welcome to the black parade.

[21051]

[ it happens too fast.

elena knows it's a cliche to claim that, within one instant, your own life can blur in front of your eyes — but that's exactly what occurs when she hears her name echo throughout district twelve. she endures the tense silence that follows as she marches to the stage, swallowing hard to gather the courage to raise her head proudly rather than fixate on her stumbling feet. it almost feels like entering a fugue state; she sees rows of trees and expanses of green and closes her eyes for one second only to open her eyes to be greeted by the bustling capitol instead, flagrant and entirely too in her face with its celebratory cheers damaging her eardrums and ridiculous fashion statements crowding the streets. the way she initially moves around is reminiscent of a zombie, dazed and lost in a city she doesn't quite belong to, but both ric techniques and damon's guidance snap her out of her trance-like behaviour a day after they arrive.

the chariot rides of the tribute parade will commence within the hour, but with ric watching over her like a hawk, wasting any precious moment that could be spent training doesn't sit well with her. the stylist is already upset with her, insisting that her sharp movements and the way she weaves and contorts to miss the jabs aimed at her will inevitably rip the expensive material of elena's dress and ruin her carefully styled hair. she thinks little of it. she's meant to survive, not to look like a model. ric tells the stylist as much, only to met by a huff.

after elena almost barrels into the woman (and the table, and ric, and the couch), the stylist leaves in a hurry, ranting all the while.

she's split her lip from where she's cut by ric in her attempts to best him, but she ignores it in favour of ric's orders to extend her training to damon while her mentor fixes himself a drink. she falters — once, twice, but she picks herself back up and wipes her forehead. ]

Let's go again.

[ he has the natural advantage — stronger and older — but elena is small and agile, able to evade his maneuvers. she sweeps her legs under his, hoping to knock him off balance and tackle him to the ground. ]

[ the world is moving too slowly.

ever since elena's name was called, damon's world has slowed down, everything moving in slow motion. he watched her walk up to the stage with his breath caught in his throat, waiting for one of her friends to volunteer for her, for them to do something, anything. but she made it up to stand next to carol lockwood with her head held high, and damon had to think. he was eighteen, he was almost free. if his name wasn't called next, he would be safe from the reaping for the rest of his life. he could stay in twelve and support elena from there, giving everything he had to help sponsor her. he didn't have to volunteer.

and then jeremy's name was called, and damon knew what he had to do. elena would never survive if jeremy was with her. she would protect him or die trying, and damon would never see her again. there was nothing else he could do.

so he stepped forward, and the relief and gratitude in elena's eyes made it worth it.

after that things sped up again, but only a little -- only long enough to make his goodbye to stefan feel rushed (which was a good thing, in the end.

it's okay to want her to come back and not me, stefan.

just keep her safe, damon.

the last words he would ever say to his brother). there was too much time to think when the on the train, in their rooms, during dinner. elena was almost catatonic, and damon didn't know what to do to bring her back, but it didn't matter because she is strong enough to save herself. it's why he loves her, her determination and her understated strength, the way she will keep going through everything. she is even training before the tribute parade, and though he can't help but think about how they could be giving too much of their abilities away to the other tributes, he also can't help but join her.

she's beautiful and deadly and he will keep her safe and die trying.

he evades the sweep of her leg by just a hair, lunging in to try to grab her wrist and pull her into him, spinning her as he does to hold her with her back pressed to his chest. ]

[ more than a handful of the other tributes eye her as if she's prey, sharpening their canines as they prepare to sink their teeth into her flesh and leave her to stain the arena ground red, futilely struggling against the fate they've given her. to the careers, with their blades and an unrelenting force behind each of their movements, she's little more than a lamb ready to be slaughtered. elena gilbert tiptoes among bloodthirsty beasts now, willing herself not to flinch while their jaws snap at her ankles. to districts one and two, the only threats are those that come wrapped in blatant and machismo packaging. a girl from district twelve, unrefined in her battle tactics and with a heart too gentle to willfully decimate each individual that crosses her path, doesn't strike fear in the hearts of barbarians who would easily slit the throats of the younger children that will compete among them.

elena can't stomach the thought of harming an innocent, someone merely trying to survive and stray away from unnecessary bloodshed like herself, but she isn't a tribute to be trifled with. the more they underestimate her, the better. she'll take them by surprise if they make an attempt to harm a hair on her own head (or, more importantly, on damon's), using their skewed evaluation of her skills to her own advantage; if she isn't an immediate threat to their deluded idea of a "victory" in the arena, she and damon have that much more time to plan and survive.

(damon might have his own scheme to keep her unharmed, to ensure she returns to district twelve at the cost of losing him, but she'll throw herself into danger before she allows him to behave so recklessly).

she isn't behaving rashly now, either, withholding the majority of the techniques she's learned from ric in order to manipulate the image the other tributes have of her. if they think of her as clumsy and prone to blunders, they'll hardly bat an eyelash at her presence. they seem to turn away the moment damon successfully seizes her, back pressed into his chest as she lets out a small sound of surprise. ]

You're going to have to try harder than that.

[ the overall situation is far too grim for her to laugh and poke fun at him, but a husky chuckle slips out of her despite her best efforts to bite her lip. she relaxes and presses back into him, hoping to serve as a distraction and catch him unaware in order to squirm out of his grasp. ]

[ damon's been hoping the others would underestimate elena -- he knows her better than to believe that she is helpless, but no one else should. the careers give him more consideration, their eyes lingering on him and sizing him up, looking for strengths and weaknesses. he knows that they all see the way he protects elena even now, how he orbits around her and steps in the way of anyone who comes close to her, but that can't be helped. he will not sacrifice elena's safety for any kind of edge in the arena.

to the careers, damon is the obvious threat -- he is bigger than elena, stronger, his talents more obvious. his devotion to elena is just as clear, and all he can hope is that it will make them all more reluctant to go after her, that they will come after him first because they know he will stop at nothing to keep her safe. hopefully he can take care of all the killing. elena may be stronger than people give her credit for, but she is still compassionate and delicate, and murder will weigh heavily on her after she wins the games.

when she relaxes into him damon can't help but smile, nosing at her hair and brushing his lips over her cheek as he speaks. ]

I try any harder and we'll ruin your dress. Pearl would never forgive me, and we're in enough danger without me having to worry about our stylist murdering me before the Games.

[ his grip on her wrist is still tight, adamant. the parade will begin soon, and their appearance is important in winning the favor of the capitol. like it or not, elena has to keep her dress and makeup intact before they go before the president. ]

[ she isn't blind, though part of her wishes she was; would the president endure an outrage from each of the districts in order to place a blind woman in the arena? regardless, even the most oblivious of individuals would be able to note the way the careers eyes linger on damon, assessing every potentially fatal flaw and determining his strengths. if not for elena's presence, she thinks they might even go so far as to welcome him into their happily murderous fold, as they've done to so many of the other weaker links. it's an obvious trap. the careers have no respect for any lives but their own, discarding their fellow tributes the moment all of their other enemies have fallen. their alliances are uneasy and temporary at best, awaiting an area of opportunity to betray those that have foolishly banded with them.

elena wants nothing to do with them, and with the way damon hovers around her the moment the others try to snake their ways into closer proximity to engage her in what she suspects would only be taunting or gross flirtation, she suspects damon might share a similar outlook on the careers and their savage tactics.

his lips against her cheek tickle her skin, causing her to relentlessly squirm in his grip as she tries to duck her head. the others are back to staring at them now, and she can't help but feel self-conscious. she knows what it must look like — and how much a scandal it would be if the capitol tried to milk a story out of their closeness. she can practically hear it now — tribute falls for the other brother, how shocking!. ]

If it was a different dress, I might actually care about ruining it.

[ but, as it stands, the dress is decidedly not elena. she can't imagine how pearl ever envisioned her in it, but she's been assured the capitol will shallowly rave over her appearance. ]

[ damon has been forced to watch too many years of games to trust careers -- whether they would want him in their group or not, he would never join them. they would turn on him as soon as they thought his usefulness had run out, and they'd never let both him and elena into the group. even if they would, he wouldn't put her into that kind of danger. no, the careers aren't safe to ally themselves with. the tributes from eleven might be, though -- a sixteen year old boy named luca and fierce looking girl named bonnie. they both seem capable, but still kind. neither of them will last the games, not if damon has anything to say about it, but four weapons are better than two.

next chance he gets, damon will approach them about an alliance.

he ignores everyone's stares, grinning against elena's cheek for a moment before he lets her go. his fingers remain clasped around her wrist, but more gently now, just keeping her from trying to start a fight again. ]

Well, it looks good on you. Don't ruin it.

[ his voice is low, inaudible to anyone but elena. his feelings are obvious to anyone with eyes, but he doesn't want them all trying to use them against elena. it would be too easy to turn the capitol against her by painting her as a cheater, and that's the last thing they need. she needs sponsors if she's going to see this through to the end. ]

[ elena doesn't particularly care for the frivolities of the game. it feels too much like a performance — like she's donning a costume for a character intended to replace the true elena gilbert, shrouded beneath layers of makeup and expensive silks. luxury is unknown to district twelve, its denizens struggling daily to put a meal on the table, but where others might grow appreciative of the supposed gifts the capitol has given them, elena doesn't want any of it. the array of mouthwatering food and warm beds only serve as a reminder of what's to come and the inevitable sacrifices that must be made. she doesn't need a final parting gift from the capitol. as far as she's concerned, they can take their feigned sympathy and cram it; in the end, they're only ecstatic to witness her own feats and failures, gaining some sadistic joy from seeing children deceive and slaughter one another.

for now, however, she'll play along with a charming smile on her face that conceals just how anxious she truly is — for herself, for damon, for stefan, for the amicable tributes who don't deserve to be condemned to this fate. ]

Are you sure you don't want to wear it instead?

[ it's too ostentatious and short for her liking. pearl might have a taste for aesthetics, sure, but the thought of gaining sponsors — whether they're hormonal men or shallow women — from how she's styled almost sickens her. if her dress just happens to get ruined in the process of waiting, elena will shed no tears.

fortunately for pearl, it's safe from harm as long as damon's grip on her wrist persists — but even with her hand occupied, elena moves to hook her leg around the back of his knee and dig the sharp edge of her heel into the area in an attempt to knock him off balance. in the games, improvisation and taking an enemy by surprise is necessary — and shoes certainly are an improvised weapon in their own right. she'll have pearl to thank for that later. ]

[ damon doesn't much care for the pageantry either, but at least he understands why it's necessary -- it's disgusting and wrong that they have to buy their right to live by being beautiful, by being interesting and engaging and appealing to everyone in the capitol, but if that's what it takes to keep them safe, he will play along. elena is more resistant to deception, and he loves that about her just as much as it's currently frustrating him. even here he has to protect her; the fact that it's from herself and her determination to self-sabotage makes no difference. they only have a few opportunities to endear themselves to the capitol, and damon won't allow her to waste any of them.

he laughs at elena, spinning her as though they're dancing, watching the way her dress fans out around her. it's truly beautiful, the dress making her look like a living ember, the shoes giving her extra height so her face is level with his instead of just a few inches lower. the dress shimmers red and black and orange and it will be beautiful in he light of the parade. ]

I don't think I could pull it off like you do.

[ he's distracted looking at her dress and doesn't see her leg moving until it's too late, her heel digging into knee and causing him to crumple to one knee, dropping her wrist. he winces, taking a moment to work through the pain before he looks back up at her with a crooked grin. it's that resourcefulness that will get her through the games. ]

Cheater.

[ of the two, she's hardly surprised that damon preens in the spotlight much more than she does. it's not a secret that he despises the entire performance as much as she does, but elena considers damon to be much more suited to the games then she could ever hope to be. he's charming, easily able to woo most individuals over with little more than an assured grin, and much more talented at constructing a believable facade. the capitol will adore him. she doesn't require any abilities to catch a glimpse into the future to be able to determine the reactions of their spectators, nor does she cling to any illusion that she'll become the favoured tribute from district twelve. damon is able with a heart he can easily harden out of necessity. in comparison, elena is too soft to be seen as ruthless. she might become the capitol darling for her virtues, but it's always been damon that's built to survive.

(somewhere deep in her heart, she wants to believe they can both weather through this storm, but there can only ever be one victor standing tall atop the pile of fallen tributes).

she smiles, both at the compliment and her small slice of victory. if she looks smug, it's only due to satisfaction and pride for having been able to bring him to his knees, if only for a moment. ]

You were distracted. [ therefore he had been fair game. in the arena, a misguided focus could spell chaos for both of them. she grins, holding her hand out to him. ] Don't blame me for your mistake.

[ elena is beautiful, and that will carry her far enough in the eyes of their sponsors that it might not matter that she's terrible at the acting portion of things. their story will garner them sympathy, but it's up to damon to carry them the rest of the way. he's always been able to hide his emotions when he needs to -- a necessity when you've fallen in love with your brother's girl -- and never has that ability been more necessary than it is here. they can't know how much he hates them, hates that they would force him to do this, to die in order to save the girl he loves, that they would force elena to become a murderer. she will never recover from that, and he can only hope she cares little enough for him that his death won't haunt her the way the lives she will have to take will.

when she offers her hand, damon takes it, pausing for a moment to savor the feeling of her skin against his. little things like this are all he has anymore, all he will ever get -- if they had been able to stay in twelve there was a chance that he could have had her, but now... now his days are numbered, and he wants to catalogue everything, from the smell of her hair to the soft skin of her hands.

he looks up at her, his guileless face turning mischievous before he tugs, pulling her down with him. he ends up on his back with elena laying over him, grinning up at her. ]

Hi.

[ the lives she'll have to take haunt her even now — even without blood smudged against her palms. she sees her hands around their throats at night, sees her blades thrust into their hearts, but she can never recall the details of the faceless figures after she's awoken with a start, hair matted to her forehead from sweat while her hands grip desperately for the sheets in a weak effort to anchor herself back into the world. even if she survives to spend the remainder of her days holed up in a cottage, using her earnings to finally fill jeremy's stomach with a proper meal neither of them will have to hunt, she won't emerge victorious. elena gilbert will be a victor only in name, but never in spirit. there's glory to be found in sacrifice, but none to be had from pointless slaughter for the sake of entertainment intended for their sick, brainwashed mass audience.

she refuses to dwell on the thought of losing damon to a pack of ravenous murderers, as if ignoring the elephant in the room will somehow help her twist fate to her liking. when he latches onto her hand and tugs her down, she isn't considering that this might be the final time she ever catches a glimpse of his smile, nor the final time she ever genuinely laughs and crinkles her nose.

instead, she channels stefan when she awards him with a disapproving look for his antics — but there's amusement shining behind her eyes in spite of her small bout of exasperation. her hair billows around him, casting shade over his face, but she quickly moves to rake her hand through it to push it back. ]

Should I count this as you surrendering? [ she shakes her head, trying not to grin as she places her hands on either side of his head. ] You're lucky I'm not out for blood.

[ she highly suspects some of the other tributes would take this opportunity to rough him up, given how she's easily in a position to do just that, but it's merely a harmless game to elena. ]

[ the elephant in the room is one damon has already accepted -- elena may want to avoid thinking about it, but he knew what he was signing up for the moment he volunteered. he may last long enough that it is just down to him and elena, but he will not last the games. there's a certain kind of peace in accepting your own death, knowing that your days are numbered. it enables you to truly appreciate the minutes you have left, the little moments like this. elena hasn't smiled since they were reaped and it's been damon's mission to coax one out of her all day. he doesn't want her to lose herself to this, and that may be impossible, but... he's seen ric. he knows what the games do to a person, and he wants elena to avoid that, if she can. take as few lives as possible, lose as little as possible. it's all he can do for her, now.

her expression says she disapproves, but her eyes betray her, sparkling and amused and he'll take that as a win, his grin going blinding. her hair falls around him and for a moment he can smell it, though it's not quite like he remembers from twelve -- they have special soaps they've been using in the capitol to make her hair shine, and they smell wrong, but beneath that he can still smell her. he reaches up to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear, his hand lingering against her cheek. ]

I think I won, actually, I got you down on the floor with me. [ he flares his eyes at her flirtatiously, the grin turning into a smirk as he finally drops his hand from her face. ] If it's my blood you want, you can have it. I think the jugular's a good spot.

[ he tilts his chin up to bare his neck to her, eyes sparkling with mirth up at her. ]

[ this time, a fleeting flash of disapproval is sincere. damon has always been the type to primp and swagger through a room with a coy grin and an assured step in his walk, but his flirtatious behaviour here, with so many wandering eyes and gossiping mouths in the same vicinity, could further complicate any spins on the story the media has created. a man nobly sacrificing himself for the sake of his brother's love could easily progress into a tale of forbidden attraction; there's no need to incite the crowd more by fanning the flames, leading them to believe she's chosen to abandon one brother in favour of pursuing the other due to an abrupt epiphany. those twists only seem to happen in tragic romance novels — and elena has no plans to become the next conflicted heroine.

then again, hadn't she planned on remaining in district twelve while strangers were reaped from the crowd? funny how life hardly works in her favour these days. ]

Damon. [ she makes a valiant attempt to contain her own smile as she bats him in the chest for his comment, but her look of distaste and the chiding inflection in her tone due to his blatant flirting is only softened due to his hand brushing against her cheek before it falls. she highly doubts he expects her to take him up on that taunting offer, but the games are all about learning to surprise your enemies, aren't they?

she regards him for a moment, eyebrows raised and eyes narrowed in his direction, before she presses her face into the corner of his neck — and genuinely clamps down on the skin there. the pressure is enough to leave a mark as her own retaliation for his charade, but she relents, not entirely wanting to draw blood. her head quickly raises, regarding him with a nonplussed look. ]

That'll have to do for now.

[ the only reason damon would ever flirt so blatantly is that he's sure that elena will never take him up on it. if he thought that was a possibility... well, if they were in twelve, he would have flirted even more blatantly, but they're not. here, their survival depends on the idea that he volunteered to save her for his brother, and much as a forbidden, star-crossed love story appeals to some, it would alienate even more. they don't have the freedom to explore whatever it is between them, if there is anything -- damon will readily admit that he is liable to invent chemistry where there is none just to give himself hope, something to live for in the coming days.

there's a dark, insidious voice whispering in his head that the only way he could get elena to pay him any attention is to be days away from dying, but he's trying to ignore it. bitterness won't help him keep her alive. ]

Elena. [ he smiles up at her, the very picture of innocence. there's a smile in her eyes and he wants to bring it to her lips, is determined to spend the rest of the day working at it. these are their last days to try to have any kind of fun at all, and he wants to make sure they take advantage of every single one.

when she presses her face into his neck he laughs, expecting her to simply nip at him. instead she bites, hard enough to leave a mark, and he inhales sharply, his eyes falling closed. it takes all his self-control not to make a sound and to keep still, toes curling in his ridiculous shoes and hands clenching into fists to avoid grabbing at elena's hips. when she pulls back he takes a deep breath, opening his eyes to stare at her with a dazed expression, speechless. ]

[ elena: 1, damon: 0. she wants to laugh at the expression that slithers onto his features for reasons that are, as they've always been, inexplicable to elena. she hasn't ever discounted the notion that damon finds her attractive, unless he simply flirts with any reasonably attractive woman that falls into his path (or, in this particular case, his lap); he wouldn't choose to flirt and flash his coquettish smirks at her if he didn't, but the concept that there's a reason for his banter aside from unconcealed attempts at riling stefan and exasperating elena doesn't cross her mind — at least not for long. she's quick to shove any of her musings to neglected corners of her mind, content to leave them where they sit lest she uncover a secret she doesn't quite want to acknowledge.

but he looks at her now like a fish out of water and elena has to cock her head to the side while she observes him, gaze questioning. leaving damon salvatore speechless feels like an achievement in its own right. the number of times he's vexed her to the point of forcing her to throw her hands up in the air and exit the room with a disapproving shake of her head is far too high for her to even mentally track, but this is the first moment where she's outwitted him with her own tactics (if one counts simply 'being elena gilbert' as a tactic).

she wants to laugh, but she doesn't. her lips sink into her bottom lip instead to prevent herself from smiling, a little pleased with her small victory. ]

What? [ she huffs out the words, amused, and plasters on her most angelic (and unconvincing) face. ] You offered.

[ damon sits up slowly, watching elena carefully. the other tributes are whispering all around them, and damon can feels their eyes on him, but for now, he's ignoring them. he has no idea what to say, or do, or think, but there is at least one thing he knows -- elena has no idea how he feels. she wouldn't have just done that if she did. elena is many things, but cruel isn't one of them, and if she knew how he felt about her she wouldn't touch him like that. he doesn't know how to feel about that -- relieved that she is oblivious or disappointed that she isn't paying enough attention to him to realize. he shouldn't care, that's not what he's here for, but he can't help but feel a strange mixture of the two.

loving elena has been a constant in his life since he was fifteen years old, and in some ways the pain of not getting to be with her is comforting. it's familiar, a dull throb in his chest that reminds him that he's alive, that there's someone who makes everything worth it, even if she doesn't know that she does. sometimes it doesn't even hurt so much, when he has her attention and can make her react to him, whether through his asshole tactics or like now, trying his best to make her laugh and getting so close to succeeding. other times it makes his heart constrict, the emotional pain becoming physical.

the mark on his neck throbs in time with the pain in his chest, his skin tingling and nerves on overdrive from the mixed pleasure and pain of the bite. it's a strange combination, being so aroused and so hurt, but it makes sense in a strange way. elena hurts him even as she uplifts him, and that is the way things have always been.

it's almost comforting. ]

I did. But that hurt, and I think it would only be fair if I got to bite you back.

[ his face is entirely straight, inscrutable. ]

[ she wonders sometimes, in her oblivious haze, if this is simply a game damon finds some enjoyment in playing — and just how many women have fallen for it over the numerous years they've been acquainted. at times, it feels reminiscent of a playground battle; if they were younger and naively constructing sandcastles in the dirt while the older children marched to their inevitable doom in the arena, she imagines damon would be tugging on her pigtails every five seconds and shoving sand into the back of her pants just to gauge her reaction. he needles and pushes as he always has, but elena's become more adept at understanding how the cogs in damon's brain operate and rotate and how he shows his affection to those around him — though perhaps she doesn't quite comprehend it enough, given her inability to truly see the manner in which he looks at her. perhaps she doesn't want to, too frightened by the prospect of the softness she might find lingering there. it's easier to look toward what she knows instead — like the certainty that they'll have to murder to survive or the affirmation that, even with kills attached to her name, stefan will still welcome her back to district twelve with loving arms, should she ever manage to survive.

this just has to be another portion of damon's game where he tests her boundaries and patience. she can never quite distinguish whether his words are serious or playful, even now with her eyes carefully transfixed on her face — but elena can adapt and play his game. she'll have to learn to adjust and follow a separate set of rules if she hopes to keep her heart beating. ]

Seriously? [ she wrinkles her nose, but there's a lengthy pause. finally, she mimics his expression, her face an unreadable reflection, as her hand sweeps the hair shielding the curve of her neck away. ] Fine.

[ as they say, two can play that game. ]

[ the corners of his lips twitch up before he can stop them, but after that his face is a carefully blank mask again. he gently pushes her up to standing and follows her, brushing at the dirt on her knees as he goes. the back of his outfit is probably ruined, and pearl will scream bloody murder at him for it, but he doesn't really mind. she'll probably hate the mark on his neck even more, and he'll have to cover it up with makeup for the interviews, but he can't help but want to wear it as some kind of talisman, a reminder of what he has to fight for. it might even win him some favor -- the crowds always love a bad boy ladies' man.

he tucks her hair behind her ear again, brushing her thumb over the rise of her cheekbone for just a moment before dropping his hand. they can't ignore the eyes on them anymore, the tributes and their mentors and stylists' eyes boring into the pair of them. there will be whispers in these circles for all the days leading up to the games, and damon hopes they will be confined to the tributes and their teams, but he wouldn't bet on it. they will use whatever they can to gain an edge, and a weakness like this... it was made to be exploited. ]

Later. We don't want to give them all too much of a show, do we? In our rooms. I'm holding you to it, Gilbert.

[ ric comes up to them then -- it's time to get in the chariots, the parade starts soon. elena steps away before damon does, and ric gives him a stony look. he doesn't have to say anything for damon to know what he means, and even though he would prefer to pretend they haven't just fucked up, his expression goes sheepish. ric is right, he screwed up, letting things go this far in front of the other tributes. elena didn't mean anything by it, but they won't see it that way.

he ducks his head and steps over to the chariot, brushing at the dirt on his shoulder, suddenly more worried over the state of his clothes than he was a moment ago. ]

[ with her eyes lingering on damon as everyone around them primps their outfits in preparation for their grand entrances, it's impossible to miss ric's brief, displeased look. it speaks for itself, conveying more than what ric's voice possibly could. while it isn't directed solely at her, she ducks her head in sheepishness in tandem with damon's embarrassed look. agreeing to meet with him in the privacy of their own rooms doesn't boost their image and repute among the tributes, either. from the corner of her eye, she can catch a glimpse of their inquisitive looks directed in the direction of district twelve's chariots and the smirks curling on the lips of some of the more hormonal teenage boys.

it's fine, she mouths to damon as he steps to her side and the two enter their chariot, elena's hand moving to brush the excess dirt from his shoulder. she lets her hand linger there, innocent enough but still a sign of a bond tethering them together as their chariot lurches forward. the cries and cheers are deafening. elena only manages to drown them out by staring intently at president snow as he launches into a speech everyone but the careers know is made of nothing but bullshit, but she grits her teeth and smiles warmly at the crowd until the parade is over.

she exits the chariot and makes a beeline for the elevator before any of the other tributes have the chance to try to ridicule or befriend her, feeling as though feigning mirth and amicability has zapped all of her energy from her. the ride from the elevator to their suite seems impossibly long, but she lets out a relieved sigh as soon as they enter. it's not a subject she wants to approach, but after a moment of inspecting the area and halting just in front of the hall leading to their bedrooms, she tilts her head toward damon. ]

Did Ric say anything to you?

[ she thinks that expression said enough, but she feels the need to ask regardless. ]

[ the parade goes too slowly for damon, the time seeming to stretch into infinity as he tries to appear intimidating and friendly by turns. he grits his teeth through president snow's speech, leaning into elena. she is his touchstone through all of this, the one thing that he can turn to when he needs to be reminded why he has to play along with all of this. her hand on his shoulder grounds him, and he focuses on that point of contact for the duration of the speech, ignoring the president's words. it's easier to smile when he has her to focus on, nodding in all the appropriate places and waving to the crowds when the speech is finally, blessedly over.

he had meant to speak to the tributes from eleven when they were finished, but elena wants to go back to their suite immediately and where elena goes, damon follows. not that he minds, really, there will be other chances to talk to them. they have to do their training together, after all, he can corner one of them then. he keeps his distance during the elevator ride, resisting the urge to touch his neck where the mark she left on him is, keeping his eyes on the doors in front of them. he overstepped his bounds back there, and he doesn't want to do so again.

when they step off the elevator, he begins to walk toward his room, but elena speaks and he stops immediately, looking at the floor for a moment before bringing his eyes up to hers. ]

No, nothing. [ he didn't need to goes unsaid. ] Did he say something to you?

[ she hasn't known ric terribly long, but she doesn't need to assess and dissect the older man to witness the thin line his mouth sets into whenever they've made a blunder or whenever his glass runs dry. even if a portion of elena wants to argue against his insistence that they conform to an image that doesn't suit them, always tiptoeing around a thin line lest someone misinterpret her intentions toward damon and vice-versa, ric is more experienced, sagacious with his knowledge of how the capitol, so isolated from the grit of the districts, operates. they'll tear them apart if they falter, ensuring a loss of sponsors and a greater chance of winning.

on the other hand, ric has survived — but is he ever truly living? more often than not, elena catches him in the midst of staring into the bottom of a glass, looking absolutely hollow and numb. if that's the price she has to pay for winning, maybe she doesn't want to win at all. maybe she'll no longer feel the need to restrain her instincts and humour for the sake of appearance. no matter what she chooses, she doubts ric will allow her to throw away her chances so easily, just for the sake of giving the capitol the finger in the most petulant of ways. ]

No. [ she shakes her head, moving a few steps toward damon as soon as his feet ground him against the floor, keeping him from entering his room and shutting her out. she can still see the mark from this angle, but she refrains from smiling and fiddles with her fingers instead, offering up a soft: ] Sorry.

[ it's my fault. it won't happen again. she feels that, even without saying as much, damon will understand her. ]

I didn't think anyone would make a big deal out of it.

[ and it still isn't a big deal, if you ask her. her tone implies as much, even if it's faintly embarrassed and apologetic. ]

[ damon has known alaric for years, had inexplicably become one of the few people in the district the man actually likes. when he volunteered, he spent an hour explaining everything to ric, why he volunteered and how he planned to protect elena at the cost of his own life. he cried on ric's shoulder, mourning his life and his future and the person elena could have been if she'd been kept away from all of this. damon was not a boy prone to tears, and he half-expected ric to berate him for weakness. his father would have. but ric just held onto him and let him cry, and when he was done they began planning. ric knows everything, which is why he thins his lips and narrows his eyes at damon when he gets too close to elena -- it goes against the plan, it puts the delicate balance they are trying to strike in jeopardy.

to save elena, damon should avoid her until the games. he can't control himself around her, too in love and too determined to make this easy for her to be able to adhere as strictly to the plan as he needs to. but he does love her, and he can't bear the thought of leaving her alone through all of this.

as she moves closer to him, he has one wild thought of taking a step back, putting more distance between them or fleeing outright, but his traitorous legs keep him rooted to the spot, swaying forward slightly, as though he can't help it. they were so close today, and there is something between them, he's sure of it. there has to be. it wouldn't change anything to acknowledge it, but maybe he could go to his death with the knowledge that the one person he wants wants him back. ]

It's alright. You didn't do anything wrong.

[ he did, by pulling her on top of him, by encouraging her, by being too determined to make her smile to realize what they must have looked like. he was the one at fault. ]

I knew they would. I messed up, Elena, I'm sorry.

[ if they were anywhere else, if they were anyone else, it wouldn't be a big deal. but they are where and who they are, and even the most minor blunder can cost them their lives. ]

[ she almost holds up a hand to hinder him from continuing, but she refrains, fingers twitching at her side from the willpower it takes not to move forward and grasp his wrist to prevent him from speaking. part of her doesn't want to hear it — not out of any distaste for damon and his painfully sincere apology, but because no portion of elena faults him. it feels like they're walking atop mines, minding where their feet land in a poor attempt to keep the ground from trembling beneath them. they'll devour them if they stumble, and if ric's hard gaze is anything to go by, they already have taken an ill-advised step. it's too much to hope they'll skirt over the topic, that some other tribute will capture the capitol's attention with their extraordinary feats or scandalous behaviour, but playing by their strict set of rules — ones that leave barely any room for wiggling around them, at that — is already making her weary. ]

Damon, stop.

[ her voice isn't hard, but it's stern in its soft urging. she can already see him tearing himself down for one minor error. she'd rather naively believe the capitol will find another juicy morsel of a potentially brewing scandal to channel their energy into rather than continuing to whisper about any actions or words that can be misconstrued as intimate and salacious — but she feels like that opportunity might have been thrown out the window the instant he'd mentioned heading into their own rooms to continue their supposed 'show'.

she grabs his wrist now, as though that'll stop him from placing further blame on himself. ]

You don't have anything to apologize for. It's this — stupid place.

[ not very eloquent of her, she guesses, but it's the truth; the capitol will twist and manipulate the both of them and their actions however they damn well please, and there's not a thing either of them can do about it. ]

[ that is the difference between them, the trait damon loves most in elena and which he so desperately lacks: she is optimistic, allows herself to hope for the future, no matter how far-fetched that hope is. damon is realistic, refuses to allow himself to hope for the best rather than prepare for the worst. elena is positivity and light and love and damon wants to kill each and every person involved in the games this year for taking that away from her -- because he is a realist, and he has no illusions about how this will end for her. she will survive, but she will not live. and maybe that's worse than just dying, but he can't live in a world without her, not even for a moment. so she has to survive.

he stops speaking when she tells him to, watching her intently. she's defending him, even though his mistake may cost them their lives, and he's about to tell her so when she takes his wrist. the touch immediately quiets him, his eyes snapping to the place her fingers wrap around his skin.

she's either entirely oblivious, or she feels something too. damon is a realist, but elena makes him hope.

slowly, he twist his hand around until he can lace their fingers together, pulling elena closer. he gives her plenty of time to pull away, and keeps his grip on her hand light. ]

You still owe me a bite.

[ while she isn't prepared to thrust a blade through the heart of an innocent struggling to survive just one more minute in the arena (how could she ever ready herself for the horrors that await them?), she steels herself against damon. this is a synchronised and personal battle elena knows well. damon argues against her, but elena refuses to yield, refusing to bend to an agreement. they've performed this dance far too many times for her to recall every instance, but it seems more vital now — as though advocating her point will instill hope within even damon. clinging to optimism won't rescue either of them from a well-placed spear or an arrow targeted at their heart, but elena perseveres in spite of the cruel reality of the hand they've been dealt.

where she expects a clash of their views this time, she receives what is, from damon, nearly a surrender. she won't needlessly defend him where she shouldn't, never hesitant to confront him in regard to his indiscretions, but he isn't the villain. despite how frequently they might dangle their previous spectacle over their heads, she won't let damon shoulder all of the burden himself.

she relaxes when the refusal to acknowledge her forgiveness never arrives, but what follows makes her tense on principle. he tugs her closer with their entwined hands and elena relents, going along with the notion. she wonders if this is damon's method of ignoring the situation entirely now, but she doesn't circle back to the discussion. she almost leaps to the conclusion that this is meant to exasperate her as soon as the follow-up comment leaves his mouth, and she rolls her eyes, good-natured, in response.

there's no need to point out they aren't really in their rooms. with ric lingering wherever and no stylists to harass them over the state of their outfits, they're as alone as they'll ever be. ]

You don't have to say it like that. [ you still owe me a bite sounds like something a bloodthirsty creature would say. her free hand pushes her hair back slowly, exposing the hollow of her throat, and she drums her delicate fingers against the vulnerable flesh she reveals there. her eyebrows raise as she glances to him, her gaze almost challenging in nature. ] Maybe I changed my mind.

[ damon knows when a cause is lost, and there's a particular set to elena's shoulder, a fierceness to her eyes that lets him know when she isn't going to back down. and besides, why would he waste their last days together arguing? he loves riling her up, but it invariably ends up with her getting angry or annoyed with him, and that is the opposite of what he wants now. better to let her believe she's won and keep the peace so he can take advantage of his last days with her.

she allows him to draw her in, and he has to work surprisingly hard to relegate the grin that threatens to take over his face to a smirk. even as she threatens that she's changed her mind, she's pushed her hair away from her neck, and damon knows he has already won. he steps even closer to her, untangling their fingers to slide slowly up her arm, brushing over the skin in hopes of leaving goose bumps in his wake. they will never get to act on anything they feel, if his intuition is right and she does feel something for him, but he can make her just as sexually frustrated as she makes him. his hand curls softly around her neck, tilting it to the side so he has better access, brushing his thumb delicately over her skin. ]

Promise I'll be gentle, [ he teases, but he has no intention of actually being gentle. she left a mark on him, both with her bite and metaphorically, on his soul, if you want to get ridiculous about it -- he intends to leave her with a mark too. ]

[ elena gilbert is content to thrive in the land of denial. accepting that she'll lead damon hand-in-hand to his fate is a more difficult feat than grasping at the false sense of hope and security that bubbles inside of her. speaking as though the outcome is sealed with no room for adjustments unsettles her, making her bristle at the mere thought of it. no one can possibly expect her to march into the arena with her head held high with that gloomy outlook hanging over her head like a persistent storm cloud, constantly raining on her to remind her of its foreboding presence. damon speaks as though the two of them have already irreparably doomed themselves with their antics, insisting upon protecting her like no other available path has presented itself to him. she hasn't lost him yet, nor does she intend to — but if he continues to abide so strictly to the rules the capitol has established, she thinks she might have already given him away to a much greater power than her own determination.

but any of her lingering resentment at damon's choice to find fault with his actions softens the instant his hand trails along the exposed skin of her arm. she watches him, gaze intense, but it's easy to fool herself into believing she's only wary of his ministrations rather than anticipating them. admitting to any eagerness would be an acknowledgement of a deeper bond between them, and so elena merely blames the manner in which her pulse races underneath his thumb on hesitation.

she tilts her head farther, easily granting him more access to the vulnerable surface of skin. it's a no good, terribly bad idea, but her feet remain glued to the floor. ]

Why don't I believe that? [ oh, right, because it's coming from damon. she releases a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding since the moment he had touched her, dropping her hand to her side as it curls in the hem of her own shirt, anticipatory. ]

[ one of them has to face reality, and damon would rather it be him than elena. he is more than happy to let her live in some delusional world where the both of them will get to return home, if it means that she gets to keep smiling for a little while longer. they may not have entirely doomed themselves, but they haven't helped themselves either, and any misstep could be fatal with their situation so precarious already. no one believes the tributes from twelve will ever win, so sponsors spend all their time and influence on careers, and damon already knows who the favourites will be -- klaus and rebekah mikaelson, siblings from one who come from a long line of victors. most everyone believes it will be one of them who wins, and they will be damon's most deadly competition.

but he's not going to think about that when he has elena's body pressed up against his, her neck bared for him and her pulse racing under his thumb. it's the little things that he has to hold onto now, and this is a memory he will go back to whenever things get too bad in the arena. ]

Because you know me too well. [ he smirks and ducks his head to her neck, taking a moment to just breathe against her skin, heightening her awareness of that part of her body. then he nips at her, a sharp but brief press of his teeth into her skin. for a moment after that he pauses, lets her believe that that's all...

and then he sinks his teeth into her neck, wrapping his free hand around her waist to pull her even closer to him. he keeps the pressure up long enough to leave a mark, then lets go of the skin to scrape his teeth over the bruise blossoming there. before he pulls away he bites again, this time hard enough to draw blood, and when he finally straightens there's a drop of her blood on his lips. he wipes it away with his thumb, looking equal parts sheepish and smug. ]

Whoops. Sorry.

[ of the two salvatores, damon always manages to have a surprise carefully hidden in his sleeve. where stefan signifies safety and comfort within her mind, damon is the personification of unpredictability. no amount of silently dissecting him over the years has made him any less of a wild card; in fact, she suspects it almost makes him more of an unknown variable in most equations. as soon as she deceives herself into sincerely believing she can prepare for his next maneuver, he sweeps the rug out from under her and leaves her planted on the ground, mind racing to comprehend what's just occurred as every ounce of oxygen rushes out of her lungs. she expects his threats, if they could even be labeled as such, to be nothing more than vacant promises meant to unsettle her (though she'll never admit that, in the back of her mind, she hopes his teasing words are genuine and leave her anticipating his next move in this battle of tension).

but his insistence on a fair exchange between the two isn't an empty vow or one of his damon-esque jests, and elena isn't certain whether she should be shocked, irritated, or pleased. the nip is harmless, at first. she laughs against the contact, mirthful and a little breathless from how sensitive her neck has become to his touch, but it quickly escalates into something more. it's a false sense of security he's lulled her into when she relaxes, no longer guarded in a attempt to ensure her reaction is subdued. when his teeth clamp down onto her skin, hard and insistent, she inhales sharply — but it's the second bite, the one that causes a small amount of blood to seep from her neck, that earns the biggest reaction. she makes a choked sound in the back of her throat, equal parts pain and — well, equal parts something she doesn't want to acknowledge — but then he's straightening himself, looking far too pleased with himself, and elena instinctively purses her lips, fixing him with a look, in return. ]

You're not sorry.

[ but if he's going to go that far, she isn't going to relent and allow him to win so easily. she snatches his thumb, maintaining eye contact as she draws the finger between her lips, sucking away the small drop of blood there before she releases his hand entirely. ]

Just so you know? That innocent look isn't fooling anyone.

[ there's no point in damon looking sheepish when she can see the smugness etched so blatantly into his expression. ]

[ elena's reactions are both gratifying and arousing, the choked noise she makes when his teeth break her skin going straight to his cock. his eyes are half-hooded when he pulls away and gives her the most innocent look he can manage -- which is not that innocent, really. the smug satisfaction is clear in his eyes -- and waits for her to berate him.

her actual reaction drives all the air from his lungs, his eyes trained on her lips where they're wrapped around his thumb. he's instantly hard, the parade outfit he's still in doing nothing to hide it. when she pulls away, his eyes remain glued to her lips for a handful of seconds before they dart back up to her eyes as he tries to remember how to breathe.

and then he thinks to hell with breathing. he uses the hand still wrapped around elena's waist to push her back into a wall, his other hand going to cup her face as he pulls her into a searing kiss. she kisses him back with equal fervor, grabbing at the front of his shirt and pulling him into her so they're pressed together from chest to thighs. damon rocks his hips into hers and elena gasps, dropping her head back onto the wall to try to gulp down air, and he takes the opportunity to go back to her neck, dragging his teeth over the mark he left there. elena makes a desperate noise --

hikes her leg up around his waist --

damon picks her up to wrap her legs around him --

and then he blinks, snaps back to reality, and stares dazedly at elena. he can't read her expression, but he's sure she's smug, and her lips are stained just the slightest bit red from her own blood. she's standing in front of him like she hasn't just fueled his fantasies for the rest of his life, short as it's going to be, and he can barely breathe.

when he speaks, his voice is low and husky, breathless. ]

You're one to talk.

[ elena's naivete and obliviousness is, in some aspects, unrivaled — but she isn't blind (or numb, considering the close proximity doesn't do much to conceal damon's body's reaction). where she was content to overlook the dazed flicker in his eyes before the parade had commenced, the cues are impossible to miss now, however much she'd like to attribute them to something — literally anything — else other than the tension that hangs in the air so heavily it might as well be fog. the logical, responsible course of action would require her to disentangle herself from him and retreat to the sanctity of her bedroom. he still has his hand looped around her waist to pull her tightly to him, anchoring her into a position that she's only now hyper-aware of, and her neck throbs with the aching reminder of his teeth scraping and piercing her skin.

the room feels too stifling hot, flushing her face, but she still doesn't break away from him. even her eye contact is steady, when she'd like nothing more to tear her eyes away from him and steer away from addressing the elephant in the room. he's hormonal and flirtatious — it's just an instinctive reaction to that sort of thing, isn't it? if elena reassures herself it has little to do with her, maybe she'll stop dwelling on it.

fat chance, but isn't it satisfying that damon isn't a mind reader?

she can still taste her own blood on her lips, staining them pale red. she flicks her tongue over her lower lip, catching what she's missed, and laughs, husky and soft, at damon's reply. thankfully, elena pulls off the innocent look more convincingly than damon ever could, even if she knows he'll see right through the theatricality of her expression. ]

Me? [ it takes a few minutes to find her voice — and though it's low and rough, it's an improvement over possibly gaping like a fish. she pretends to be almost affronted, then shakes her head. ] I don't know what you're talking about, Damon. I don't have to fake innocence.

[ elena's faux-innocence doesn't convince damon one bit, and he latches onto that in order to stop thinking about the way her lips are such an appealing red, how close they are and how he can still feel a faint throb in his neck where she bit him. the mark he left on her is angry and red where he broke the skin, a drop of blood sliding down his collarbones to pool at the top of her dress, and damon can't pay attention to that either. it's not safe to look anywhere but her eyes, and even those aren't entirely safe -- they're intense and almost inscrutable, make damon feel more vulnerable than he's used to. he knows she can feel his reaction to her lips on his skin, but he hopes that she'll just put that down to being a hormonal teenager going to his death soon. ]

Liar liar pants on fire, Elena. Deception isn't an attractive look on you.

[ he lets her go, dropping his hand from where it's wrapped around her waist. there's temptation to let the touch linger, but it's that exact temptation that makes him let go all at once. they've mad enough mistakes today, he doesn't need to add to the list. ]

We should go get out of these ridiculous clothes and wash up. Ric will be back any minute.

[ damon's in luck, in some regard. she makes no comment on his current little dilemma; it's too embarrassing for the both of them for elena to even broach the topic with a neutral expression, staving off any heat that threatens to stain her cheeks. he withdraws, hand pulling away — but she can still feel the light pressure of his touch on her waist, scorching through the material of her dress. at the very least, she's been given a small miracle; she can finally breathe, no longer stifled by the hot, tense atmosphere. she even manages a weak smile, offering a slow, understanding nod as she wipes away the blood skirting along her flesh.

ric is going to slaughter both of them, ripping them from limb to limb (and potentially castrating damon) if he catches a glimpse of the mark imbued into elena's flesh. she moves her hair to act as a curtain, but the reveal will come eventually. she can already envision pearl's shrieking and flailing, and while the consequences and knowing looks from her mentor and stylist should unnerve her, it only makes her grin as tugs at the zipper of her dress. she doesn't unzip it fully, knowing that there are certain lines to be crossed, but she lingers for a moment in the frame of her door. ]

I'll see you later. At least try not to get into any more trouble.

[ yeah, wash up. she'll do just that, preferably with cold water. ]

[ luck would be if she hadn't done this at all -- if he'd had the forethought to realize that pulling her down with him before the parade was a monumentally terrible idea -- but he'll take what he can get. he's more grateful than he'll admit that she lets his predicament go unremarked upon -- he couldn't take it if she ridiculed him now, after everything. unknowingly cruel as elena can be, she would never purposefully hurt anyone, not if she could avoid it, and damon's never appreciated that more than he does now. this was all a terrible idea with terrible side effects, but elena won't call him out on it. ric won't hesitate to tear him apart over it and pearl will give them both hell, but damon looks forward to that more than he's afraid -- pearl will be funny and ric... well, it's nice to have a father figure who actually seems to like him.

he watches elena walk away, unzipping her dress as she goes, and he can't help but follow the movement with his eyes. they only snap back to her face when she speaks, watching him from the entrance to her room. it's easy enough to summon up a mischievous smile and raise an eyebrow -- when all else fails, always resort back to the tried and true cocky cover up.

(pun not intended.) ]

Oh come on, how much trouble could I get into in the shower?

[ a cold shower is just what he needs after being in a near constant state of arrousal all day. ]

[ how much trouble can one get in the shower? only a bit. how much trouble can damon get into in the midst of a shower? more than his fair share, she imagines. but imagining showers and the required nudity for said shower isn't exactly a path of mental imagery she'd like to frolic down, so she shuts that line of thought down immediately by raising her eyebrows at him, gaze knowing. ]

You could get into trouble anywhere. I've learned not to underestimate you, Damon.

[ the droplets of blood still coating her neck are a token of that. damon is a constant whirlwind of surprises, knocking her out of her element more than she'd ever care to count. it's a talent that will likely be a weapon they can wield in the arena, using their combined unpredictability to take the games by storm. never understate your ally's abilities — and, most importantly of all, never miscalculate your opponent's capabilities lest you have a craving for a spear through the eye. she's only beginning to grasp the basics, but elena has always been a rapid learner; within the span of the next few days, she hopes her diligence and ability to retain ric's teachings will, at the very least, make him proud.

she shoots damon one last look, shaking her head in an amused manner before disappearing into her room. ]