Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created by L.J. Smith, as portrayed in the TV series created by Kevin Williamson and Julie Plec. All rights to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note: Ok, so Damon's narration will be in extended italics. Sorry this is short. Enjoy!
WRITE TO LIVE
~ Getting Started ~
Elena sat down in the armchair, her fingers poised to start typing, awaiting his words. Silence. She looked up at the man sitting opposite her on the couch. He had a blank expression on his face.
"Uh… I'm good to go, here…"
"Huh?" he blinked.
Elena gestured to her stenotype. "Ready."
"Oh… right… so… um…"
"You've got nothing," she sighed and leaned back in the chair.
"It's just… the beginning is the most important thing of a story – it's what draws the reader in. 'It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife'," he quoted. "Pride and Prejudice," he added when he saw her puzzled expression.
"Um… yeah, I know. I'm just surprised you would read Jane Austen. Isn't it more of a girl's book?"
"It's a classical work of literature and a brilliant social comedy."
"Hey, no argument here," she threw up her hands. "So that's what you're going for… social comedy?"
"I'm thinking more along the lines of a 1940s mystery…"
"Straight up mystery or a parody of it?"
"Cheesy parody all the way."
"Ok, then. You have a first sentence?"
Five hours later.
"Read me back what we have so far," Damon said, pacing around the room.
"It was a hot, humid day and"
"It needs more…" Damon waved his hands, searching for the right word.
"Uh… yeah. More words, to begin with."
"It can't just be any words. They have to mean something."
"Well, how 'bout you shorten it. "It was a hot, humid day. Period. It gives you a full sentence and we can move on to the next. Maybe even a full paragraph."
Silence.
Elena could practically hear the hands of the clock on the wall ticking along. She started tapping lightly on the keyboard, not making any indentions on the steno paper, but making a sound loud enough to rival the clock's.
"Do you mind?"
"Listen, if you need some time to think this story through, I'll just be on my way," she said and started putting her machine back in its case.
"Will you be back tomorrow?"
"I don't see the point," she sighed. "I've been here for…" she checked her watch, "… six hours now. And you've got exactly seven words. At this rate, we may have an entire page done at the end of thirty days. I have a feeling that's not gonna be enough for your editor."
"Derek Smythe had the weight of the world on his shoulders… See? We're getting somewhere," Damon gestured to the couch.
Elena sighed and set the machine back on the table.
"Derek Smythe had the weight of the world on his shoulders. The town of Mystic Falls was…"
"I've never heard of that town," Elena interrupted.
"It's a small town in Virginia, lots of history, old antebellum architecture…"
"Never heard of it," Elena shrugged.
"I made it up."
"Go on," she said and repositioned her fingers.
"The town of Mystic Falls was under siege. Al Capone had made it his favorite vacation spot…"
"Wait."
"Now what?"
"I thought you said you made it up?"
"I did."
"But now you say Al Capone vacationed there."
"So?"
"So Al Capone was a real person. You can't have a real person visit a fake place. It's corrupting history."
"It's fiction."
Al Capone had made it his favorite vacation spot, and he enjoyed both the refreshing mineral baths and the classy dames. He had invested money in practically all business establishments in town, and there was no telling who was on the right side of the law and who was not. Derek Smythe was the last hope this town had. If only business would pick up…
The sun had gone down, his secretary had gone home and Derek Smythe was just about to call it another worthless day when he heard the distinct clicking of women's heels approaching his office. He straightened in his chair and waited for the knock. It never came. Instead, the door slowly creaked open.
He reached for his Colt in the desk drawer but then he caught a glimpse of a shapely leg in black pumps and reconsidered. The dame that stepped into his office could only be described as a bombshell. Her flat hat was pinned on her head, showing off luscious dark curls underneath, and her high-slit black dress showed off her impressive stems. She smelt of sweet perfume, reminiscent of the alcoholic beverages served at his favorite establishment, and her red lips were practically begging to be kissed. Derek Smythe was in love.
"Pfft," Elena scoffed.
"What?"
"He's in love? A stranger walks into his office with impressive legs and disgustingly sweet perfume and he's falling all over her? Is he desperate?"
"No. He's an attractive man, he can get any woman he wants."
"Then what's he doing sitting in his office alone?"
"He's worried about the state of his hometown."
"Why's he so desperate to protect it if he has nothing there to live for?"
"Who says he has nothing to live for?"
"You. Obviously he's a drunk, if he compares her perfume to sickly sweet liquor."
"Ok, it's been a long day. We'll pick this up again tomorrow."
"Ok," Elena said and packed up her stenotype. "What time tomorrow?"
"When do you get up?"
"When I have to."
"Seven o'clock, then?"
"I'll be here. Goodnight, Mr. Salvatore."
"You know, you could call me Damon…"
"Why?"
"Well, since we'll be working together the next thirty days, I think we could dispense with the formalities. Besides, you've already proven you have no qualms about butting into my creative process, so…" he shrugged.
"Fine. I'll see you tomorrow, Damon."
"Goodnight, Elena."