who i've always been

[unforgivably]

Who: Damon Salvatore, Stefan Salvatore, Emma Swan and YOU.
Where: Various places detailed below, all in the city of Wayward Pines.
When: This month.
What: Damon decides to play by the rules, and discovers he's not the only version of himself that's broken them.
Warnings: None yet, but this is Damon Salvatore.

[ His third month here, Damon decides a different approach to the town is in order. For once, he's playing every part he's given. When a memory emerges, he leans into the skid. He could fight it. He could rabble rouse and raise pitchforks and anger whomever is behind the cameras, but he decides once and for all to play along. Before this month he'd been doing it out of habit, as something to do, but he decides then and there that he needs to. He gets the idea from Randel (or, with Randel, really) to improve if need be. It starts with smoothing over a soured friendship. And that becomes his second goal. Allies are the name of the game. And to get allies, Damon needs to be accessible. No more double meanings, no more burst bubbles inside parked cars. The more people he meets, the more memories uncovered and maybe that's the key. ]

i wanna talk about what you are that i ain't .. open

[ French's General Store becomes a hub of sorts for him. He volunteers to get the groceries. He's nothing if not a modern vampire and sending Katherine off to get groceries is a waste of her talents. When not stocking up on pancake batter, more booze and whatever he feels they might want for the next few days, he finds himself contemplating the rack of old VHS tapes. It's the classics Stefan actually likes, and ones they've all heard of, so every time he drops in, he picks up a few more. Drinking gets him so far, and with sex with Katherine off the table for him, he needs better entertainment. By mid-month they have a well-stocked VHS library.

At the butcher's, he makes small talk with French and always leaves a twenty in the tip jar. Sometimes, he makes a dirty joke about a breast, or a shank. And some days you might be surprised to find he pays for your order as well.

At the Garage, he takes to more hands on work when not working the books over. Expecting Stefan? You get Damon, hands greased up and white t-shirt spattered, but the job's always well done. His brother's expanded his acumen and that leaves Damon and Bucky doing the job in the afternoons. If you drop by during slower hours, you might find Damon singing Taylor Swift's greatest hits to himself. If not Taylor Swift, he has an impressive encyclopedic knowledge from songs released in 1993 and 1994, and a few of the older country songs.

With Stefan at the school, Damon drops by to bring his brother his lunch. In his brown bag sits a sandwich, an apple, and a thermos complete with his brother's favorite type. Damon raps on his brother's doorway to make his delivery. He bothers Stefan as long as his brother will let him. His third goal for the month, get back into his brother's good graces. After seeing Stefan, Damon wanders the halls. If anywhere is going to jog his memory, it's his high school. He can be found in the lobby, in the auditorium, and in the gymnasium, sometimes thinking, sometimes dribbling a basketball.

One afternoon he stops by one of the glass cases, palm settled against it, transfixed. He didn't go here. He knows he didn't go here and yet, there he is.

In the library, he finds an old yearbook, spending a while at one of the tables, flipping through it.

He stops at Between the Pines. Another way to his brother's heart. Books. The problem is, he spent the better part of a century either avoiding his brother, or making his life a living hell. He doesn't know which of these Stefan has read. He finds himself in the pulpier sections, knowing full well Stefan sticks with the highbrow. Maybe this is what he needs to turn that dour frown upside down.

At home he searches for his personal copy of the yearbook. Not pulling all the way into their garage, Damon leaves the door open while digging through old junk and finding not only his, but all of their yearbooks packed away in a collapsing cardboard box. The stolen yearbook sits next to the other three with Damon sitting not far from them, drinking from the bottle. They were here. They signed each other's yearbooks. Damon was on the football team and the basketball team. As far as information goes, it's a little much for him.

What he manages to do is pick up a few week day shifts at the bar. Weekend shifts come with experience. Seniority. Damon knows what he looks like. He knows he'll earn the weekend shift sooner or later. When not filling beers on tap and making exceptional drinks, including some that might count as before according to a sign or two, Damon uses his vampire hearing to listen to everyone. Sometimes, he strikes up his own conversation and doesn't discourage people starting conversation with him. With week night shifts come bussing as well, and when waitresses call out, running. But, he's capable and again, it passes time.

If you're lucky, your first drink is on the house. ]

let's talk about what you did to get here .. closed to stefan

When's the last time we did inventory?

[ Damon doesn't know. There are still whole patches of information, years, nights he doesn't remember, but he knows as a business owner that they should. Damon knows they need to take stock, get a handle on the business side of their business, so he and Stefan take a Sunday, shut down the garage and go through everything. Damon finds an old ledger in one of the cabinets. Modern technology eludes them. If only a ledger were a scanner. The menial inventory taking, he tasks Stefan with, not paying mind to the handwritten data.

Damon, instead, is going through their filing cabinets. ] We have paperwork going back to 1991. ]

let's talk about blood and sweat and tears .. closed to emma

[ It's not surprising Damon has friends. Because he has. Alaric. Enzo. Bonnie. Andie, in a way. Even Rose. Damon's swimming in friends he suddenly remembers. (Friends, and other people, but that stays with him and his brother. Whom he trusts inherently.) Damon drinks on the porch sometimes. Katherine's presence is all consuming and when she gets bored, he finds he doesn't like to entertain her. Or, doesn't want to. Sure there are nights with board games and drinks and they've read together, but some nights he wants to drink alone outside of the bar.

Finger on the top of his closer bottle of scotch, Damon finds himself fixated on a house across the street, a house until now that hasn't meant anything to him.

And despite that, he finds he needs a different, less compelled form of therapy.

There are the friends you drink with, bust their chops, camaraderie friends that don't judge you. And there are the friends that do, that take your shit, but tell you like it is. Bonnie was both. Here, he realizes he has a little of Bonnie in two people. It's too late to call or bother Sam. He's with kid. His sister's, but, still, kid. But, he knows Emma's up. Maybe, it's because her light is on. It's not because her light's on. It's another case of needing a face to a name attached to - something.

Getting up, he keeps the bottle with him, heading down their steps and across the street. He even looks both ways.

Arriving at Emma's door, he taps the bottle of scotch against it. He needs an ear not attached to Katherine or his brother. ]

Comments

[immoderation]

[ It's definitely the less pleasant part of owning your own business but Stefan well appreciates the need to maintain accurate records. So when Damon suggests a more thorough overview of everything in the shop, he doesn't hesitate to agree. They pick a Sunday when they're not really meant to be open for customers excepting in special circumstances anyway and get right down to work.

Well, it's more Stefan doing the actual work but to be fair the filing cabinets need to be inspected too. ]

Yeah but is any of it still worth keeping?

[unforgivably]

[ Stefan's taken afternoons off, he can do some extra work. ]

For tax purposes we don't pay to our - do we have a mayor? [ He knows they have a sheriff. ] I'm not sure any of this needs to be kept, but, [ He pulls one file out. ] what if Ellen Grimaldi needs a run down of her paint job back in 1992. [ Probably not. ] Toss it?

[immoderation]

Anything older than 3 to 6 years we probably don't need if the tax system is anything like what we're familiar with.

[unforgivably]

1989. [ He pulls another folder out. Moving to the corner, he picks up his small trash can and brings it over, dropping that file down. ] I thought I'd recognize more of these names. I think this one might be our gardener. [ He says, as he picks up another file. ] How about the ledger. We must've kept logs before we moved to the city wide non-web.

[sheriffing]

[ friends have been a difficult concept to grasp since the accident. she assumes she has them, she even vaguely remembers her life here, but things have a way of becoming clearer when she's presented with them. her home here is familiar and it's comfortable; it's hers, yet it's such a sharp contrast to what she remembers about her childhood. she's tried filling in the blanks - asking questions that are met with excuses, making assumptions that are almost immediately shot down.

she's a teacher, this is her house. anything she's been thinking about magic and fairytales is just a side effect from hitting her head. it's what she tells herself, how she makes sense of all of this, but it's more than enough to keep her up at night - and if she could remember her routines here, she'd know it isn't anything unusual.

at least she rises to the knock at the door, instead of ignoring it like she wants to. she's not in the mood for surprises, but once she pulls the door open, Emma realizes he isn't one. ]

Damon. [ like she's said it a thousand times over, and who the hell knows, maybe she has. she knows him the instant she sees him, even if a friendly face is nearly enough to break the forced composure she greets him with. she's still wearing a few scrapes and bruises, a scratch against her cheek just starting to heal up. he's her friend - also, a pain in the ass - but that feels real.]

[unforgivably]

[ She's new and so very not all at the same time.

The cuts and bruises register first, knowing that this is another person slotted into a life he doesn't belong. Emma, neighbor and confidant that tolerates him more often than not, but he knows has affection for him deep down. Even when he prods and bothers her. ]

I hear alcohol can help with any residual pain. [ He holds his bottle up. ] Sorry it took me so long. I think you know how fast news travels in this place. Injury news. Day to day trivial news travels like wildfire.

[ Something occurs to him, something that proves he's never met her, never been inside this house. He can't go in. He needs an invitation and without Emma inviting him inside, he's stuck on the porch. ]

[sheriffing]

That's not enough alcohol. [ the pain isn't the problem, it's literally everything else. the memories, the lack of memories. everything here seems to slide into place in a way that makes her question who she really is, and that's a crisis that'll take more of a bottle than whatever Damon hasn't finished yet.]

But since it's Scotch, I guess I'll forgive you. [ she pushes the door open, and steps aside. it's an invitation without an invitation. she expects that he'll follow, as far as she's concerned he usually welcomes himself into her house before she does - but he hesitates, and she glances back to see what's keeping him.] Get your ass in here, Salvatore.

[ she almost smiles at how easy that demand comes; it feels strange, like she hasn't actually been happy in, well, longer than she can remember. yet another thing her doctor probably would've blamed on the accident. she tolerates him, sure. but he tolerates her, too.] Should I ask what you've been up to, or should I assume I don't want to know? [ he can claim a seat on the couch, or a chair, right now she's thinking about glasses and whether or not they really need those tonight.]

@ School Library

[babyhunter]

[Clary is falling back into routines that she only vaguely remembers. Grabbing food from the store, cleaning up her small living area, scowling at her lawn which she distinctly remembers never wanting to cut, working part time, visiting her usual spots, and then school. Her school day is something of a unique case. She's getting ready to apply to a prestigious art school and she's tailored her classes to help her. She's taking extra art classes and the core classes that they're still making her take. Her school day ends early which is usually when she grabs her things and heads to work.

Today she had swung by the library. Her backpack is resting comfortably between her shoulder blades while a large sketchbook is positioned beneath her arm. Her green eyes always look brighter when they're directed towards books. It's a world of mystery and excitement; nothing at all like her own dull life.

She frowns as her chin tilts up to see the book she wants. It's just out of reach and as she rises to the tips of her toes she feels as if the book his mocking her. Clary is aware that she's short but she doesn't appreciate the reminder. She stared at the golden lettering of the book. The Golden Bough by James George Frazer. It was familiar for some reason and she felt as if she needed to flip through it's pages.

Clary turns her head in time to see Damon wandering along the shelves. She doesn't remember him specifically but she's pretty sure she knows his wife. Why's he at the school? That's right, he knows a teacher here. There aren't any specifics in her mind about the taller man but it's enough to ease the tension from her shoulders.]

Excuse me? Can you help me reach that book up there?

[unforgivably]

[ He misses her the first time, not paying her any mind. Passing the aisle she's in, he steps back, glancing above her. One of those books is the one she can't reach and as he approaches her with a nod. Book in hand, he looks down properly and memories flood him. Borderline nefarious memories. Clary Fray, the daughter of Jocelyn Fray. Jocelyn is out of the country and that's - not convenient. Possibly his fault.

What did he do now?

Does she know him? Know he knows her mother? It's just like Damon to flirt with hot moms. Carol Lockwood, hello, but that is so five years ago. ] Here.

[ His smile innocent, eyes not searching hers. He's here on a separate mission.

Instead, he examines the binding. ] The Golden Bough. Any good?

[babyhunter]

[There is a flash of uncertain recognition in her eyes as he reaches up and plucks the book from the shelf. It's been a few days now and Clary has gotten used to flashes of her memory returning. They were like hazing scenes playing on an old movie reel through her head. At times they were perfectly clear while other times they would skip or blur.

She takes the book with an appreciative look, turning it over in her palm before resting it on top of her sketchpad to hold.]

Do you enjoy a comparative study of mythology and religion?

[Her tone is like and smooth, spoken as if she knew the ins and outs of the book. The truth is that he mother liked this book and it is a detail that Clary found herself clinging too.

Bright green eyes studied Damon curiously. If she were to draw him, it'd be with an added something around him. Perhaps a shadow, with the books blurred but his form in sharp focus. It's hard to say why but it's the feeling that she got from him, as if he commanded the attention from the room while remaining at the edge of fading.

She pauses and pushes the thought from her head, logging the idea away for later.]

I know you don't I?

French's

[ouzel]

[ Cassian is stuck in this odd place where he keeps expecting someone from the Sheriff's office to slide up to him and tell him that he's under arrest, for...collusion, or something along those lines. Supporting someone in the destruction of police property maybe.

But it hasn't happened. (Yet, his overly-paranoid brain chimes in.) He has been allowed to continue leading his life without interruption. Which means Go Ask Alice and occasional drinks at the bar, and going grocery shopping.

He'd spotted Damon in the general store and he knows of the man, in the vague way that someone is familiar with a friend's boss, which reminds him that he needs to bother Bucky about getting drinks and maybe a card game? Invite Nyx perhaps? Something to pass time, anyway. Damon is going on in French and Cassian knows just enough to know that it's not a polite sort of joke but, whatever.

Then he gets to the counter and is told that his order is paid for. ]

Wait. What? Why?

[ Goddamnit. ]

[unforgivably]

[ Damon and his brother Stefan are upstanding members of society. Despite their recent discovery, he's keeping that up. And part of being local business owners is giving back. So, if he pays for someone's order for brisket, or ribs, or what have you, he assumes they'd be grateful. ]

Call it giving back. [ That's Damon, standing next to Cassian, finished laughing at French's joke. ] Paying it forward. Damon. Salvatore. [ And while it feels silly, again, to introduce himself, vague non memories replace not knowing him. He's seen this guy with Bucky. And - someone else, it's fuzzy. He does not know his name. That's a sort of relief. ] if it bothers you that much, think of it like, "Any friend of Bucky's..." and leave it at that.

holy fuck the expression in that icon is gr9

[ouzel]

Giving back. [ You hear that heavily accented skepticism, Damon? Cassian hasn't honestly been able to figure out if the person he's supposed to be, here (as opposed to the person who knows distinctly what nuke it from orbit means on several personal levels) is somehow less paranoid than the one who woke up in the hospital, but.

Paranoia is familiar and comforting in its familiarity. Paranoia is telling him that this man might want something in return for buying him meat. Sensibility is telling him to calm the fuck down, already. ]

There's an awful lot of ways that sentence could end. [ Still. Cassian gives his head a little shake. ] Thanks, I suppose. If you're interested in tea, baked goods, and overstuffed chairs, consider yourself welcome at Go Ask Alice.

But if that's not your thing, no one will hold it against you.

bar;

[malignans]

[It's entirely possible that night after night, Damon's noticed a semi-regular. Actually, it's likely impossible not to notice Dio at some point. Whether it's his impressive height (6'5", thank you very much), his expensive and flashy fashion sense, or that he's never been seen with the same man or woman entering the bar, something's likely caught Damon's attention at least in passing.]

[But if nothing else has caught Damon's attention, it's probably more likely the overheard conversation pings him as tonight he actually has with him a repeat date for a change. Dio's got a finger hooked in his scarf, inspecting something on his neck. Putting the scarf back in place, he says,]

It's not that bad.

[His date fixes Dio with a look before replying,] Because it's been weeks. I wouldn't care if it was still winter, but it's starting to get too warm for scarves all the time.

[Dio looks down with a sigh before turning to face his date, scooting closer in the booth. Beneath the table, his hand starts at his date's knee and begins slowly trailing up his thigh. He leans close to his ear to murmur,]

Well, we could always try other places tonight.

[His date scolds him, and tells him to stop with a laugh, catching Dio's hand and placing both of their hands on the table. This (grossly public) display is interrupted by a waitress, who takes their orders. Dio orders a glass of one of the bar's red wines, and the young gentleman with him orders a vodka cranberry.]

[unforgivably]

[ All of the above has caught Damon's attention. His penchant for both sexes, his height, and his fashion sense. It's all very conspicuous, but not in the way he's been waiting for. He took the job for the greater good and all this tells him is this might guy might be out of time, or world. It's not the helpful thing to notice in this case.

The narration is spot on when it comes to what he really takes note of.

Scarves.

Before this week, it's been cold enough for a scarf. But, what on his neck would last for weeks, he finds himself thinking as he refills someone's beer, looking in no apparent direction. He doesn't need to look. He knows where it's coming from.

He sets the beer down for another regular, one not about scarves or repeat dates, but just himself and his sad probably non-memories.

Taking the ticket from the machine, he reads the waitress' order, before flagging her down and leaning in. He decides to take the order himself to the table, if not to be friendly, but to see what's so important about this person's neck. It's obviously a simple, innocent hickey. But, weeks, what sucking prowess. He doesn't need to uncork the red wine as someone already ordered it, before topping off a vodka cranberry with a cherry. Leaving the bar, he takes the two drinks in hand and approaches Dio's table, setting first Dio's date's drink down, than Dio's. ] Vodka cranberry, and the house red.

[ Closer, he may be able to discern something. ]

Are you two interested in what's on the menu tonight?

[ Dio's date? ]

[malignans]

[As they wait on their drinks, the conversation became far more mundane. Dio's date talks the most, and stays mostly on the subject of his work. In truth, there are very few conversations Dio is truly interested in, but he listens all the same, making remarks at the appropriate time, and doesn't appear even remotely bored or made impatient by the topic. Damon's presence at the table brings about a pause. While his date thanks Damon for the drinks, Dio says nothing. His gaze lingers just for a few seconds on Damon, clearly noting the change in waitstaff before looking at his date, who looks up at him.]

Well, if I'm going to keep my strength up, [his date says, flashing Dio a wide grin and elbowing him gently in the side. Dio rolls his eyes, but smiles.]

Go on then, [Dio says to Damon with a small wave of a hand. He lets go of his date's hand to lean back and rest an arm on the back of the booth behind his date. His date, on the other hand, leans forward to rest his folded arms on the table in front of him to get a better look at Damon around Dio. He's careful as when he leans forward he makes the movement to reach up to his scarf, the side Dio was inspecting, and tug it up just a little to be on the safe side.]

Between the Pines.

[abetment]

[ When Katherine reads, it's with the intent to gain personal information. So. Journals. Diaries. Grimoires. The occasional dusty text to find any such answer for some such thing: boring.

It's coincidental that she enters the book store after Damon, honestly not having seen him go in. Should she be remedying that? The lessened amount of stalking? Eh. Maybe this town has changed her in some ways. Possibly. She's visited all of the businesses in town, so consider this cursory browsing part of her weekly routine. If you don't go looking for new, interesting faces, how will you ever find them? Even so. There's nothing about that day that's customary. Average. standard. No. But, Katherine goes on with her day, unsure if she even wants to discuss what happened on the sidewalk close enough to their house that she could've hid away there, post-conversation. Pathetically. Dealing with emotional stress alone. It isn't every day you experience waves of emotions, memories, of a brother you never had.

Long fingers tapping against the spines of a section of fiction, she spots Damon nearby, back to her, in nonfiction. She slides a hardcover book out of its spot, walking over to stand beside him. Flipping the book open to its middle, her face turns over to Damon. ] Funny. You'd think this would be a book burning sort of town, too. [ She shuts the book, resting it atop one palm, fingers sliding along its glossy cover. Fahrenheit 451. For now, it's a prop so her hands have something to do. ] Are we getting our own personal library? [ As a result of his book buying. There's an air of the true Katherine they all know and love to hate that blends through her words: more than what she throws out in public, when she's acting the part of his wife.

Maybe, sometimes, her gruffer exterior is used as a defense. M a y b e. ]

[unforgivably]

[ Katherine speaks as if she's just discovered this book store, and while he couldn't see Katherine caught dead in one, this town is small enough for her to know the ins and the outs. So, he can only assume she's here following him today. Not a surprise. ] We might as well, Katherine. [ He slides the book in his hand back onto the shelf, turning to face the woman he married. He's not about to discuss friction with Stefan with her. ] We can't have this town thinking we're a family of drunk layabouts. [ Or, is that just her? ] Oh, you should try this one.

[ Or is the book he taps his finger against not a biography on Catherine the Great. ]

[abetment]

[ Her head shakes softly, amused, over his comment. They're a darling family, thank you very much. One brow arcs high as she leans in to read the title, both brows rising as she turns her gaze back on Damon. ] Cute, but when you live through it, the books don't do it justice. [ Rule breaking. What. Ever. ] Not that Russia's ever been my cup of tea, anyway. [ She holds the novel out with a small jerk of her hand ] Someone to live up to, maybe? Royalty, even. [ She slides Fahrenheit 451 into an open space, no regard for putting it back where it belongs. Her head tilts. ] Do you think she had any siblings? Brothers?

Everything's easier with family, isn't it? [ You've known her long enough to know what her tones mean, haven't you, Damon? That there's something she wants you to try to guess at. Yet, she's impatient and leans so her arm presses against his. ] I like this banter with you, Damon, I really do, but there's something -- important, I need to tell you. [ Her voice drops. ] Maybe in private, or, just with you sitting down. It's kind of a whopper.

French's

[sirnyxalot]

[It's not like he was trying to avoid his alleged brother-in-law. By all accounts he'd never even met the man, and had no real reason for the disgust that settled in his gut whenever he thought about him. But that didn't stop his satisfaction at not seeing him around.

His luck was never going to last. He knew that. That didn't make him feel any better about running into Damon in the store while Nyx is replenishing his supply. He does his best to avoid him, to get his things and get back out before he's noticed. It works great until he gets to the register and learns he's been beaten to the bill.

Nyx looks up to the ceiling, taking a slow breath to store up some patience.]

Damon.

[He can't stop the clipped tone. Much as he tries to convince his tongue that he doesn't actually hate this man.]

Contrary to popular belief, I'm capable of affording my own groceries now.

[unforgivably]

[ Unlike Nyx, Damon didn't get any memories, only what Katherine said about her older brother. It's exactly 0% surprising any relative of Katherine's would hate Damon. Nyx probably likes Stefan, too, to add insult to injury. He spots him, finally at French's, stopping up front and letting French know to put that guy's bill the garage's tab. And, to make things better, he chats with French while he rings people up, which finally includes Nyx who doesn't say a word to him, not until he learns what Damon's done. ]

Every little bit helps. [ And that's just him needling the kid. Yes. Kid. Because Nyx is still younger. ] Relax, it's a thing we do on behalf of the Garage. If it wasn't you, it would've been someone else. I'd say thank you.

[sirnyxalot]

[Nyx is going to hate it when he learns this punk is older than he is.

As it is, the deliberate needling burrows under his skin, making him grind his teeth to hold back a snide comment. He doesn't care about the money. He lived very minimally back home and sent whatever he had spare to his mother. It just wasn't anything that even concerned him. But clearly it bothered this Nyx and it wouldn't do him any good to explain why he's so annoyed with this man.

He gives French a tight smile and a very pointed thank you, accepting the wrapped groceries from the man. By the time he's ready to go he's got a bit more of a handle on his temper. Enough to smirk at Damon.]

I shouldn't be surprised you're in here flirting with the populace rather than doing any honest work.

we paint white roses red, each shade from a different person's head...

[theycalledmeacurse]

Memories. How problematic they could be. Always failing, easily manipulated. Difficult to recover once lost.

Ever since waking up in that hospital, Marie had been trying to sort out the memories of who she was. Initially, she'd known only a handful of things about herself, just the barest, likely most important details. As the days passed, she'd remembered bits and pieces, but not everything had fit together the way it seemed they all should. She had glimpses of more than one life, of people and places that had no part in her life in Wayward Pines. Nightmares haunted her in the dark, taunting her with screams and recollections of being held against her will in a place where she'd been endlessly hurt. But it didn't make sense, none of that could be real.

She'd known that she was a mutant, that she could kill people with her touch. The first instinct she'd followed in the hospital had been to cover up in order to keep people safe, and she hadn't questioned it for a second. But then she'd met Damon, remembered what they had, and she'd touched him. Long achingly perfect minutes of contact had left her in a state of bliss and with neither of them hurt.

It hadn't made sense. Was everything she'd remembered about herself wrong? She'd debated for days whether to take Logan up on his offer to try out her mutation on him, but before she'd made a firm decision on the matter, the choice had been taken from her. An accident with Bucky, to whom life had been less than kind. It had all happened just the way she'd thought it would, and that's when she'd known--

Damon wasn't human. Not entirely, at least.

A few days after the incident with Bucky, she found herself combing through her pages of lesson plans and notes for the sheet of paper with that number scrawled across it, the one to Damon's cell phone. It took only a few seconds to dial the number, and just a few more after that for the call to connect.

"Damon? It's Marie. We need to talk."

[unforgivably]

Damon hadn't spoken to Marie in days. On the one hand, he didn't know what to say, how to reconcile a deep seated longing for a woman he barely knows. On the other, it was easy to keep those feelings at bay, preferring to focus on other priorities. He needed to better his relationships that the other Damon had savaged. If there's one thing he's learned, is that it takes two. Randel still reacted negatively and hadn't reached out. And Nyx lives and dies by Katherine, his sister, so he'll probably never make it into his good graces any time soon.

He abides by almost every rule, breaking the main ones often (mostly talk about where you come from), but the one rule he abides by without question is always answering his phone.

He hadn't saved her number, anyone's really besides Randel, so it comes up as just that. But, he picks up.

"Damon Salvatore," he answers, the professional townie at the ready. He listens, a gulp rising up, a lurch in his stomach following. That coupled with a twinge of excitement gave him conflicting emotions. He tells her they should meet on the football field. It's isolated, there are stands, and he's sure the kids aren't there right then. It's also public enough, but outside. Cameras can only see them from a distance, but hearing them but be another story.

He promises his brother he'll behave. He doesn't know if he will. But the less he and Marie get together, the better off they'll be. He fights the meaning of playing along in this town. On some days, it means playing Katherine's husband. On others, does it mean playing the part of the philandering husband? He's not sure.

He keeps track of time here more than he ever has. He equates the two week mark with a retrieval of at least a few memories. This call must be that.

It's why she can find him in the middle of the field, a stray football in his hand. Nervous only to the point of not knowing what to expect.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Driving to the high school took less time than Marie thought it should, the minutes flying by while she was absorbed in her thoughts. Nerves were trying to swallow her alive, an innate fear of people know what she was and what she could do telling her to turn the damn car around and forget the whole thing. But she couldn't, she had to know what was going on, had to make sure that she wasn't losing her mind. And if she was right about Damon, and if there were others who she could touch...

The brief hope of even a semblance of a normal life was enough to keep her foot on the gas.

Before she reached the field, she shrugged out of her light jacket and tucked her gloves in the pockets of her jeans, leaving arms bared from the her green t-shirt sleeve down. It bothered her to have the tattoo on her inner left arm uncovered, the precise M4867 mocking her with more memories that she didn't want to believe, but she needed to do this. So she took a deep breath and walked onto the field, dropping her jacket on the front row of the bleachers before making her way out to him.

"Hi there, sugar," she greeted him when she was near enough, offering him a small, clearly nervous smile as she stopped within arm's reach of him. "Thanks for meeting me."