room is pleasure or fury. Decides not to stick around to find out. She flicks the reigns and feels a thrill rush through her as muscles bunch and flow under her, racing towards Klaus’ tastefully renovated home.
Caroline uses the ride over to think about names for the horse. It seems rude to just continue to call it ‘Horse’. Even if she is going to give it back. She dismisses Lucifer as too dark, Charger as too kitschy, and finally settles on Blackie. Perfect. She grins to herself with the satisfaction of a job well done.
As she pulls Blackie to a stop Caroline is somewhat disconcerted to see a large marquee in the back garden of the Mikaelson residence. She hadn’t received a party invitation. Elijah suddenly materialises right in front of her, causing Blackie to rear up. Caroline’s pretty proud that she manages to keep her seat. Clearly vampire reflexes are good for more than one thing.
“Caroline. What a surprise.” He flicks his head, clearly forgetting his new, shorter hairstyle. It doesn’t have quite the same impact it once did. “What are you doing with Belladonna?”
“Belladonna?” Caroline feels as though this conversation is racing away from her before it’s even begun.
“The horse.” Elijah manages somehow not to sound condescending. Chalk one up to chivalry.
“Oh! Right. Umm.” Just as Caroline’s trying to martial her thoughts into some semblance of a response her phone buzzes, causing a threefold reaction:
One; she jumps. Straight up in the air, almost losing her grip on the horse beneath her. Two; the horse snorts and shakes its head in frustration, and three; Elijah begins stroking the horse's nose, with a raised eyebrow in Caroline's direction.
Caroline shakes her head and warns herself, Stop making lists, Care. It's a little creepy. She fumbles with her phone under Elijah's sardonic gaze, too distracted to register the caller ID before answering in her perfectly perky: "Hi, this is Caroline!"
"Care? Where are you?"
Caroline cocks her head to the side, "Elena? I thought you had gone to visit Jeremy for the weekend? Is everything okay?" She closes her eyes while Elena talks quickly. It had been a relatively drama-free couple of days. Rebekah was keeping Damon... occupied. Elena was out of town, so Stefan had holed himself away to brood. Elijah and Klaus... she glanced over at the Original currently stroking Belladonna's nose and pretending as though he wasn't keenly aware of the conversation Caroline was... not paying attention to.
"I'm sorry sweetie, what did you just say? There was static." Elena would know that she's lying, possibly Elijah does too, but Caroline is starting to really just want the conversation to be over so she can return the damn horse and …
The line is dead.
Caroline takes the phone away from her ear, looks down at the screen and frowns, the call was from an unknown number.
Elijah coughs softly and Caroline turns to him with a toss of her head...
I thought you had gone to visit Jeremy for the weekend? Is everything okay?
The tinny voice is cut off as Katherine drops the phone back into Jeremy’s lap. “You were right.”
“She’s looking for me?” Jeremy sighs and straightens his shoulders, choosing to focus on the rainy road in front of him, rather than the sultry vampire sitting beside him.
“We could go straight back to town, if she’s not there...” Katherine’s voice trails off with suggestion as her long fingernail traces a line down Jeremy’s neck. He shrugs her off.
Katherine slumps back in her seat, crossing her arms with a huff and a pout. Seducing the younger brother of your doppelganger is harder than she'd imagined, but she wasn’t going to give up this easy. She closes her eyes and thinks of the possibilities lying in wait should they return to Mystic Falls that night: Jeremy, Damon, Stefan... black satin sheets... lots of chocolate... and ropes... She sighs deeply and licks her lips.
“You’re doing it again!”
“I so am not.”
The phone in Jeremy’s lap pings. He sighs and looks down. A voicemail. He’s just about to play the message when Katherine's teeth began tickling his earlobe...
This is Jeremy. Leave a message at the beep. BEEP! …... Just kidding. Beep.
Bonnie rolls her eyes, “Jeremy? I can’t get a hold of Elena. Please have her call me.”
“Can’t get in touch with either one?”
Bonnie looks down at the vampire tied to the headboard of her bed and grazes the heel of her stiletto against an exposed nipple…
TWO | The Part Where Elijah Is A Mind-reader And Stefan Does Not Eat A Horse (Much)
Elijah coughs softly and Caroline turns to him with a toss of her head, and that’s when she realises it wasn’t a cough. Elijah’s skin greys, and he falls to the floor - daggered once more.
“Hello, Caroline,” Klaus says, grinning.
“Why did you do that? Actually, you know what, I don’t care.”
“I thought Belladonna might be lonely, so I brought a friend; his name is Buen-Amigo,” Klaus states plainly, face alight with dimples.
It’s only then that Caroline notices that Klaus has brought her yet another horse.
“I don’t want your horses!” Caroline tells him, her voice high pitched but firm.
Then she looks forwards, taking the reins in her hands, she intends to elegantly trot away from him. Ends up galloping instead.
Klaus hops onto the other horse and rides fast to catch up with her.
“I’m coming to your rescue,” he bellows.
Caroline, considering the damsel in distress lines that will ensue and very much not wanting to be rescued by Klaus, flies off the horse and onto a tree, and soars up to keep an eye on the runaway animal. From up high in the treetops she spots Stefan. She decides to enlist his help for her deal-with-Klaus-and-horses plan, and flies over to him.
“Stefan! Klaus keeps giving me horses, and asking me out, and stalking me, and it’s creepy, and I need to make him stop, and you’re going to help me.”
“I don’t think I’m the best person for this Caroline; the last time I tried to get Klaus to do anything, I practically started a war. Besides I’m busy; have you seen Elena? No one seems to know where she is, or be able to contact her,” Stefan asks with consternation.
“Elena’s fine, she was on the phone like five minutes ago, but from an unknown number; she’s probably just out of range. And I can tell by your face that you’re back to being good Stefan now, so it’s different,” Caroline explains matter-of-factly.
“Okay, I guess I can help,” Stefan replies with grudging acceptance.
“Let’s think about what we’re going to do,” Caroline orders.
The furrowed lines on Stefan’s face disappear to make way for a small smile: “I have an idea,” he declares.
“Stefan ate my horse!” Klaus cries, a lone tear of loneliness sliding down his cheek.
The actually uneaten--but mildly grazed upon--horse lets out a neigh as Stefan wipes the horse-blood (which he had used to fool Klaus) off of his face.
“Stable’s ready,” Caroline calls cheerily.
Stefan eyes the seemingly perfect makeshift stable--where they’re planning to hide the horse for a little while--with admiration.
“How did you do this inside an underground cave? …Right, you’re Caroline,” Stefan trails off, affecting a lopsided smile.
Caroline beams in response.
“Well, you’re the one who found another undiscovered underground cave,” she points out a moment later.
Stefan shrugs; “It is the Lockwood estate.”
Caroline nods in agreement. At that moment Belladonna wanders over to her, and she strokes his mane. Then the horse begins to explore a nook of the cave, and picks something up in his teeth; a necklace of some kind. Caroline touches it…
Jeremy watches as Katherine rises from the bed, only in her underwear, and proceeds to sit and do her nails. Shaking himself out of his post coital lethargy, Jeremy reaches for his muted phone--to listen to the message he had ignored. One message has morphed into eleven, alternating between an increasingly concerned Bonnie and Stefan.
The guilt and anxiety he feels only grows when he skips to the last message and hears Stefan calmly tell him Caroline heard from Elena, and everything is okay. His fingers find Stefan’s number before his mind thinks of doing it. It goes to voicemail.
“Hi, um, about that phone call Caroline got from Elena? It was actually from Katherine, so Elena’s still missing. And no, before you ask, Katherine didn’t take her. Are you sure Rebekah has been with Damon this whole time--it does seem like her MO. Please call back as soon as you get this, I’m going to start looking for my pants.” Jeremy pauses for a moment as he sees Katherine crawling up the bed towards him, “On second thoughts, maybe I’ll just call you back.” His voice rises to a pre-pubescent squeak on the last word, as Katherine settles full-length over his body.
“Good choice,” she smirks, tossing his phone across the room and her hair over her shoulder. She slides back down his body, scratching none-too-gently as she goes. She leaves smudges of her not-quite dried nail polish down his chest, down his legs, and starts painting his toenails hooker red.
Unfortunately, Jeremy has ticklish feet. He tries to control the urge to laugh--to flinch--but ends up kicking Katherine under the chin, knocking her on her ass.
She’s on him in a flash, fangs out, and a nail-file gripped in her hand.
“When you said you wanted to do dirty things with me, this isn’t exactly what I pictured.” Rebekah’s mouth twists in a moue of distaste as she looks around the filthy basement. She looks back at Damon, and is aghast to see him pulling on a pair of rubber gloves and what looks like some kind of shower-cap.
“Hmm?” is all the answer she gets, Damon too busy internally debating the relative merits of detergent and bleach really to listen to her.
Rebekah stamps her foot. “No wonder your stupid hair looks so stupid, if you wear that stupid thing on your head!” she shouts. She stamps her foot again, for symmetry.
Damon just smiles and nods, his decision made. “Here,” he says, handing her a bucket and brush, “you start scrubbing over there, and I’ll start moving these as-yet unexplained piles of wood out of the way.”
She throws the scrubbing-brush at his head.
It gets his attention, at least.
Suddenly Caroline’s mind is filled with images of green meadows, hay, and being ridden by Klaus. Wait, what?
“Stefan! Stefan! I can read the horse's mind! At least, I hope that’s what’s happening.” She holds out the necklace to her furrowed-browed friend, “does it work for you too?”
Stefan grabs eagerly at the necklace, but seconds later his brow is furrowing even more deeply than usual, as he fights to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “No,” he says, “it doesn’t. Maybe you just have a magical affinity with horses,” his face brightens, “perhaps we can use that to our advantage...”
"What, you mean to kill Klaus?" she asks and Stefan nods, their tacit understanding finally broken. She can almost hear his mind whirring mechanically as it formulates what, no doubt, it set to become a perfectly doomed plan of action. She knows Stefan well enough by now; he just can't operate without a plan, he doesn't feel safe without one. She can already see quiet assurance creeping across his furrowed brow as his less-than-devilish machinations take shape. She feels a little sorry for Damon. Has Stefan spent their one hundred and sixty odd years together being this predictable? This annoying?
"UGHH, NO! Stefan! Stefan, listen to me! Stefan!" Caroline yells as she rips the necklace from his hands in frustration. She sees Stefan's eyes widening, concerned. But he still doesn't understand. Caroline knows Klaus as well as she knows Stefan and this is just not going to do. Whatever Stefan is thinking, whatever he's planning, it could never work!
No birthday, no mercy.
That is Klaus' mentality, his philosophy. Taking out Klaus Junior, Klaus' beloved steed - if that is indeed Stefan's plan - will only make matters worse for them. Caroline can prolong their truce with Klaus as long as necessary. After all, it has already lasted for over a year. A year in which she's planned birthday party after birthday party and Klaus had been there every time, come to wish anyone and everyone many happy returns, all the while suspecting nothing. It's all she can do, stall him with birthday parties. Stalling Klaus is their best hope because the likes of Stefan and Damon, or even the likes of Katherine, will never be able to actually kill him. To actually kill Klaus, they need someone like-
"Elijah" she hears Stefan whisper, as she catches sight the ancient vampire approaching them from behind the stable.
The first thing Caroline notices is Elijah's new hair-style. Truth be told, she finds it quite funny that a vampire as old and powerful as Elijah always makes a profound impression on the back of his new do. The second thing she notices is how close Elijah is standing to Stefan; how direct his gaze is. Caroline sighs inwardly - this is so typical, it's like the Original Family only ever come to Mystic Falls to flirt with one or both of the Salvatore brothers. None of the girls ever get a look in, ever!
"Do you like my hair?" Elijah asks Stefan softly, the semblance of a smile dancing on his lips. "Because I do."
His question is greeted by silence. Of course it is, this kind of thing always floors Stefan.
"Are you here to help us kill Klaus?" Caroline blurts out and Elijah turns to look at her for the first time. Perhaps he's startled that she's speaking so directly. After all, she is startled that she's speaking so directly. But the horrible, beautiful image of being ridden by Klaus through evergreen fields has added impetus to her desire to get rid of him. Her sweaty hands grip the necklace tightly and she stares directly at Elijah, hoping desperately that mind-reading is not one of his many talents.
If Elijah is startled, he only shows it for a second. There is a long silence before he muses, quietly, "You know Caroline, mind-reading is one of my many talents."
Caroline is mortified, almost paralysed with embarrassment. But Elijah takes no notice. His left hand in his pocket, he raises his right hand towards the sky and continues theatrically: "Birthdays are a vampire's greatest weakness"
Caroline raises her eyebrows and this time it's Elijah who looks flustered.
"Excuse me" he coughs, then corrects himself "Birthdays are Klaus' greatest weakness. His own birthday is in three day’s time. This is how we will destroy him..."
THREE | The Part Where Jeremy Is A Ghost and Elijah Buys Jimmy Choos
Rebekah is consumed with rage as she marches away from the Salvatore house, pouting in the afternoon sun. She grins maliciously at the memory of driving a splintered scrubbing brush slowly through Damon's stomach. The memory helps to alleviate some of her rage. The raw feelings of rejection still remain though, gnawing at her. How could Damon possibly prefer cleaning to her? She'd spent all this time picking out lingerie and Damon had been more interested in fondling a Persian rug! Even when Rebekah had skewered him with every wooden object in the vicinity, Damon's first instinct had been to stagger away from his beloved carpet so as not to stain it. How ridiculous! Well, she'd shown him. He'd be cleaning his own blood out of his precious carpets for weeks now…
She is so preoccupied with hateful feelings towards Damon that she almost doesn't notice the uninvited guest sitting in her living room as she comes through the front door. Sitting on her sofa is the girl with that hated, hated face: the face of the doppelgänger. Rebekah listens hard. She can't discern a heartbeat. That means this must be Katherine - it's remarkable how often people miss this trick! Apparently, Katherine makes her living masquerading as Elena and Elena's vampire lovers don't seem to notice very much. Not that Rebekah blames them, of course. They were all the same, all the doppelgängers, all of them nuisances.
The moment she catches sight of Rebekah, Katherine disappears in a blur. She leaves behind a corpse, slouched behind the sofa. Although Rebekah can see that it's a male corpse, it has beautifully manicured, hooker red toenails. Rebekah bends to examine the corpse, now vaguely curious as to who it might be. As she turns its head, she can see that it's the face of Jeremy Gilbert, as much an emo-prince in death as he had ever been when alive.
“No,” sighs Bonnie, gaze still caught on the vampire’s chest. “I have no idea where Elena is…”
“Shame. I was looking forward to an afternoon of fun with the doppelganger and her best friend,” Finn replies. His chiselled body shifting against the crumpled bed sheets to move closer to her. Finn’s senses alerted to the faint smell of sweat and burnt food, the latter a result of Bonnie’s disastrous cake baking skills.
Finn examines the bedroom, squinting as the sun light pierces though the haphazardly drawn curtains. He looks down at the pink fluffy handcuffs around his wrists. “Really? You couldn’t have just cast a spell on me or something?”
Bonnie smiles wryly but does not answer his question. She leans closer to him, her lips almost brushing his.
“Let’s get back to what you’re here for,” she says; her tone soft and slightly seductive. “I believe it’s your turn Mr Original Vampire.”
Bonnie sits back on the bed, waiting for him to make a move. Finn laughs, an almost childlike chuckle filled with excitement as he picks up the shaker that is next to his half naked body and rolls the dice across the Mousetrap board propped precariously on the rumpled bedcovers.
Ghost!Jeremy hovers above his own cooling corpse. This is going to be fun, he thinks to himself, getting up to as much mischief as possible and no one, including boring History teacher by day, hot vampire slayer by night, Alaric Saltzman, being able to do jack about it. He swoops past an unsuspecting Rebekah, tugging at her hair as he floats out of the house laughing to himself.
Rebekah studies the room. Her eyes rigorously scrutinising every inch of wall, tapestry and furniture. She’d thought she had felt some sort of presence with her, but could not be sure. Her gaze returns to the corpse.
“And what are we going to do with you, poor little Gilbert?” she asks in a condescending tone. Moving his body, she notices blood has spilled onto the floor.
“Little bitch!” she exclaims, “You’re ruining my favourite Persian rug.”
Elijah answers his phone after the second ring. “This better be good Rebekah, I’m incredibly busy.”
The shop assistant comes from the store room holding a pair of Jimmy Choos. Elijah smiles, his hand covering the microphone of his Blackberry.
“Perfect,” he says, nodding as the shop assistant places them on the stool beside him.
“I need help disposing of a little probl--” his sibling continues.
Elijah cuts her off mid syllable. “You will have to learn to deal with these things yourself, my dear.”
“But...... waaaaaaa!!!” Rebekah replies, stamping her feet and waving her arms about in a tantrum. “I don’t want to deal with a human corpse,” she continues, her fists clenched in frustration. “Besides, Elijah, he’s ruining the furniture!”
Elijah sighs and cancels the call. He looks at the shoes and smirks to himself; thinks I believe, when the ladies see these, the word they will be looking for is O.M.G. He cuts that trail of thought off and compels the shop assistant to wrap up the pair of Jimmy Choos and hastily makes his way to Rebekah.
Meanwhile, back at the Salvatore mansion, Stefan is busy preparing a meal of spaghetti bolognaise and garlic bread. He sometimes forgets how much he loves cooking. Of course, to be fair, oscillating between blood drenched Ripper binges and brow furrowed bouts of penitent brooding doesn't leave him a lot of free time to pursue other hobbies. He decides that has to change.
He half turns from the simmering sauce pot as he hears Damon in the living room.
"Damon! Come in here a second. I have a question for you."
Damon saunters in and leans against the kitchen island. "What's up, brother?" He cranes his neck to look at what Stefan has on the stove. "Working on a new bunny recipe? Waste not, and all that?"
Stefan frowns, and then looks thoughtful. "No…. but that's a good idea." He quickly jots the idea down on a note pad before getting back on point. "No. I think I'm going to audition for Top Chef. Or maybe Top Chef: Just Desserts. Or possibly Chopped instead. I haven't really decided." Stefan is talking animatedly with his hands, and Damon winces as sauce from the spoon he's holding splatters against the cupboards. "But my point is, I think a reality TV cooking show is exactly what I need right now. Fresh perspective, get out of this town, whole new challenges that won't involve a lot of death, human carnage, or doomed formal wear events."
Damon's expression for once is unreadable.
"So…. What do you think?" Stefan finally stills as he waits for an answer.
Damon draws in a breath, hesitating just a moment before grabbing the dishtowel draped over Stefan's shoulder and compulsively wiping up the mess. "I think… that it's a great idea, though not as good as us kicking ass in the Amazing Race. Still!" he raises a hand to forestall any argument from Stefan, "I'm over that, and I'll totally tune in and text my vote for you." He smirks and shoves the now dirty towel into Stefan's hands.
"I'll text in my vote, too." Both brothers turn in surprise to see Alaric shifting an assortment of weapons from a duffle bag into their kitchen broom closet. "What are those looks for? I had to divulge all my old weapons caches to Liz. I'm just creating a few new ones. You never know when I might be in your kitchen and in need of a stake gun, or wolfsbane grenade."
Stefan simply shrugs at the sad truth of that statement, and turns back to his culinary masterpiece. Damon grins in appreciation. This is why he likes Alaric; always thinking ahead, and not trusting anyone. He grabs two beers from the fridge and hands one over to Ric as he heads for the stairs.
"Come on, Ric. I need to get back to organizing my closet. Someone," Damon looks back pointedly at Stefan, "borrowed my shirts and didn't put them back in the correct colour sequence. Not all black button downs are the same!" he calls back to Stefan. "You should keep me company."
At Alaric's unconvinced frown, Damon goes on. "Fine, I'll even let you stash some of your toys in my room."
Alaric breaks into a smile and gathers up his duffle. "Deal."
Stefan tries unsuccessfully to tune out their conversation as they head upstairs. "So, I've been going over the trip itinerary you sent. Do you think three days in the B&B on the North Carolina coast will be long enough? I don't want to feel rushed on our strictly bromance summer road trip."
Meanwhile, at Klaus' house, Elijah has just arrived to find Rebecca shoving the body of Jeremy Gilbert into the driver's seat of a rental car.
"About time you got here!" she shrills. "I had to do all this work on my own, so the least you can do is help me stage the cover-up. Or whatever they call it."
Elijah sighs dramatically, hastily tucking his shopping bags into the hall. "My dear sister... Situations like these are what compelled minions are for. Let me make a few calls."
And back in town, having found incorporeal travel isn't nearly as fast as he'd hoped, Ghost!Jeremy finally arrives at Bonnie's house just in time to see Finn leaving with a very satisfied smile on his face. Now to find out if she can see him; or if his plans for pranking the population of Mystic Falls from beyond the grave can proceed unchecked…
The call had been made, and now Elijah watches as Klaus' hybrids take Jeremy's body far, far away. What has Rebekah gotten herself into now? For centuries, he'd been cleaning up her messes. And how was he going to explain this to Elena? They had forged a strange friendship and a weird kind of honesty that both confused and drove everyone else crazy.
Fortunately, he knows that this was only Jeremy's body. The ghost of the young man is still out there somewhere (probably haunting Bonnie and her new-found secret love story starring Finn as himself), and he didn't need a body to carry on his business. This probably wouldn't be of any comfort to her, but what did Elena have these days to take comfort in, anyway? It was one tragedy after another with that girl. Plus the Salvatores were always there, buzzing around her like insects, never giving her room to breathe.
"Oops," Rebekah says as the body is taken away.
"Rebekah, do you ever think of anyone besides yourself?"
"Not really. Oh, wait. I do think about Justin Bieber sometimes. He's really hot."
Elijah glares at his sister, wondering how the hell they are going to get themselves out of this latest disaster.
FOUR | The Part Where Alaric Is A Serial Killer And Elena Is Clueless
Elena takes a moment away from the drama to watch some television with Alaric. Tonight’s the night Stefan and Damon are going to be on Top Chef. She just hopes all the other contestants are really, really careful with their knives.
Their first assignment had been to make an amuse-bouche in under ten minutes.
The rest of the contestants were making things like crab cakes and calamari, but Damon decides on a parmesan tulle and green pea mint sorbet (whatever the hell that even is) and Stefan makes grilled polenta with a creamy lemon caper goat ricotta cheese sauce. Their dishes are a hit and they both give their trademark Salvatore grins at every opportunity, winning over every single man, woman and child they encounter. They continue making ridiculously abstract, elaborate meals with a flair only the Salvatore brothers could bring to the table.
"Unbelievable," Elena sighs, shaking her head and smiling.
"Yeah, who knew that century-old vampires could make such a delightful wedding cake in just under an hour?" Alaric grunts, somewhat disgusted with his good friend Damon. They were going to have a lot to talk about on their summer bromance road trip to the B&B on the North Carolina coast.
"They really should have gone on the Amazing Race instead," Elena adds.
They turn off the television when the episode is over instead of switching to the Real Housewives of Wisconsin or whatever is coming up next. Alaric makes some tea and Elena watches him closely. Is this really the Alaric she knows and loves, or is he a serial killer terrorizing all the council members one by one? Even if they did have proof of what he was doing, part of her refused to believe it. This was her teacher, her mentor, her friend, her guardian. How could he have killed those people? Oh, Caroline was never going to forgive him for killing her father. This was going to get messy.
"Why are you staring at me like that?"
"Oh, um...your hair...looks good today?"
"Please, Elena. My hair looks good every day and you know it. You're thinking about that whole serial killer thing, aren't you?"
"Just a little."
"Think about it this way--both of your vampire boyfriends have eaten more people than I can ever even dream of killing. Doesn't that make you feel better?"
It doesn't make Elena feel better, actually. And when her cell phone rings and she sees it’s Elijah calling her, she knows she’s about to feel a whole lot worse.
“Elijah.” Elena breathes heavily into her phone as a way of greeting.
“Elena.” Elijah responds, his voice full of velvet undertones that she knows he’s only using to sugar-coat whatever he’s about to say next.
“We already know each other’s names. What do you want?” Elena asks bluntly, wanting to get to whatever point Elijah thinks he has.
“No need to be rude, Elena,” Elijah responds, and Elena wants to roll her eyes. For, as genteel a vampire as Elijah is, he is more than well acquainted with the art of snark. “Your presence is requested at my humble abode.”
Elena pauses, because she didn’t know Elijah had an abode, let alone a humble one. She briefly wonders what the decorating schema of the millennia-old vampire may entail - imagines poufy chairs and still-life paintings of pears, and then, strangely enough, the bust of a Victorian woman atop a winding staircase - then shakes herself from her rather disturbing thoughts and focuses on the real issue.
“How do I know I can trust you?” Elena asks Elijah, scepticism heavily lacing her tone.
“Because you always do. It’s sort of your M.O.”
“Good point,” Elena responds, “I’ll see you in ten minutes.”
When she hangs up, she realizes she will be heading to Klaus’ home, as that’s where the address of the Band of Merry Originals last was.
She pulls her coat on, and tightens it a bit as she shudders at the idea of entering Klaus’ home, or rather, according to Elijah, his home.
Elena gets into her car, turns the engine over, and pulls onto the road.
Forget cotton, apprehension is the fabric of her life.
When Elena pulls up to the house, she’s briefly taken aback by the sheer size of the place; it can’t ever be said that the Originals don’t have flair.
She parks and exits the vehicle, and crunches her way across the gravel, bunching her fists in the hem of her coat. Her mouth feels dry and she can feel sweat prickle at the small of her back.
Why did she think this was a good idea again?
Oh yeah, because blindly trusting proven liars is what she does.
Regardless, she briefly curses the Salvatores and their need for culinary fame, because she feels so alone and so very scared. She would give every tender cut of filet mignon, every Baked Alaska to have either one of the brothers at her side, protecting her against all rhyme, reason, or regard for anyone’s safety but her own.
There’s just some sort of confidence in knowing you have your very own security team comprised of lethal killers with a penchant for human blood, flagrant ignorance for anyone outside of the Elena Gilbert namesake, and hair gel.
Elena reels in her run-on thoughts, and raises her hand to knock on the door.
She hopes Stefan burnt his fancy food. That would teach him to run off on her when she needs him most. But that line of thinking makes her insides curl in on themselves in agony, and she realizes, this disappearing act of Stefan’s is nothing new.
But Damon? Damon is supposed to be here to succumb to her every beck and call.
The absence of the permanent smirk and monochromatic wardrobe next to her makes her second-guess her decisions, and she stops herself before she can knock.
But then again, this is Elijah, and nothing ever goes wrong when she trusts Elijah.
Elena smiles to herself, nods in self-reverence, and finally raps on the door.
While Elena waits, she hears a rustle in the bushes behind her parked car, and for a brief moment, she almost shouts in glee. The Salvatores have obviously felt her desperation for attention from hundreds of miles away and have come to her rescue!
Yet, to her confusion - and utter horror - Alaric pops out from behind the greenery instead.
“Alaric!” Elena hisses as he nears her, his eyes glinting strangely, and a maniacal grin plastered on his artfully stubbled face. “What are you doing here!?” She demands, planting her hands on her hips.
“Following you, of course,” he says, like the concept is entirely too obvious for him to even deign to explain to her.
“Why?” she asks, confusion writ plainly on her face. She hadn’t realized Alaric is a potential love interest, whose sole purpose is following her against all logic, just to ensure her protection. He is her teacher! She’s so confused.
“I’m a serial killer now, Elena,” Alaric says, “duh” hanging behind his words. “It’s what I do.”
Before Elena can respond to this (possibly offensive) information, the door opens and Elijah stands in its frame.
Despite all that had happened this crazy night, there was not a lot these days that really surprised Elijah. He had lived too long and had seen too much to doubt the absurdities that afflicted the human condition, but the sight of Alaric in a clown suit proclaiming to his young charge that he was a serial killer did make his jaded eyebrow rather twitch, if only just a little bit.
“Good evening - to both of you,” he offers as he swings open the door to the sumptuous house. Outwardly, he shows nothing of his surprise and retrains his perfectly unruffled demeanour.
Despite Alaric’s strange attire and the bloody knife he brandishes in his right hand, Elena still looks briefly to her guardian for reassurance before she speaks; though what comfort she thinks she could receive from a man smeared with the contents of her cosmetics bag and swimming in an oversized green and blue jumpsuit stained with fresh dripping blood, Elijah can only guess. But then, he reasons, Elena’s life has taken more than a few detours down Absurd Boulevard of late, what was one more ludicrous turn of events to the poor girl?
“Elijah!” Unsettled, Elena takes a step away from the deranged man, maintaining a secure distance. “I don’t know what you wanted, but I think something just came up-”
“So I see.” Elijah strolls forth onto the driveway with ultimate confidence, placing himself between Alaric and the concerned girl and making sure he doesn’t trip over the huge clown shoes and spoil his composure.
Alaric grins back manically, banishing the knife again for effect, but he doesn’t make any move to attack them. “I’m a serial killer!” he repeats.
“Aren’t we all?” Elijah replies dryly. He looks up into wild, unfocused, eyes rimmed wide with wobbly red lipstick posing as greasepaint; funhouse mirrors to the soul of a broken, unquiet mind; what Elijah doesn’t see is any of the man he knew.
“What’s wrong with him?” Elena demands from a safe position behind Elijah’s back.
“More to the point, Elena,” Elijah replies, “Where has he hidden the bodies?”
“Ugh, he hasn’t killed any of my friends, so who cares! Can we fix him? Is he possessed?”
“Possibly,” Elijah’s eyes narrow as he studies Alaric’s face for clues to his condition. He could have been possessed by some entity, but he could also be one of many other things, including just plain crazy. “It’s difficult to be sure. There are rituals--”
Elena jumps on the solution, already pulling out her cell phone, even though they haven’t actually worked out what the problem is with the man yet. “I’ll call Bonnie! There’ll be a spell, there’s always a spell, right?”
“Quite poss-“ It’s just then that Elijah receives a face full of a liquid ejected from the huge pink daisy pinned to Alaric’s chest.
Bourbon, of course. What a waste of fine malt. Damon would be furious.
FIVE | The Part Where The Salvatores Make Grilled Cheese And Bonnie Has To Decide
The Salvatore boarding house looks like a wasteland, Bonnie notes with equal parts fascination and disgust as she tries to creep down the hallways as silently as her stilettos allow. Sauce drips down the wall like blood, and flour dusts the decorative ninth century Indian rug hanging from the banisters. She could’ve sworn she saw intestines swinging from the chandelier before discovering, upon closer inspection, that it is just a link of sausages. She hears a scuffle in the kitchen and swallows, a spell already drawing in the back of her mind. Whatever being that has attacked the Salvatores will have nothing on her, she is prepared, she is ready, she is-
“You lying cheat!”
Bonnie feels herself being hurtled down towards the hardwood floors as a heavy frying pan narrowly misses her head and crashes into the wall she’d been leaning against moments before, shattering to pieces and splattering sauce everywhere. She splutters, swiping at the garlic and tomato and other spices on her cheeks and scrambles to her feet, kicking whatever it was that had attacked her in the gut, her nails scratching blindly at everything within a two-feet radius, until she realises no one is fighting back.
She takes a breath and peeks through her eyelashes, and promptly gasps when she sees Stefan on the ground, clutching his stomach. “Stefan! I-what happ-I am so sorry,” she tries to say, but Stefan’s already crawling to his knees, coughing and spluttering.
“Why the hell,” he rasps, squinting up at her legs, “do you have fishnets and six inch heels on?”
Oh, shit.
“I-” Bonnie starts to say, but is (thankfully) interrupted by Damon crashing down the hall, crazy eyes bulging, flour on his cheeks, Elmo oven mitts on his hands.
“Don’t talk to him!” he yells, brandishing a rolling pin in her face. “He’s a lying cheat, and you’re probably already on his side.”
“What are you talking about?” Bonnie snaps, tired of being assaulted. “What side?”
Damon glares. “Didn’t you read any of my texts?”
“After the thirty-second one?” Bonnie asks, hand ready on her hip. “No.”
Damon rolls his eyes heavenward, and after a few moments-in which Stefan finally gets to his feet and proceeds to challenge his brother to a silent battle of eye squinting and chest puffing-Bonnie finally clears her throat, shaking the Salvatores out of their stupor. They blink down at her, and then seem to remember why they needed her in the first place and quickly beckon her to the kitchen.
“Let me get this straight,” Bonnie says, and this time both of her hands are placed on her hips. “You asked me to drop everything I was doing-everything I was doing-because you want to know who makes the better grilled cheese sandwich?”
“Uh,” Stefan scratches the back of his head. “Yeah.”
Bonnie sighs, pulling the nearest plate towards her. “So who made this?”
Damon snorts. “Like we’re actually going to te-”
“Bonnie, there you are!”
Bonnie closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and slowly counts to ten. Because really? The one day she decides to cut loose people suddenly decide they need her? Her shoulders droop, but only slightly, as she swivels in her stool to face Elena-
-and promptly chokes on her spit, because Alaric’s behind her in some weird To Wong Foo Thanks For Everything, Julie Newmar getup… except with more make-up and bigger hair. Beside him, Elena’s looking despaired while Elijah looks on the verge of boredom as he guides Alaric to a stool.
“He thinks he’s a serial killer,” Elena blurts out, playing with the hem of her sweater. Elijah waves the bloodied knife, his lips twitching the slightest bit. Elena continues, “But we think he’s just possessed-is there anything you can do? What do you think it is? Ghosts? Like, do some kind of banishing spell or something?” Elena fires, blinking her eyes in a way that eerily reminds Bonnie of Damon.
“I… think so.” Bonnie asks, eyeing the red smeared around Alaric’s mouth. “But I’m not sure, I’ve never really tried it befo-”
“I have faith in you.” Elena grasps Bonnie’s hands as Alaric sways in his seat, trying to wrestle his knife out of Elijah’s grip. “You’ve never been wrong with a spell before.”
Bonnie side-eyes Alaric again. “He’s not going to stab me, is he?”
“He better not,” Stefan mutters. “We still need to know who won.”
Elijah shakes his head, prodding Alaric forward with the heel of the knife. “He’s sedated, for the moment. I suggest you be quick with the spell.”
“Alright,” she says, placing her hands on Alaric’s temples and closing her eyes. “Candles,” she instructs, and Damon and Stefan rush around, lighting up candles, all the while hissing, I’m faster or No way, I lit up more.
Elena watches, fingers trapped between her teeth as Bonnie chants her spell, finishing with a flourished, “…Verto is vir in a phasmatis.”
Nothing happens. No flash of light, no tinkling sounds. Alaric blinks up at them, rubbing the back of his neck (smearing concealer in the process). Elijah leans forward and frowns, prodding the back of Alaric’s head again-and promptly falls against the table.
“Elijah?” Elena asks, rushing to his side. “What happened?” She turns to Stefan, who shrugs, and then back to Bonnie. “Did it work? What happened?”
Bonnie’s shaking her head wordlessly, subconsciously backing away from Alaric. Elijah rubs the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me he’s not-”
“Oh, he is, alright,” Stefan says, peering at Alaric over the edge of the counter.
“He’s what?” Elena demands. It’s when Damon starts humming the theme from Ghostbusters under his breath that Elena claps her hands to her mouth, finally getting it.
“Alaric,” she gasps, her eyes widening. “You’re-”
“Hungry,” Alaric grumbles, unwittingly floating right through the island kitchen counter. He eyes the remnants of the cooking competition the way one would a decaying corpse. “You Salvabros got anything good to eat around here?”
SIX |The Part Where Caroline Wins And Elena Remembers (Finally)
Alaric grumbles more as he digs through the fridge still not finding anything. He turns to Damon in annoyance. “Why are you still humming that horrible song?”
“I don’t know, Ric. Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
“What’s my looks got to do with you humming annoyingly?”
“I like your looks, Ric.” Elena chimes in softly.
“Thank you, Elena.” Ric is shocked for a moment. Did Elena just compliment him? “So. What about this ghost busters?”
“Well…” Stefan moves around Alaric. “We are going to need one soon. We have a big ghost problem.”
“Stefan!” Elena glares at him angrily. There is no way she’s letting some ghost buster come in and take Alaric into a vacuum cleaner.
Damon calmly speaks. “Like I said Ric… Look in the mirror…”
Alaric sighs and hovers himself over to the hallway to look into the grand mirror. “I can’t see myself in this mirror, it’s too dirty.”
Elena goes behind Alaric and puts her hand on his shoulder but it falls straight through. She frowns. “Ric… it isn’t dirty.”
Alaric spins around and looks at Elena. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Elena opens her mouth to speak but no words came out.
Damon sneaks up behind her and looks at Alaric and says, “If there's somethin' strange in your neighbourhood… If it's somethin' weird and it won't look good…”
Alaric growls. “I get it, Damon. You have that song in your head but really… I’m tired of all this ghost talk.”
“Well, we will be talking about it for a while Ric.” Elena speaks softly.
“Why is that?” Alaric puts his hand on his hip and looks directly at Elena.
“Ric… You’re a…”
“Spit it out, Elena. What’s wrong?”
Stefan sighs and walks into the hallway. He is tired of everyone dancing around the apparent truth. “A ghost, Ric. That’s why you can’t see yourself in the mirror.”
“I’m a ghost?” Alaric laughs. “I don’t look like a ghost. I still have my body.”
“Yeah, but I can’t touch you…” Elena’s voice wavers when she speaks. She goes to put her hand on his shoulder and it falls right through it.
“Wha-?” Alaric goes to put his hand on Elena’s shoulder and it doesn’t fall through. “So… I’m solid but still a ghost… How does that work?”
“It’s because of the spell… You’re solid and people can still see you, well only if you want them to.”
Alaric grinned. “So, it’s like I’m invisible?” Alaric looks at Damon and grins.
“Don’t even think about it.” Damon warns but it’s too late. Alaric turns truly invisible to everyone in the room.
Alaric wanders around his friends wondering what to do. He chuckles as he pinched Elena’s butt, laughing at her squeal. He then moved over to Damon and runs his hands along his chest until he pulls Damon’s shirt up and over his head. He watches when Elena blushes as she tries to look away but can’t. Alaric grins and then bursts out laughing as Damon freaks out.
“Come out, wherever you are … and we promise we won’t hurt you.”
Elena glares at Damon. “You aren’t going to hurt him anyway.”
“Thank you, Elena…” Alaric smiles warmly at her as he reappears beside her. “I could get used to this ghost thing.”
Bonnie glares at him. “You have to be careful, Ric. There will be consequences…”
“Yeah, yeah. There are always consequences…”
“No, Ric. You don’t understand. It’s like before when you went to the fridge… you walked right through the furniture… to normal people that’s a big deal… you have to be careful to be normal in public… anyone aside from us is public.”
“I wonder if that means I can meet Santa… or the Easter Bunny.”
“Along with the tooth fairy and the leprechaun” Elena giggles as she helps Alaric make light of the bad situation.
“So seriously…” Alaric starts speaking as he looks at the other men in the house. “Why isn’t there anything to eat?”
Damon glares at him. “I think the most important question is which grilled cheese tastes better.”
Alaric gasps. “You guys don’t care if I’m a ghost.”
“Nah. You seem to be having fun. Enjoy it. Now… Bonnie. Which one tasted better… mine or Stefan’s?”
Bonnie looks at them both. “I’m not answering you until you clean up this house.”
Damon and Stefan look at each other and put their heads down. Stefan doesn’t want to spend time cleaning and, for once, neither does Damon.
“What if we just shove everything under the rug?” Stefan asks Damon.
“Yeah. Good idea.”
“Actually, it’s my house.” Elena pipes in. “… and no one is putting anything under the rug. You two will clean this house until it shines like the top of the Chrysler Building.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Get to work.”
“Okay. Cruella…” Stefan sighs as he walked into the kitchen.
Elena looks at Alaric. “Am I really Cruella?”
“Am I really a ghost?”
Elena walks off, pouting.
Alaric looks to Bonnie. “Just pick one already. Seriously, Damon doesn’t need to have on those Elmo gloves any longer.”
“I guess you’re right,” she says, laughing, as she walks into the messy kitchen. “The winner is…”
But she’s cut off from completing her declaration as Caroline stumbles through the front door, riding crop in hand and blue rosette pinned to the front of a particularly snazzy looking blazer. “Me!” she finishes, “The winner is me! Can you believe it?! I mean, I don’t know the first thing about show-jumping but, for some reason, I’m a complete natural.” She sinks down onto a chair, dazed grin firmly in place. “I think I’ve finally found my thing…”
“Your thing?”
“Yeah, my thing. Elena has the hapless human thing, and Bonnie has-” She stops, mid-explanation, eyes wide, mouth falling agape as Bonnie steps more completely into view. “What the hell are you wearing?”
Bonnie’s gaze drops to her knees. The fish-nets are laddered, the heel of one stiletto missing its cap, creating a metallic click with every step she takes. But she shrugs in response to Caroline’s disbelief; if ghost-clown!Alaric and Elmo oven-mitt wearing Damon are perfectly acceptable players in this b-grade horror show, then so should she be.
“Someone called for a cleaning service?”
Rebekah appears in the doorway then, bucket of supplies hanging from one hand, kerchief wrapped around her blonde locks.
“That’d be me,” Damon admits silkily as he sidles up to her and loosens the material around her hair. “I need you in the kitchen…”
They disappear from immediate view and Elena rolls her eyes heavy as the front door swings yet again, except she can’t quite fathom who it could be this time as the heavy wood yawns open and then closed, only no-one comes in.
And practically anyone who’s anyone is already here anyway… Until Alaric stops shovelling grilled cheese into his mouth for long enough to say; “Jeremy?”
Which, duh. Jeremy. Elena knew she’d been forgetting somebody.
“Ric? You can see me?”
“Of course, I can see you. Why woul- Oh.”
“Damn.” And there goes Jeremy’s grand plans for maximum ghostly mayhem.
“So, let me get this straight.” Caroline’s tapping the riding crop against her thigh with every syllable and Elijah finds the slightly off-beat rhythm oddly distracting. “Alaric and Jeremy are both ghosts? Damon makes the best grilled cheese this side of… somewhere, and Bonnie’s a stripper-”
“I am not a strip-” but Elijah thinks her counter-argument seems so far beyond the point by now and Caroline barely blinks at the objection, carries on with her list instead, “and Thursday is Klaus’ birthday.”
That gets their attention.
“Klaus’ birthday?”
“Why do we care that Thursday is Klaus’ birthday?”
“Do vampires even have birthdays?”
Elijah coughs his protest at that last sentiment, “Of course we have birthdays. Birthdays are the one day of the year where…” He trails off wistfully before remembering where he is and who he’s with, “Ahem, yes. Birthdays. Birthdays are very significant to vampires, and to Niklaus in particular.”
Caroline nods her enthusiastic agreement. “And we’re throwing him a party.”
“Oh! I can make the cake,” Damon offers excitedly and cops an elbow in the ribs from Stefan in the process.
“We can make the cake. Everyone knows my frosting is so much lighter than yours…”
And again Elijah thinks they’ve completely missed the point of his revelation. How these people are still alive and relatively unscathed he has no earthly idea.
The room dissolves completely into fervent list-making and party favour selecting and he lets it. Rolls his eyes to the ceiling and threads his fingers behind his head. Can’t help but contemplate how it all came to this.
And where the wonders of tomorrow may lead them…