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[That may or may not be a very faint bruise across the bridge of his nose. Elena's arm swing is a little stronger than it used to be and apparently he bruises now which is perfect.]

So how's being in the real world working out for everyone? Scale of zero to zero.

Remember, don't hurt yourselves with those brand new toys.

[Especially you, Elena.]

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Okay. [And a small smile before she cuts the feed.]

Finding someone with the answers. We need to find out where these creepers are hiding and get them to send us back or something.

[Wait. The camera. Rick's got the camera on him? Damon blinks once at it, at the picture. One of the many scribbles on that wall. His gaze lands back on Alaric's ring. He's so used to seeing it on Alaric's finger, but it clicks suddenly that it shouldn't be there. The ring's turned into an indestructible saran wrap for the stake. It could be Jeremy's. Could be.

Something tells him no. Damon came with his wallet, car keys, and his phone. The clothes on his back. From the sounds of it, so did everyone else. Rick should've arrived with the stake, not the ring and the camera. He should've arrived as a vampire. This is feeling less and less like memory loss and more and more like someone's set back the clock. Which is impossible.

But so were werewolves, once upon a time.

Damon shifts his weight, weighing his next answer. Credit where credit's due, Bonnie's the one who put Klaus down. Rick just shoved a piece of white oak in the guy after. That, however, is not what's important. It's not what Rick needs to know.]

Esther turned you. The Original witch. She made one last vampire from scratch. Original vampire hunter for the Original vampires.

[Well, you can't say it lacked poetry.]

[It's one of those stupid moments where someone holds out a hand and says, hold on. You might wanna sit down for this.

Sitting down doesn't help, by the fucking way.]

What? [That's all he can say. Absolutely it. He drops the camera back in the bag, doesn't even flinch at the sound it makes as it hits the sais and the food. He just stares up at Damon, his ex-friend who snapped his neck and couldn't even apologize, who was telling him shit that was impossible, that made no sense.

Literally impossible. There was no maybe. No it might have happened, there's the smallest chance. It's a sad moment when dealing with Klaus and the Original family seems simple in comparison.

He breathes, twisting his fingers painfully together. The spot where the ring usually sits is lighter than the rest of his skin, a little soft to the touch.] But I'm human.

Big ghost town. No Internet.

I give it a negative seventy-five.

[Hm. Handgun. There's the question of why this guy had a gun on him, but the bigger question is, does he care enough to ask?

Nope.]

Can't say I've seen dead people shuffling around. Maybe they're still busy digging out of their graves.

Well, I'd panic if it helped, but I'm not in the habit of helping.

What, not a negative seventy-six?

[No might've. It did happen. Damon's got no clue how it's not happening right now, but Rick sure as hell died in that tomb next to him.

He remains standing. There's not much else to say. He considers adding what they know—that Rick's life is tied to Elena's—but a) he's not sure if that's true anymore and b) he's...no, that's it. He's not sure if it's true anymore. Doubt it. It doesn't work like that when Rick is mortal again. Or. Should be mortal. There's only one way of knowing a hundred percent and even Damon's not about to test that out.

Hey, could be worse. The last thing they need is a Rick's hunter alter-ego running around while they're stuck here.]

I don't know what to tell you, Rick. You died. Something put you back.

Oh, so.. looking after yourself, then?

This could be a dangerous place to be going it alone.

We can always sit down and come up with a point system. All we need to do is calculate the numeric value of bullshit.

Speaking of which: cold showers should deduct at least two hundred from that previous score. [He's not looking forward to trying to shave for the duration of this pointless little trip, either.] Where does that leave us?

Let me rephrase: I'm not in the habit of helping you.

No closer to wi-fi or hot water.

Ah, I see.

Well, good luck.

Exactly.

But the thing that I really don't get? ...These phones. I've been around the neighborhood a few times: have you even seen an Armani, around here? [This is relevant to his interests.]

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