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S01 E03 / 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖎𝖛𝖊
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There was only one thing you really needed to know about Damon Salvatore other than the fact he was, of course, despicable and had a taste for blood––
He also happened to fucking love a dramatic entrance.
Hi honey! Damon wanted to declare, Guess who's coming to dinner!
──────
Rosy Santos, meanwhile, had always just wanted a quiet life.
That's what she'd searched for in the cracks and crevices of Mystic Falls, but not in the corner of a coffin, that's for sure. She'd tried to find something warm and something normal, the domesticity of the Gilbert's doorway and hinges, of the family photos hung on the wall around them.
But as she leant against the door, listening to Elena's footsteps behind her, and felt a chilling, cold draft flood its way from the outside, she got the feeling that they'd lost normality a long time ago.
(Maybe things had never been even close to normal in the first place?)
"Care–– hey?"
Elena was as confused as Rosy was, her brow folding as she, tightly, crossed her arms over her chest and bought her shirt down over her now very cold fingers. Caroline, however, barely wavered at their shared bewilderment.
"I love a dinner party," the blonde stated, breezing over the threshold into the house without even batting an eyelash, "It's so refined and... and Gossip Girl, y'know?"
Yeah.
Sure.
Rosy's eyebrows raised but she didn't speak. Instead, her head just turned back to look Elena, mouth opening and closing as if she couldn't quite find the right words–– the Gilbert just blinked back, eyes, eventually, settling on the man in the leather jacket on the front porch.
