Death opens || Vampire Diaries [S1]

Chapter 3: The Ghost's Leavetaking

Trailing in tell-tale tatters only at the outermost
Fringe of mundane vision, this ghost goes,
Hand aloft, goodbye, goodbye

⁂

NADEZHDA

The next few days fly by in a blur. Damon was triumphant in having successfully infiltrated the Founder's Council (something to do with the mayor's drunken wife and some vague cover story about his 'missing' uncle), and Vicki has started to make some real headway learning to control her hunger.

Her habitual drug use and surrender to temptation has made things more difficult for her, but I feel that between the three of us she might come out of this alright. Best of all, Stefan is in such a pique of temper over our apparent success that he's been spending more and more of his time away from the boarding house and our offensive lifestyle. Then again, maybe he's just too busy mooning over Elena to notice.

Regardless, I'm of the opinion that the moment has come for her final test: the live feed. Leaving Vicki in the capable—if impulsive—hands of her 'maker' (I'm old as sin and easily bored. Of course, I watch True Blood), I've run into the next town over to see about snatching us dinner in the form of a helpful passer-by. This is one of Damon's favorite ploys, and one Katherine taught him while he was still human. Maybe it's a sentimental thing for him, but it is certainly effective regardless.

See, you just find some deserted backroad with very little traffic in the middle of the night and lie in wait for the first Good Samaritan to present themselves. It's great because, in small towns like these, someone is always 'passing through' and someone will always stop to help. Even if it's just to check if that body lying in the middle of the road is still breathing. Plus, you get to scare the fuck out these poor hicks, and that's always good for a laugh.

I had been sure to make a few stops along the way for my own sake (one human to three vampires are not good odds if there is to be any chance of a feed making it out alive), and though I had been sorely tempted to drain them as is my habit, I was too aware of my proximity to town to risk it. And so, the first few victims of the evening have escaped generally unscathed. I only now have to hope the same can be said of the next.

As predicted, it doesn't take long for some beefy-looking farmer in a flannel button down to drive his pick-up right into my trap to help the poor damsel in distress strewn in the old dirt road. In a matter of minutes and a few crocodile tears, I have him compelled into silent docility riding in the passenger seat while I drive this old dust monster straight back to Mystic Falls.

I pull his truck off into the trees—resolving to deal with it later should that prove necessary—and lead my captive down the long drive to the boarding house. Still a way from the porch and human hearing, I can make out the rhythmic thump of bass-heavy rock music signaling what seems a reenactment of Vicki's first visit.

It occurs to me that, while certainly capable, Damon may not be the most responsible guardian to trust with a baby vampire. Smiling to myself in anticipation of whatever madness I am sure to discover inside, I lead the way up the steps and through the foyer. Unsurprisingly, I discover upon my entrance exactly the sort of chaos and disarray I should have expected from these two. Although, I admit, I am a tad disappointed by the redundancy.

Inside, the sights and sounds of two scantily clad streaks of lunacy are particularly overpowering even to human senses, dancing and racing about to the unmistakable sounds of conventional rock with all the careless abandon of delighted children.

If they were the sort of children that would rip your throat out and revel in the taste, anyway.

Larry, as I have decided to refer to him, blinks owlishly at the pair in that sort of dazed half-fearful way the minimally compelled will when faced with the inevitability of their own demise.