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CHAPTER SEVEN | ❝DEATH AT THE MASQUERADE❞ "'I will wait for you, Shadows creep."
───。°✩ : *.☽.*: ✩ ° 。───
THERE WAS A PLAN PUT IN PLACE. Katherine had come to Caroline demanding the moonstone when Caroline visited the grill. Katherine had attacked Jenna and Scottie and she'd forced Elena and Stefan apart. So Stefan, in a plan to both get Elena back and deal with the Katherine problem for good, decided to kill Katherine at the masquerade ball that was happening that night. Every year, the Lockwoods hosted a masquerade as a charity.
So that was the plan, kill Katherine. And Scottie was fully willing to help. She wasn't strong enough on her own, that had been made painfully obvious, but she could still find other ways to fight.
"If you're not careful with that thing, you'll stake yourself and save me the trouble." Scottie commented as she came into the Salvatore living room to see Damon fiddling with one of her father's pressure powered stake guns.
"How many guns do you own?" Damon asked exasperatedly as he gawked at the collection in front of him. There were boxes and cases spread out across the living room, all over almost every flat surface.
Scottie rolled her eyes as she walked over and plucked the gun out of his hands. "They're my dad's and the ones in cardboard boxes are Ric's, my dad keeps his in cases." She answered, motioning to the large collection of silver cases.
"Mm. Fancy." Damon hummed as Scottie put the gun back into it's case and clicked it shut. "Were is good ol' Mr. Fell anyway?" Damon asked, glancing at Scottie who tensed a bit at the question.
"Wish I knew." Scottie answered begrudgingly as she opened a case of handguns. "He doesn't call, he doesn't text, he doesn't write. He could be rotting in a ditch somewhere and I wouldn't know."
"He just up and left?" Damon asked and Scottie just shrugged her shoulders, trying to pretend that her father's absence hadn't left her with major trust issues and a fear of abandonment.
"Cut connections with me and Meredith, he just vanished." Scottie confirmed, keeping her eyes trained on the guns in front of her. "Who knows, maybe some vampire finished him off." She muttered, picking up on of the hand guns and quickly and skillfully loaded handgun, slammed the ammo barrel shut and cocked the gun before turning the safety on.
It was obvious she'd had training. Years of practice in the woods behind her home. Scottie lived closer to the outskirts of town, behind her block was just smiles of woodland, and Scottie tended to wander into it when she was younger, using squirrels as target practice.
A part of her always hoped a vampire would show up that she could shoot, though, teenage Scottie was no longer hopefully of it.
