November 16th, 1938
The night was cold and bleary in Philadelphia as Damon Salvatore swung open the doors of an unassuming, backstreet tavern. He paused momentarily to take in his surroundings with his vampiric, extrasensory perception. There were always three things he would be eternally searching for: his next potential victim, any possible threats, and her. He searched for her everywhere he went. He simply couldn't help himself. He released the breath he hadn't known he was holding, and made his way further into the bar. All clear. Except on search number one. He noticed a few very tempting prospects he'd have to check up on later.
He slid into the high bar stool with a slight grimace. It had been a very disappointing week. With the whole bad economic, depression slump the country had fallen into, the streets were equivalent to open season for vampires. Cities were populated with homeless victims that nobody would ever miss. But the weather had been inconveniently harsh lately, with bitter winds and freezing rains. People were forced to seek any and every kind of shelter they could find. He let out a deep sigh as his eyes fell to the bartender behind the counter. "Bourbon, neat," he ordered thinly.
He'd never been to this bar before, and he didn't think he'd ever be returning. He had come in here because this tavern was out of the way and looked like it wouldn't draw any attention, but the inside was practically falling apart right in front of him. The paint on the walls was peeling off, and Damon scrunched up his nose in disgust at the dried alcohol sticking to the floor. But the foul smell was nothing compared to the absolute incompetence of the young barkeep. The boy couldn't even pour whiskey in a glass properly. He rolled his eyes in irritation. He had just gulped down half of his drink when he felt a sudden presence next to him. He turned slowly, his eyes settling on a young, caramel skinned girl. Her lips curled into a sly smile as she rested her head in her hand. Perhaps his night was starting to turn around after all. "Hi."
"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" he cocked his head, his own mouth twisted upwards as he gestured at the rundown bar around them.
"Well, I was hoping to avoid running into people like you…," she grinned teasingly at him.
He threw his head back in sudden laughter. This girl had spunk; he liked it. Perhaps he'd try and make it less painful when he ripped her throat open later. "Pardon me for saying, but that was kind of a shitty plan, now wasn't it?" his eyes gleamed mischievously at her.
"So it would seem, Mr.….?" she trailed off.
"Damon. Damon Salvatore at your service," he introduced himself with faux seriousness, trying to suppress a smirk. "And you are?"
"Claudia," she paused, and then gave a little smirk of her own. "Just Claudia."
"Afraid of giving your last name to 'people like me?'" he joked, raising his eyebrow.
"No, not people like you. Just vampires in general," she shrugged nonchalantly, with a sense of falsely placed courage.
Damon's eyes bugged out involuntarily for a second. He pursed his lips together in thought, before his entire demeanor changed. A malicious grin plastered on his face, "have you had the infortune of meeting me before?"
"Please. I sensed you the second you walked in here," she rolled her eyes at his arrogant theatrics. Honestly, she thought.
"Then how did you…?" he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her before realization dawned on him. "Witch," he snarled, throwing back the rest of his drink in frustration and signaled for the bartender to bring him the bottle; he had a feeling he'd need it tonight. Looking at her more closely now, her supernatural aura was obvious. How could he have been so ignorant to have missed that?
"Relax, Damon. It's not like I want to kill you."
"I'd rip your heart out before you even had a chance," he hissed menacingly at the young girl. He hated witches. They were always so self-righteous and judgy. Ugh. His nose wrinkled in distaste at the thought of them.
It was all because of Emily Bennett and her idiotic, inconvenient spell that he had to wait over a century to get Katherine back. She supposedly needed to channel some space rock and its 'natural powers,' he snorted unattractively. Like she couldn't have made an easier spell if she wanted to. But she was constantly disapproving of his love for Katherine and decided to screw him over.
Oh and what did Emily expect him to do for the 100 years while he waited? Watch over the Bennett bloodline! Make sure that they stayed safe and sound. Was she serious? Witches, he couldn't help but roll his eyes and think about a similarly rhyming word.
"Can you cut it with the dramatics?" she shook her head, clenching her jaw. "It's really getting irritating."
"Who says I'm being dramatic?" he questioned sardonically.
"Because you'd be a complete fool if you were seriously trying to threaten me," she sneered under her breath before letting her eyes quickly glance around the large room. "Let alone, in public."
"Well, someone's full of themselves," Damon leaned back in his stool, smirking amusedly. "Why did you even come over here, anyway?"
Claudia sighed tiredly. In that moment, Damon could tell that the recent depression must be hitting her hard. Her hair was tangled and her eyes were drawn. The emerald green dress hanging from her frame looked exceptionally worn and, he thought depressingly, it may be her only nice piece of clothing. He idly wondered if that's the reason she came out to this (poor excuse of a) bar tonight: to escape.
"Look, Damon," she started, glancing up at him as she placed her hand on his forearm. She paused as her brows furrowed, a confused expression crossing her face. Then she suddenly jolted backward, practically falling off her chair.
"What…that can't…" she mumbled incoherently, her chocolate eyes as wide as saucers.
"Would you care to share with the class?" Damon narrowed his eyes at the young witch's increasingly odd behavior.
Claudia snapped her neck up at him, as if she'd momentarily forgotten he was even there. Then she tilted her head disbelievingly at him. "What the hell is going on, witch?" he demanded, a warning fire burning in his blue eyes as he leaned toward her.
"I…saw something. When I touched you," she fidgeted, not nearly as confident in herself as she had just previously been. "There was a girl…"
"Oh, honey," he chuckled smugly, "there've been a lot of girls."
"This was different," she snapped, her eyes glaring holes through him. Then she took a deep breath, and confessed, "You were in love with her."
She saw Katherine, he realized. It has to be. Damon's thoughts raced haphazardly at all the possibilities of what this could mean. "What'd you see? How's Katherine? Is she okay?" he interrogated her rapidly, flashes of concern crossing his features.
"…Katherine?" she reiterated slowly, as if testing out the name on her tongue.
"Yes," he answered testily, "How is she?"
"The girl you're in love with…Katherine?" she tilted her head and clarified. "She was fiery and stubborn, but unbelievably brave and loyal. She was unfailingly compassionate and would do absolutely anything for the people she cared for. Right?"
"That's not Katherine," he deadpanned, slightly entertained at the notion as his lips slightly quirked upward. He may be completely infatuated with the centuries-old vampire, but he wasn't completely naïve to her nature. And compassionate she was not.
"Well," she drawled, a crooked smile playing on her face in comprehension. "That's interesting, then."
"Excuse me?"
"Obviously this is the future," she stated, folding her hands together on the bar. Meeting his gaze, she added, "You haven't met this girl yet."
"Alright. I've had just about enough of this prophetic love, witchy juju," Damon said dryly in annoyance, pouring the last of the bourbon in his glass. Strange how fast it had gone. "I think I would know who I'm in love with."
"Trust me, Damon. I know what I saw. You love her," she confidently reassured. "You've never loved anyone more in your entire life. I know that you would do anything to protect her, even die for her."
"Wh…what?" Damon stared back at her in astonishment. Was she serious? The kind of love she was describing was…intense, to say the least. Even considering his love for Katherine, which he believed forever steadfast and eternal, he couldn't say if he would want to die for her. Again.
He shook his head free of the chaotic, emotional thoughts speeding through his head and lifted his eyes to see Claudia rising from her bar stool. "There's really not much else I can tell you, Damon. I'm sorry, but I should be getting home."
Picking up his glass, she quickly tossed back the remaining alcohol and began to make her way passed him towards the dark oak double doors. He suddenly shot out his arm with inhuman speed to catch her wrist. She turned, startled, to look at him with widened eyes. "How can I even be sure all this is true and not a load of bullshit you made up?" he faltered, questioning her with a vaguely masked sense of vulnerability.
"It's all very true," she gave him a tired smile as she gently, but firmly shook her arm out of his tight grip. She was about to turn back around and continue her exit when she hesitated, pursing her lips together. "Damon, you should know that what I saw…It wasn't some storybook, fairytale type of love. It was a lot more complex than that," Claudia warned him softly, choosing her words carefully. "I don't know if it will end well for you."
She waited a moment, studying his features one last time, and then nodded slightly as she finally swung open the door into the frigid, Philadelphia night air. Damon glanced over as the door slammed shut before slumping over the bar and resting is head in his head in his hands, overwhelmed. "Oh, yeah. What else is new?" he mumbled to himself, the entire bottle of bourbon admittingly starting to have a slight effect on his confused state. "Prophecies, vampires, Katherine, future love girl. Witches."
"Umm…Are you alright, sir?" the scrawny bartender inquired meekly, coming to stand in front of him.
"Bring me another bottle," he all but shouted at the boy, his long fingers still kneading his temples.
"I don't know if that's a good-"
"I said bring me another bottle," his head snapped up as he met the bartender's gaze, his eyes dilating.
And for the rest of the night and well into the early morning, Damon Salvatore sat at the same stool drinking bottle after bottle after bottle of whiskey until he could no longer feel anything at all. When he woke the next day in the penthouse of a very expensive Chicago hotel, he had forgotten everything from the night before and how he had possibly gotten there.
He sat up in the king sized bed and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. Looking around the huge suite at his handiwork, he took note of the broken furniture, empty bottles, and the busty blonde lying next to him. Lightly tracing the bloody puncture wounds he left on her naked body, he smirked widely. It must have been a good night.
A/N: So I wrote this on a whim in just a few days, almost over a year ago. Since then, I've been trying FOREVER to try and work it into some sort of story, trying and failing multiple times. It seems like everything my mind conjures is just not motivating enough for me to see it through or for me to completely imagine a full story out of it. So I've decided to just simply post it as the odd little oneshot it wants to be and wash my hands of it so I can continue working on my next story unburdened. I'm not really expecting much feedback on this, but if you want to tell me how you like it, I'd love to hear all your thoughts! :)