Alice Morgan (onlypractically) wrote in canonwarslogs, @ 2014-09-01 16:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | alice morgan, damon salvatore |
Who: Alice Morgan & Damon Salvatore
What: Meetings
When: A few days post-arrival
Where: The island, then Southwark, London
Rating/Warnings: PG. Nothing major.
Alice didn’t like sun. Despite where she’d headed when London had become uncomfortable. It played merry hell with her skin, and generally left her sore and irritated. She’d seen one girl with a parasol, which seemed like a good idea. At least until she could get off this bloody island. But what was she going to do for money? What could she sell? Or would she have to rob people like a common criminal?
Being fictional seemed so odd. She didn’t feel fictional. She felt full of life - but at the same time, something was missing. The idea of a world lacking in John Luther was distressing - but Alice Morgan didn’t get distressed. Maybe here she could do what she’d always wanted. Or maybe here there were more smothering parents and useless, petty coworkers in her future. Either way, she needed a parasol if she was going to save her skin. She was combing through racks in a touristy sort of shop, trying to find something not entirely hideous.
Damon was in the same store, sighing as he tried on seersucker jackets. It was a horrible material, really. He wondered if seersucker came in cashmere, and asked the clerk as such.
Alice had found a parasol that wasn’t offensive, and headed over toward the cash register. She heard an overly-cultured voice asking if seersucker came in cashmere, and laughed. “If you want to look like the tourists,” she said to the man’s back, “just strap a camera to your neck and walk around oblivious to traffic.”
He chuckled at her comment, shaking his head. “It’s a shame more of them don’t get run over.” Taking whatever jacket was offered to him, he moved toward the line and the sassy redhead. Thank god she wasn’t blonde.
European. French or Italian, maybe. Greek? The accent was too smooth to be German or Scandinavian. She got a look at his face and smiled, looking artfully away. “I hear it’s hell getting blood off carefully-aged cobblestones.”
“Eh, as long as you rinse it off right away, it’s not a problem.” He knew from experience, his family’s estate had seen more than its share of blood and gore, and not all of it his fault, thank you very much.
Alice actually chuckled at that. “What about the sound of snapping bones putting all those people off their teatime?” She rather wanted to be morbid, trying to see how far he would go. It was rare someone got her sense of humor.
“Do they drink tea around here?” He grinned and shook his head. “I’m sure the loud music and spring break kids will drown out the death rattles, dear.” He took her hand and leaned forward to kiss it. “Damon Salvatore, and I’m glad you aren’t put off by black humor.”
Italian, then. “Not black, just realistic.” Alice was amused by his courtly gesture - was it old hat, or was he trying to charm her? She fluttered her eyelashes a little just to see. “Alice Morgan.” It was odd to use her real name, but there was no reason not to here.
“It’s a genuine pleasure,” he smiled. He noticed her fluttering lashes and stood a little closer, enough so she could smell his cologne. “So, you’re a tourist here as well. Have you found anything simply spectacular? I’m bored, honestly.”
“Lord, no. I was trying to find a parasol so I don’t scorch.” Alice tried not to cough - the scent he’d drenched himself in was overpowering, though at least it wasn’t tacky. “I wound up here somewhat against my will.” True enough.
“You too, hmm?” He tapped his fingers against the counter, folding his arms. “Seems to be an epidemic.” Damon clucked his tongue. He paid for his jacket, even though he didn’t want to wear it.
“I didn’t realize it was on that scale.” Alice raised an eyebrow. “There are so many?”
“Well. It’s not as if we’re falling from the sky, but there seem to be a good number.” He fidgeted slightly with his ring, rolling it slightly around his finger but making no move to take it off.
“What an operation it must be. Seeing that everyone gets The Talk, identification, et cetera. It’s as if we’re being birthed again. Without the mess.” Alice made a face, going to pay for her parasol. “I hate heat.”
“Well, we don’t have to stay.” Damon shrugged and looked at his ID. “I’m a prince in Belgium, I think. Something Scandie.”
“A prince?” Alice’s eyebrow stayed raised. “That does explain the bougie.” Seersucker was an appalling, touristy fabric, and cashmere indicated spoilt, wealthy tastes. She’d have played that character as a shrill American bore. “Though I will say, you aren’t acting nearly obnoxious enough for that.” Anti-establishment? Her? Never.
He chuckled. “I’m not entirely unused to being royalty, but I am however very familiar with disliking it. It’s why my father didn’t care for me as much as my younger brother. He was perfect, I just wanted to flirt with the hot maid.”
Oh, Alice couldn’t stop the belly laugh. “Don’t tell me you have daddy issues, signor.” Really, this man was like something out of an old serial. Although he was handsome.
“Don’t we all.” Damon folded his arms. “Please, don’t try and tell me that you don’t, Alice Morgan.” He smirked in a way that may or may not have been wholly amused. He’d liked her program.
“I wouldn’t call them that. I’d say candidly I hated my parents and moved on.” Alice couldn’t help the elfin smile appearing on her face. “Isn’t it more normal for boys to have mummy issues instead? Psychology’s not my branch of the sciences, but they do say men look for women who remind them of their mothers.”
He narrowed his eyes. He didn’t really want to talk about his mother, and he simply murmured. “She’s dead, hard to have issues about that. I was six.”
It didn’t take a genius to know he did have some issues there, so Alice simply acted as though she’d missed it - she didn’t particularly want to deal with some panegyric to parental loss. “Well, it’s been some time, then. Both my parents are gone as well.”
“And it’s for the better then, isn’t it? My father died a few years after he thought me and my brother had, so que sera, sera.” He took her hand and smiled, walking with her. “So. Back to London then, is it?”
“Yes, most definitely.” She allowed it, after paying for her parasol. They headed for the door. “It’ll be odd to be in a world without some of my acquaintances in it, but even I am not that well versed in temporal physics to be able to try and find a way back.”
“I don’t know if there is a way back.” He’d already checked, and he’d found the books and television show based on the books pretty easily. It had made him feel like someone was walking on his grave.
“Of course there is. Temporal pathways aren’t one-way streets. But the answer may be beyond me. Some things are.” Parental love. Normal human companionship. Ah, well.
“So we can reverse the belief in us that brought us here?” He cocked his head to the side, standing and waiting for her to shake out her parasol. “I don’t like the light much either.”
She opened it, setting it on her shoulder before laughing at him. “Belief? Signor, I hardly think anyone wished upon a star for me.”
“Didn’t they now? You’re singularly spectacular. Trust me, I’m a very good judge of character.” Damon smiled in a way that didn’t imply that he was trustworthy at all.
“I do think you’re a good judge of character, but I don’t think I’ll be trusting you anytime soon.” Alice set off, though she wasn’t entirely sure where she was going.
“Probably wise,” Damon murmured. The government spooks had said there was a portkey around somewhere, a poster on a wall... He looked around until he spotted it, walked over, and tapped it as he held onto Alice’s hand. A pull that made his stomach twist, and they were in an alley in what most assuredly smelled not at all like the tropics.
Alice winced as it felt as though her arm was being yanked out at the socket; when she opened her eyes, though, she was back in the middle of a very familiar cesspool. “Oh, hurrah.” London, and a London where no one would be on the lookout for her. How freeing. “Are you based here?”
“Haven’t been for a century or so. Been in the States as of late. Virginia.” He smiled at her, cocking his head to the side to deflect her catty comment. “I know, I know, but there’s a point of energy there that draws other powerful creatures to it. So it’s more interesting than you’d think.”
“If you had business there, so be it. If you didn’t, then I’d laugh.” Alice had been some strange places herself. “People see that I’ve been to Bangkok if they look at my passport, and ask me how many male prostitutes I had while I was there.” Ew.
“I assume you went to museums and tried to learn as much history and Thai as possible.” Damon shrugged. “You look all bookish and winsome that way.”
“Winsome? How dare you.” But Alice laughed. “I was actually there for an art auction.” And to avoid the British police. But that was neither here nor there.
“Smuggling in or smuggling out?” He grinned at her, fully expecting to get slapped.
“It was actually entirely legitimate.” Alice was still grinning. She rather liked him, despite how shifty he was. “I’d just lost my parents, and I had money to burn.”
“Well, that’s boring,” Damon snorted. “Legitimate is just so ... simple.”
“It doesn’t happen often. Being complex is more fun.” Also a survival mechanism, but that was neither here nor there. “Would you care to go for a drink? Can you?” Or they could go back to her place and pretend sex wasn’t a possibility.
“I can go for a drink,” he smiled. “Not much else, but drinking is okay.” He tried not to eat too much human food; vomiting wasn’t fun.
“Good. I’d kill for red wine.” Alice belatedly realized her choice of words and laughed. “Sorry?”
He laughed at that. “Well, if you insist, I’m sure that can be arranged. If the lady wishes?”
“I’m out of practice,” Alice demurred, hoping he laughed again. He didn’t strike her as the dainty type.
He did, and shook his head. “I’m sure I can tutor you?”
“In killing, or drinking red wine?” Alice decided she liked his company. He was pretentious, yes, but she likely was too. And it had been a long time since she’d found a man that she thought could keep up with her. John could have kept up with her, but had chosen not to.
“Yes.” He smiled and let his hand rest on the small of her back. “Don’t go telling on me, though. I’d hate to have to drink and fly.”
“Fly?” Alice was curious, allowing the liberty.
“You know, wings, in the air. Fly.” Damon smiled at her. “Can’t tell you how, it’d ruin the mystery.”
“Oh, don’t tell me you turn into a bat.” Alice laughed for once, full-throated and long. That would just be silly. And she’d be damned if she’d be stuck in a world where vampire bats were a reality.
“Of course not!” He put a hand to his chest, pretending to look shocked. “That would be terribly cliche, wouldn’t it? Raven.”
“Only slightly less cliche.” But it would do. Alice cocked her head to one side. “So, may I lead on? If this is a similar London, there’s a serviceable bar nearby.” It had enough dark corners to make her feel at ease. That was perhaps cliche, but she liked lurking.
“Only a little, but a wolf suddenly appearing would be worse, and more noticeable.” He’d never bothered learning how to transform into other animals.
“It’s true.” Alice started walking, figuring he would follow. “So, what are you from? I apparently appeared on a television programme. With an acquaintance of mine.”
“Books first, television show after. The show’s rubbish, though, I don’t recommend it.” He mimicked her accent near perfectly, smiling as he walked with her and offered her his arm. He was polite.
“The books are more palatable?” Alice mimicked his right back, amused. He seemed to be trying to push her buttons, which was a rather welcome change from some of her past entanglements. “At least there’s that. My programme actually isn’t bad at all.”
“Not really, but they’re what happened. At least what I remember.” He chuckled at her doing his accent damn near. He didn’t sound very Italian anymore - too much time in the New World - but it wasn’t going out quietly.
“Truth can be dangerous.” Alice raised an eyebrow, amused, as she steered him down a cobbled street.
“So it can. Are you going to read them?” He smiled at her, running his fingers over her cheek. “I admit, I ... may be a fan of yours.” He’d known who she was as soon as she said her name.
That was not something Alice was used to hearing, and for once, she let the surprise show. “I ... oh?” She laughed, looking away. “You don’t appear to be interested in astrophysics.” And now she’d most definitely be reading the books.
“Not because of your brilliance. Well, that’s not the only reason.” He gently turned her face by the chin with a thumb and forefinger, smirking a little. “What I know of you isn’t scientific.”
She gently freed her face from his grasp, but only gently; he hadn’t been rude, rather the opposite. “I did say my programme wasn’t terrible.” It hadn’t made her look like a dangerous maniac. Well. Any more than she actually was. But it hadn’t made her look weak, and that mattered.
“It wasn’t.” He held his hands up, palms toward her, indicating that he recognized her desire not to be touched. “The books I’m in are pretty terrible, though.” He stage whispered behind a hand. “I’m only a secondary character, can you imagine?”
“The idea that someone could upstage you is rather laughable.” He was so theatrical and so aware of his own presence.
“Saint Stefan always does seem to manage.” Damon was sad that his brother wasn’t around, but assumed he’d show up eventually. He had to.
“Oh, dear.” Alice laughed, directing Damon into the bar she’d found on a whim one day. She was relieved it was still here. “Anyone referred to as a saint with such derision must truly deserve the title.” In other words, someone boring. Someone holier-than-thou. Someone caught up in their own morality and trying as hard as possible to get it on everyone else. Bodily fluids would have been more welcome.
“My brother would qualify, it’s true.” Damon wrinkled his nose. “Any vampire who refuses to eat humans is boring, wouldn’t you think?”
Alice raised an eyebrow, heading for a corner booth. “How does he survive?”
“Rats. Sometimes cows. Deer.” Damon wrinkled his nose. “He’s basically a vegan, and you know how insufferable they are.”
Alice laughed, sitting down in the booth, beckoning him. “Let me guess. He was your parents’ angel? No, you don’t strike me as the sort to want to be your parents’ angel.” She gently pulled him down next to her. “People don’t like to admit that sometimes there are just insufferable people on the planet, and some of them are related to us.”
“He was my father’s angel. Mother died while having him.” Damon sounded only a little curt as he sat down by her. “Oh, I admit both of those things. I admit them many times a day.”
“He was your father’s favourite even though it cost him his wife?” That made no sense to Alice. Then again, she’d never had any siblings, nor did she ever want children. “I don’t need to eat, but as I said. Red wine, I think.”
“Father liked a son who obeyed him.” Damon wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t want to learn Latin. People weren’t using it as often when they spoke, and the books he wanted me to read were boring anyway.” He had learned it eventually, but not without trying.
“So he disowned you over a preference for Italian vernacular?” Alice called a waitress over and ordered a bottle of red wine; if Damon declined, she’d take it home. “If I had someone I loved and then I lost them, I wouldn’t be able to not despise the person who took them from me.” Not as if she had anyone she loved the way a husband allegedly loved his wife. Not even John Luther.
“He did it because Stefan is obedient. And now you know why he and I don’t get along. I was a bit of a mummy’s boy.” Most of his happy memories from his human life came from his mother.
“Ah.” Alice poured herself a glass, leaving it near him if he decided to imbibe. “Part of why you hate him, I’m sure.” He seemed to hate his brother the way she’d hated Zoe Luther at first - a link to a time (and a person) one might forget. And God help anyone who decided to erase that link. As annoying as the person might be.
Damon nodded. “Of course, he took away the only thing I had going for me.” Damon smiled a bit lopsidedly, taking the bottle and pouring himself a glass. “And Father hated me for having been so close to her, so it was a lose-lose situation.”
“Would you rather have had mine?” Alice shrugged. “If you’ve seen my programme, you likely know what that was like.” They had no doubt that they were doing the right thing - never mind their daughter tightly smiling in a crowd of people staring at her, feeling like a trained monkey.
“No. I’d have done the same thing you did.” Damon shrugged, smiling crookedly. “Less elaborately, though. You’re far smarter than I am.” Book smarts, yes. Damon was aware his cunning wasn’t from books.
“Smart, maybe. But I find it hard to believe you’ve survived so long without acquiring rat cunning.” That wasn’t an insult, and he ought to know it.
“Cunning is different than smarts, in my opinion. You’re intelligent, I’m wise. There’s subtle differences.” He moved to run his fingers up and over her cheek. “I’m glad you find me tolerable, regardless of my shortcomings.”
“Oh, I have plenty.” A well timed falsehood. She was perhaps impetuous, but even that could be turned into an advantage. She allowed him to touch her, if only because she thought they understood each other. He wasn’t taking liberties.
“I’m sure.” He smiled at her, a rare genuine thing, small. But she seemed to not enjoy being touched as much as he enjoyed touching her, so he let his hand drop. “My apologies.”
“I would’ve stopped you.” Alice wasn’t afraid of him - why, she honestly wasn’t sure - but she wasn’t. She’d dealt with darker, more evil beings before. “What shall we drink to, Signor Salvatore? You may call me Alice, if you want.”
“Then please, call me Damon. How about we drink to getting what we want.” It was his favorite toast. If not that, then long life, if only because of the irony.
“Agreed.” Alice held up her glass, somehow conscious of the fact she’d encountered an interesting ally.