I was going to wait till tomorrow to post because I won't have any time today to devote to it....
...but I'm obviously posting it now!
fluffyfrolicker said, IF YOU BUILD IT, THEY WILL COME! [and we shall just ignore the part where she stole that from a Kevin Costner movie] and shipperjunkie made banners. So here we are.
A Damon Salvatore ficathon!
( Read more... )
fluffyfrolicker said, IF YOU BUILD IT, THEY WILL COME! [and we shall just ignore the part where she stole that from a Kevin Costner movie] and shipperjunkie made banners. So here we are.
A Damon Salvatore ficathon!
( Read more... )
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(By the way, this is running on the notion that Damon was 24 in 1864, and thus 18 in 1858. Which is, I think, presumably confirmed. And someone might argue with what I’ve picked as actually making him 18, but, you know, news traveled by word of mouth and messenger in 1858.)
1858
“Have you read this nonsense?”
Damon looked up from when his father entered, startled. Giuseppe held a missive in his hand, waving it as though the paper itself were speaking the words which so bothered him.
“A house divided cannot stand.” Giuseppe snorted. “High-handed words! But to what house does the idiot refer, hm?” Giuseppe shook the paper again. Damon sat patiently, waiting for his father to run himself out. “He expects slavery to become unlawful, or the house shall fall down! Tell me son, are men half-free and half-slave today ( ... )
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“The scones are good here,” the voice said, in English, startling Damon out of his book. He couldn’t see the counter from where he was seated, at the very back of the pastry shop, but it took his brain negative time to place the voice that replied.
“I’ve never been one for scones,” Stefan said, tonelessly. “But I’ll take a coffee, if they make it.”
“Deux cafes, s’il voux plait,” the first voice said in flawless French.
Fact: Stefan knows French. Damon was there when he learned it, helped him with his conjugations. That Stefan isn’t suavely stepping in and ordering or attempting to bully this girl could only mean one thing: she was a vampire, and Stefan was sober.
Damon hadn’t seen his brother in at least twenty years, but the last time he had, “sober” was not a word he would bring within a mile of Stefan. He meant that in every sense of the word: liquor, blood, insanity, Stefan had been drunk on all of it. And people had the temerity to talk down to him, like Stefan was a saint ( ... )
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Stefan was still standing with the coffees, though his friend had sit down, and was watching the conversation with a fixed, neutral expression. Damon knew what Stefan wanted him to do, and he knew what Stefan expected him to do. The question was which would be better in the long run.
Some days, now was the long run. Damon snapped his book shut and stood, slowly making his way out of the pastry shop and past Stefan and his companion. “Well, I do believe the library will ( ... )
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