ARRIVAL LOG 009

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Tokyo
WHEN: October 10
WHAT: The ninth arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion and loss of autonomy. Further notes at end of log.

> ARRIVAL LOG #009

Awareness comes to you in blurred snatches, cloudy fragments of sound and light, color, sensation. Hazy and difficult to grasp on to, but slowly aligning into focus. A series of regular, rhythmic beeps. A sharp, cold breeze that blisters your cheeks as you walk through a thick, cold snow. That soon fades, replaced with warmth. A medicinal, astringent smell. The sensation of movement, a low hum and accompanying vibration under you. Your eyes are heavy, hard to keep open, but in the glimpses between slow, dark blinks you see four people in black body armor seated opposite you, as well as a man in dark gray scrubs.

You realize there are others next to you. All of you in heavy winter coats, water-resistant pants, and snow boots, hair recently cut but at various stages of growth and haphazardly tucked under warm winter hats. You're all restrained by straps across your chests, arms, feet, holding you to the bench under you. To your left, an armored interior door, two more people visible, though due to the storm there's hardly any visibility through the windshield. You try to open your mouth to speak, but it's as if your tongue is coated in tar, and you manage nothing more than an empty parting of lips.

The vehicle stops, landing gingerly in the snow. The guard opposite you stands and comes to unbuckle you from the bench, helping you to your feet. Your limbs feel wooden and heavy, slow to move. One guard opens the back of the vehicle, there's the sound of a high howling wind and that same blast of cold that signals at being somewhere else, combined with a sea of white as far as your eyes can see. The nurse moves to stand at the back, checking each passenger over one by one just before they're helped out of the vehicle, quick and methodical. He doesn't climb out after you, moving to sit as the last passenger is unloaded.

The guards keep their heads down. Their actions are quick, firm, but not entirely unkind. Once all the passengers are out, most of them climb back into the vehicle and close the doors. One stays behind, pointing you and whoever else is near you to one of the closest buildings. "In there," he orders, just before he interfaces with the doors and they slide open. "Stick around until your buddies come to find you. You'll know who they are."

Snow comes up to your knees on this city street, and you're left with no idea of where you are or why you've been brought here. But you'll feel compelled to move toward the building that the guard pointed at and step inside. In fact, you'll have no choice but to follow that order. Once you're in, he closes the doors behind you and hops back inside the vehicle. The engine powers up again, and then the large truck lifts up slowly and flies off.

Inside you'll find the lobby of what seems to be a corporate building. After taking note of the fact that there's a small group of other people dressed in similar clothes who are also confused about how they got to this place, you'll be able to warm up and try to figure out what's going on. For now, it's impossible to exit the building. The same door you came in won't open no matter what you try, so you're all stuck for now.

But don't worry, help is on the way.

◉ Though entirely capable of independent action and thought, new characters will find themselves completely, unquestioningly compliant to any verbal statement which could be taken as a command or request.

> WATANABE CORPORATE BUILDING

The message from El comes the same as usual: insistent, not waiting for any active attempt to open it. Scrolling within your vision as if being written while you're reading it.

I know you all were wondering what would happen if we had a batch of new arrivals while you're all out on your little field trip, but it turns out that they've all landed in New Tokyo too. They're holed up in the lobby of a corporate building, so make your way over and escort them to the PRESERVE dorms. Try for a warm welcome, okay?

At the lobby where the new arrivals have been dumped, they'll find that there's a check-in desk which is currently unmanned, and on the wall behind it there's a logo mounted which reads "Watanabe Corporation." There's no one to be found here and no one to greet them. The good news is that the building is heated, meaning that those heavy coats can probably come off for now. Further in on the ground floor, there's a set of six elevators that presumably lead up to the many floors of the skyscraper, but they're non-functional, and there don't seem to be any accessible stairs either.

For now, all the newcomers can do is make use of the comfortable chairs in the lobby and commiserate among themselves about what's going on. There's a water cooler and some cups to make use of as well, all of it made of biodegradable material, but there's only so much. Try to share.

The Displaced who received a message from El will have also received a GPS pin showing the location of the new arrivals. At this point, the promised supplies (which includes clothing appropriate for the harsh weather, along with additional foodstuffs to stock the dormitory kitchen) have come in compliments of PRESERVE. Everyone will be allowed to leave the dorms where they've been cooped up for the last two days to explore the city or go help out the newcomers.

Getting around a city covered in snow is a little more of a challenge. Going by foot is an option, although most of the streets haven't been shoveled yet and it will be slow-going. It's more feasible to make use of a hover bike. There's a garage connected to the dormitory that's stocked with twenty-some bikes. While they don't function perfectly well over snow and reckless driving with such poor visibility could easily lead to a cold and painful crash, it has to beat walking. If you don't how to drive, guess you'll have to find someone who does. (The bikes can seat two.)

> PRESERVE DORMS

With the help of the current Displaced, the new arrivals will be brought back to a dormitory building managed by PRESERVE. PRESERVE is a world-wide relief organization that focuses on environmental conservation and disaster relief. While a good number of Morningstar agents have joined up with PRESERVE thanks to their charitable activities and because they're UN sanctioned, it is not an organization that's affiliated with Morningstar. As a group, they are entirely pacifistic in their ideals – they believe the world can be saved through being conscientious.

The Displaced are here because they agreed to help PRESERVE with a very different disaster, but that's now a very severe and uncommon snowstorm. This is where they're all staying during the trip, so while this isn't anything close to home, it will have to do for now. A representative from PRESERVE by the name of Nico has been hanging around the dorms, ready to answer any questions from any of the Displaced, new or old. Nico is also a member of Morningstar, as well, though she'll be very hush hush about this fact when around her fellow PRESERVE members.

Newbies will be allowed to pick out additional clothes and gear from a cache of supplies (there's coats, thermal underwear, boots, scarves, hats, gloves, and anything else that would be needed to survive the intense cold), and they'll also need to figure out which of the rooms has an opening where they can sleep. It's four people to a room, with the use of two sets of bunk beds, and space was already limited before the newcomers got added to the mix. Hopefully peace can be maintained and there won't be too much fighting over who gets top bunk.

Other than the rooms, the dorm building has a kitchen, a large common area with comfortable couches and chairs, communal bathrooms, and a small, modestly stocked infirmary. There's also a viewing room which is a large space furnished with bean bag chairs and other comfortable things to lounge on, and a large blank wall that's meant to be used for group viewings of movies, shows, etc. This requires one character to "throw out" their feed from their neural implant onto the wall, and anyone who wanted to watch with them would need to sync up with their ID to watch along. Anyone not synced would just see a blank wall – and unfortunately, that does include anyone new.

There are other PRESERVE volunteers staying in this dormitory and milling about. Many of them already had supplies, so they've been in and out since the Displaced arrived.

◉ The drugs making new characters compliant will remain in their systems for a few hours after their arrival at the dorms before finally beginning to fade. They will be gone entirely after a night's rest. In the meantime, they may want to be careful of what others say to them.

◉ New characters will be given rudimentary access to the network on arrival to the dorms, but will not have their ID set up yet. They will be able to make posts and replies, but their messages will be anonymous and they do not have inboxes yet.

◉ Normally, new characters are confined to a safehouse for 4 days before they can leave and explore the city. Given that these newbies have arrived under unorthodox circumstances, that won't be the case for them. They'll be able to come and go from the dorms, but given that it's a frozen tundra outside, they'll at least want to prep first. At some point during this adjustment period, you can assume that El will contact them and work on setting up their IDs. There is no law enforcement around in these conditions, so anyone wanting to head out can.

◉ New characters won't be able to abscond to somewhere else in the world, as a lack of ID means no tickets or travel papers.

◉ While most businesses in New Tokyo are shuttered, a few convenience shops remain open near PRESERVE's dormitories because they know they can make money off volunteers. New characters won't have any means of paying, as they don't have a registered ID. They'll have to see if a kind soul will spot them the credits if they want something.

> RELIEF EFFORTS

With the new arrivals successfully recovered and supplies delivered to keep everyone warm in the harsh conditions, it's time to set out and fulfill the reason for everyone being here: to offer support and relief to the population affected by the harrowing storm. Nico will provide the Displaced with the information they need to get their boots on the ground and make a difference. There are a number of ways that she'll suggest to help out.

◉ First, she'll deliver a word of caution. While New Tokyo is a large, entirely steel city that runs deep underwater, most of its citizens have evacuated to the upper levels and are huddling down in various locations hoping for some relief. Heading deeper in the large city structure could prove dangerous. In this emergency, heating is centralized on the upper levels of the entire man-made metal city structure, while the lower levels are frigid and dangerous at this time. The only heating revolves around the trains coming and going, and their schedules have been largely delayed thanks to the storm.

◉ Delivering food, clothing, and medical supplies. With power cut off from most homes and all of the citizens having been cautioned to stay indoors and conserve warmth, there are a lot of people running low on food stores. Those who live in impoverished areas are even worse off, with little insulation in their homes. The threat of some people freezing to death is real, so getting the needed supplies to those people could allow them to hold out until power is restored or the storm has passed. Nico encourages people to travel to these neighborhoods in pairs for safety reasons, and again, the hover bikes will come in handy here. Supplies can be carried in heavy-duty backpacks or in a side-car attached to the bike, and all of this is provided by PRESERVE.

◉ Shoveling snow. For those of the Displaced who aren't opposed to grueling manual labor, one of the largest concerns is getting the major streets cleared of snow so that transportation is easier. The train lines also need to be cleared off so public transit can eventually be reinstated, so assuming they're not afraid of heights, the Displaced will get access onto the train tracks that crisscross above the city to clear the snow off. Some homes are also completely snowed in, trapping the residents inside, so those will also need to be cleared. There's no shortage of work to be done. PRESERVE will provide the snow shovels, and they have access to a single snow plow that can be used in shifts by anyone who's got a driver's license (also found in the garage). Nico will also hand out hot packs. Everyone should be bundling up, but in the event that someone takes a fall or ends up with too much snow-to-skin contact, the hot packs will help stave off the cold and prevent frostbite.

◉ Missing persons. There have been multiple reports of missing persons sent into PRESERVE, and the Displaced will be assigned particular people to go look for, if they let Nico know they're interested in this task. She'll give them the description of the missing person and their last known location. This could be anywhere within the city of New Tokyo -- a shopping district, a residential area, a park, etc. If they manage to find the missing person, they'll be instructed to take them to the closest PRESERVE relief center so they can receive medical attention and be reunited with their families.

◉ Restoring power. Turbines are jammed due to ice build-up past any conceivable norm, and need to be carefully thawed and given a jump from a backup battery pack. This is a highly dangerous, but necessary endeavor. The turbines are located offshore due to the fact that New Tokyo primarily generates energy through tidal power. When working correctly, these offshore turbines then feed energy into local sources within the city. For those who have any sort of experience with electrical work, they'll be directed toward areas in the city where covered electrical boards interconnected with the city's branched power source have been buried. They'll need to be cleared of snow, checked, reconnected, and made ready for when the turbines begin to flow again.

While the new arrivals are welcome to help out with these relief efforts if they wish, it certainly won't be expected, given that they're still getting adjusted to everything that's going on. They're allowed to stay in the warm confines of the dormitory building until everyone returns to New Amsterdam, if that's what they would prefer. As for the rest of the Displaced, there will be some expectation that they're going to contribute. That's the whole reason they came all this way, isn't it? And it's not like Nico knows that some of them didn't actually sign up for this.

> FINAL OOC NOTES

Welcome to Meadowlark, newbies! You're now free to post to the network and logs comms. To reiterate, your characters will have no IDs or inboxes until October 14th (OOCly, April 25th). All posts they make on the network until that point will be anonymous. During this time it's expected they'll have gotten a good idea of their new situation from their fellow characters, and will have discussed their background and job potentials with El in order for their false IDs to be set up.

If you have any questions or ideas about how you'd like to get your character involved in the world, please head over to the plot engagement post and drop us a comment! For questions specific to this log, there is a thread below.

Please check out our April/May calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month, as well as some additional notes from the mods.

As a reminder, AC for new characters accepted in April will be 10 comments across 2-4 threads, while current characters will need to provide the full AC of 20 comments across 2-4 threads. AC will be posted on May 1 and close on May 8 at midnight UTC. If you do not reply to AC, you will be considered idled and dropped from the game. We will not post a warning list.

> NAVIGATION

Comments

[gasping]

[ she hasn't been around long, but she's been around long enough to have her own clothes. things that fit, that offer more color than simple grey-on-black-on-neutral as per the requisite just arrived jumble, things she likes. things that make her feel a little bit more like herself, even if her hair's still shoulder-length and she can't make people do whatever she wants. ]

Damon. [ not quite a "hello" back, but she's not kicking him down a hallway, either. that's points for progress, right? ] Long enough. When did you get here?

[ who let you in is on the tip of her tongue, but she holds herself back (for once). she'll find out eventually, she's sure. people talk here, they always do. somebody's bound to start complaining about the rude, arrogant asshole that demanded to be let in. she doubts he managed it with any amount of finesse or courtesy. ]

And why are you storming around in people's rooms? Does nobody want to bunk with you?

[ a Surprise, if there ever was one. ]

[corrosive]

( her slight change in appearance isn't enough in and of itself to shock him. after all, he's sporting the same trimmed look, though his has grown back in even if it is shorter than usual. he's dealing. it's only hair and not nearly as much of a violation as whatever else they did to him which he's still trying to work out. )

A few hours ago. ( the building, anyway. he's not going to pretend that he has a firm grasp on how much time has elapsed from the vehicle to the lobby to the dorms because he doesn't. he narrows his eyes at her snide remark, briefly agitated, and then it rolls right off of him like his entire outfit is water-resistant. ) Please. I'm an absolute gem to live with. I don't want to bunk with any of these people.

( and because he simply can't resist seeing if he can get a rise out of caroline: )

Love the haircut, by the way.

[gasping]

Oh, shut up.

[ it's a knee-jerk reaction, like slapping a mosquito away from her ears or blowing a hair out of her eyes, but it's a particularly effective one. he's new enough that the compulsion drugs haven't worked their way out of his system, and so caroline's candid clapback serves one beautiful, immediate purpose: it shuts him the hell up for once in their undead existence.

she's elated with her own discovery, hands clasping together in unbridled glee as she begins to circle around him, remaining just out of arm's reach. this is a dangerous game — egging on the cobra never ended well for the mongoose — but she's been through a lot in the last few weeks, and this is the first opportunity for caroline to really just have fun with the misery business she's been placed into. sue her for enjoying the entertainment while she can. ]

Nobody wants to bunk with you because you're a jerk and you know it. [ rude, but honest. ] Lucky for you, I'm not a jerk.

[ she is, actually, kind of a jerk right now. but she's a jerk with two weeks of seniority and a little knowledge under her belt, and there are some things they need to talk about before she can just let him run rampant around this safehouse. ]

Go in. [ she gestures towards her own door, where only the top bunks are box-free and available. her jacket still lingers on the railing of her own bunk on the far wall. ] Don't leave.

[ and then, after a beat: ] I guess you can talk, though. But don't scream.

[ remember when you said that to her, damon? remember when you compelled her? turnabout's a bitch, isn't it? ]

[corrosive]

( the eye roll is instantaneous. oh please, like that’s going to work. damon opens his mouth and flounders like a fish out of water. nothing comes out. bewilderment takes over, resentment short on its heels. he’s inwardly fuming as she gravitates around him, spinning steadily, in constant movement so that his back is never entirely open to caroline. the mistrust runs deep, though he doesn’t peg caroline as the type to misuse someone. ride this train right into the ground until its all out of thrills for her? oh yeah.

the heat seeps into his cheeks as he sneers openly, listening to caroline because he has no other option. he could kill her — he would put a stop to it, if they weren’t dead smack in the middle of the hall for anyone to see and his speed isn’t up to snuff.

caroline may be blunt yet she isn’t inaccurate. damon is a mean person, particularly when he has no balancing points. if the displaced knew him they wouldn’t want to shack up with him but they don’t ( and they won’t if he has anything to say about it, which he doesn’t at the moment ). he gives real good samaritan, she can ask liz some time.

damon is glowering at the next series of commands with the screw you all over his features. he does as he’s instructed, stiffly walking into the small room and looking over the closed space. he moves towards the far wall, tempted to rip off a metal bar or a hunk of wood from the nearest bunk and ram it right into her gut. maybe she can read his mind, see it in the line of his back. perhaps ( and this is more likely ) she isn’t as horrible as a person as he is. either way, she compells him to speak. )

Better yet: how about you give me one good reason not to stab you right now? ( being deserving of this? owning up to his wrongs? they aren't at that level of friendship. ) Start talking.

[gasping]

Because you can't. [ it comes in the same smug, self-satisfied tone as a six-year-old's taunt. i know something you don't know practically screams in neon lettering across her expression as she follows him into the small room, the door latching shut behind her. he could try to kill her. if their roles were reversed, she'd certainly try to kill him.

but caroline remembers all too vividly how she'd felt when she'd first woken up in new amsterdam, when she'd been unceremoniously dumped in the middle of the night (small blessings) in an alleyway near a festival — wildly hungry, impossibly weak, impulses screaming to feed on the first warm body she could find after god only knew how long without. if damon wanted to fight her, he could, but unlike him, she's fed recently. and not just on bunny blood and stale hospital supplies, either. she's fed from people, people here, people with power in their veins and hearts still thumping wildly in their chests. she's fed on people who have given themselves to her willingly, without compulsion or convincing, and she feels incredible for it.

for once, caroline's stronger, and she's angrier too — they might both be angry at their mysterious kidnappers, but she's still angry at him, still wearing the bitterness of her last memories in mystic falls on her sleeves, and far more willing to dump all of that right into a damon salvatore special. ]

But if you want to try and stab me, be my guest. I would love to see you try.

[corrosive]

( can’t. can’t is a magic word that damon has heard over and over again, ad nauseum. he can’t kill so-and-so because elena cares about them or because there are too many eyes watching or because he’s come so far from the person he’s been for the last fifty or so years with his humanity turned off. he hates that word with the same potency that he despises the absence of the ring on his middle finger and the ability to tell people to get in line and do whatever the hell he wants. ( he’d learned that the hard way in the lobby and he’d just assumed that he was too weak, too hungry, to have any kind of power over anyone. ) caroline’s words crawl under his skin and she knows it. she knows him. she knows the version of himself that he defaults to.

but she forgets: he’s also the guy that prefers the element of surprise and right now, he doesn’t have the upperhand in that regard. he still thinks he has one normally in every other aspect. )

What do you mean I can't? ( she knows something. she's too chipper not to have a secret. he's picking up on that because it's what he'd do albeit with a lot less mercy. and why does he get the impression that she doesn't want to tell him? if she wants to goad him into action, it won't be that hard, especially not if she persists in taunting him instead of answering his questions. ) What are you talking about?

Because if this is about self-control, you're talking to the wrong Salvatore. ( actually, they both have pretty shoddy restraint problems. )

[gasping]

[ he's not wrong: part of her, the vindictive teen girl part of her, doesn't want to tell him. that part of her wants to use and abuse and manipulate him like he manipulated her, send him packing right back into the cold to suffer and wait out the few hours until the drugs leave his system. but the rest of her hears stefan's reminders over and over — breathe, caroline. keep your control, keep your cool. that part of her knows that even the compulsion drugs are a temporary solution, and that if she does send him back out into the cold, he'll just come back for her with a vengeance. he's already been invited into this safehouse. she can't take that back, not without finding out who did the invitation.

can the invitation even be taken back? can a vampire be "un-invited"? she doesn't know. there are too many rules, too many nitty gritty details that she hadn't yet had a chance to learn, and without someone she can trust to ask (without the other brother, as caroline had so flippantly put it to elena one day) there's no way to know.

anything she asks damon will be answered, but the answer will always be colored by what's best for him, and she can't trust him to make what's best for him what's best for her.

so she can't do what she wants to do — and she can't take the nuclear option and kill him, either. she doesn't have the stomach for it, and he knows it. but she can make him suffer. he deserves that much. (doesn't he?) ]

Give me one good reason why I should tell you anything. We both know you wouldn't tell me.

[corrosive]

Because Caroline, if you don’t tell me, I’ll be forced to take matters into my own hands and find someone who will. ( whenever it is that he can leave the room or one of the other people that end up bunking here show up. she can’t want that, what with being a good person with morals and a conscience. it’s a dirty trick but his back’s against the wall here and it isn’t as if she’s given him any other option but to play the game his way. these are the rules he’s exceptional at breaking. he doesn’t want to toe the line and out them, here, where everything on the playing board is different but he will.

he will if he doesn’t get what he wants, ensuring that life here is as complicated and challenging for her as it will be for him. ) Do you think their tongues will be as hard to pry out of their skulls as yours?

( egging someone on, pushing them, it's simple for that to topple in the other direction. )

Feeling chatty yet?

[gasping]

[ she's not scared of damon. or, rather, she's not afraid of damon attacking her. specifically, she's not afraid of damon attacking her right now, while they're operating on drastically different levels of the playing field. she's got the good stuff keeping her buoyant and peppy, he's practically a day away from drying out, and she's got the benefit of knowing about the fun drugs in his system on her side.

tomorrow, who knows. once damon lets loose on a megacity of unsuspecting humans? definitely a different story. and not one she's particularly keen on experiencing, because she's tried so hard to keep her whole good vampire shtick underwraps for the most part, and she's actually done a semi-decent job of it thus far. sure, a couple people (maybe more than a couple) know, but it's not like she's out in the open. there aren't any pitchfork brigades, anyway.

but letting damon seek out vengeance and bitter retribution on innocent people in this safehouse is a level of deranged vampire madness she will not allow. not as long as she can help it. so, for now, caroline stands firm: she blocks his access to the only exit, hands crossed firmly over her chest, and glares. ]

I can take you, you know. [ in her voice, it sounds like a pipe dream, but she believes it. she's confident in this, if nothing else. ] You can play nice, or you can try to get through me. Your choice.

[corrosive]

( wait. are those his eyeballs on the floor? did he roll them that hard? gosh darn it, he hates when that happens. he hasn’t tried leaving but if it’s anything like the hallway, he’s not sure that he can since caroline told him not to. going through her may not be an option but she can’t play the role of damon’s annoying(ly hot) babysitter forever. she’s going to have to leave eventually, whether that’s because she’s been trapped in close quarters with him for too long or because she’s hungry is irrelevant. )

Oh, please. Please take me. ( huh. did that sound crass? spoiler: it’s supposed to. he lowers his voice with some flourish, entirely to her disgust.

he saunters close and invades her space, every step measured, until he’s directly in front of her. he isn’t smirking. that usual air of confidence isn’t radiating off of him. damon can feel the weariness; the headache from trying to access certain aspects of himself that are no longer there, the weakness from not having fed. sooner or later, that’s going to become dangerous regardless of what his intentions are and he will kill. )

You can’t keep me in here forever. ( and if she doesn't push him, then he turns back around and heads for what he assumes is her bed ( he saw the jacket ) to plop down. ) Dibs.

[gasping]

[ see, here's the problem. damon hadn't compelled her to find him attractive. that much caroline had done all on her own, even if it was slightly petty intentions driving her to it. it was the feeding and not screaming and forgetting that required a little supernatural encouragement — and unsurprisingly, it was the compulsion that also fueled caroline's anger once her memories began flooding back in.

does she particularly want to strip down for him at his extremely sarcastic request? no. not at all. but did she, once upon a time, of her own free will? absolutely. and caroline's never been a very good liar, so while she does roll her eyes, the heat's just not quite there. it's more annoyance than disgust.

annoyance that only grows when he sidles his way into her personal space, close enough that she can smell the astringent the guards must have used on him, still lingering on his skin. he hasn't showered yet. probably hasn't been nice enough to anyone to encourage them to show him the way, either. ]

You're such an asshole.

[ but he's still the closest thing she has to home, so for now, caroline doesn't slap him. she does shove him back a bit, though. just hard enough to get him out of her bubble, just enough to give her some breathing room, and then her arms go right back across her chest.

there's a beat, as she watches him get all too comfortable next to her jacket, before she speaks again. ]

Tell me the truth. [ not like he has a choice right now. ] How hungry are you? Scale of "I'll find a bunny tomorrow" to "I could drain a football team as an appetizer".

[corrosive]

( most people think damon isn’t self aware, that he can’t see past his own nose and the things in his orbit. damon chooses not to see anything else. he’s painfully aware of the pitfalls of his personality about as intimately as he’s familiar of the handsome package it’s all wrapped up in. he’s toxic. unlike stefan, he doesn’t view the world with compassion and a mellow, patient and empowering love. his heart ( once given away ) is a suffocating, undesirable gift that’s better crushed beneath a heel than worn on a white gold chain around the neck.

he revels in the knowledge that he can still dig at caroline in some capacity and that in spite of her threats, she doesn’t feel the need to sink down to his level and resort to violence.

( and she smells nice, which is really neither here nor there. )

damon doesn’t stop looking satisfied when she puts hands on him and it remains plastered there long after he gets cozy on her bunk. the thanks, i work out is right there, as sure as someone like matt donovan or tyler lockwood would flex. damon keeps it behind his teeth because her direct order has him sitting up rigid and an unrelated comment tumbles out. )

I could drain three sonority girls and come up for seconds. ( he thins his lips out then. that's not how he would answer given the choice. damon thinks he has it under control. it's fine. he's fine. he's been around a lot longer than her and drained of his blood to the point of crawling to equal almost as many fingers as he has, so this is a cake walk. it's not like the urge is itching under his skin or that his fangs ache in his gums where he's fighting to suppress the black veins from protruding and the rupturing of sharp teeth. ) Does it matter? I have it under control.

( for how long? stop sweating the little things, caroline. )

[gasping]

[ if this was mystic falls, she wouldn't worry about him — or, rather, she wouldn't bother to try and control the situation. that would be stefan's job. maybe elena's, depending on which end of the salvatore brother pendulum she felt like swinging to that day. but it wasn't caroline's job to manage the bloodlust of a vampire a few hundred years her senior, especially not the vampire that had once fed on her what felt like another lifetime ago.

(maybe it was another lifetime. maybe that girl and this girl weren't the same, even if they wore the same face. maybe she'd done more than wake up in that hospital bed.)

but this isn't mystic falls. this isn't even the same country, the same century. this is a cyberpunk hellscape four hundred something years in the future, one in which they've been experimented on and tinkered with and changed — and in the wake of that change, they've had to adjust. or caroline has, in any case. because, whether damon's realized it or not yet, stefan's preferred method of bunny blood just won't work here. there are no bunnies. no foxes. no anything. and without the benefit of compulsion, there's no innocent bodies on the wayside to drain and drop and dupe into memory loss.

all of which together means one very simple thing: if he tries to handle this his way, it's going to fuck it up for her. ]

You don't have anything under control, Damon, come on. You look like a junkie in withdrawals right now.

[ skittish, impulsive, twitchy. desperate for a fix. for a feed. she can practically feel the bloodlust coming off him in waves. if she wasn't so intimately familiar with the feeling, she might think it pathetic. instead, she just feels bad... which is sort of a weird thing to feel for damon salvatore, but she's trying not to think about it too much. ]

Do you want my help or not?

[ this time, her arms uncross; her left hand drops to rest on her hip, index finger sporting a familiar band of blue and silver. she'd woken up with it, conveniently enough, this morning. she's still not sure how. ]

[corrosive]

Not. ( he rebuffs, ungrateful down to his bones. he doesn’t want her assistance because he’s still cross at her for going and getting herself ( and tyler ) kidnapped in the first place. she’s like a magnet for the abducting types. for lingering in those woods, for forcing elena to consume his blood, for tyler choosing the worst moment in the world to shift. okay, so he’s projecting. it’s just that if he can’t do this for himself ( like he’s always done ), then what the hell is even the point? for an incredibly long time, damon had damon’s back, period.

he takes a steadying breath to clarify his perspective and peers down at the floor because anything beats finding sympathy on caroline forbes’ face.

damon can do this. he can seduce someone. he can build that connection, convince them to trust him and allow him to feed on them ( like katherine had done to him ) but the issue is that he doesn’t have that kind of time frame. the window is getting smaller and smaller with every passing minute and as the firmest naysayer to consuming bambi and all of his furry little friends, he’s about to wait for nightfall and start belting out songs with snow white if that’s what it takes.

without fresh blood in his system, his senses are minimalized. he can pick up fleeting scents of passerbys, people milling about in the rooms beside them and something he thinks must be blood—faint, like it’s not a recent injury or it’s an incredibly tiny one. he's so involved in his own thoughts that he misses the ring on caroline's hand. if he'd seen it, he'd probably try and pry it off of her. at the very least, he'd grasp up her hand and examine it. he'd have more questions like where's mine? with a resigned expression, he pulls his gaze up and assesses her. ) What are you going to do for me that I can't do for myself?

[gasping]

[ she sighs. it'd be so easy, wouldn't it? it'd be so easy to just take him at face value, to walk out the door, to leave him stewing in his own failed ego. she could walk out the door and find someone else, anyone else, to spend her time with. anyone would be better than damon.

but for the same reason that stefan never turned his back on her, caroline can't turn her back on him. because even though damon's a dick, even though he's a grade a manipulative asshole, even though she hates what he did to her and what he continues to do to everyone she cares about, he doesn't deserve to suffer like this. chained up in the bottom of a well in mystic falls with only his own misery for company? sure. he'd earned that. but being forced to suffer here, in the future, at someone else's hand? it just felt cruel.

so she sighs, again, and sinks down onto the opposite cot, hands falling to clasp gently in her lap. ]

You're so stupid. [ it's true, but it's not mean-spirited. it's almost (kill her) fond, in a weird way. ] You can't just go out there and compel people into letting you do whatever you want to them.

[ a beat. ]

And I don't mean 'you can't' like this is some Elena moral high ground. Like, you literally can't do it. Neither of us can. Which means if you go after some slutty sorority girls, they're going to remember, and they're going to call the cops. And you have no idea how good the security is here, so you'd totally get caught in five seconds being creepy in some alleyway with your fangs in somebody's neck.

[ so. maybe it's not a great option for him to consider. ]

But, [ big but. ] You don't want my help, so go ahead. Tell me you've got it all figured out. Go, if that's what you want to do.

[ she gestures towards the door. the command-spell, the drug-fueled compulsion, washes away with her words. he's free, if he wants to be. but he won't find answers out there. ]

[corrosive]

( he watches caroline with a scrutiny that would make a lesser person uncomfortable. he’s not asking her to stick it out. tough out his ragged edges and see him through. damon has never actually been on the receiving end of the caroline forbes experience. she’s unwavering in her determination, regardless of what he says or does to her and to be honest, he should have noticed this a long time ago. she died with his blood in her system but before that, he’d used her for everything she was worth and for some reason ( elena, maybe ) she still came around.

so there’s a lot to unpack.

damon trudges through his thoughts while she continues to insult him. she has so many good qualities but what he focuses on is that she's also an idiot for thinking she can help him. )

You think I don’t know that? You think I didn’t figure that out within five minutes of being thrown into the cold and trapped in a building with people I couldn’t care less about? ( of course he tried. he tried and he failed. all he’d been rewarded with for telling a person to forget what they saw was a weird look and a ‘you must be crazy’ comment, and now who knows what’s out there? but thankfully, he hadn’t ripped into anyone’s throat. he can still fix this. that's damage control 101. roll with the crazy, explain it away as trying to get your life together after being uprooted. play on emotions. )

I don't want your help. I've got it all figured out.

( he stands because it's instinct, because running is what he does. run from the truth, run from the pain—just run. it doesn't matter where he ends up as long as it's anywhere but here. he stops in the threshold, hand on the frame. he can step through it. his boot's past the doorway and it means he can leave. he can turn his back on everything behind him and do what he has to. damon sighs, not imperceptible because she can hear nearly anything with those ears and he looks over his shoulder. what's he supposed to say? is she waiting for an apology from him? she's sitting on that bed, putting herself out there, and damon doesn't feel anything but anger because he has to rely on someone other than himself.

he re-enters the room but only enough to lean right next to the door, back to the wall. )

I don't want your help but I need it.

[gasping]

I don't want to help you, either.

[ she's still new at this. her emotions are heightened, and her bitterness hasn't had the chance to fade away yet; given the chance, caroline would certainly have taken the opportunity to warn the residents of the safehouse, prevent them from inviting him in, encouraged them to leave him to suffer on his own in the watanabe lobby and far away from the life she was trying to live here.

but he was already here. he was already invited in, he'd already made presumably at least one connection, and it wasn't going to be that easy to just make him go away. even if that would be the easier option, she knows she doesn't have it in her. plus, she's never had to hide a body on her own, and she's not exactly sure who she could ask for help.

maybe malone. he might know.

but she's not going to kill him. that's never been her first impulse. it might have been his impulse with her, but she's going to do better than that. she promised stefan she'd be better than that. killing people is not the solution. it's just an invitation to more problems. ]

But I have to.

[ somebody has to. they have to be careful, or they could both wind up in danger. ]

Come here. Don't do the weird lurking creeper thing. I hate that.

[corrosive]

( he can dispute that logic of hers. she doesn’t have to do anything. dissecting her point isn’t beneficial to him and so damon has to avidly choose to subdue the urge to play devil’s advocate. contrary to what she thinks of him, he does know how important it is to keep a cover story going. it’s one thing when he rolls into a bigger city or a small town with the sole purpose of ripping a charade to shreds to punish another person and it’s another when he can’t run away when things get bad. she doesn’t know this but damon had actually been the voice of reason once upon a time, insisting we have to be smart like katherine to his off the rails little brother.

she’s not the perfect role model by any means. people die around her, metaphorically or literally, but she remains the craftiest, most ruthless survivor that damon knows. smart like katherine is why lexi, vicki, and mason are dead and why damon is interwoven so deep in the council to pull him out would be the same as dismantling the whole organization. not setting faith on the crown of someone’s head like a laurel is exactly why he’s lived this long.

but ( because there’s always a but ) lexi tried to save him once. sage helped him, turned him around from the joyless, guilt stricken, going-through-the-motions guy that never would have survived a century, and there’s another name that damon never unburies. he tries not to dwell on how all three of those people are dead or presumed dead, just like rose. eventually, he pushes away from the wall and crosses the room to sit beside her on the cot. he leaves a gap between them, not so wide that it still feels like they’re on opposite sides of the room but a decent amount. )

Now what? ( the unappreciative tone is gone, replaced by a mellow inquiry. it's caroline's idea and so this gets to go down how she wants it to or not at all. relinquishing control is a grueling process, particularly when there's an undying notion in the crevices of his mind that tells him she has an ulterior motive beyond saving her own ass. ) Because I can get my own food and I can even be discrete about it if I have to. ( that's what she needs to hear, isn't it? that he won't get her killed? ) But I don't have that kind of time.

[gasping]

[ now what. the question hangs between them, tension and uncertainty thick enough in the air to be sliced by a knife; so, too, does the awareness of time, of how little he actually has, of the ever-marching demands of his body for something more sustaining than the protein bars and faux coffee in the kitchen.

and while caroline thinks she might be able to phone a friend to beg a favor, this isn't the kind of thing she can just spring on someone. she can ask malone or fitz (or, hell, clarke in a pinch) but she can't ask them to accept someone else. not without broaching the subject, talking it through, convincing them. he doesn't have the time, and frankly, neither does caroline.

there's really only one solution — and it's only because of her own arrival circumstances that she even thinks of it. ]

This is a one time thing, okay. One time. Just enough to top you off, and then you're on your own.

[ and then, before damon can ask his requisite stupid questions or protest or tell her how stupid and inexperienced she is, caroline bares her fangs and buries them into the skin of her wrist, mouth sucking just long enough for two bubbles of dark red to bubble up before she pulls back.

if there should be any hesitance in the gesture of extending her wrist out to him, it's brushed clean away by the determined set of her mouth, a firm line that gives no room for argument. ]

Just do it.

cw: for blood, feeding, etc.

[corrosive]

( he’s not blind. he can see the end of the tracks coming up in sight fast and he can see the wreckage—he can see how and when and why, they’re going to crash in a mangle of twisted metal and fire. she’s the stupid one, if she turns and looks out the window, watching the sights roll by instead of staring ahead at the upcoming collision. he knows where it’s going when she broaches the subject ( where else can it go? ) and damon inhales, ready to laugh in her face and tell her she should really get that brain tumor of hers looked at if she thinks for one second that he’s—

—and then caroline punctures her wrist with her fangs and damon breathes in the intoxicating scent of blood, rushing to the surface and it doesn’t even matter that it isn’t technically fresh. )

Caroline, ( pours out of him and he means for it to be menacing, like every other warning he’d thrown up like stop signs in her direction. he intends for it to mirror the tone of stop talking and the get out of my sight that he’d said not that long ago but it comes out breathless and desperate to his great disappointment. she doesn’t know what implications offering herself to him ( to another vampire ) holds and to be fair, for damon it’s never amounted to anything. a give and take of control, though it’s supposed to mean much, much more.

dark veins ripple under his bright blue eyes and he shuts his eyes when he wraps his hand around her forearm and sets the other over hers, cradling her wrist to his mouth. he doesn’t know if he listens because she’s telling him to or because he’s incapable of fighting her when he’s this famished and strung out, feeling like he could drain her dry. he shouldn’t do it but he does. damon sinks his fangs into the spot where hers had been, keeping the skin from healing up and closing, and drinks.

on his end, there’s relief. blood is life. caroline’s giving him life by sacrificing a fraction of hers ( and they’ve been here before, haven’t they? ) for damon, there’s pleasure and desire, wrapped up in necessity. he enjoys feeding because it's about more than food, more than life, it's all encompassing. he can feel the flow of it through his lips and over his tongue and down his throat and it's so perfectly intoxicating. there's something else, too. something not his. he can sense it mixed up in more and yes and caroline's pulse on his tongue and it's what pulls him back, has him retracting his fangs and breaking away from her with a swipe of his thumb over the two puncture marks. applying brief pressure, wiping off the excess, and while he doesn't pretend that his breathing isn't ragged, he also doesn't have anything to say.

so he stares with a few droplets of blood on his thumb that haven't quite made it to his mouth yet.

she knows he wants more in the same way he knows how conflicted she is about the entire scenario.

still, his face returns to normal as soon as he can manage the feat. he's not keen on anyone walking in and seeing them like this. his lips remain sealed, save for the brush of his tongue against his bottom lip to catch any residual blood. )

[gasping]

[ damon has said her name in a million ways. angry, bitter, chiding. disappointed, exasperated. she's heard every letter of the alphabet covered and then some with the varieties of three syllables drawled out between his lips — and yet, this is one way she's never heard it said. breathless, gasping; he says her name like the answer to a prayer and not the sworn curse it could be, the sound of it echoing in her ears as desperate hands clutch at her skin, tugging her wrist up to the part of his lips.

he pulls, he drinks, and though she expects the sudden swell of light-headedness as blood rushes from her body to the surface of her skin, she doesn't expect the flood of emotion that comes rushing in. relief, overwhelming and sincere, mingles with the underlying sense of damon himself: hedonistic pleasure, smug satisfaction, thrill and desire and greed all twisting around each other, difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins.

but it's a two-way street, the bond, and caroline's emotions join the party quickly after. determination, self-assured and certain, but it's easily swept away by something she's loath to even put words to — her own awareness at the intimacy of the situation, of how strangely good it feels, to wield this power and give herself this way to him, not of his compulsion but of her own choice. to be standing on her own two feet, for him to need her in this way; it's a heady sensation that, as she watches him drink, pulls his own name from her lips, a quiet whisper he might have heard once before. damon, nearly whimpered as his take borders on too much, the sound fraying into a sigh as his fangs retract, replaced by the swipe and press of his thumb against the wound.

she almost reaches out, free hand nearly there, to brush fingertips through his shorn locks. but he sits up too quickly, swallowing down the webbing beneath his eyes the way he's taken in the taste of her; her gaze is slow to meet his own, lost on the bitter red against his thumb, her own blood pooled there for the taking.

he wants more. needs it. she can feel that without asking, hear it in the uneven staccato of his breathing. maybe more importantly, she wants him to take it. she wants to wield that power, wants to chase the high of it, to give in just this once to what being in control really means. ]

You don't have to stop.

[corrosive]

( he stays motionless but for the rise and fall of his chest, trying to parse through caroline’s mixed feelings. she’s so confident that she’s sitting in the seat of power here ( and she is, right now, with damon ceding to what he presumes is her will ) but that path is rocky, full of sharp turns and it can change swiftly from an incline to sliding down a hill. she likes that he needs her for a change, that he’s relying on her kindness as opposed to caroline hoping like hell that damon will do the right thing because there’s an elena-shaped angel on his shoulder giving him a disapproving glare. he doesn’t know how he feels about that, yielding his cultivated control over his life. you know, if he ignores that he doesn't have any at all on this planet.

his name on her lips continues to ring in his ears like a catchy melody he can’t shake free.

damon knows caroline liked him biting her, too, in her own way. it’s not just in the emotions, it’s in the haze. the reluctance to meet his eyes and how she’s paying rapt attention to the angry red on the pad of his thumb. what happened to ‘just enough to top him off?’ there are a dozen reasons why they do have to stop: anyone can walk in and see them in a compromising but not entirely inexcusable position ( maybe he's into sucking wrists, they don't know ) and that's really the hugest concern, other than who they are and what they've been through. then again, if this is a test and she's seriously convinced herself that damon's going to be the good guy and show some discipline, she hasn't learned anything.

his hand comes up to push her shoulder-length hair back from her face. she can stop him. she's likely still got a few liters on him. she can catch his arm and stop him from pushing her blonde locks away from her neck. there's a hesitance in the drag of his knuckles on her cheek but an overall sense that he feels that this is the smart play and way less obvious than his fangs right beneath her palm. all she has to do is say she changed her mind, that he does have to stop, that she doesn't want to. it's not like he can compel her to obey him. assuming she hasn't stopped him, he's going to touch her own blood to the center of her lips — it's dirty and it's wrong and damon doesn't care. if he's trusting caroline not to kick him across the room and pin him to stake him while he's distracted, then he wants her to give in more than she has.

is that selfish? yes, without a doubt. and he is! when has he not been a self-absorbed prick?

again, if she hasn't pushed him to the side by now, it's his full intent to lean in and cover her pulse with his mouth for the sole purpose of feeding straight from a larger vein. only ( and don't tell anyone ) he turns the wrist by her face inward hovering in front of her lips when he does so. don't make him say it, caroline. although, maybe he should so there's no misunderstanding. )

Your safety net. ( he paraphrases. ) In case I take too much. ( or in case she wants to get a different kind of high that comes from a circle of feeding. it's her call. does it defeat the purpose? damon's not even sure what the purpose is anymore. )

[gasping]

[ the road to hell is paved with good intentions. if that's true (and caroline knows it is), then she's been laying down bricks on a path since she saw his face. pulling him away, secluding them behind closed doors, deciding to herself that she wouldn't — couldn't — let him die; it's been decision after decision of the very best intentions that has led her here: sitting on a cot with her breath held in her throat, pulse hammering as his mouth skims over the beat, painfully aware of exactly what it is he's going to do.

his thumb ghosts over her cupid's bow, drags rich copper and dark red over her mouth, and caroline's tongue darts out on impulse alone, sweeping the spot clean before his hand even completes its journey. it might be enough to make her gag in retrospect an hour from now, but in the moment, it doesn't matter how much she shouldn't — all that matters, all that she can think about, is the wanting that spills through the bond, the selfish desire, the desperation in it. how much he wants this, and how much caroline likes it.

god, but she does. when she's a little more clear-headed, she might regret giving in to this. in the light of day, caroline might judge herself for enjoying the twist of roles, for taking advantage of his desperation in this way. but not right now.

right now, she's going to breathe out her own consent, not in yes or please or just do it but in the repetition of his name, a little irritation bleeding through (forgive the pun) in the scrape of syllables against the tension in the air. she gives her permission, and in the half-millisecond before fangs dig in, her hand wraps tight around his wrist. in the pause, her head tilts, muscle memory in the basest form giving him better access to a place she remembers him taking for his own on a night a lifetime ago. ]

[corrosive]

( the predictability and simplicity in telling people to act a certain way is something that damon won’t trade after decades of relying on it, yet there’s an addictive quality about a willing participant. the only influence he has over her is seduction. opposite from the traditional kind, she's standing in his shoes. damon associates the pain of piercing skin with blood and blood with sex, not because they’re mutually exclusive but because it doesn’t have to hurt. it doesn’t have to be a transaction. it can be more. if blood is life, then it’s vitality. vibrance. joy. excitement. his thoughts are a whirlwind, wrapped up in the thrill of biting into caroline’s neck.

she tastes exceptional ( like sunlight and cinnamon and things that damon barely remembers from being a kid running through the ground of his childhood home ) and she smells delectable. somewhere between caroline’s fangs in his wrist and the delirium of the blood coating his tongue, he wonders how much of that is actually him talking and how much is the rush, warming him from the inside out. he leans into her and his knee bumps into her thigh, his fingers curling in her hair for something to ground him.

he doesn’t tap her like a maple tree and let it flow freely, rather he’s delighting in the magnificently slow pull, drawing the experience out. the depravity isn’t what he’ll reflect on when this is over it’s that he’s going here with caroline forbes of all people. don’t get him wrong. it isn’t like she’s hard on the eyes ( she’s gorgeous ) or like she doesn’t have wonderful qualities mixed with her unfortunates ones but she’s liz’s daughter. and he has, upon occasion, related to her on some level with the parental drama even if she remains largely inconsequential to damon’s big picture.

but for here, for now, gone to the debilitating cycle of give and take—healing and being drained simultaneously—he forgets himself.

damon can stop any time he wants, which is the predicament, believe it or not. he isn't a ripper. he's a glutton for pleasure, for punishment. he takes them both by the fistfuls. a guttural sound creeps in, muted by her skin. not quite a groan, more of a hum. )

[gasping]

[ she tries to categorize it. she tries to tell herself 'it's just... something'. just what's necessary, just being a good person, just fulfilling her promise. just making damon feel what she felt.

but the truth is: whatever this is, it's unlike anything caroline's ever experienced. wave after wave of conflicting sensations, swells of emotions from the empathy bond between them, crashing awareness of heat and adrenaline and raw power surging through her body. she's fed on humans before, both in waking memory and her recent dreams; she's fed on a dhampir before, once, in the safehouse just after arriving. both are intoxicating in their own right, pleasure and potency in each drip drop of red across her tongue and down her throat, but neither offered her anything close to this.

her blood seeps from her neck into his mouth, slow and steady and slick as it slides across his tongue; in its wake, she can feel the drain, the pulse of her heartbeat pushing to fill the gap only to give more of what he's taking. but from his wrist, too, flows his own into her mouth, greedy hiccups and gulps every so often, unpracticed and unrefined but desperate all the same to balance the scales. a cycle, pleasure and pain both, over and over, her head spinning with the intensity of it.

at one point in between gulps, as her breathing skitters out over his skin, caroline whimpers. his name, again, the only word that seems to solidify in her head, as her hands cling tight to him. he might be able to stop, but right now? she's not sure she could. she's not sure she'd know when to call it quits — and even less sure she knows what calling it quits would mean. ]