Sunlight pushed its way around the drawn curtains. Damon grumbled against his pillow, feeling he hadn't slept enough. He was loathe admitting it, and would never do so publicly, but that Dan kid had gotten to him. He still filed the kid under the category of whiney, but not a meal. Maybe he was getting soft.
Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he sat up in his bed. For the very long life of him he couldn't remember the last time he had spent the night with a mortal he didn't know and didn't eat them. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. What's more, all he had wound up with was an autographed book and a phone number. What was even weirder was the fact he had kept the book. Ah, he hated it when he occasionally acted human. Though, it would have been easier to blame the annoyingly sympathetic Dan Humphrey. On the plus, it had been a very long while since anyone was willing to go verbal toe-to-toe with him.
After a shower, followed by several glasses of Vodka, Damon plopped back down on the bed and flipped open the book. He was a little bit flattered that he had been able to obtain something for free without any compelling. He found the first page and began reading.
About halfway through, he was very thankful that he didn't grow up in the Upper East Side. He drank blood, and these kids kind of scared him. Though, Dan's undying devotion to Blair struck a chord within Damon. He was impressed that someone as young as Dan was capable of feelings that deep. He placed the book down beside him and glared up at the ceiling of his hotel suite. Underneath that weird mange of hair and the crooked grin, Damon saw a little of himself in the young author. Yes, Damon was mentally conceding that Dan could write.
He picked up his phone and fixed a stare as his fingers worked.
To: Dan
You may whine, but you can write.
He placed the phone back on the nightstand and went back to his reading. The chapters went by easy, even though the subject matter wasn't. He was slightly in awe of how real people lived in fear of a website. He also quizzically noted how little these people actually communicated their problems to each other. He wondered how many of these 'scandals' could have been averted with basic communication skills. His phone chimed quickly.
From: Dan
Thanks?
Damon grinned as he replied.
To: Dan
Yes, that was a compliment. Also, I can see why your friends hate you now. Good job.
He returned to his reading and knocked out the remaining chapters in about two or so hours. Damon closed the book and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Huh. Dan's life really did suck. He normally relished in the suffering of others, but this hit way too close to home. Damon moved to drink straight from the bottle. Even weirder, he actually wanted to talk to Dan again. He wasn't sure what quite a few of his feelings were. They resided somewhere between empathy and compassion, things he never felt for humans.
He sensed that this could be troublesome at some point.
"Dammit." Damon swore as he got up and plucked his phone up. He searched for wherever that book signing was supposed to be. He could barely live with himself; he was about to provide moral support. He felt like such a girl. He shrugged into some clothing, and departed for where his phone directed him.
The bookstore that Damon was winding to was already filling with tabloid writers and bloggers. From his very uncomfortable seat behind a table, Dan shuddered. He didn't think Tennessee Williams or Fitzgerald ever had to talk to people who lived in their attics and wrote for blogs. On a deeper level, he at least longed for a familiar face. But the seats supposedly reserved for his invitations sat empty. He wasn't surprised, just a little disappointed. Though he faked it well, he was still not very used to actually being constantly alone.
The signing, he had been told, would only entail a few questions. It turned into a press conference that resembled the ones poor Prince Charles had to go through when he split with Princess Diana. To his credit, he kept his chin up through all the questions about how it felt to take 'potshots' at the apparently unassailable members of the Upper East Side. It was the music they played, so all Dan could was dance to it.
However, he was still getting used to the fact that Blair was with Chuck. The feeling that gave him made his chest hair burn. He didn't mind Prince Louis, at least he was harmless, but Chuck? Good Lord. He often wondered if it was because he was so boring that Blair never paid him any romantic mind. Sure, he used to be her Labrador and shoulder to cry on for any and all of her problems; she just wanted actual love from an insane and probable sociopath who once thought it fine to swap her for real estate.
As his mind rolled these thoughts over and again, his mouth was busy answering questions. He didn't know what he was saying; he just knew it would be misquoted in tabloids across the city. Sadly, it was either pay attention to the reporters, or look at the empty chairs. Though, most of his actually family weren't even speaking to him, so he figured empty chairs would be sight he would have to get used to.
He turned his cheerless eyes back to the reporters, but quickly rolled them when he was asked why he felt the need to play up Chuck Bass's substance abuse problems. He could barely look at, let alone talk to, these people. For the sake of posterity he cast one last glance towards the reserved family section.
He hadn't remembered when Damon Salvatore was considered family, but there he was. Dan, incredulous, subtly mouthed the word "Damon?"
Cue the already familiar smirk and eyebrow raise. Dan quickly had to cover his mouth from laughing. Talk about seeing a light in the window at night.
After that, the questions, curiously enough, got back to his future literary plans. What specific genre of novel did he want to write next? Dan leaned back and slid his eyes over to Damon.
"Horror." He answered to the blogger. Damon winked as be brushed some hair away from his eyes.
Things wrapped up after that, and everyone filed out to rush back to their laptops to misquote and further vilify him in the Fourth Estate. Dan cast a friendly laugh towards the former stranger.
"So, I'm a good writer?" He asked of Damon.
"Absolutely," Damon nodded, rising from his chair to approach. The two shook hands and Dan noticed Damon's oddly strong grip. "And I can see why people didn't like it. You really didn't sugarcoat life around here."
"That would be lying." Dan casually shrugged. Damon rolled his eyes.
"Not artistic license?"
"Nope." Dan answered. "I hope you saved your signed copy. Once Blair gets Chuck to arrange to have me killed, it'll be a Collector's Item."
"Oh, I'm sure," Damon said, pulling up a chair. "So, you wrote her all that and she still turned you down?"
"More like shot me down." Dan almost groaned.
"That's rough."
"Yep," Dan nodded. "So, you free for lunch or something?"
"Yeah." Damon said.
"Kay," Dan said, standing up and gracefully sliding over the table to the other side.
"Thanks for validating my idea for a horror novel." Damon slyly added as the two walked to the door. Dan would have pointed out that he wrote the sign beheading before he had met Damon, but didn't see an overlying point.
"Oh, you're welcome," Dan laughed. "I hope you have some ideas for what constitutes gruesome."
"Tons." Was all Damon said.
