Miranda Sommers Gilbert (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
happiness_elude) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
warmwitchsblood2012-02-28 12:17 pm
happiness_elude) wrote in warmwitchsblood2012-02-28 12:17 pm
Entry tags:
salvatore boarding house } { go find your spirit in the lost and found
Rose was five hundred sixty years-old.
It was a good life, when you think about it. It was five hundred years more than most people in her time period had gotten. She had seen more of the world than her family would ever get to see, but at the same time, it wasn’t truly a life. She had spent five hundred of those years running from everything. She was always in darkness, always running, never really living.
Now it was all going to end before she even got the chance. All because of one little dog bite.
Rose had spent her life running from vampires, not werewolves, but she knew enough to know the story. One bite from a werewolf would kill a vampire—nature’s own balancing act. Werewolves were natural—they were genetically predisposed to turn to beasts, and vampires were the abomination. One set to rival the other, and in a way to ensure the mutual destruction of the other. That was why a werewolf bite was so fatal. There was no cure, no quick fix—it just was what it was. In the battle of the species, she was the one who lost.
She was so tired of losing.
Then again, there was something to being old—you get to hear all the stories along the way. All the rumors and passed over thoughts that came with the idea of a cure found in various places. Most of them were follies, things that never would have come to pass, but it wasn’t as though any of them could be found in time in the first place.
If she was going to do one thing before she died, however, she was going to make sure that Damon knew at least some of his vampire history. Legends weren’t always just legends, after all.
She took the tumbler of blood from him as he returned to bed, and leaned into him a bit after taking a sip. “Have you ever heard the story of the vampire Slayer?”
It was a good life, when you think about it. It was five hundred years more than most people in her time period had gotten. She had seen more of the world than her family would ever get to see, but at the same time, it wasn’t truly a life. She had spent five hundred of those years running from everything. She was always in darkness, always running, never really living.
Now it was all going to end before she even got the chance. All because of one little dog bite.
Rose had spent her life running from vampires, not werewolves, but she knew enough to know the story. One bite from a werewolf would kill a vampire—nature’s own balancing act. Werewolves were natural—they were genetically predisposed to turn to beasts, and vampires were the abomination. One set to rival the other, and in a way to ensure the mutual destruction of the other. That was why a werewolf bite was so fatal. There was no cure, no quick fix—it just was what it was. In the battle of the species, she was the one who lost.
She was so tired of losing.
Then again, there was something to being old—you get to hear all the stories along the way. All the rumors and passed over thoughts that came with the idea of a cure found in various places. Most of them were follies, things that never would have come to pass, but it wasn’t as though any of them could be found in time in the first place.
If she was going to do one thing before she died, however, she was going to make sure that Damon knew at least some of his vampire history. Legends weren’t always just legends, after all.
She took the tumbler of blood from him as he returned to bed, and leaned into him a bit after taking a sip. “Have you ever heard the story of the vampire Slayer?”
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Most of those years he wasted away, waiting to rescue a woman who never loved him as much as he loved her, if she ever loved him at all. She chose Stefan and always would until one of them finally kicked it.
Then there was Elena, Katherine's doppelganger, who was much more like her ancestor than she wanted to admit. Damon had enough foresight to see that history could and would be repeating itself. He just didn't have the power to do anything about it.
The one thing he did have was slipping away, dying from a bite that was supposed to be his. She was the first one in a long time that he felt cared for him as much as he cared for her, and he got her killed. He would've much rather it be him. At least he deserved it.
It was another thing he had no power to change, no matter how much he wanted to. All he could do was hold onto her as long as he could and try to make that last little painful bit of her life somewhat bearable.
And that's what he did. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him as he joined her in his bed, the bed they'd shared more than once in the short time he'd known her.
"You mean the one girl in all the world chosen to stake us all?" A beat. "Though I guess it's not just one anymore, is it? Some witch cast a spell a few years ago and now there's a whole army of them out there." He looked down at her with a tiny grin, one that was as genuine as it could be in a situation like this. "Have a mentioned how much I hate witches?"
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"You have, a few times," she said. "I met one once. In the middle of the Boxer Rebellion. Trevor and I didn't stick around long enough to wind up facing her, but she didn't need to run into us. From what we heard, she didn't last too long after that."
They had left China to avoid running into Darla and her crew of miscreant vampires -- they had known for a fact that if Darla had caught wind of the fact that they were in town, she would have sold them out to Klaus in a heart beat. She had never really cared much for Rose, after all, and staying on Klaus's good side had it's benefits.
"I suppose there isn't much of a point to it now."
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"You met a Slayer and didn't get staked. There aren't many vampires who can say that." He brushed his fingers downward through her hair. "They should make a t-shirt for it. 'Survived the Slayer, ask me how!' You couldn't wear it out, since someone might actually ask, but it'd be a nice souvenir."
Rose would have to forgive his ridiculous rambling. He only wanted to bring her spirits up.
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"There's all sorts of rumors about them. God only knows how many are true, but some make you wonder."
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It was the fact that this was what Rose chose to talk about in her last hours that made him curious.
He shifted a little, bringing his chin to rest against her hair.
"Like what?"
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He's trying not to hope. Hoping has never done him any good. He'd hoped to be with Katherine for almost a hundred fifty years only to find she had never been in the tomb. After being so devoted to a dream that never came true, hope seemed like a stupid choice to make.
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He shifts his grip, just enough to lean over and reach his phone.
This qualifies for some kind of Best Reason to Call Stefan award.
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"Hello?"
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Ripper, Slayer. It makes sense.
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Damnit. "Rose happened to mention a little something about the blood of a Slayer possibly curing a werewolf bite, which I'm kinda in the need of right now."
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