Disclaimer: I would be lying if I said I wasn't inspired by The Dark Knight Rises. Alas, I do not own that or the TVD cast. No copyright infringement was intended.

1 - The Night

Masquerade balls stopped being creative centuries ago. Damon Salvatore meant that in all its entirety. It didn't help that it was boring and him and his brother had to host it. After all, the Salvatore name was a powerful one in Mystic City. And it is worth many a fortune. Therefore, occasions such as these were necessary.

When you've literally got the city at the beck and call of a flash of a heavy bill, you are left with one consistent emotion: boredom.

Boring were the other important figureheads that forced painful grins on their faces to appease him and his brother in hopes of future investments that were never going to happen.

Boring were the phony persons that swore up and down that the Salvatore's were their favorite clients but as soon as the brothers disappeared, obscenities about their characters were thrown around.

Boring were the people that held romantic interests in the Bachelors, motivated more by their family fortune than their actual existence.

Boring were these events that were thrown regularly for the people that despised the Salvatores but wanted to be them and around them, twenty-four/seven.

Everything just seemed so...very boring.

"Mr. Salvatore, quite the pleasure to finally run into your person," a smooth yet familiar voice stated.

The raven haired man turned to a chestnut haired woman, curls framing her face that held a purple and black mask in place. Of course Katherine Pierce loved these sort of events. Opportunity for attention and every eye on her was exactly what she lived for. Whether in the afterlife till eternity, positive or negative, Pierce wanted to be in the limelight. Always.

He loved to hate her.

"Katherine, what gives one the pleasure to be lucky enough to bask in your presence," he wasn't being sincere. He was still sour for being the girl's second choice in-just about everything. Whether it was love or just fucking. He didn't like being played and chosen last for anything. Especially not by her.

"Oh Damon, won't you forgive me? A girl's got to keep her options open. And I've told you plenty; it'll always be your brother that I'm truly interested in," she remarked casually, looking elsewhere. He wasn't giving her the attention that she thought she would like. Typical of her to find something or someone else to fill her desire.

Pun fully intended.

Damon shook his wine in a circular motion out of habit and familiarity as he looked out into the ballroom from his balcony. Her blunt rejection didn't hurt as much as he thought it would but then again, "That makes two of us. I'm more interested in your 'sister'. She's easier to handle."

Katherine clicked her teeth, immediately annoyed. It took Damon a lot of self control to not smirk to himself.

"Elena is just as selfish and manipulative as I. The only difference is she likes to play innocent, dumb, and drab like a sink of dish water than to admit she's as bad as me," Katherine replied finally, throwing her hair over her shoulder. "And she's no sister of mine. We simply share the same face. And have to save said faces for the public eye. I can tolerate it from others, but not from you."

"The twin remarks."

Katherine clicked her teeth again, impatiently, "Where is Stefan? I've been wanting to see him since I've arrived."

"Elena probably found him first," Damon took a swig of his drink, grinning towards Pierce's annoyance despite himself.

"You're enjoying this."

"Like a great film. Unfortunately I must excuse myself Ms. Pierce. I spot the Mayor and that's my cue to avoid him as much as I possibly can," Damon gave her a half-hearted bow, the bitter feeling in the back of his throat present throughout that entire exchange.

He really didn't like being chosen second best to his kid brother.

Damon passed many workers for the festivities, giving them a mere grunt if he made contact with them or replaced his glass of wine as he walked about. He didn't stop if he was addressed because he was that sort of man. He didn't bother acknowledging his brother whisk the girl he fancied about the dance floor like they were recreating a scene from a Disney movie.

He hated Disney princess movies.

At least Rick, his trusted assistant, read: butler, did good with organizing this entire shebang. The workers stayed out of his way and the only ones that seemed to conveniently cross his path were the ones with alcohol on their trays.

Rick deserved a strong pat on the back for that.

Damon wasn't buzzed yet because drinkers like him knew how to hold their liquor but boy did he wish he didn't. He could still understand the idle chatter and suggestive business investment talks amongst his fellow rich folk in Mystic City when approached. He could still see the arrogant smirk of Niklaus Mikealson's face as the blond reminded him that Salvatore may be one of the strongest names in the city but Mikealson was the strongest name around the world.

But the dick was at his party. Right.

He managed to have a somewhat civil conversation with Elijah, the brother to Klaus. "Somewhat" being that he bad mouthed his brother to his face. Damon was rich but he wasn't for being polite to those he didn't particularly care for, especially with alcohol in his system.

"I'll wait for a better time to talk, Salvatore," Elijah explained his leave with a bit of impatience. Damon didn't bother replying.

The party wasn't nearly over and the oldest Salvatore just couldn't take it anymore. Leaving for his room altogether, he breezed right past the Mayor, ignoring him and his request to have a word with him. Can't they all leave him the hell alone?

He made it to his room, locking the door behind him. He turned to see a girl jumping at his sudden appearance. She was in server clothes, her black skirt stopping right at her knees and kind of making her appear much taller than she was. Her eyes were dark, appearing to be frightened but something was off.

Her heart was perfectly fine.

"I-I'm sorry!" She stammered in guilt, "I was just taking a self-tour around the house. It's not everyday-you know-you're able to be in the Salvatore establishment."

She was acting. But she was a damn good actor, that much he could admit.

The fire in his private fireplace lit up her brown face in a warm glow. She was attractive but something-was still off about her.

Heart was calm but she was displaying fear. She looked familiar but he couldn't understand why. And she smelled of herbs and nature. It was a sweet smell.

Damon felt inclined to go to his liquor table to pour himself a new glass of bourbon. As he went, he scanned his room to make sure things were present and accounted for. She feigned fear. She did something.

"Um...I'm sorry for invading your personal space. I should've known better," she continued, fiddling with her fingers at her skirt before looking down, ashamed.

"You're right. You should have," he finally replied, looking through his late mother's jewelry box that was on his liquor dresser, the lid missing.

The girl fidgeted as he stood up straight and stared at her, "The bracelet on your right arm. It belongs to my mother. Hand it over."

She frowned, mumbling, "This? But it's mine."

"On the charm there should be her initials, E. S. Now, hand it over and get out of my house."

The girl gasped when he suddenly stood by her. Grabbing up her arm to look at the bracelet he realized that the initials, instead, read "B. B."

He dropped her arm, confused by the sight and the stronger scent of herbs and nature that suddenly started to smell burnt and dead.

"I-I b-b-b-better get back to the party."

"You're a witch."

The girl's eyebrows furrowed and her heart skipped a little. The first honest reaction she displayed, "What?"

"You're a witch. You cast spells. Turn people into toads. Fly into the moonlight on a broom. A witch."

She smirked. And his brain felt like it was on fire, pricking the back of his eyes and eating at itself. The pain was something he never experienced before. He wouldn't feel the pain in his knees from dropping on them, ever, but he knew he heard "pop"s surrounding him.

"And you're supernatural. Which means I can do that, over and over and over again."

He looked up suddenly, feeling the pain subside. She had ripped her skirt to climb on top of a table to a window. She crossed her legs, her smirk still gracing her features, "Thanks for the bracelet. I'm sure your mother won't mind, considering you're such a millionaire."

"She's dead."

A muscle in her face grimaced so slightly Damon almost missed it. But then she shrugged, leaning further out the window, "In that case, she really shouldn't mind."

"Aren't witches supposed to have the most sturdy morale out of all the supernaturals? You're stealing from a dead person."

"You or your mother?" She didn't miss a beat.

He glowered, "Both."

She grinned, "I don't belong to the spirits. I belong to myself."

"What a selfish witch."

"Says the greedy crow."

She waved to him, taking off by falling backwards from the window. Damon mentally chastised himself for not taking the opportunity to grab her during their spat. He flew to the window, looking down for any trace of her. There was none.

He realized, only in her presence, he forgot how bored he was.