“I just had a meeting. Hoping to open a shop around here.”
”A shop, huh? Anything good?”
“I suppose that depends on your perspective — does New Age stuff, astrology, candles, magic interest you? I’m planning to keep a speculative fiction section as well.”
“Summer. Thanks for saving me from an inelegant plunge.”
”No problem. So what brings you around here?”
“I just had a meeting. Hoping to open a shop around here.”
“My ankle didn’t like that much, but I’ll be alright.”
”Good to hear. I’m Damon. And you are…?”
“Summer. Thanks for saving me from an inelegant plunge.”
“Whoops! Sorry! I think there’s a bit of ice there … “
“It’s fine. You ok?”
“My ankle didn’t like that much, but I’ll be alright.”
Summer sat at one of the tall tables in the bar, spinning a half-empty glass under one hand. She’d only come out because she couldn’t stand the self-recriminating silence between her own ears anymore.
She was starting to regret that decision, largely thanks to the beer-sodden idiot who couldn’t take a hint and was currently leaning on the edge of her table like he had a right to be there. He hadn’t taken the other seat yet, which was a minor miracle.
But he hadn’t taken the hint of her book, and he hadn’t taken the hint of her going back to it, either. Just kept yammering on, taking every slight word she gave him as an excuse to talk about himself. She now, if she cared to recall the last five minutes, had his name, number, history to the last five years, address, and favourite beer, none of which she gave a damn about.
And then he waved a waitress over and ordered beer for them both (she hated beer, actually), and she leveled a fulminating glare at him.
Which the idiot totally ignored. She was going to have to cause a scene, wasn’t she.
~She walks everyday through the streets of New Orleans
The street where she walks is dappled with splotches of light, where the streetlights still glow. Distant, perhaps, are the sounds of a modern city, but here on the residential street there are only crickets and the irregular beat of her footsteps. The breeze of her motion pulls her hair, loose to the knees and unnaturally bloody in the streetlights, away from her face. Sometimes she lifts her eyes to the narrow crescent of the moon, sliding through the leaves of the trees overhead.
~I must love what I destroy, and destroy the thing I love
It’s midnight, the witching hour, but her thoughts won’t let her rest. It’s the old nightmare, new again since she came here. She walks faster, but can’t escape. Fiercely, softly, she says, “I don’t miss you,” but it’s a lie. If she says it enough she might believe it. She doesn’t realise she’s stopped, is clutching someone’s wrought iron fence in a deathgrip. “Was I not good enough?” But the person she’s talking to isn’t there.
Someone else is, though. She didn’t notice them, in the shadows, in the dark.
+ iamthefirechild liked for astarter:❝What do you want?❞
“I thought it would be polite to present myself.” If he was going to snap, she could snap too. Yes, it was better than San Luis, but any city ruled so firmly by vampires, with such restrictions on magic, could never set well with her.
It was still polite to let the controlling faction know you were around. No telling what they might think, otherwise.
iamthefirechild
Laughing, Klaus chased after her,
” —— Get back here, You Tease.”
“Me, tease? I would never. You /would/ stand under the mistletoe. A man your age should know better.”
~She walks everyday through the streets of New Orleans
The street where she walks is dappled with splotches of light, where the streetlights still glow. Distant, perhaps, are the sounds of a modern city, but here on the residential street there are only crickets and the irregular beat of her footsteps. The breeze of her motion pulls her hair, loose to the knees and unnaturally bloody in the streetlights, away from her face. Sometimes she lifts her eyes to the narrow crescent of the moon, sliding through the leaves of the trees overhead.
~I must love what I destroy, and destroy the thing I love
It’s midnight, the witching hour, but her thoughts won’t let her rest. It’s the old nightmare, new again since she came here. She walks faster, but can’t escape. Fiercely, softly, she says, “I don’t miss you,” but it’s a lie. If she says it enough she might believe it. She doesn’t realise she’s stopped, is clutching someone’s wrought iron fence in a deathgrip. “Was I not good enough?” But the person she’s talking to isn’t there.
Someone else is, though. She didn’t notice them, in the shadows, in the dark.
askklausmikaelson, littlemikaelson, homicidaltendenciiies, method-to-my-mxdness, sorcierexcachee
iamthefirechild ♚ meme
” —— Eh, Why not.”
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic. You could say no, you know.”
