What if it wasn't Vicki that Damon drained when he got out of the cell? What if it was her sister that had been stumbling through the woods looking for her? How different would things be? Very. Hopefully. Damon/OFC (Clairissa Donovan)
Clairissa grunted, stumbling over what seemed like the hundredth upturned root. She was going to kill Vicki for this, and then Matt would kill her for stumbling around in the woods like the beginning of a B-Grade horror film. In the end, Matt would be the lone survivor that would carry on her legacy. "I am not the opening credits to a horror film. I am not going to be brutally mutilated my Michael Myers," although, granted, she had had some sort of sick crush on Michael Myers when she was younger. She needed therapy. Lots and lots of therapy.
Her therapist would blame it on her mother abandoning them. It always came back to childhood abandonment, right? Some sort of childhood trauma.
"I will find Vicki with her druggy friends, and I will slap the shit outta her, and drag her home by her natty hair. And then, when Matt is done mother henning us, he will calmly bash my head against the wall in the hopes that it makes me smarter," she told herself. She always rambled when she was nervous, even if it meant she had to talk to herself. she just had to hear something that wasn't the deafening sound of crickets chirping. "It won't make me smarter," she continued, a shiver running up her spin, "But it will make him feel better, and thats all that matters."
"Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?"
Clairissa screamed, spinning wildly to catch sight of whoever had spooked her, and landing flat on her ass when she tripped over another tree root. "Oh, God," she moaned, "I am the opening credits to a B-Grade horror film," because that would be how her life ended. 'Herein lays Clairissa Jane Donovan, Death by serial killer via tree root,' would be her epitaph.
It would be an epic fail, carved into stone until it crumbled away in the wind.
"Not just a horror film," the voice called out cheerfully, echoing around her, "But a supernatural B-Grade horror film. Congrats, babe. Normally the first to die always has the greatest ass."
And then everything went black.
"I can't believe you, Damon," a voice snapped, different than the one she had last heard, "Not only did you kill a group of kids in the woods, but you just had to take it one step further, didn't you? You just had to turn her."
"Oh, get over it, Stefan," this voice she remembered, a smug baritone that, had she heard it anywhere else, might have been attractive, "You should be happy. This is your chance to atone for your sins, blah blah blah. Whatever. Look, if you want, I can just kill her. Lock her up in a cell so she doesn't feed. Done," she could practically hear the careless shrug that came with the last word.
"Don't listen to the fucker," she mumbled, cradling her pounding head. God, did she have a concussion? Her gums hurt. Was she on drugs? Had this turned into a torture horror film? Was this her real life version of the Collector?
"Thats offensive," the smug voice remarked, sounding particularly amused instead of annoyed.
"So is your face," she snapped back, peeking open an eye only to snap it back closed with a hiss. It was too bright, the sunlight hurt.
"I assure you, my face is nothing short of aesthetic perfection."
"Not now, Damon," Stefan, isn't that what the smug bastard had called him?, sighed, "Here, I'm going to put these sunglasses on you, so the light doesn't hurt so much, okay?" despite the fact that it sounded like he was asking, a pair of glasses were being slipped onto her face before he finished talking. Slowly, Clairissa opened her eyes, letting out a silent breath of relief when the sunlight didn't start an immediate drum party behind her blue eyes.
"Where am I?" she asked, slowly sitting up in bed. When had she been put in a bed? She had been in the woods. Please, God, don't let this be Heaven. Or Hell. Please don't let her be stuck with the asshole who killed her for eternity. She didn't deserve it. She was still a virgin! A little fooling around with a football player during Homecoming didn't count, right? She was in Hell.
"The Salvatore Boarding House," Stefan told her kindly. Clairissa blinked, getting a good look at the face before her. Yeah, that was Stefan Salvatore, alright. She turned, eyeing the figure standing just at the foot of the bed, a tumbler filled with amber liquid in his hand.
"Aren't you the guy who dated Caroline Forbes?" she asked suspiciously. Squinting at him like that would answer her question. She was pretty sure he was, she had heard Caroline talking to Tiki about his "OMG, so pretty eyes, like, seriously, I could die looking at them" blue eyes, and this guy had some nice peepers.
"I wouldn't call it dating," he waved his hand lazily, shrugging his shoulders, "I needed something and she was the easiest way to get it," he told her blithely, like he wasn't a raging dickhead for using some high school girl.
"You should have a doctor check down there," she told him with mock kindness, motioning to his lower area, "Just to make sure everything is in working order," Caroline was a sweet girl, if it a bit vapid, but she had no qualms about sleeping with a guy.
"Your worry is touching, really, but I can assure you, I work perfectly fine down there," he told her, flashing the smuggest grin to ever smug.
"Not according to her," Clairissa lied easily, smiling sweetly. He shot her a look, unimpressed but amused, like she was a little girl trying to play with the big boys. Just you wait, pretty boy, she thought viciously, you won't look half as good when I put Nair in your shampoo.
"It's good that the two of you are getting along, Damon," Stefan said, drawing the attention back to himself. Wow, Clairissa has forgotten he was there. Was short term memory loss a side effect of having a concussion? "She is your responsibility."
"Um, no. I don't have the time or the patience to be dealing with a newly turned vampire," Damon rebuffed.
What.
What?
"You turned me into a vampire," she stated, deadpan, "And now you're too much of a chicken shit to deal with it?"
"Hey," Damon snapped, sounding ruffled for the first time, "One, you haven't turned yet. You still need to drink human," he shot a condescending and smug look at Stefan, "Blood before tonight to complete the process. And two, I am not a chicken shit. I just have better things to do, so ease up on the name calling, 'kay, princess?"
"One," she repeated snappily, holding up her index finger to emphasize, "Don't call me 'princess', 'kay, chicken shit? Two," she held up a second finger, "Tthis is completely your fault, and instead of taking responsibility like a real man, you've decided to let me roam free like we're in the fields of Africa," Stefan snorted, sending her a small smile. Clairissa knew how to have a bitch fight. She could slap Vicki down with a few words like a boss.
"Stefan would take care of you," Damon pointed out, completely ignoring everything else.
"Wow, so because you can't grow a pair and deal with the pitfalls of being an irresponsible ass, you're making your brother deal with it?"
"Pretty much, yeah," Damon shrugged, unrepentant.
"No wonder you had to go for a high school girl," she told him dryly, "No," she corrected, "This is why you had to go for Caroline; she was the only one shallow enough to put up with you."
"Do you seriously want my help that bad?" he asked, looking at her curiously.
"No," she told him honestly, "But I do want you to man up that bad, and if I have to be the poor, newly turned vampire that puts up with your idiocy so it happens, then so be it," oh, God, she was a vampire. Her life.
Why.
What had she done to deserve this?
"Unless you think you can't teach me properly," she mused, turning to look at Stefan, who had an amused countenance, "And think your brother can do a better job than you …"
"I know what you're doing," Damon pointed at her, narrowing his blue eyes in suspicion.
"And yet, it'll still work, won't it?" she asked victoriously. Matt and Tyler were the same way. Say one of them could do something better than the other, and it was game on. It was how she got so good at Call of Duty.
"Damn you," Damon grinned, "Damn you to Hell for using my manly ego against me. Fine. You are now my Padawan."
"I'm stuck with you," she told him, "I think I'm already in Hell."
"Don't worry," Stefan told her softly, patting her knee, "If you ever have any questions you don't want to ask him, I'm more than happy to help you in anyway I can," he sounded guilty. What, did he think it was his fault that his brother was an asshole?
It was possible, she supposed. It's not like she knew their history, and considering they were freaking vampires, their history could be very long and daunting.
More than likely, Damon was just a raging dickhead.
A raging dickhead that was now her Yoda to the vampire ways.
Wonderful.
"I'm hungry."
H'okay, so there is chapter one. Its a WIP, so I mean ... basically all my stories, are, really. Anyways, I think I'm up to chapter three, atm. Whatevs. Comments, questions, corrections, are all welcome. :)