𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔪

[willowxsparks]

Willow wasn’t the camping type, she never had been and never planned on being the camping type. However, here she was. In a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt with a jacket, wandering around trying to grab photos on her camera. She had always enjoyed photography, properly came from being Photographed all the time. She had climbed up on the stump to grab a picture of a bird in the tree. “What?” Willow asked as she looked at the person. “I do have other hobbies.” She said with a shrug.

[dcmvns]

     when damon comes across what appears, at least, to be willow taking pictures of a bird, he can’t help the sardonically amused grin that comes across his face, heightened by the response he gets from her when she notices him watching. “i didn’t say anything,” he responds airily, waving a hand dismissively in the air. “i was observing. no need to get defensive.” his grin turns sharp and his hands go to his pockets, a gesture that might on someone else have looked casual but on damon only manages to appear calculated. “is this one of your hobbies, then? bird-watching? very interesting.”

[dcmvns]

closed starter for @wrendaily

     for as much as damon tends to excel at most other things he attempts, camping--and all its nuances--are far from anything he’s even remotely good at. the problem is that he can’t intimidate his air mattress into inflating itself. he can’t intimidate these stupid logs into burning. he can’t even intimidate his phone into losing service less often. yes, damon had learned a certain type of self-sufficiency at an early age--that type, unfortunately, does not include survival skills in the woods. it doesn’t really matter considering his life is decidedly not hanging on his ability to make a campfire, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t really fucking annoying to find out how useless he apparently is out in the wild. or...what a bunch of rich new yorkers consider to be the wild, anyway. it’s when he drops his fifth burned-out match and looks up that he sees wren--from the office--walking by, and before he has a chance to think about it he calls out to her. “miss daily,” he says with a smile that is on its way to being openly teasing. “i suppose i can’t rightfully ask you to get me a cup of coffee while we’re out here, but what would you say to showing me how to get this fire started?” the logs lay haphazardly at his feet in no particular arrangement, and the edge of one of them is charred from where he’s continuously been trying to light it. “i’m afraid in all my years of figuring out how to run a business i somehow never mastered the delicate art of building a campfire.”

[dcmvns]

closed started for @nadiahqs

     it almost doesn’t surprise damon to find out he’s been placed in a tent with nadia. he doesn’t believe in god, doesn’t believe in fate, doesn’t even believe in karma, but he does believe the universe is full of random chaos, and that nine times out of ten, if something unfavorable can happen, it probably will. murphy’s law, he’s heard it referred to as, but he hates the idea of giving it a name. the point, of course, is that he is stuck with nadia in this tent for the next week and if there’s ever been a better time to get this whole thing over with and talk to her already, he can’t remember it. he despises this process of metaphorically clearing the air, and maybe if it had been most other people, damon wouldn’t have bothered. but not so long ago he really had been harboring some kind of feelings for nadia ( before his mother and her parents had begun conspiring to get them hitched and unknowingly done the one thing they could have done to butcher those feelings ) and if nothing else, he respects her too much to treat her the way he treats most other people. so before retiring to the tent at the end of the first day--which has felt like several days--he pulls her aside and guides them to the outskirts of the clearing where everyone is set up, safe from prying eyes and ears under the cover of trees. “it’s about time we spoke, isn’t it?” he says in a low voice, leaning back against a large pine’s trunk and sticking his hands in the pockets of his chinos ( which he’s decided to wear camping ). “i half suspect my mother had something to do with our sleeping arrangements.”

[dailygossipgirl]

Best of Gossip Girl: Pilot [08/?]

[augustuspierce]

@dcmvns

[dcmvns]

wrendaily‌:

she’s at a loss at this point. wren initially  thought she was in his office, because she was in trouble. if that was the case, she hoped he wouldn’t drag it on too much. wren rather be scolded quickly so she could leave and try to do better. damon doesn’t seem to be as scary as everyone thought. being the coffee girl, wren often overheard many conversations because she was more or less invisible. sure, he was intimidating enough that wren had to remind herself to make eye contact, but he wasn’t scary. she knew scary men. wren smiles, her face lighting up with recognition. “that’s so amazing. what a small city we live in,” she said, genuinely meaning it. she thought it was absotely crazy that the nice man she met years ago ended up being her boss. the fact that he would remember such a short interaction was amazing all in itself, as well. wren wasn’t very memorable, after all. she grins. “to be fair, i haven’t learned much about art since then, but i still want to visit the metropolitan museum of art one day.” after her pirouette, wren feels rather embarrassed. sometimes she acted without thinking first or maybe it was because she wanted to prove herself. a soft expression took over her features. “i was the sugarplum fairy last christmas at the festival ballet theater. maybe your mother was in the audience,” she murmurs, fixing a stray hair from her otherwise perfect bun. nodding her head, she encourages herself to accept his words. she was trying not to be so hard on herself anymore. at the mention of her ex, wren did her best to fight a grimace. “he’s still around…just…” she shrugs her shoulders. “not around me.” 

     the way she seems so genuinely pleased by the happenstance of their meeting a few years ago strikes damon as endearingly innocent, like a child still taken with the first snowfall of the year. it’s different than most other people, who might have been pleased by the coincidence but certainly not with the same wholeheartedness that wren displays. “actually it’s a very large city,” he says, set off with a grin, “but i take your meaning. it can seem small sometimes, can’t it?” and when one finds themselves among the upper echelons of society, he reflects, it frequently feels no larger than one of the small towns in upstate new york. “not to worry, seeing as i haven’t learned one thing about art since then. you could still talk your way in circles around me, i’m sure.” had any of his employees heard damon speaking this way to somebody they’d likely have believed themselves dreaming, and he’s very careful not to let that happen. wren, who is brand new to the company and chanced upon meeting damon outside of work beforehand, hasn’t had enough time to form an opinion for herself. and he’s aware of the things people say about him, the things she’s probably heard already, but he has an idea she hasn’t taken any of those things to heart yet. he doesn’t want her too, either--he’s not totally sure why that is, but he does know the idea of wren daily disliking him feels wrong. “if she was in the audience, i was in the audience. my mother doesn’t do these things on her own and i’m afraid i’ve never really been able to say no to her.” in truth he can’t remember which ballets he’d seen with her last year, they’d begun blending together a long time ago, but he can perfectly imagine wren in her sugarplum fairy outfit and amuses him endlessly. the news about the boyfriend is similarly interesting, though of course damon keeps that off his face. “sleazing about manhattan, is he?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, feet on the desk, and grabs one of the coffees she’d set down earlier. “exes always are. so--” swiftly changing the subject, he lowers his chin and looks at her from beneath his heavy brow bone, “how long do you think you’ll be sticking around here then, miss daily? i imagine the holidays are a busy time for a dancer.”

[dcmvns]

benjaminkauri‌:

“i’m just saying… you have this huge place and a butler and… it’s very royal. not that it’s a bad thing… it’s just very royal.” benji raised an eyebrow, watching damon smoke. he fumbled through his jacket pocket for a box of cigarettes and raised an eyebrow, “you mind?” he laughed softly at damon’s point about sweden’s monarchy, shaking his head. damon was very prim and proper… almost uptight, in a strange way. he nodded slowly, shrugging, “well… i guess we can go song by song? if that’s cool?” he pulled his phone out to play the demos, letting it play softly, “the first song… street punks on a freight train? uh, it’s… it’s actually loosely inspired by us and this whole thing. not obviously, but… the whole mismatched deal refers to the two of us. love me hate me… it’s about the first man i ever feel in love with…” he stayed quiet for a minute, letting the music stay. “bang bang… it’s about gun violence in this country… it’s actually one of the most important songs on the ep to me.” he bit his lip, deciding to let him digest the first few songs before describing the other ones.

     royal. it’s the second time benji has used the word and it strikes damon as interesting to know how out of place he apparently feels in this setting. it also highlights for damon the fact that this extravagance is one of the places he feels most comfortable, and how different that makes them. he doesn’t look down on it, though, mostly because benji doesn’t seem to be judging, only making an observation. “semantics, i guess,” he says finally, and nods to let benji know he doesn’t mind if he smokes. he himself has a small silver box where he keeps pre-rolled cigarettes made of the finest tobacco he can get his hands on often using illegal means. “that’s cool,” he echoes benji’s adjective teasingly, the joint still clasped loosely between his fingers while thick plumes of smoke spiral up toward the high ceiling. he’s immediately struck with a particular interest over the first song, the one apparently inspired by their faux relationship they’ve put together for the media, but damon—ever patient when he wants to be—holds his tongue until benji gives him a clear opening to comment. “they’re personal,” is his first remark, the one he finds most interesting. “honest. not something you always see in the music industry, is it?” he surveys benji for a moment, thinking, and then adds, “not real honesty, at least. there’s a difference.” he nods, more to himself than anyone else. “and the rest?”

[dcmvns]

willowxsparks‌:

it was nothing against him, the short-lived relationship wasn’t something Willow was fully into and plus, she kinda realized that he was actually a bit of a dickhead. Not that the point was made known at the time but the pair of them were just constantly clashing over the stupid things. Willow simply just needed out of it. However, the fact that he was here.. and he had landed the role she properly would have to work so damn close with. The model needed to start figuring out how she was going to cope with that.. while not developing a drinking problem in the process. Too be fair, she could of been stuck with some complete and utter stranger.  “Hardy..” Willow repeated as she pressed her lips together, letting him talk about his business for two seconds. She did admire the fact that he knew what he was doing with his empire - hell she didn’t even know what she wanted for breakfast half the time. Nodding her head along, pretending like she actually gave two shits about the business talk. “Well great for you,” she said with a dry tone. Clinking her glass gently with his, she raised it to her lips for a brief second to take a sip before lowering it again. “you’ve never seen the show.. but here you are.” Willow quizzed with a raised eyebrow. “So you have no idea on who Chuck is, because all honesty. You could just keep being yourself and you are Chuck.” she admitted. “But, i’ll be able to deliver as Blair.. Don’t you worry,” she said, more of words of power to herself. If the world could see her in her Underwear - she could nail this role. Hopefully..

     no, he’s never seen the show, but damon has heard on more than one occasion from more than one source about how much he ‘reminds them of chuck bass,’ something which eventually had begun to get on his nerves. he doesn’t like being compared to other people, fictional or otherwise. it’s the inherent implication that he’s not all that different from everyone else, and in that way not any better than everyone else. which, of course, he firmly believes he is. it feels right, in some sense, that he should bring chuck bass to life--as if by putting part of himself into the character he can distinguish himself from it and no longer have to worry about being too much like him.

     “i know who chuck bass is,” he corrects her, lifting an eyebrow at her comment. “you aren’t the first person to tell me that, believe it or not. it’s an idiotic analogy considering he--what--operates a chain of hotels? very impressive.” the roll of his eyes makes clear the sarcasm in damon’s dry tone of voice. “i’m sure you can deliver as blair, from what i’ve heard she’s not much more than a bossy airhead, isn’t that right? sounds very familiar. but i’m sure you’ve managed to find a way to romanticize that just as you do your own unflattering tendencies toward histrionics.”

[ratliker1917]

sick of people who want to kill me just because I’m evil

[dcmvns]

wrendaily‌:

it feels like those times when she was called into the principal’s office because warren punched another student or her dad was in jail again. there was something about being in front of a desk that her nervous and it didn’t matter who sat behind it. she wonders what she did wrong to attract the attention of damon stenström. would she need to find another job by the end of the day? she hoped not. “well…it’s a lot of responsibilities,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “-not that i mind, of course” wren was quick to add. she claspes her hands in front of her, then behind her. she never knew what to do with her hands. she nods her head. “mr. stenström…” she murmurs, struggling to keep his gaze. wren is all too quiet, but her mind his running at the speed of light.  “i thought you looked familiar.” one heeled foot taps against the floor in thought. the chelsea art gallery. she had attended it awhile ago, but she remembers most of it. mostly, she remembered how awful the night turned after she left the gallery. a soft smile appears on her face. “that was you? i remember-” she chuckles. “i remember telling you that i thought the brushstrokes were fascinating even though i had no idea what i was saying.” wren shakes her head at the silly memory. “then i had to go,” the ballerina bit her lip and nodded. “you were very nice to withstand my rambling about art.” there’s another smile, she can’t help it. “oh i am dancer- a ballerina. i’ve just returned from a tour with my dance company.” she pauses, the front of her shoes pointing downwards as she performs a quick pirouette. when she’s finished, she clears her throat and looks around the office, her eyes settling on the coffee cups. “the pay is fine when there’s a show in session or if we’re on tour but…when we’re on break, i still need to pay rent, you know?” she laughs. it’s a musical sound. “i may not be good at much, but i think i’m okay at bringing coffee and answering phones.” 

     usually, anything that put someone at ease around him would be something damon expressly avoided doing—he feels most in control when his employees ( and everyone else, for that matter ) are afraid of him. it’s a machiavellian philosophy he has no plans to change, though it occurs to him he feels very little need to intimidate wren daily. maybe it’s the lack of threat she poses—maybe it’s simply a fondness left over from their first serendipitous meeting a few years back. he remembers well listening to her talk about the brush strokes in the painting they’d both been looking at, just as he remembers not knowing enough about the medium to decide whether she actually knew what she was saying. it didn’t matter; he’d been completely taken by her softness. “that was me,” he confirms with a smile, “and i promise i don’t know enough about art to have realized you were making it up.” he’s both surprised and thrilled when she does a pirouette for him as if to back up her claim about being a ballerina, suppressing most of his laughter in favor of a smirk. that smirk would have been a deep frown had it been most other people, but he gets the feeling she doesn’t know that. not yet, at least. “my mother always likes to see the nutcracker during the holidays,” he tells her, wondering as he does whether he’s ever seen wren in it and not noticed it was her. “i’m sure she’ll be very pleased to know one of my newest assistants does ballet. it’s more than just phones and coffee, though--this is a fast-paced business. you wouldn’t have been hired if the people i put in charge of it didn’t think you’d be up to the task.” he pauses, lets his gaze linger on her a moment longer, and then adds, “the boyfriend, the one who you were with at the gallery. is he still around?”

[dcmvns]

becklcy‌:

   beckley’s totally aware that he has a ton of clothing, he should get rid of most of it to make space for new, but he just likes having a ton of clothing. “most things i do is time consuming. i like it that way.” beckley tells damon, shoulders shrugging once more towards the other male. he’s pushing some of his hair away from his face, looking over towards damon. “oh damon, don’t be silly. i’m a bovér, i was born to be a great host, so i have everything stocked always.” beckley smirks towards the male, suddenly disappearing into his dining room to go behind his bar to grab a class and pour some top shelf scotch before he’s appearing again and handing it to damon. “i don’t go on dates anymore, they’re a waste of time at this point. nobody wants to date me and i’ve accepted that. i’m just going out with some friends.”

     “let me rephrase,” damon says with an unreadable little smirk, “it sounds needlessly time-consuming. but if you like it…” he trails off with a wave of his hand, as if to say that beckley’s enjoyment is what counts. and maybe, for him, it is. for damon, however, the idea of filling up his time with things that don’t align with his view of what is and is not productive gives him anxiety. he likes to make sure he’s always doing something, and that that something consumes his whole focus. he watches beckley go grab the drink contemplatively, mulling over what he knows about the bovér family thanks to the under-the-radar business transactions he’s engaged in through them. good hosts indeed—the irony satisfies him. “oh, please, spare me your self-pity,” he rolls his eyes as he’s handed the scotch, lifting it in a mock toast to beckley before downing half the glass’s contents. “dating is a waste of time, but if you’re so set on it i promise you you won’t find anybody by whining about how undesirable you are.”

[djpaulyd]

being an aries is traumatic. not for the aries but like for the people around

[dcmvns]

benjaminkauri‌:

there was something very strange about being in a pr relationship. damon was someone benji pretended to be madly in love with in the public, but someone he rarely saw outside of their obligations. the worst part of it all was… it was working. his views were up, his streams were up… he was trending more topics on twitter. it was a success. but it made him feel like a fraud. it wasn’t like there was something wrong with damon: he just felt like he was lying to people. but it was working. how could he change it? 

when he arrived to damon’s place, he was greeted by a butler and he was sort of startled by it, but he offered a small smile. he followed the butler into where damon was and smiled, “you talk like you’re a british royal, damon.” he sat down, shaking his head, “not weed, not really. i smoke but… yeah.”

     rolling his eyes--though not unkindly--damon takes the joint back and presses it between his lips once more, not annoyed to find that benji won’t smoke but disappointed. still, for as domineering and aggressive as he is when it comes to matters of business, damon has never been one to allow that to extend to pleasure. whether it be sex or drugs, he derives no satisfaction from an exchange lacking consent. “a british royal?” he echoes thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair and settling his probing gaze on benji. the butler returns with two tumblers and a bottle of scotch on a tray, utterly silent as he pours the drinks save for an obsequious “sir” directed at damon before he’s gone again, and damon himself takes his glass as if it had simply appeared there at his will. and, really, it may as well have. “you’re about two thousand miles off the mark. sweden does have a similar system of government to britain, though--the monarch is only a symbolic head of the country. sort of like america too, isn’t it? only the ‘royals’ are the people who walk the red carpet at awards shows.” he drains his tumbler of scotch, sets it back down on the table, and draws again on the joint. “speaking of which, weren’t you meant to tell me about your ep? i’d love to hear about the songs.” and he means it genuinely, because he’s curious. now that benji’s in front of him and there’s nothing else to occupy his mind, the enjoyment damon gets out of analyzing people--learning why they tick--becomes his indulgence of choice.

[dcmvns]

wrendaily‌:

she’d never understand this fascination with coffee. it seemed like these people ran on it, that they were powered by caffeine and caffeine alone. for someone who never really cared much for coffee, wren was at a loss. a nice tea would do just fine. just like this job would do just fine. it wasn’t glamorous and it wasn’t exciting, but she was grateful for it. wren never went to college, because she was so focused on ballet, so it was a miracle to be hired anywhere besides the mcdonalds on 7th ave. besides, bringing coffee to a bunch of professional men and women was easy enough. wren moved with the gracefulness of a dancer and did her best to remain totally invisible. 

of course, that was easier said than done. while walking towards her next stop, wren was approached by a…very tall man. she recognized him of course, how could she not? he was the ceo of the company. she was just confused as to why he was talking to her. wren was speechless as he took one of the trays from her hands. had she done something wrong? “i- yes sir,” she murmured, softly following behind him until they reached his office. nodding, she set down the drinks and looked around the room. eventually, she ended up standing in front of his desk. wren fidgeted with her skirt and smoothed down the nonexistent wrinkles. “i am,” she replies and she’s surprised she has the voice. usually she was so intimidated in front of people of authority. hazel eyes met green and she was struck a sense of familiarity. “i’m wren,” she says, brushing some hair behind her ear. “wren daily. i-um- i do coffee mostly, but i also do breakfast occasionally. i also organize and file and schedule and pick up dry cleaning and…and i’m sure you already know all that.” 

     wren. it’s all the confirmation damon needs. he remembers the name now, how much he’d liked it, because she does indeed remind him of a little bird. even the way she stands there in front of his desk fidgeting with her skirt and her hair, stumbling over a few of her words, makes him think of some small, dainty creature who is much, much too soft for this environment. it’s a wonder she’d gotten the job, really--but he’s glad she did. he keeps his eyes trained on her as she makes her way through her short speech, fumblingly explaining her job to him in a way that suggests she thinks she’s in trouble. it’s...endearing, somehow. “that’s a long list,” he says when she’s tapered off into silence, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his face that negates the dry quality of his voice. “wren daily,” he repeats the name for himself, reclining in his high-backed chair with his steady, impenetrable gaze on her face. “we’ve met before, did you know that?” he has an idea that she does. there’d been some mark of recognition on her face as soon as they’d stepped into the office, but he’s not quite sure she realizes where they’d met. “a gala at the chelsea art gallery, if i’m not mistaken. we spoke briefly.” rare as it is for damon to remember a stranger unless there’s a reason to remember them, it’s even more unusual for him to admit it when he does. but then, he doubts very much whether little wren daily will understand how much power he’s just given her in the admission, which is of course the only reason he’d done it. “tell me--how did you wind up here? i seem to recall something about you being a dancer.”

[dcmvns]

willowxsparks‌:

Willow, was still shocked that she had landed this role.. this iconic role.. Everyone knew who the hell Blair Waldorf was. She the was the iconic rick bitch with brilliant taste in clothes and had a headband to serve with most of her looks. Here Willow was ready to take on a role and it was safe to say that she was shitting herself about it. Yet, she was glad that she had been told about the small soiree that had been put together so everyone could get to meet everyone and have a chat with each other - properly some sort of icebreaker or something. She honestly didn’t know.

Including the model was excited about her role, there was one person she wasn’t excited to work with. Damon. Out of all people, he had landed the role as Chuck Bass. Yes, they had a short relationship, yes it wasn’t great and to be fair. Willow hadn’t talked to him since that day she had called it off with him because - he was more high maintenance than her. The model was a complete professional though, she was in a happy relationship with Cam. She didn’t need to dwell on this small minor inconvenience on the whole thing. Willow had sent finished her message to Cam before she had to hold back an annoyed groan or anything - expect she pressed a casual smile to her lips. “You already run your business into the ground?” she replied with a raised eyebrow as her dark hues looked at the male. “Congratulations on landing Chuck I guess.” she said with a simple shrug. Ignore the comment about the schoolgirl outfits.

     damon lets out a sharp bark of laughter at the retort willow gives him, just enough fire behind it to be fun without feeling aggressive. it’s what he’d liked about her in the first place, what had driven him to actually date her for a short period of time where he so rarely bothers. but, of course, for someone like damon, even fire loses its initial charm when he’s looked at it long enough. so when she had broken it off with him, he’d been left feeling not hurt but simply confused. still, he’d been overwhelmingly grateful not to have to deal with tears and screaming the way he’d done with other exes whom he’d dumped. even now, he feels a modicum of respect for her given how silently she’d slipped out of his life. 

     “hardly,” he lifts an eyebrow to match hers, gives her a quick once-over, and then allows his gaze to shift again, idly observing the crowd of people before them. “we’re on the verge of expanding into germany. you might check forbes before bothering with any witticisms next time lest they fall as pitifully short of the mark as that did.” the congratulations strikes him as odd but supposes it’s for the best they attempt civility, all things considered. and to be fair, there are far worse people he could have been stuck with as blair. at least he knows willow. “thank you, and congratulations yourself,” he says, looking down at her again and clinking his glass against her own in an informal toast. “i never saw the original show but it seems from what i’ve read that blair is a fan favorite. that’s a lot of pressure. you gonna be able to deliver, willow?”

[dcmvns]

becklcy‌:

    “whatever you say.” beckley states with a shrug of his shoulders. if he was being honest, beckley was never intimated by anybody; it didn’t matter their tone of voice or even if they were taller and stronger than he was ( which most people certainly were ). it didn’t matter how cold or shut off damon was, it didn’t bother beckley, it was sort of like a game to him, perhaps. he feels the other’s thumb and forefinger coming just under his chin, causing his gaze to move upwards when the other moved his head to look at him. “ah, yes, beautifully simple.” he tells him, a roll of his eyes after the other had let go and moved to walk to one of the armchairs that sat in his informal living room ( despite it still looking rather formal, but that was beckley’s style ). “i have, like, four closets, so, it’s a process. though, they’re based mostly on weather or event type. i think you’re more so into the idea of just watching me get changed a bunch of times.” he states, shaking his head with a chuckle. “would you like a drink?”

     it isn’t as though damon doesn’t have a lot of clothing--his walk-in closet is gargantuan in size--but there’s not much variety in style. when he finds something he likes, he sticks with it. beyond that, he has a tendency not to wear some things more than once, regardless of how much it had cost. he likes new, and it’s never occurred to him that he doesn’t deserve to have it. “sounds time consuming,” he remarks placidly, and in response to beckley’s assumption damon only favors him with a lascivious grin. that beckley’s mind had even gone there puts him precisely where damon wants him. “i’d love a drink. scotch if you have it, whiskey if you don’t. neat.” he crosses one leg over the other and continues to survey beckley, looking for all the world as if he’s in his own home entertaining a guest rather than the other way around. “what event-type is tonight, then? don’t tell me you’re going on a date. how boring.”

[dcmvns]

closed starter for @benjaminkauri

     nearly four months they’ve been doing this--this weird, indulgent fake relationship for the media--and there’s been only a small number of times damon has actually spent time alone with benji. it hasn’t crossed his mind much, in all honesty; the company takes up a majority of his focus on a daily basis and with this brand new addition of getting ready to be on a fucking television show ( not to mention the added stress of finding somebody he trusts enough to delegate in his absence ), it’s hardly even occurred to damon to keep up with his fake boyfriend, as well. and it isn’t that he doesn’t like benji, either--giving into the pressure of a pr relationship had been one thing, but there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell damon would have gone along with it if he’d had any qualms whatsoever about the other person. benji’s easy, he doesn’t require much from damon beyond public appearance, and although he doesn’t show it damon really quite respects him for it. it’s the only reason he’d invited benji over. on a night when he has nothing else going on and had been planning on getting high anyway, easy company is far from the worst thing in the world.

     he’s sitting in one of the high-backed armchairs in his living area, sipping at a scotch as he goes through the meticulous process of grinding the weed he’d promised, when the butler brings benji in and, with a formal bow, leaves again. “have a seat,” he says by way of greeting, indicating the sofa nearest to where he’s sitting. “you do smoke, don’t you?” he favors benji with a sharp grin, something that balances itself on the very edge of being feral. long, nimble fingers go to work pressing the pungent flower into a thin piece of wax paper and rolling it up neatly, with the sort of careful precision one might not expect from somebody rolling a joint. but that’s damon--everything he does, he does as if he’s competing, as if even now it matters to him that he’s the best. and it does. finishing the process, he lights the tip, leans languidly back in his chair, and takes a long drag. “it’s the only indulgence i allow myself on weekdays,” he says around the smoke, watching as a small cloud of it rises above his head and dissipates. he hands it over then, watching benji carefully as he takes it. “it’s good, isn’t it?”

[dcmvns]

closed starter for @wrendaily

     at first, damon had merely thought the cute girl bringing coffee into his third meeting for the day had been familiar only because she looked like one of the many women in this city he’d bedded, likely while he was high on something or other in a seedy club outside of town. but as the meeting had worn on--and his employees were used to carrying thing along even when damon stopped paying attention--he’d realized that wasn’t the case. he knows her, and not because he’s slept with her. she’s the girl he’d run into at some gala or another several years ago, the petite, charming brunette whom he’d watched being whisked aggressively away by a boyfriend who very clearly didn’t realize how far out of his league she was. but he’d had pressing business to which he needed to attend, and damon had let her slip away and bury herself in his memories as an arbitrary encounter that occurred to him from time to time, but not much more. and now, apparently, somebody had hired her as an administrative assistant.

     he’s the first one out of the enormous, glass-walled conference room that looks out onto an enviable expanse of the city, and it doesn’t take damon long to spot her--she’s carrying more coffee cups, too many by the looks of it. he glides over to her with all the natural grace of someone born into elite society and takes one of the styrofoam trays out of her hands to lighten her load. “come with me,” he says curtly, but it lacks his usual tone of demand. he’s merely asking her to follow. he leads her down the hall to his office, whose view is even more spectacular than that of the conference room. “you can set those down,” he indicates the remaining coffee in her hands and then his desk, after which he seats himself in the luxurious chair behind it. “you’re a new hire.” he steeples his fingers and surveys her beneath his heavy brow bone, curious whether she recognizes him as well, but not asking yet. “what’s your name?”