pineslog | i tried to take the road less traveled by but nothing seems to work the first few times

Entry tags:

i tried to take the road less traveled by but nothing seems to work the first few times

Who: Damon Salvatore, YOU?
Where: Around.
When: This Week.
What: With his daylight ring in possession, Damon gets a lay of the business he owns? With added context from home.
Warnings: Damon is a walking warning, but other than that, nothing other than the usual territory that comes with a Salvatore. *Season 7 spoilers, however, also counts as a warning within, they're may be closed logs underneath as well

S & D Automotive

[ Stefan told him about their business. He's yet to see it for himself. He dropped by mid-evening the week before, but this is the first day Monday he's stepped into work. Not to mention, the cars he and Stefan discovered, finally being able to be driven. He doesn't hate his car. He misses his old one. But, that one exploded driving into the Mystic Grill.

His fingers grip the steering wheel as that notion forms.

Something clicks into place mid-day Monday. It's as if Damon's flown blind for two weeks (figuratively speaking). The kernels of information he'd remembered had kept him alive and sated, but his suspicions hadn't wavered. Memories line themselves up like a movie playing in his mind. Elena had described to him once how it felt in transition, watching scenes play out before you, and Damon wonders if this isn't unlike that. Wayward Pines is no Mystic Falls (he's sure now it's bigger in infrastructure), so they don't play out in front of him, but they do play. At first, fragments slide into place. Elena. Soon, whole scenes rush at him, starting with what he remembered from before waking up in that hospital.

Elena's alive.

He keeps driving, slowly going in circles around town tossing aside familiar feelings and memories of the town he's currently stuck in, matching them up to what he remembers, to Katherine. To Bonnie. To those months he'd spent in 1994 now with context, and fuck if he doesn't hate Kai.

Everything circles back to Elena.

As for Damon, he circles back to the garage. He exits his car and hoofs it to the garage the Salvatore brothers own. You may catch him going through files, checking the computer, and digging around in back for parts if you drop by. Everything is too vivid, too specific. Stefan and him fix cars? No, this is someone's idea of a painted trick. He's done this before. Hell, he's pulled this before. Mostly out of a sense of compassion.

He takes a few minutes on a chair inspecting one of the cameras above his desk, but he doesn't rip it down. He just steps back down and smiles at it, giving a wave. He's got your number, Wayward Pines.

Or, so he thinks anyway.

If you haven't caught him combing through their records or inspecting cameras, you may have caught him with a legal pad in hand writing down facts. Specifically, his and Stefan's sordid history. That's right, he's even broken into his Wayward Pines bourbon stash, jotting down everything he thinks he can remember. This is what's real. Every time he reaches the bottom of the page, he flips it back, moving to the next.

Elena's alive seems to sustain him. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ In all her denim overalls wearing glory, Malia sees a car go by, watches it stop, and someone she recognizes get out. Suddenly the multi-faceted importance of driving barrels in on her. A day she remembers, her first day after being turned human, where she's sitting in an SUV being driven home by a sheriff. Not everyone's favorite smiley officer in town. Stiles' dad. But, why should she know anything about Stiles other than that he's there too? Oh. The awareness is unsettling, yet she knows in that moment that no other connection she can remember having in recent days could ever be as strong as the one she has with Stiles. How her memories return is not at all linear. They shoot ahead to her driving. In Beacon Hills. She remembers Lydia's voice, a light in any member of their pack's darkness. Almost none of the pack is in Wayward Pines. Scott isn't. Kira. Other faces.

She's frozen in place for several minutes until her feet start moving, and she's awkwardly at Damon's car, running a hand along its side. A new voice slips into her mind, one that mulls over the pros and cons of both acting human and prioritizing your needs against your pack's. Peter. Her father. Her focus spirals back onto Lydia. Days spent together, and she looks up at the body shop in front of her. You don't go to, stop at a place, for no reason. There's always a purpose.

When she steps past the threshold of the garage, she stops and considers walking out. She knows her heart's beating wildly, that if Damon has even a fraction of the senses that she's sized him up to have in comparison to the creatures she fully knows about (werewolves, kitsune, kanima, banshees; there's a book full of details about them all), he may already know she's there. She hesitates, but a final thought trickles in: control is overrated.

The memory influx leaves her frustrated in that she wants to know more. Why all the deceit, creepy town? She has no reason to really trust Damon, but he...left an impression. She wants to talk to him. She listens for where he is and heads that way. Palm flat on the door frame, she looks in while he's typing away at a computer. ] Hey. You got a minute? [ All inconspicuous. Playing it real cool. ]

[ Their records go back for years, which would be impossible seeing as he's never been here before, despite knowing he has.

He knows he's not alone, but he's too busy typing in familiar names, various clients of theirs, to pay attention to Malia coming into the garage. She finds him as he scrolls down, reading an invoice they sent someone named Steve Rogers. ]

Malia. To what do I owe this pleasure. [ This invoice isn't helping. If he sounds annoyed, it's not at - or with - Malia. Not that he's voiced this. ]

[ Funny how the town has done its homework for certain peoples' histories. When Damon replies, she takes a deep breath and steps further in, giving a few cursory glances around. She doesn't care if there's any off-putting cadence in his voice. ]

I saw you get out of your car. Thought I'd come over and say hi. Ask if you've...remembered anything else about your life. Here. [ There's a tone, because she's at least stuck to not openly talking about her past. She's not sure how long that'll last with all these memories she just got back. She really doesn't care about his life in town but hey, a girl's gotta be wise in how she speaks. ]

[ She doesn't ask about his life before. It's better that way. He closes the window and sits back in the chair, scenarios like this playing out in his head, invoicing people, scheduling them for oil changes, inspections, making calls... ]

If you're asking about whatever I am, that doesn't seem to be a piece to the Pines puzzle. If you're asking about this place, or some random on the street I say hi to without even thinking, then, I'm remembering. Constantly. [ He's deathly aware of the camera on them. Don't talk about your life before. ]

[ Those memories having rolled back in are proving to be a catalyst for Malia wanting to toss aside following rules. Her teeth press tightly together, low rumble in her throat as she sighs. Yet she holds it together, mostly. ]

Okay. Me too. It's...really weird. [ Still the tone. Perky. Chipper. Upbeat. ] And. [ She moves in a little closer, voice dropping. ] Since you brought it up. You know what you are yet? I was...talking to a friend. [ Lies. Malia, you're bad at lying, stop. ] And...I learned a lot from them, about other types of...things, creatures [ she whispers that, as if the camera isn't right there ] and unless you can make your eyes glow and you didn't tell me, then I don't know what you are. But, I still wanna know.

[ He lies. Less in the past year because their problems multiplied and became more outlandish. An immortal vampire killing machine with several lies to lose all linked to those she scratches with her magic sword. Rayna Cruz sits on the back of his tongue. But, nothing about her has to come out today. Not to this were coyote.

He's not sure if everyone's memories are coming back to them. He'll take a wild guess, though. They were all in the accident. Why wouldn't they all be regaining at least something.

Elena keeps him going. He didn't burn her coffin. He burned a decoy. She's out there. Somewhere.

He hasn't had a great track record with those of the were variety, but he's never shied away from the truth. And it could do him more harm than good if he lies. Besides, he has nothing to be ashamed of.

His hands go to his desk as he stands, stepping out from behind it. ]

Vampire. Rave eyes sold separately. [ And a hand comes up, palm facing her. ] And no, that doesn't come with a handy lesson on what I am or what I can do. Besides bill you for parts. You want a new carburetor? I'm apparently your guy.

[ She's not your usual were, so maybe this could flourish into something not nearly as antagonistic as Damon may be accustom to.

Malia is only concerned with what Damon is saying. She knows that everyone doesn't always tell the truth, and that's just how it is.

Her shoulders go straight when he stands, looking him up and down. Her lips twitch and press together slightly at his joke. Is that sarcasm? She can't tell. It's different than Stiles' sarcasm, if it's even sarcasm. ]

Vampire. [ Her face twists, head shaking. It's not a word she's considered lately, but hearing it makes various ideas of what most people know about vampires trickle in. Yahoo mainstream knowledge. ] You don't have to tell me. And I don't have a car, here, so...I'm good. [ A beat. ] Guess you didn't my help then. Are you...okay, though? Are the people around you gonna be okay? [ Aren't vampires dangerous? Semi-lecture from a teenager. Just what he always wanted.

Wait, there's more -- backtracking, and one hand waves out to the side ] Wait, I don't really know anything about vampires. Sorry. You seem all right. [ Safe. ] But if you needed help, I mean...you'd ask. [ What are you gonna do for him, Malia? ] Right?

[ That's his aim. He's had antagonistic. He's been driven to heart-ripping, so having an ally in this fake world, maybe fake world should help, right?

He can't hide the eye roll. Been there, policed for that. ]

I drink from a bag. Blood bag to confirm the direction all those gears in your head are turning. [ No need to explain the tactic of snatch, eat, erase right now. ]

Right now, help would involve a level of sanity I'm not wiling to question. But, if I needed the help, for survival, out of everyone in this town I'd probably go to you. If I needed it. I don't think I need to ask you to keep this under mummy wraps? I kept yours, after all, and I had no idea who I even was.

Where do you get that from? The hospital? [ Unless there's a merchant going around peddling blood. She asks it quickly before concluding that's really only where anyone could mean before she nods. ] And that's enough? [ It seems like that's what he's saying, so she has to accept it. Not as if she's even a novice on vampires. They drink blood. That's the big one. ]

Or your brother. [ Duh. She slowly nods, eyes narrowing a tiny bit at his outright statement of not knowing who he'd been in those first days of life around town. ] Yeah, I won't tell anyone. Why would I? Seems like an important secret. You're not hurting anyone, or people would have heard about, and there's only a couple people I really care about making sure are safe anyway.

[ She pauses, glancing down to the floor, mulling over a thought. ] There hasn't been anything else, then? You haven't had anything else...major, pop up in your head? [ Word choice truly is everything. ]

I'm not a lush, Malia. Not a lush for blood. I can curb my appetite. [ Or, sate it. ]

I said in this town, I'm not counting Stefan as a part of this town because [ he takes a step forward himself. ] we aren't. [ Weren't. He doesn't meet the camera with his eyes. ]

And the chances I'll go after them are slim to none, unless they pick the wrong fight, but they're your friends. So, they must be sensible. [ He's assuming this, and not really meaning it. ]

Major... [ How? In this town? Back home? ] Your questions are getting more and more vague, I thought you were on a roll with them seeing as you pegged hospital as the, in hindsight, obvious blood bag source, but you're definitely losing your touch. If you're asking what you think you're asking, I thought that would be clear seeing as I remember and know what I am.

That's good. [ She really thinks so, voice straining to impress that notion on him. ] Don't know anything about vampires, remember? Least not ones that are real.

Me neither. [ Her eyes slid to the side before she said so, knowing as much as Damon that it's dangerous territory to be spouting off on. Where they're from. Vaguely or otherwise. ]

Friends that I made here, and just remembered knowing one of 'em for a lot longer than a couple weeks, like -- [ her head shakes, eyes widening as she sighs out a breath ] a few minutes ago? They won't start anything with you. [ As if she can promise that. Allison is smart, a hunter, and that should mean that she makes wise choices. Stiles, well. Who the hell knows. Not that she's going to tell either of them about vampires; she made a promise to Damon, and she'll keep it.

Her eyes narrow when he starts in on that reaction to her question. Until he finishes, and they roll as she sighs. ] Just because you remember that you're a vampire doesn't mean you might have remembered as much as me about... [ fuck the system -- she pushes in closer, speaking through clenched teeth ] where you're from, as I have. [ About where she's from, obviously. Brows popping in emphasis, she takes a step back, resumes speaking at a normal volume. ] I thought there might be a, parallel, to that. The remembering.

And, if it wasn't clear, I'm being vague because I didn't want you trying to grab onto me again. [ That's fair? ] Because. Rules.

[ He won't share more about vampires. Not unless she asks directly. It's not his job to educate people on what being a vampire means. ]

Lucky you all found each other.

[ Now that's something that should be addressed. ]

I know we're not old friends, but I know I've remembered more. How old are you, eighteen? Multiply that by almost ten. Pretty sure the parallel here is the remembering itself.

[ That he'll give her, why she's being vague. ]

Right. Rules. [ His lips purse. ] That I won't apologize for. It's a cold comfort not that much was different about me.

[ Does she really even want to know? Not like she can't protect herself against him.

She gives him an unsure, weak smile. Her, Stiles, and Allison may have been lucky to have ran into one another, but she's not so sure that Damon cares at all about it.

Listening as he replies to her words she's tried so hard to impress upon without plainly blurting it all out, her brows go deeply together when he gives her a ballpark figure of his age. Thank God that he gives her a multiple of ten too. Easy math. Thanks, Damon! It's difficult to fully react once someone tells you they're almost 180, but she gives a faint nod. ] Yeah...I'm 18. [ Well he asked. ] When were you born? [ Which she can't help but ask. ]

I appreciate it. In a weird way. You got any idea what they do to people who break the rules? [ Her lips press together. ] I think I'm allowed to ask you that... [ Shit, she looks around; where's one of those lists when you need one... ]

1840. [ And that's followed with a smile. Yes. 18 hundred and 40, Malia. ]

I don't. I'm sure it isn't a time out in Disney jail, but other than that your guess is as good as mine. ]

[ Blink, jaw agape. Several seconds of silence. ] But you look...totally normal. To what I'd think a guy your age would act, or be, like. At, the place I'm not supposed to talk about. Not here. Here's weird.

[ Her lips purse to the side. ] Wouldn't a system that's fair with its laws tell us what the punishment is? [ Yo yo who paid attention in civics? ]

Well, in the place we're not mentioning, I was - am a vampire. Vampire. Undead. Forever one age. Always this. [ And he indicates himself with his hand. ]

Sometimes, the promise of punishment is enough. [ The ominous sounding 'punishment' keeps people in line. ] Are you worried?

[ Her face twists a little, forehead creasing and nose rising as if it might wrinkle before there's a soft sigh. ] Isn't that weird? Always looking exactly the same? [ Says the girl who has been in a human state for less than two years and has shifted around only in the length and style of her hair. Also, kind of a rude question, Malia.

Her brows furrow. ] Not until I know what it is. It's stupid to be scared [ worried ] of something you don't understand completely. [ A beat. ] Are you? Worried?

Is it weird? [ What are you getting at? ] Is it weird for your eyes to glow blue when you want to claw someone's face off? I don't stand out in a crowd. Well, I do, but that's because I'm devastatingly handsome.

[ Worried would not be the word for it, but Damon plays on the surface until he becomes friends with someone. ] Me? No. Because I'm playing by the rules. Mostly. Mentioning the Anne Rice of it all is hazy. Was I a vampire here? Who knows. [ Probably not. ] And, if that's breaking the rules, then no V talk. V-necks. V-Day, which is just around the corner, VD. V for Vendetta. I could go on.

[ Which, he's inwardly decided he'll do. V-talk. ]

I forgot V-card, but I can't decide if that's being inappropriate or not. Ah, you're eighteen. Eighteen year olds in - other places get into everything. [ So, you know. ]

[ She makes another face, brows rising. ] Is it weird for you. No one else would think it's weird just because. I guess they might stare at you for your looks. So, unless you think people checking you out is weird... [ She shrugs. Obviously he doesn't think it's weird.

Malia doesn't know who the hell Anne Rice is, so she slides past that detail and listens to the rest. Once she realizes what he's doing, her eyes roll as she sighs, arms crossing over her chest. Then, another face when he tacks on that last part. ]

They do where I'm from too. [ She doesn't, at least not in the way he's implying, but it's difficult not to notice what other people are doing. ] If they [ a different they, there's a tone of heavy implication there, this invisible 'they' thus far appearing in no form other than random sheriff ] don't want us to talk about what we are, they probably would've come running. Probably. [ Repeating herself, yep. Her lips purse to the side, gaze dropping down in thought. ] It doesn't make any sense that we'd remember a lot of stuff we're not supposed to talk about. It's a pretty sick test, if that's what they're trying to do to us. [ They. ]

I welcome them. [ A finger comes up. ] The looking. [ Not the touching. Krystal with a K doesn't count. ]

Scamps. [ Teenagers. ] Or, it's something they can't control. Two weeks is all they've managed. Memories are a tricky thing. [ Or, not when you're a vampire, but again, he's not going into what he can do. Just what he is. ] Sooner or later all those little scenes play out in your head. It's unavoidable. [ or, they learn you tampered with their mind. Either way, it's still a tried and true tactic they use. And a lot of the time they get away with it. ]

[ Unabashedly -- ] Anybody who's hot does. [ How sure of this she is! No one is immune to the pull of their ego. Her eyes slightly narrow when Damon gives, what sounds like, firmly set insight on memories and how tricky they are. Hm... ]

They are. Sometimes they come back when we don't want them to. [ Err. It's a truthful statement, but she takes a breath, looking away for a moment. ] But everything that's come back, for me, I'm glad it has. Do you think humans got a lot of theirs back too? [ It's an innocent enough question, edging with the idea that they might somehow have a dash of superiority on humans in this regard. She's left to assume details about vampires, but she imagines there's a lot more to them. Naturally, physically. Like with werewolves! ]

Why don't you go and ask some humans. [ Or, less. He doesn't know. He's still culling through. It isn't all there, but there's a substantial amount now. ] Maybe leave out the, because they're human. Or, tow the line and limit the V-talk. or, W-talk. Or, talk or where, what, why, who - any of the former that doesn't fall under their very generous set of rules.

[ It was just a question! She's unimpressed, but realizes immediately that he has a point. So her next comment extends not from disliking his attitude but a specific sort of agitation that resurfaces. ] With those sorts of limits, we'll be lucky if we're allowed to talk about anything. [...Maybe that wasn't how he meant it. ]

I'll ask around. But I just thought you might have an opinion about it. You seem like you might have a lot of 'em. Maybe you were just running your mouth a little about how tricky memories can be, too? [ Now she's trying to press a specific button to get as much as she can out of him. ] Unless you got a better reason for saying that. [ He could've said it because this is a conversation and that's what people do, Malia; but she's a little suspicious! ]

When in doubt, mention the weather. [ Or, he knows that's what people do. Weather. Current events. Damon's never had a problem with the harder topics, broaching them with nearly zero warning usually, unless they pertain to him. Then he picks and chooses. ]

Maybe I am running my mouth. Maybe I have reasons, but we established that I don't owe you anything. I'm not going to suddenly give you the ins and outs of being what I am. No vampire 101 for you. Memories are tricky. You may remember something one way, when, in reality, it wasn't like that. Sometimes we remember what we want to remember. Memories are deceptive and tricky. For anyone. Vampire. Human. Anyone.

[ The start of a roll of her eyes. Dancing around what she wants to know isn't her style -- ] I'll -- think of something. [ -- which is why it's so frustrating to be pushed into doing so. In that conversation, in general. ]

Maybe they'll wanna talk about it. People like having someone to talk to. [ She thinks. She doesn't care so much about that for herself. ] That's fine. It's not my business. But, you and Stefan might be better off if you felt like there were people around you could trust, too. [ She lifts both hands, giving a small shrug. ] Not that that's me. [ She's not presumptuous! You get more accomplished by having friends; through using honey instead of vinegar.

Memories...] So...repressing them, sort of. [ Another shrug and glance away. She knows about those. It's all what it is too, though. No changing it: at least they remember more reality now. Her brow furrows. ] Do you got a way of telling if someone is a vampire? Other were-creatures smell a certain way. But you, smell like a...human. [ Mostly? Not that she's smelled a vampire before but if there are sorts that smell anything like decay, he sure isn't one of them. ] Do you know if there's other vampires here? No names, I just...wanna know.

Try not to think too hard, they may think you're a bit slow.

[ Harsh, but true, he thinks. Her stops here and there to gather her thoughts are clear to Damon, but the average person might not know what to make of them. Or, they may ask all the wrong questions. Has she remembered anything. Like Damon, she has to play everything close to the vest. Or, she should. She doesn't have to. That's up to her. ]

It could be you. But, with could comes maybe, and maybe comes with time. So, give it. [ Some time. As for her mention of Stefan, he doesn't react or confirm. It is logical that with one vampire brother comes another. But circumstances being... ]

Repressing them, misinterpreting them, convincing yourself something went one way when it didn't, it went the exact opposite. [ He decides to answer this question, but once again, not fully. ] There are tells. We have ways. And means. [ All these questions. Caroline once told Lockwood she was the only vampire and didn't they all benefit from that little decision. ] We don't.

[ Know. If that's clear. And he did say we. Confirmation enough, hopefully without more. ]

What about were coyotes? Were-anything's? Just where are the other weres.

[ Her face twists at that, until she recognizes that he has a point. She's realized, quite recently, that most of the friends she has (at home) tell it as when necessary, but Damon really ramps that up: she likes it. She gives a tiny nod, acknowledging and agreeing. ] I don't care what anyone thinks, but...good point. [ Especially since she'd be talking to these people to garner details, not have them look at her as if she's dim and write her off. The only tactic she has to demand information is through fear and torture and...not really what should be done. She knows that!! Really.

From the way her eyes widen and shine just so, brows going together a little, she's taken aback that Damon actually suggests that there could ever be some trust built between them. He seems so...reserved past a certain point, and she doesn't blame him, so she blinks and gives the faintest of smiles. ] Right. You don't force trust. That's not how it works. [ See? She's totally not slow. ]

Yeah [ whispered, lips slightly pressing together ] at least there's a lot that's...clearer, now. [ She gives him a look of hope, silently wishing he really has found more clarity too. He's the first person she spoke to, there, that speaks as bluntly as she does, with motive rather than in random patterns, so she cares. In her own way. Plus, they're both not human. That means something to her. ]

Okay. [ A nod, taking in these details about vampires. That there are tells. That Damon, Stefan she's assuming too, don't know about any other vampires being around. She inhales at his question. ] None, not from my world. There are two other people here from there, but they...aren't werewolves. Were-anything.

I don't know how all you're different, different in the ways I am. But. I can...smell were-anythings. Most of them go through hell during the full moon too. [ She recently did. Yay, town and its beautiful realistic dynamics! ] Some of 'em are stronger and show off. Accidentally. [ If she were an air-quotes kinda gal, there'd be some, as her tone suggests. She shrugs. ] Boys. A lot of the time. [ She 'prefers' the silent and more broody slips during the day and leaving the ass-kicking for when there's less people around. ]

In this place, it's better people aren't suspicious of you, be it because of your handicap, or your mouth. [ Take that as you will, Malia. ]

No. You force alliances. Common goals. But, trust, trust is earned. And then lost. And sometimes, if you're really good, Santa comes and it's earned back. [ He can't speak too seriously, not about trust, not to a near stranger, not in any real way. ]

Do they know you? [ He hopes they do, for her sake. She had a missing family the last time they talked. Friends here would help. Especially in this monotony. He knows it's not this monotonous for everyone. He was the one stuck inside, but there is something plain about everything. Generic, Boring. When not sinister. ]

Bones breaking. Agony. I know the drill. [ He's unaware there could be a different drill. Lockwood broke his bones for months to break Klaus' sire bond. Didn't save him for exile, though. Or, ultimately, Caroline getting with Klaus. Go figure. ] It's the sudden feats of strength. You have to get used to them, or else you're replacing a lot of door knobs. [ He's basically lecturing her on something he thinks she knows. But, consider this his note comparison. She gets one after all. To an extent. ] Werewolf boys will be werewolf boys.

[ Her face starts to scrunch. She isn't handicapped -- what? ] ...Yeah. Sure. [ She agrees about the not letting her mouth run wild, so latches onto that.

A joke, since no one in the room believes in Santa, though the (bitter?) tone backing his words earns him a look. ] Even if it's not Christmas? [ A smile. She can make jokes too. Or, piggyback off one someone else made. Otherwise, she's in agreement with the additional words on trust, its dynamics, absorbing his take on it. ]

No. Maybe. Not since I last talked to 'em. [ A long inhale. It'll be especially disappointing if Stiles is in the dark about who she is. ] I just remembered knowing them. [ A pressing look, since she means real memories, and that feels an important distinction to make, even without saying it aloud. ] Maybe they got certain memories back too. I've lived with them since the first day, since after the -- accident. [ So help her; the fallacies surrounding the idea of those accidents. ] They've...been my friends here. [ Weird how that's worked out, huh?

Damon knows the drill -- and she assumes that's newer knowledge, unless his lack of familiarity with were-creatures on day one had been false. He sounds like has a better grasp on it, just by tone, than either Allison or Stiles did, or herself, did during the last full moon. Still, comparing notes, she hones in on a specific detail. ] Our bones don't break during full moons. [ Pragmatic as all heck. ] The werewolves you knew? That happened to them? Why? [ A pause, though she's at the ready to share more. ] Any shifting can be controlled. With an anchor. [ Where's literally anyone else from her town to explain this better than she can? ] So you're not out wanting to kill anyone you come across. [ Don't you feel safer now, Damon? Who knows if she has control over her shifting, what all's included with it, and how many people she may try to attack during full moons! ]

[ The invoice in Damon's records under one Steve Rogers is, specifically, for an '86 Harley-Davidson FXST 1340 Softail. Standard clutch issues and replacement tires, not an expensive fix, paid recently and in full.

Aside from a vague recollection of being thrown bodily from the seat, Steve doesn't remember it. There's a station wagon in the garage at the house, and the driver's seat had already been adjusted to fit him the first time he'd gotten behind the wheel. It's still parked there most days; he prefers to hoof it to the school in the mornings, not least because his car is such an eyesore. His and Natasha's; both their names had been on the pink slip when he'd dug into the glove compartment to check. He's been checking a lot of things. Some of it checks out; some of it doesn't. He's not sure he buys a lick of it when they're clearly already being lied to and watched.

(He hadn't wanted to go back to his classes — not even sure if 'back' was the right word for it. But he'd convinced Natasha not to cut into her own skin when he'd found scar tissue at the back of her thigh that matched his own, and she'd asked him to trust her in turn, to lie low when he'd wanted nothing more than to demand answers. He knows without asking that she also suspects they came here for a good reason, because they were needed. He's just as sure that she's better at this type of mission, if that's what it is, so he'd called the school the next day. Found lesson plans at the house, none of it in his own handwriting, all typed, but things he knows and could muddle through teaching. Turns out once he gets going he knows more than he thinks, and they're good kids.)

So, he's making his way to the shop now on his break, hoping to catch Bucky for lunch with no telltale engine to accompany his arrival. He doesn't know how much Bucky remembers; they don't talk about it, really, not even in hushed tones in the spaces they've determined to be safest. He finds he's able to guess well enough what Bucky's thinking anyway, something familiar about the broad strokes of memory contained in his expressions. Steve pushes through the door and lifts the back of his knuckles to the metal door frame, eyes going to the man hunched over a legal pad on the other side of the room. ]

Damon, is Bucky still around?

[ He pauses with his knuckles still pressed to the door frame; he hadn't known he knew the name, the man, until he'd said it. For someone with so few specific memories to his name he should find it reassuring, and yet. ]

Edited 2017-02-19 10:54 (UTC)

[ For Damon, this is one of the first opportunities he's gotten to go out into the world. And sure enough, that's when everything cascades. It starts slow, with similar memories that remind him of others. When he tries, he can remember more. With pad in hand, he actively scribbles down things he remembers. He thinks he knows them. He does, but with these other memories (which, like Steve, some check out), it's impossible not to second guess anything.

Sad, really, that Damon doesn't know where Bucky is. Stefan's been able to mind their business - or, at least see the shop. Damon's priority isn't someone he doesn't know.

Scratch that, he does. Not only does Bucky figure prominently in his day to day business, but he recognizes Steve as well as he glances up and lets go of one of the pages, flipping the rest back. ]

Steve. [ Some days it's like that. It hits. He knows this must be what it's like to gain back memories from being compelled. ] I just got in for the day. [ For any day. ] I took some time off, with the accident. [ And not being able to walk in sunlight.

Which in doubt, offer his guests a drink. He briefly wonders if he's drinks much in this town. Or, drank. Or, maybe not even drank because he doesn't belong here. Every thought is at war with the one following it. ] Drink?

Edited 2017-02-21 03:37 (UTC)

[ Steve nods at the negative, a contained but empathetic gesture. He knows he'd gone back earlier than most (there it is again, 'back'), and it hadn't been so he could pay off his mortgage. ]

Probably shouldn't. I still have classes later.

[ Which should answer that, except it makes a line of thought — pensive recollection — form between his brows. There's a lot more he understands in general now, though the specifics are slower to come. This isn't one of them, and what he remembers makes something drawn and weary settle in his expression. ] Doesn't do much for me anyway, [ he says, then huffs a laugh. ] So, sure. Why not. Looks like I missed Bucky anyway.

Edited (oops) 2017-02-21 20:51 (UTC)

[ He starts pouring at 'Sure,' not looking back. It's point of no return. ]

Me. Neither. [ Steve gets a glass as his reward, Damon coming around the desk to clink Steve's with his. ] And how's Nat? [ The question tumbles out with ease, without knowing quite who this Nat person is, or If he knows them or of them. It's unsettling in a way that grates his nerves but he keeps it together. Rather than let it show on his features, he takes a sip before pointing with his glass, pointer finger extended. ] You teach. Art.

[ Steve takes the glass graciously, passing it under his nose before he sips, eyebrows lifting slightly in appreciation. Then he lowers the hand that's holding it, choosing to set the glass within reach on the desk rather than nurse it. ]

For a few days, at least. [ He doesn't like evasions and double meanings, but in its own way it's a direct answer. If they're not supposed to speak of the past, then he'll say what he knows to be true in the here and now and trust Damon to infer the rest.

He's also not expecting him to ask about Natasha, and it doesn't quite surprise him, either. He's grateful for the few extra seconds to think about his answer. ]

She's good. [ And it's not much of one, but there's only so much he's willing to say about it to a man she may have never actually met. Steve nods to the pad still resting on the desk. His eyesight's just fine; he could make out the words if he wanted to, but he won't. ] How's business? Bucky hasn't really said.

[ Damon isn't one to parse out ideas and separate thoughts. Usually, he strings them all together, but bits and pieces keep coming up, much to his chagrin. Lucky Steve can keep up. Steve confirms his occupation before moving on. It isn't often Damon is uncomfortable, and he masks that with a sip of his drink. As helpful as asking questions is, not knowing what the answers will be at all leaves him at quite the disadvantage. And screw that.

His lips come together in a steely smile not altogether caring about how Nat is (or who Nat is, he knows the name and that's about it), but there's also the undercurrent of fondness for a -- frequent customer? One time customer? He did only find the one invoice. ] That would be a question for my brother. He's - [ ... ] handled things in my absence. You've caught me on my first day back. [ Technically, his first day. As for the pad, his glass is set down smack dab in the middle of it, obscuring a few familiar names, but possibly drawing attention to the words 'fire' and 'tomb.' ] And your students? Are they happy to have their teacher back? Any shiny apples left on your desks? Abstract watercolors?

[ Well, if he can make out the words, he gives no indication. ]

Nah. Abstract watercolors are just homework. Your brother's— [ His eyebrows knit together briefly, then clear as minor revelation crosses his expression. ] Stefan. [ He tilts his head deliberately toward the door and the front of the store, as though to indicate the 'S' in the S & D. ] We met in the hospital.

[ And presumably before that, if Steve were comfortable presuming anything about this place. He wonders if referring to something that happened just a couple weeks ago counts as talking about the past, but in the philosophical and strategic way of a man who has no intention of abiding indefinitely. ]

Coincidence. So did we. [ Technically. ] Hard to get a hold of your emergency contact when he's also in the hospital. Not that anyone seemed concerned with finding mine.

[ This doesn't bother him now, it's just a factual statement from the day in question. But, it does lead to a comparison of notes. ]

Stefan works more on the cars, I cook the books. [ A furrow of his brow, that wording accompanying a playful smile, indicating a joke as his smile widens into a grin. ] I'm the numbers. He's the - well, for lack of a better term, the muscle. Stefan's handy.

[ As is Damon, but only occasionally for business, apparently. He assists but not consistently. ]

What was it like for you? Waking up in the hospital?

[ Now there's a real question, and Steve leans forward a little, elbows resting on his thighs even as he glances toward the ceiling and any fixtures there. ]

None the worse for wear.

[ Which is something not everyone can claim, something he's well aware of by now. His glance settles on Damon, more trusting than what he'd given to the cameras if a little more tentatively so. It feels unnatural to him, the hesitation, and he doesn't know if it comes from what memories he's managed to regain thus far or the part of him that seems to think he knows this man. ]

But I heal fast.

Something we have in common.

[ Maybe it's just something he says, something offhand, or it means more. ]

I'll tell Bucky you stopped by.

[ Because all of these chance meetings don't help him glean anything. ]

[ Certainly not if he cuts them short. Steve looks at him for a moment, then nods, standing. ]

Thanks for the drink, Damon.

Edited 2017-03-13 23:55 (UTC)

[ Their time will come. Probably. But, he has a lot on his mind. ]

Any time. See you around, Steve.

[Father Pucci does not receive gifts. Not ever; not here in this town, not in the vague memories he is regaining from back home. He has always worked with the disadvantaged and done so for exceedingly selfish reasons. No one has ever given him anything that he hasn't worked for--or stolen.]

[So the sudden arrival on his desk one morning of an envelope containing a ticket to a restaurant he's never heard of for a "special event" is unprecedented. He opens it, but reluctantly, and the note inside, while intriguing enough to follow up on, doesn't elucidate much. The ticket is bizarre in itself, too: all black with a white-embossed eye and the words SPECIAL EVENT: FIND YOUR TICKET'S TWIN and an address.]

[Which turns out to be just off Main Street. Really, he's never heard of this restaurant before. It looks more like a bar than anything. He frowns tightly and lingers outside the entrance uncertainly, tapping the ticket against his lip.]

[ If Damon had any doubts about (literally anything, but at this moment) someone in this town watching him, those doubts disappear into thin air when he finds an envelope on the desk at the garage. He doesn't hate to open it, memories of a similar invitation arriving on is doorstep back home. One party that ended in mayhem and another step back for Damon as a person. He doesn't like remembering the times he and Elena hadn't worked out, when she'd rightfully not been able to make a go of it with him, and, luckily not his brother either that night. But, mistakes named Rebekah are best left in New Orleans.

The ticket is flashy, high quality and it wouldn't be out of place in high society New York. It would be, in Mystic Falls. But, this, as he keeps reminding himself, isn't Mystic Falls. it's Wayward Pines.

Stefan has no ticket, meaning Damon is the sole owner of a special event.

It intrigues Damon enough and gives him something else to think about on the international day of manufactured love. (Shut up, if Elena were here, he'd go all out. He is the quietist of romantics.) But, she's not. She's in a box, safe and not burned to a crisp. Not ash.

He doesn't remember this restaurant - not like Lagomarchino's. That's what hits him most when he spots a similar ticket up ahead. He holds his up in his right hand as he comes to a stop in front of whoever this guy is. ]

Twinsies.

[ He doesn't comment on the excessive white facial hair, or is it, he's not going to inspect it close-up. ] You must be here for a [ air quotes ] special event.

[The ticket would be out of place in Nowhere, Alabama; it'd be out of place on the desk of Father Pucci, chaplain of Green Dolphin Street Prison; and Pucci's just as certain it's out of place here as it would be either of those places. But it doesn't do to question--or at least, it doesn't do to ask some questions before one already has the answer.]

[The man standing with a ticket in his hand that matches his own is not an answer of any kind. Twinsies makes his expression twitch into something unreadable and unpleasant, then back to normal.]

. . . So it seems.

[He tips his head a bit, looking Damon up and down. Not for the first time, he's struck with the twin impressions of who's that? and oh, it's that guy. Very frustrating, for someone who likes to have his thumb on the pulse of everything and everyone in his life.]

I haven't seen anyone else with a ticket. It seems like a lot of trouble to go to for just two people.

It seems like an afternoon spent hunched behind a computer playing with Photoshop, but the breaking and entering, slipping in and out, meh, you call it trouble, someone calls it a Tuesday afternoon. [ He doesn't. For the record. ] And how do you know what I'm worth? I could be worth several well-fed cows, and acres and acres of land. [ Damon's dowry, no ladies and a gentleman. ] Although, if that is what this is, as far as I [ actually ] remember, you don't fall under 'my type.' [ Whoops. ] Someone might have wasted those few hours. Just saying.

[ It's not a declaration of not being gay, though he's not, he's incredibly comfortable with his sexuality. He's also spent ~~four~~ about six or seven years in love with one woman. ]

But, points for the mystery, if this is all your elaborate way of finally meeting your local mechanic. [ But, like in Whose Line is it Anyway, the points don't matter. ]

[Wow. That sure is a large selection of words, most of which Pucci has literally no desire to respond to or even acknowledge. He just stares at Damon for a little while, then points, then . . . points to his clerical collar.]

You're not my type either.

[GOD IS #praiseit okay, no (maybe).]

I don't have any cows. I don't know if that changes your opinion on the evening going forward.

[ A vampire and a Priest walk up to a restaurant... ]

I have been described as a god before. Or, with the body of one. It's differed through the century. [ A beat. ] Joke. God. [ OK. ] What's the opposite of hot around the collar?

[ Seriously. ]

Shockingly, cows aren't a deal breaker in random match-ups. [ Or ever. ] Do we go in or has my off color commentary soured the mood already?

[ Bitch, thy name is Damon Salvatore. ]

[Pucci just. Stares, waiting for this line of commentary to end.]

The position of my personal lord and savior is incredibly occupied. Also, the opposite of hot is cold. Just for future reference.

[No one here is not a bitch. He glances at the dark entrance again, then shrugged.]

There never was a mood. But I'm curious about this now. We might as well.

Well. You're going to be a fun date. Think they serve alcohol at this place?

[ Damon agrees, at least. ]

Then. [ And so, he goes first, always the one that makes that decision. Stefan would hold the door for the Father, but Damon's mood has soured (unlike Pucci's, apparently), so he opens it wide enough that Pucci can catch the door if he'd like, or if his reflexes are that good. If not, he might get hit with the door.

The hostess stands, asking for their party's reservation. ] Damon Salvatore and -- [ He looks back behind him. He doesn't know this guy's name. ]

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i tried to take the road less traveled by but nothing seems to work the first few times

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feb. 14

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