well, now if you stop when you get full the worst thing you'll do is kill every box of cereal you've ever met. the stakes are a little different. have you tried? you know. paying attention to when you're full?
you can't look like an idiot in front of me. how many times have you seen me be an idiot? lets take dinner in my room and i'll walk you through it. and if i laugh at you, you can. i don't know. throw a pillow at my head? is that good, human revenge?
on the other hand, it's not really a yes or no answer, to a question as complicated as that. it takes her a minute to text back, because she's thinking about, because she knows what damon wants to hear and knows that isn't what she wants to say. not because it isn't true, but because it isn't the full truth, not wholly.
eventually, )
your vampirism was never the problem. it was how you used it.
( no, she doesn't want that. what does she want? well — that's the question, isn't it? )
he didn't let you die. that's what happened. so what are you going to do with that? die or keep living?
( you'll leave me if you die, she thinks. the selfish first instinct of an inherently selfish person. but he's entitled to a decision without her guilt weighing him — she's entitled to hers, too. )
( — regardless, and maybe just because she hopes manifesting damon in her room works with the siren song of both food and a promise, elena gets dinner brought up to her room. she sweet talks the house staff too, buddies up with a few of the server girls, and tells them to bring up a wide array of stuff — whatever they've got, she's willing to try it. well. maybe they don't get a lot of requests like that, or maybe they're unused to house guests being so nice to them. whatever the case, she accidentally ordered a whole feast just for damon, her bed laid out in covered dishes that a single serving tray at the foot of her bed couldn't fit. well.
he'll definitely get full, that's for sure.
thumb nail bitten, she waits. does not stare at the door, does not pass go, does not do anything but watch the meal get steadily colder the longer he takes. is this pathetic? she feels a little pathetic. )
[ he's not late on purpose, exactly, it's just, you know. there's a lot he's doing right now, he's got a lot going on. doing dinner with the girl who just lied to him about being able to love him is a bit lower on the priority list than making sure he doesn't rapidly age and die if one of the frankly too many vampires in the manor gets their fangs too close to his neck. by the time he gets to elena's room, it's... not late, the food is still at least mostly warm, but elena almost certainly decided he probably wasn't showing.
when he does finally enter the room he looks—nervous, maybe, if that's a thing she can imagine damon feeling. he avoids looking at her at first, glancing around the suite instead, taking it in, cataloging the differences between what the manor's given her and her room in mystic falls—
and then his eyes light on the bed, and all the food spread over it, and he blinks. ]
I'm pretty sure this is the opposite of portion control, [ he says, though he sounds more amused and delighted than bothered. when he finally meets elena's eyes, his lips have tugged into a smile. ]
( elena has, in the interim, occupied herself in a cozy chair in the corner of her room, not reading a book that she's thumbing through in her lap — the portrait of a lady. she perks once damon enters in, shutting and setting it aside, standing up with a leg-fallen-asleep wobble. should the spread make her feel embarrassed? probably, yes. it is definitely overkill. elena rubs a hand on the back of her neck while she looks at it, giving his dinner a kind of all encompassing gesture. )
I wanted to make sure there was something you liked. Plus — you can get into leftovers, now. It's great. Cold pizza ( she gives a dorky thumbs up ) is almost better than the hot stuff.
( elena will obviously be drinking blood. from a bag. but she's happy to watch and observe damon with this anyway, her humanity much closer in the rear view mirror than his. )
[ she doesn't need to be embarrassed—there's nothing embarrassing about wanting to take care of your people. damon knows that feeling well, for all he can't show it except in the most dire of circumstances or most violent of ways. his smile softens, reading the self-conscious turn this has taken for her, and after a moment's pause, he approaches the blood bag waiting for her on her bedside table. ]
Tastes better from a glass, you know, [ he says, kindly, releasing the port cover as he picks up one of the glasses that were delivered with dinner. he fills it half-full with blood, motions fluid and practiced, stoppers the port and sets the bag back on the bedside table—
and then licks his fingers of the blood smears that collected there, and immediately makes a face. ]
Jesus, how is that so gross now. Eugh. [ well, look, he tried to be smooth. he holds the glass out to elena, frowning now, and turns his attention back to the spread waiting for him. ] So, just... pick one, and let's see how it goes?
( laughing, she accepts the glass — in part because it wasn't so long ago that she was disturbed by blood, and in part because there is a beautiful irony to this, being the vampiric foil to damon's humanity. we used to pray for days like these, when damon was weak and punishable and squishy. now, there's that bitter twinged pill of delighting in his humanity — there are things to enjoy about being human. there are good foods, and early sunrises, and being close to people without wanting to eat them. things elena won't necessarily experience. or wouldn't, in normal circumstances.
she gives a grand gesture to the spread. )
Yeah, exactly! Wait — I'll pick one out, that's a good idea.
( glass cupped to her chest, she looks around, lifting lids and looking through, trying to find the best thing to start on. something he'll almost definitely enjoy, to get him excited about trying other things. fish, lobster? too contentious. pasta? obviously, yes — who doesn't like carbs? )
Okay, here it is. First thing. ( a plate of lasagna. very fancy lasagna. elena waits a beat, trying to decide if its offensive to assume he won't know how to use a fork properly, before just following her first instinct by snagging a forked bite for him, holding it out for him to eat. ) It has all your major food groups — carbs, grease, cheese, and sauce. You'll like it.
[ i can eat human food, he almost says. you've seen me eat a burger. i was human for twenty five years, i've used a fork! it's on the tip of his tongue to snark, to bluster, to mask insecurity with sarcasm—
but he just smiles, fond and indulgent, and accepts the plate. he hasn't eaten human food for anything but taste and appearances in a century and a half. he's had to relearn so many things about his body, about how to move, what he can and can't do now—it makes sense to start with the basics. more than that, it's nice that she's trying so hard. that she cares so much. that hasn't exactly always been a given. ]
Well, [ he says, sighing as though this is such a burden, like he doesn't adore her for trying so hard, ] Probably won't be as good as nonna's, but I guess I can give it a shot.
[ not that damon's ever actually met his nonna—giuseppe left the whole family back in the home country and never looked back. he plucks the fork from her hand, takes a bite—it's really weird to eat while being observed like this—he chews, he swallows, look elena, he's got the very most basic parts of humanity down. ]
Yup, [ gravely, this is so serious, ] that's lasagna. Needs some more garlic, maybe a pinch of thyme—
( there is a definite, unapologetic bit of delight in the laugh she lets out. )
Oh, you're a food critic now?
( she's just glad he likes it, really. it's a relief.
in any case, she takes a drink of her blood, shoulders relaxing on the swallow. the thing about it — food satiates you, satisfies you, but blood never really scratches the itch. you can get fullish, but never fully content. elena is young yet, in a room full of a freshly warm-blooded man. she takes a deeper swallow, idly turning away from him so he can't see the line between her brows. )
It's ... weird, right? ( she's trying to be subtle about not looking at him now, crossing the room and touching her things, lifting little knickknacks off dressers and tables to keep her hands occupied. ) You the human, me the vampire?
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[ you said it yourself, elena, kids learn this stuff. he's 170 years old! he shouldn't have to learn basic shit like this! ]
if i ate and stopped when i was full as a vampire i'd have killed every human i ever met
i've been ignoring my hunger for one hundred and forty six years, elena
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well, now if you stop when you get full the worst thing you'll do is kill every box of cereal you've ever met. the stakes are a little different.
have you tried? you know. paying attention to when you're full?
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no
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do you think that might be step one?
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want to look like an idiot
kids learn how to do this shit, i should know already
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you can't look like an idiot in front of me. how many times have you seen me be an idiot?
lets take dinner in my room and i'll walk you through it. and if i laugh at you, you can.
i don't know. throw a pillow at my head? is that good, human revenge?
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it'll do for now. we'll come up with something better later.
thank you
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then or now.
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do you prefer me like this
is this better
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on the other hand, it's not really a yes or no answer, to a question as complicated as that. it takes her a minute to text back, because she's thinking about, because she knows what damon wants to hear and knows that isn't what she wants to say. not because it isn't true, but because it isn't the full truth, not wholly.
eventually, )
your vampirism was never the problem. it was how you used it.
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[ of course she would. it'll always be stefan, after all. ]
i didn't want this. i wanted stefan to let me die. i told him to.
[ why does elena get to choose? why does elena's choice to die deserve respect, but his means nothing? why has stefan done this to him twice? ]
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he didn't let you die. that's what happened.
so what are you going to do with that? die or keep living?
( you'll leave me if you die, she thinks. the selfish first instinct of an inherently selfish person. but he's entitled to a decision without her guilt weighing him — she's entitled to hers, too. )
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right? that's what everyone says. death isn't permanent here, you just come back a monster. been there, done that.
aren't you going to tell me i should be grateful? that this is better, stefan did me a favor?
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but i'm grateful. that you're here.
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i'd have come back, even if the bite killed me. he didn't have to do this.
could you love me like this?
don't answer that. ignore me. i'll see you for dinner, bye.
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( what's the right answer — mercy? choosing the thing that keeps the peace and preserves their well-beings, or the thing that's honest? )
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( honest, then. )
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he'll definitely get full, that's for sure.
thumb nail bitten, she waits. does not stare at the door, does not pass go, does not do anything but watch the meal get steadily colder the longer he takes. is this pathetic? she feels a little pathetic. )
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when he does finally enter the room he looks—nervous, maybe, if that's a thing she can imagine damon feeling. he avoids looking at her at first, glancing around the suite instead, taking it in, cataloging the differences between what the manor's given her and her room in mystic falls—
and then his eyes light on the bed, and all the food spread over it, and he blinks. ]
I'm pretty sure this is the opposite of portion control, [ he says, though he sounds more amused and delighted than bothered. when he finally meets elena's eyes, his lips have tugged into a smile. ]
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I wanted to make sure there was something you liked. Plus — you can get into leftovers, now. It's great. Cold pizza ( she gives a dorky thumbs up ) is almost better than the hot stuff.
( elena will obviously be drinking blood. from a bag. but she's happy to watch and observe damon with this anyway, her humanity much closer in the rear view mirror than his. )
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Tastes better from a glass, you know, [ he says, kindly, releasing the port cover as he picks up one of the glasses that were delivered with dinner. he fills it half-full with blood, motions fluid and practiced, stoppers the port and sets the bag back on the bedside table—
and then licks his fingers of the blood smears that collected there, and immediately makes a face. ]
Jesus, how is that so gross now. Eugh. [ well, look, he tried to be smooth. he holds the glass out to elena, frowning now, and turns his attention back to the spread waiting for him. ] So, just... pick one, and let's see how it goes?
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she gives a grand gesture to the spread. )
Yeah, exactly! Wait — I'll pick one out, that's a good idea.
( glass cupped to her chest, she looks around, lifting lids and looking through, trying to find the best thing to start on. something he'll almost definitely enjoy, to get him excited about trying other things. fish, lobster? too contentious. pasta? obviously, yes — who doesn't like carbs? )
Okay, here it is. First thing. ( a plate of lasagna. very fancy lasagna. elena waits a beat, trying to decide if its offensive to assume he won't know how to use a fork properly, before just following her first instinct by snagging a forked bite for him, holding it out for him to eat. ) It has all your major food groups — carbs, grease, cheese, and sauce. You'll like it.
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but he just smiles, fond and indulgent, and accepts the plate. he hasn't eaten human food for anything but taste and appearances in a century and a half. he's had to relearn so many things about his body, about how to move, what he can and can't do now—it makes sense to start with the basics. more than that, it's nice that she's trying so hard. that she cares so much. that hasn't exactly always been a given. ]
Well, [ he says, sighing as though this is such a burden, like he doesn't adore her for trying so hard, ] Probably won't be as good as nonna's, but I guess I can give it a shot.
[ not that damon's ever actually met his nonna—giuseppe left the whole family back in the home country and never looked back. he plucks the fork from her hand, takes a bite—it's really weird to eat while being observed like this—he chews, he swallows, look elena, he's got the very most basic parts of humanity down. ]
Yup, [ gravely, this is so serious, ] that's lasagna. Needs some more garlic, maybe a pinch of thyme—
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Oh, you're a food critic now?
( she's just glad he likes it, really. it's a relief.
in any case, she takes a drink of her blood, shoulders relaxing on the swallow. the thing about it — food satiates you, satisfies you, but blood never really scratches the itch. you can get fullish, but never fully content. elena is young yet, in a room full of a freshly warm-blooded man. she takes a deeper swallow, idly turning away from him so he can't see the line between her brows. )
It's ... weird, right? ( she's trying to be subtle about not looking at him now, crossing the room and touching her things, lifting little knickknacks off dressers and tables to keep her hands occupied. ) You the human, me the vampire?
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