Day 56: Bus 3
Waking carried a sense of disappointment along with it for the first time in a long time. Klavier actually sighed in irritation when he realized where he was. Damn it all. So they hadn't managed to move quickly enough to cover as much ground as they had hoped. It was a shame, really. Last night had actually proven to be relatively productive. If
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Claire shrugged on the thick woolen sweater, frowning to herself. That was the place the pale man had mentioned a few days ago. He'd thought it was the town she and Andrew had went to. If it was close enough to visit (and why were they visiting it in the first place?), then there was a chance he was right ( ... )
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Beautiful. Rick had died again. He was obviously coming back, but that didn't make the fact that it'd happened at all good by any account. Probably coming back. Damon didn't like hesitating over uncertainties-things either were or they weren't, and when in doubt, he tended to opt for the likely option of not gonna happen-but he found himself pausing nonetheless. If an object could be spelled, it could be de-spelled. That was one of the first lessons he'd learned about witches and their crafty magic.
Problems for later.
There was a pile of clothes waiting at the foot of the bed, folded and neat. Damon eyed it. He ran a hand through his hair. Jeans, boots, grey sweater. Not exactly Armani, but he'd take it over the military chic they had going on. Field trip. Right. Well, this was gonna be fun ( ... )
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Claire had spotted Damon a moment too late. She should have been watching the door to the bus, and now she was kicking herself for letting the sight of snow distract her. By the time she had pried herself away from the postcard view through her window, he was already halfway down the aisle. And his eyes settled directly on her.
She was immediately upright in her seat, lips parted in shock. She couldn't even get her legs moving properly until he'd already dropped down and blocked her way, leaving her half standing and clutching at the seat in front of theirs for balance.
...Theirs? No! She wasn't standing for this! Claire scowled at him and pushed at his upright knee. "Get out of my ( ... )
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Especially since he didn't have to bother when someone else would.
He smiled and propped his foot back up as the starting engine knocked the girl off balance. "Oops. Careful." Wouldn't want to end up with an unconscious seatmate, after all. That would be boring. He'd picked her for a reason and it wasn't to watch her sleep.
With his other foot, he slid the paper bag they'd been handed beneath his seat, out of the way. He hadn't even looked inside. As if there was any chance of it containing something useful. His eyes were only half-focused on Claire, unconcerned about her fuming beside him. He bet she was fantasizing all the ways to kill him at the moment. Why wouldn't she be? She hated him. It was only typical. Expected. Uncomplicated. No need to change that. Most of the world was not ( ... )
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It wasn't like he cared if she toppled over anyway.
A harried snap or two wasn't going to get him out of her way, unfortunately. The Others had learned to be afraid very, very quickly. Claire didn't take no for an answer on the island. You left her sight, or you lost yours. Some variation on that. The point was, Claire had gotten so used to being seen as a threat by everyone that being toyed with like this left her flustered, and angrier than ever before. She didn't like it. She wanted Damon gone and he was still here. Did that whole vowing to kill him talk fly clean through his ears? Was he that stupid?
...Oh. Well of course he was.
"Maybe you should have talked to your brother beforehand, then, because you're already breaking them now." She lowered her voice, less for secrecy's sake and more to avoid attracting the soldier's attention. ( ... )
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Somehow, though, Damon hadn't expected her to mimic the same sentiments he'd been throwing in Stefan's face ever since he'd discovered Stefan had...reformed.
He cocked his head at her, almost deliberating. She wasn't completely wrong about Stefan; trust him, he'd be the last to vouch for Stefan's sainthood. But here was the difference: she didn't understand anything, really, about what it actually meant. The point was never about Stefan pretending because Stefan didn't pretend. He genuinely believed, and it was annoying as hell to watch. It was even more annoying when he tried to drag Damon into the same delusional outlook on being undead.
"Stefan prefers tuning into humanity's frequency," he said offhandedly.
If you asked him, he'd prefer that there was no frequency to tune into in the first place. If he didn't keep slippingHe glanced out the window ( ... )
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It was just so phony, this whole good vampire, bad vampire act. What where they looking to get out of it? Sure, you saw that kind of thing in sappy books all the time. Monsters with feelings. But this was reality. You had to think smart. It might be nice to sit down and daydream about some handsome immortal boy coming to whisk you off your feet, but when the reality of it was right in front of you, you had to snap out of it. They were real, honest to God monsters. He'd tried to suck her blood out. Fairy tale princes didn't do that ( ... )
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"Trust me when I say you are very wrong about some of that."
Some. The phrasing might fly over her head, but it was far from a slip. Whether or not Claire was looking for more details, though, she wasn't getting them. Oh, if she only knew Stefan was far more interested in protecting her and the rest of the population.
And yet. Still couldn't watch me burn, could you, little brother.
Apparently.
The look on his face was one of disinterested, as if he were explaining something he'd explained a million times before. "I didn't try to eat you, Claire. I did eat you. I guess I could ask if you were up for a second donation, but. Well, I wouldn't want to press you so soon. ( ... )
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She sincerely could not care less about how different the brothers were, or where their true intentions lay. It didn't matter. They were things that preyed on people, and for that alone they deserved to be shot. Staked. Whatever would get the job done. Maybe it sounded a bit bigoted of her to say that, but there was a big difference between harboring grudges against people of certain races and harboring grudges against things that tried to eat you. She would be doing the world a favour.
Or at least...she would do it if Stefan didn't uphold his end of the bargain. Damon sitting ten centimeters away was already a big strike against him. Why didn't he tell Damon to stay away last night after they'd talked? Lord help her, but if Stefan blew it one more time she was going for both of their throats.
Yet what Damon said next killed her tirade dead cold. She stared at him, unblinking. Did he mean...
"...Second dona... ( ... )
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Damon dropped his foot down to keep from tipping over. You know, with how unhinged this girl was, he was starting to believe her story about being marooned on an island only to be plucked from it and dropped into a mental institute that was supposedly neither here nor there, if Stefan's conversation with their late-night visitor was worth a damn. Which, by the way, was still up for debate.
Also, she apparently had all of the logic of a five year old. Ask someone? Seriously? Was she actually saying that with a straight face. Yes, of course, how stupid of him. Why hadn't he thought of walking up to someone and asking them to bleed a little for him, he just needed, like, a pint or three. That was perfec ( ... )
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