{okay, it is almost finals week, and I am really tired, and I started out taking this seriously, but I think it is sort of turning out to be crack fiction, so yeah, if nothing else I hope you enjoy this weird thing I have created}
Prompt: You are a world class musician by day and a serial killer by night. You are asked to perform at a funeral for a young woman, only to find out that she was one of your victims.
Bows slid across strings, magic on stage, and early evening moonlight simmered through the glass ceiling. Cymbals clattered in percussive argument with the rest of the players, a broad contrast, a surprise and a shock. The composer intended it that way, the conductor'd explained. It was one of those contemporary pieces that took everything out of context, shattering expectations and leaving audiences in shocked awe.
Tonight, though, the audience focused on the powder keg in a red dress. Floor length and shimmering in moonlight, her dress accentuated all of the right features, and her raven hair slid down her back like a curtain. It was long too, and she danced while she played. Her violin perched under her chin, eyes turned skyward. She didn't need music.
Elena Gilbert, famous for her stunning and emotional work... a violinist for the ages.
Hushed tones settled over the crowd as she exited the stage and then suddenly thunderous applause. She didn't so much as look back. Elena laughed, slipping seamlessly back stage to her dressing room. Carefully, she stowed her precious violin in its case and peered in the mirror. Her skin shone pale, and she pinned her hair back.
"What a day," she exhaled, a rough sigh within her chest. She'd spent the day under the heavy gaze of over a thousand listeners at four different small venue showcases, and her stomach retched with hunger. "Dinnertime," she mumbled, reaching behind her and letting the silky material of her dress fall to the floor. She rolled her shoulders, closing her eyes and taking a long drag of the night air. It sizzled with possibility, and Elena imagined if her heart still beat it would race a little faster at the thought.
Her eyes snapped open with the sound of a thump at her dressing room door, and she rolled her eyes. "Who is it?" The question stumbled from her lips as she stood in front of the mirror appraising herself. The skin at the name of her neck flushed slightly, and the hair on her arms stood on end. It always did after a good show, right before the hunt.
"Just Damon," he called. His voice hitched just a bit. She wondered if he had flowers or wine.
"Come in if you must but know I am naked," she greeted. It might have been a joke, and she could hear his laugh from the other side of the door. He pitched the door open and stepped inside. His dark mop of well quaffed hair entered before anything else as he ducked into the room. Elena straightened, lifting an eyebrow at him. He held a bottle of wine and wore a bow tie.
"Good show tonight," he noted and plopped into her chair. He rubbed his upper arms and glanced up at the ceiling. The popcorn finish insisted intrigue, and he crossed his arms. "That dress worked for you, I think," he said. He scanned the surroundings and groaned, stooping to scoop up his creation. "Elena, what have I said about the merchandise on the floor? It is my life's work making you look good, after all...lets not throw it around?"
Elena rolled her eyes, and she shrugged her red silk robe onto her shoulders. She pinched her hair into a loose bun and shrugged over her shoulder. "Don't worry about the clothes, Damon," she called. Her eyes twinkled, and she turned on a dime to pull her blonde wig from its mannequin head. "Now, I'm starved. Are you ready to go? Are the boys ready?"
Damon looped the dress onto a hanger and zipped it into his dress bag, and then he straightened his bow tie. "Almost," he answered, grabbing her alternate clothes from the closet. "Are you planning on wearing the outfit I carefully picked out, or are you going to wear that dressing gown to the club?"
Elena laughed, flipping her hair. "If I even make it to the club," she said, gesturing wildly as she pinned back her long hair. She tucked the raven locks into a neat bun and plopped the blonde tresses into place. It was short and straight, and she tucked a couple of bobby pins into place. She turned and tossed the robe aside again, watching her friend cringe. "Oh, Damon, it's fine. Now hit me with it."
He chuckled and handed her a t-shirt with scripting letters across the chest. It was white with "Te amo" in gold, cheesy and perfect for her character. The bubbly blonde, the smiling flirt, the girl in the oh-so-tight skirt. She smiled, sliding the leather skirt onto her hips. It grazed halfway up her milky thighs and smiled. Damon clapped. "Gorgeous as always," he piped up and grabbed the matching leather jacket from its hanger. He held it up, and she stepped into it. "Good girl with a wild side," he noted, and he tweaked her nose with a smirk.
"With a wild side, huh?" She mumbled and grabbed her purse. "Whats my name tonight, then, Damon?"
Damon grabbed the garment bag and tucked it under his arm. "Daisy?"
Elena squirmed, shaking her head. "I don't think so," she answered.
The door opened, and Stefan interjected instantly. "Oh, I see Viola is making an appearance," he said and looped his arm around Elena's waist. "Mine for the night, maybe?" He kissed her nose, and he smirked, and his brother laughed.
"Lets go find the boys," he said, flirting dangerously with the idea of compelling compliance into those naughty choir boys. "I think it is time for a drink."
Stefan grinned, and he steered Elena (Viola) out the dressing room door and toward the swarm of orchestra members. They clapped, recognizing her exit, and she rolled her eyes. Her violin was tucked into the crook of her arm, and she waved to her adoring public. "They just can't get enough," he mumbled. He sneered at the ogling men and women, and he discarded the polite persona he always assumed before the show. "You're too much for your own good."
Elena sighed, reluctant to argue, and then she followed him into the night. Harsh, cool evening washed over her shoulders, and she smiled. The night was nothing if not a comfort, a second skin to slip into. "Lets just get going," she said. "I'm hungry."
Damon nodded, fanning out with three of the men from the choir that wore the tightest pants. "Primed and ready for you, Miss Viola," he hummed the words as he held one by the neck. "This one smells divine." He drummed his fingers along the man's forearm, skimming along the red head's pulse point.
Elena laughed, stepping forward to peer at the man with muted interest. "I could," she noted, shaking her head. "But where is the fun in that?" She appraised the man with a smirk and shook her head. "You know I like the chase," she said, and then she took off.
The more I write of this the more it reads like crack fiction.
It is all fine.
*cries*
i hate finals, y'all.
Hannah Kay xx