New York || Damon Salvatore [1]

Chapter One

1976 — Manhattan, New York

   The street was filled with punk rock kids, drug addicts, and supernatural beings trying to forget who they were. Witches and warlocks, werewolves that preferred the busy life of the city than the lonely woods, vampires that enjoyed the city lights and no longer missed the sun. It was the playground of the rebellious humans and supernatural beings. One of those supernatural was Damon Salvatore, who was feeding on a drunken woman in the alley by Billy's.

  His chin and neck were covered in blood, a smirk decorating his scarlet coloured lips. Small droplets fell to the ground like rubies, creating a ripple effect on the blood that decorated the ground by the girl's body. She had died three minutes into his feeding, slumping over and feeling like dead weight. If anyone passed by, they would think that Damon was only kissing her neck, not feeding.

   "I think that's enough for now," a voice joined him. Damon turned to see one of his good friends, a young vampire named Thomas. He was newly turned, not even a century old. "Why don't we go to The Ground?"

   "The Ground," Damon repeated, licking his lips to get whatever blood was left. "Isn't that the club where you met that girl? You know, the one you killed like a week ago."

   "Nancy, yeah," Thomas nodded, smiling. "I want to meet another bunny."

   "A bunny," Damon repeated. "Yeah, why not? I'm still hungry."

   The Ground was a club that would be packed with punk rock kids and alcoholics waiting to hear music on the weekends. On the weekdays, they would have jazz, bluegrass, and the occasional country kid that wanted to become the next Johnny Cash. But, the weekends were filled with The Ramones, Patti Smith, and Television rocking out to their most known hits and the fans moshing to them. Damon had been there before, mostly on the weekends, and he enjoyed the chaos in that small venue that allowed him to drink from how many people he desired.

   The Ground was packed for The Ramones, one of the biggest bands since they had début earlier in the year, and some local band that was opening for them, Talking Heads. Damon compelled the bouncer to let him and Thomas in, and he went straight to he bar as soon as his booted feet hit the soft floor. Behind the bar, were two people serving alcohol. A man that seemed tired of having to tell the underage kids that they couldn't drink, but then would give in when they slid a twenty to him. And then, Damon saw her. Curled dark brown hair that looked almost like black, soft green eyes that reminded him a lot of happy moments, and red lips painted a soft scarlet colour that wasn't too red. 

   She was mixing some cocktail, laughing at something the man in front of her was saying. He could see, and hear, that her smile was forced. As soon as she served the man his drink, she moved to another order. Beer after beer, cocktail after cocktail, cherry after cherry, she moved with a smile on her lips and a laugh ready to burst from her throat. It was as if all of her doings were planned; her own personal play in the opposite side of the stage.

   Damon marched to the bar, laid a hand on the man that had the cocktail, and pulled him out of the seat. He took a seat, then, and began to tap his fingers against the cool and slightly sticky counter. The man laid a hand on his shoulder, trying to lift him up from the seat. Damon turned to the man, and immediately compelled him to leave, both him and the bar, alone. The man nodded, and left without a second glance back or a word. When Damon turned back to the bar, the woman was already in front of him.

   "Well, aren't you a cool cat," she told him, smiling. He knew she was talking about how he just made the man leave with no fighting. "What's your poison?"

   "Surprise me," he said, giving her a soft smirk and a wink.

   "Well..." She turned and reached for a bottle behind her. "How about a glass of bourbon?"