New York || Damon Salvatore [1]

Chapter Two

1976 — Manhattan, New York

   The weekdays at the Bowery were empty. There were no rebels walking around with their mouths screaming lyrics, no vampires prowling the night for blood and fake ID's, no werewolves wanting to let go of their nomadic lifestyle, and as far as Damon knew, no witches. His surroundings were empty, with the few cars driving to and from, and the loud jazz music that rang through his ears. 

   Damon made a face as the loud rhythm of a trumpet rang around him. He had never been a fan of jazz, especially in the twenties. The twenties weren't good memories for him, so he pushed them back as he opened the doors to The Ground. As he walked in, the music got even louder. He heard glasses hit each other, soft laughter, the intake of breath from the players on the stage. The first thing he laid his eyes on when he was inside was the stage, where he saw numerous people with instruments. There was a piano player to the side, a drummer in the back, a trumpet player, a trombone player, and numerous other instruments.

   As he continued to move, he noticed how different it looked from the weekends. The atmosphere felt less lively, yet it also felt as if it was filled with more life. Instead of the punk zombies that yelled to lyrics, there were tables with red cloths and cool cats dressed to the nines. Fancy suits, fancy drinks, fancy conversation, and fancy cigarettes that seemed to have come from a Cuban bar in Miami.

   He realized that The Ground had two faces: one in the weekends and the other for the weekdays. In the weekends, it was filled with rebellious kids and supernatural beings with a thirst of the crazy New York night-life with punk bands and alcohol. During the weekdays, everything seemed to be much calmer. The venue changed, the atmosphere was different, the people were different. The streets weren't filled with punks, but with the hippies that were searching for fulfilment, drugs, a shower, and a place to listen to their music.

   Damon averted his eyes away from the scene and turned to the bar, and felt his lips spread into a small smirk when he saw Freya Beauchene. She was wiping the counter, a bored and annoyed look on her face as the man besides spoke. The man looked similar to her, with light green eyes and the hair that almost resembled black. He was taller, but they resembled each other too much.

   Freya shook her head and looked up, her eyes finally colliding with his. The bored and annoyed look was replaced by a small smile. Damon returned the smile with a wink and walked to the bar, tapping his knuckles against the smooth counter and staring back at her. The counter didn't feel as sticky as it did the night he last came, and it surprised him. He thought that the clubs that allowed famous rock bands to play were supposed to be dirty, filled with the sticky sweetness of alcohol, but it all felt clean. It felt weird to him.

   "Cool Cat," Freya called him, a smile on her lips. "You showed up."

   Cool cat, he repeated to himself in his head. Seventies lingo bullshit.

   "I couldn't say no to free drinks," he responded with a shrug of his shoulders. He looked around with his mouth slightly open, brows furrowed. "So, this is how The Ground looks like in the weekdays?"

  "It's not that bad," Freya answered with a small smile that spoke otherwise. "I mean, the music's sometimes good. The people, eh, not so good."

   "Are you kidding me?" Damon sarcastically scoffed, turning to look around. "The people seem amazing!" The people he referred to were sitting on their chairs, glasses in front of them, none of them moving to the smooth rhythm of the music.

   Freya rolled her eyes and chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, yeah, you should see them later on. They get wild!"

   "Must be fun," he responded, turning back to her. "Listening to all this music for free."