How I Met:

london for a second time

thebluefrenchhorn

Mundungus Fletcher was going to die.

And Damon?

He was going to be the one to kill him.

He was back in London.

Over three months had passed and Damon was finally back in London. Before him, stood a violently red door that looked so terribly out of place within the drab hallway that it inhabited. It was on the fifth floor of an apartment complex, only three blocks away from the bar that had started it all—this whole ridiculous manhunt of his.

It didn't seem like a place that anyone would want to live. It was too aged and too old; the type of home that housed weary spirits and people with too little time on their hands. Yet, within it all, stood that ridiculously red door, acting as a vivid pop of life within an otherwise barren hall.

Damon knew it was the place.

He didn't know why, but he knew it was.

And it hadn't been any easy place to find. Mundungus had made sure of that.

He had fed Damon a false lead, sending him on a wild goose chase across the British Isles. Damon had followed that trail for weeks before stopping to consider the actual likelihood of finding Hariel in some backwater farmhouse. That had been hours upon hours of his time wasted solely because that little troll of a man had somehow decided to develop a moral compass. Something that was almost beside the point, considering the fact that Damon didn't want to hurt Hariel. Sure, he wanted to find out how she knew he was a vampire, which could involve a creative approach when it came to attaining that information, but he wasn't going in there wanting to pop her head off Stefan style.

Fletcher's lack of faith in him was objectively offensive. It was suffice to say that if Damon ever saw him again, London's black market would have a job vacancy.

But, plotting murder was for another time. Right now, there were more important things.

Damon reached towards the red door, rapping his knuckles against it in clear, sharp bursts. The sound reverberated in the otherwise silent hallway and the door swung open almost instantaneously, as if it had expected his company and had already made plans for how to best accommodate him.

Within it, emerged the slender figure of a woman—barely more than a girl, really. Her arms were crossed as she gazed outwards at him, her eyes flicking from his beaten shoes to his well-worn jacket with amusement.

"Do you stalk all the girls that you meet at bars?" she questioned, arching an eyebrow. Her voice sounded exactly as he remembered it. "Or am I merely the exception?"

"It's not bars that I've got a problem with," he replied. "It's really more of the privacy part of it. My little, ah, what do you Brit's like to say? My bloody secret."

An unfamiliar sound escaped her and it took Damon amount to realize that it had been a snort.

"An immortal with a toddler's sense of humor? How charming."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Well, do you really believe that you're the only supernatural creature in all of London?"

"Enough of this," he snapped, running a hand through his hair out of frustration. "That's not what I'm trying to ask you."

"But, isn't Damon?" Hariel continued, her eyes dancing with mirth as if his mere existence provided some pitiable form of entertainment for her. She shook her head. "You vampires are all the same. You're all idiots before Death."

Author's Note: It's been awhile, hasn't it? Thank you for the continued support.