Author's note: Hi everyone! Thank you for all the love and delightful comments. They absolutely fill me with joy.
My plan is to have the next chapter out pretty quickly, as well.
Katherine just stared at Bonnie, half-contemplating what she had to admit was a really sensible conclusion and half-rebelling out of sheer instinct – and perhaps a little bit of spite – maybe more than a little. "Cooperation?" she mocked, trying to infuse as much venom as possible into her voice, and found to her own dismay that it was mostly lacking.
"That's what I said!" Bonnie chirped with faux enthusiasm.
Before Katherine could utter what she hoped was an utterly scathing retort, Caroline and Jeremy came out of the Boarding House, a look of exhilaration on the face of the former, and exhaustion-laced irritation on the latter, which Bonnie decided was about right.
"We're done!" Caroline announced, beckoning everyone inside. "Now get in and catch us all up! Even you, Katherine," she added as a particularly mean-spirited afterthought.
Katherine just rolled her eyes and followed the living occupants of the estate at a leisurely pace, refusing to let them hurry her, and desperate to hold on to at least some control over the situation.
After Caroline assembled a quick crudité platter for snacking like the natural hostess that she was, preening at Bonnie and Jeremy's immediate and enthusiastic dive into consumption, she eyed her interlocuters closely – strategizing the best possible course of action to finally get some answers.
They were hiding something, and she would get to the bottom of it – or she had no business pursuing a Broadcast Journalism major.
She watched as the two ate ravenously. For Jeremy, this wasn't a particular surprise – he was a teenage boy, still in high school, and Caroline found that despite being members of the Founding Families, the combination of young and male frequently led much to be desired in matters of etiquette. She would know. She used to date the Lockwood scion, whose proudest dining skill achievement was being able to pull off a one-handed keg stand.
Bonnie, on the other hand, had always been a beacon of grace – just like her and Elena – Caroline made sure of it.
"Hungry, Bonnie?" Caroline asked innocently.
Jeremy just laughed. "Yeah, Bon, isn't this like your first meal since…?" then he trailed off with a rapidly widening eyes that just reeked of guilt and secrecy – with Bonnie's own admonishing look just furthering her suspicions.
Bingo.
They were definitely hiding something. But what?
"Something to share, Jeremy?" Caroline looked at him pointedly, while Jeremy carefully avoided her gaze. "What about you, Bonnie?" Caroline asked, sharply changing direction.
Bonnie just sighed. "Fine," she allowed, after casting a meaningful look at Katherine, who rewarded her with a half-hearted eyeroll, from her position, leaning against a wall in the parlor with her arms crossed over her chest.
Jeremy continued to refuse to meet Caroline's eyes, instead looking at his food; examining the diminished bourbon supply on the wet cart – care of Katherine's temper – which was sure to be noticed by its protective proprietor the second he stepped into the house; and even locking his with the resident petulant poltergeist.
"I'm waiting," Caroline huffed impatiently, just barely resisting the urge to actually tap her foot.
Bonnie looked resigned and took another quick glance at Jeremy for support. It was time. "I'll text Elena to see how far away she and Damon are, so we don't have to go through this more than once," Bonnie appealed diplomatically.
"Fine," Caroline growled. "But don't think you're off the hook."
Enzo did his best to sit upright after being thrown haphazardly back into his cell. He clutched the gaping hole in his chest near his heart – at once grateful and lamenting that he managed to survive the procedure yet again. While he could arguably conceive a sweet life and future outside of these walls in the wilds of his imagination, the realistic part of him whispered that it was all just idle dreaming, so which outcome was really preferable? A fantasy of freedom or continued torture at the hands of a madman?
The vampire who occupied the cell next door, on the other hand, would not be burdened with such deliberations, Enzo noted, as he caught sight of the veins protruding along his skin, his last breath already long gone.
"Shit!" screamed Dr. Wes Maxfield as he threw an empty vile into the wall, the normally calm and collected scientist cursing up a rare storm.
"Dr. Maxfield?" asked his unsure graduate student, Nathaniel Essex, who ducked into the room with considerably less confidence than his usual cocky demeanor demonstrated.
"We lost another one," Wes growled. "We have to adjust our measurements. We've been getting too greedy, and the three-six-zero-eight-nine's body reacted to our sample harvesting as though his heart was being removed from his body."
"He's dead?" Nathaniel asked, confusion written all over his features.
"Third one this week," Wes confirmed. "We're running out of subjects. We might have to make more," he added in a contemplative undertone.
"How do you suggest we do that?" Nathaniel asked, fully aware that their blood supply was monitored, and the half-desiccated subjects from which they harvested said fluid only had so much to spare.
A smirk lit Wes' face that slowly stretched to a smile – yes, he congratulated himself – his genius was well intact. "Someone's been using vampire blood to cure the terminally wounded at Whitmore Medical Center. I suggest we start there.
The rain seemed absolutely torrential as Elena and Damon slowly made their way back to Virginia, Emma and Crow resting quietly in the backseat of Damon's Camaro while it tried to maneuver through winding roads with barely any visibility.
Not for the first time, Damon found himself to be altogether grateful for vampiric senses and reflexes, allowing him to maintain a relatively high speed while ensuring the safety of everyone in the vehicle, including its two newest occupants of the avian variety.
An unusual feeling almost beckoned him to take an unplanned exit to this very peculiar road, and Damon couldn't really be pressed to explain why – he just knew that he had to be there.
Ever since Bonnie texted them half an hour prior to hurry home, the feeling only got stronger, and he almost felt compelled to turn off-course. Luckily for him, Elena rarely noticed these things, especially when she was busy aggressively reminiscing about her least favorite classmate ever.
"And when we started discussing the notions of 'praxis' and 'poiesis,' and how they lead to 'Eudaimonia,' Brannigan completely cut me off, and went on this ridiculous rant – and look, I get it, multiple plausible interpretations exist and sometimes it's fun to look for them, but this made no sense whatsoever," Elena continued her own rant, growing more irate and animated with each word, her hands flailing wildly.
"Uh huh," Damon said, finding it adorable. "What was his rant about?"
"He said that, according to Aristotle," Elena attempted to mimic his loud, pompous tone, "perfect virtue cannot be achieved in the mortal realm – which, false, that's Plato – what a dick," she grumbled.
Damon just smirked, amused that his preferred choice of language was slowly but surely making its way into her repertoire.
"So, apparently, because of that, nothing really matters, so both 'praxis' and 'poesis' are there to mock to absurdity of meaning," she rolled her eyes.
"So, Aristotle's the real inventor of nihilism?" Damon grinned, taking a particularly sharp turn to the left. "Maybe being a pompous 'nothing matters, maaan' douche is the actual oldest profession."
"Apparently," Elena huffed. "Then he started making these really creepy googly eyes at all the girls, because apparently being an edge-lord is so sexy."
"I don't know," Damon shook his head, mock-tutting. "I've eaten my fair share of edge-lords, and they all come with a certain spice. Of course, that spice is usually week-old musk from not leaving their parents' basements, but it's definitely a distinct flavor."
Elena laughed, her rant now taking on a distinctly more amused turn. "So, then he began waxing philosophic about all his 'affairs,' which definitely totally happened," she added with mock-seriousness. "And that went on for, oh, at least fifteen minutes? He just can't shut up – he is incapable of just shutting the hell up. It's amazing," she concluded, impressed, despite herself.
"Maybe we should hook him up with Caroline," raised his eyebrows in mischievous challenge. "What?" he responded innocently to Elena's mock-glare. "I just think she'd have him beat. She has super-naturally resilient access to air supply and the will to use it. Blondie could probably ramble for days – just give her a Founders Event or some new 'It' guy and watch her go. She's like Steffie with new hair products."
Any conceivable reply was interrupted because Damon and Elena had to stop the car short, just before the figure seemingly materialized in the abating rain.
And there it was – the presence that had been calling Damon ever since they turned down this road – a raven sitting on the hood of his car, peering at him straight through the windshield.
I've decided that Nicomachean Ethics and its associated ideas is going to play a pivotal role in this story, and not only because of Brannigan (who's very loosely inspired by Zapp Brannigan from Futurama). :D (That and, come on, we all know at least one Brannigan - at least those of us who have taken Philosophy classes.)
This one's admittedly a bit short, but it's a set-up chapter for all that's going to go down in the next one - where Damon's finally going to unveil the names of the Crow and the Raven, and everyone is back in Mystic Falls, familiars in tow. :D
I'm dipping my toe into publishing on two sites again to see if it's not overwhelming with my current workload, so this is kind of a trial run. Here's hoping for the best! :) (I'm currently more active on AO3, so the chapters there tend to be a bit ahead.)
Happy Holidays!
Thank you for being truly delightful. :D