[Edit: 3 Oct 2021]
[AN: In which Leah swears. Also, Damon knows how to Internet.]
The sign reading 'Mystic Grill' glows in red luminescence, artful and welcoming with the trailing fairy lights across the building's façade. The thick drizzle makes the lights dance. It doesn't look like anything too special, somewhat a cross between a pub and one of those hip young-adult restaurants Seth's taken a liking to.
I hesitate before considering going in. But there's only three cars parked even remotely close to the building and the decibel levels emanating from the place are low. Also it's a weeknight, besides, the smell of fried chicken and fries are enough to make my mouth water. I pull my hood closer.
As I pull open the door I'm proven sorely wrong. The place is packed, people at every table, a long line of bar goers along the counter and a few stray stragglers hanging to the walls, their eyes glued to mounted televisions. A muted baseball game flickers across the screens, eliciting shouts from the onlookers. Young, old, and everything in between fill up the gaps. Each clinging to a cutlery or a glass.
The scent of melting cheese and frying onions makes up for the lack of space. I watch as a waiter places down a colossal burger topped with onion rings, and then proceeds to hand off a steaming dish of macaroni and cheese to another table.
My stomach growls.
Wolf or not the smells are intoxicating. I lick my lips and can almost taste salt in the air. The wild animal in me howls. I bite my inner cheek to focus the pangs elsewhere and quickly slide into a vacant seat at the bar.
The tumult rises to an all-time high now that I am in the centre, a throbbing mass of laughter and chatter swelling around me until I can hardly hear my own heart beating. It's comforting in the way that it reminds me of pack nights, but creates an awareness of the all too fresh wound of longing.
A young waitron flashes me a smile, his eyes tipped at the corners, his mouth tight, and passes me a laminated sheet – the menu – not bothering to try to speak over the crowd as he disappears back down the line of drinkers. I stare down at the page for a minute, overwhelmed at the unknown names, the witty twist of words. My throat constricts.
It shouldn't be so hard. Eventually I shake my head and randomly place my finger on something from the burger list.
My wait for the tired blond is short. His baby rounded cheeks flash dimples at me and his eyes blink slowly as he leans closer to get my order. Over the sound of the Grill his voice is rough, and he doesn't seem able to hear me.
Come the forces of hell or the powers of heaven I would get my food. He nods as I press my finger to the menu. As close to any universal language as I'll get.
It was late when I arrived. By the time 'Hi, my name is Matt' brings me my food the swarms are thinned down to a few lonely boozers and a handful of young group's intent on their conversations over pudding and games of darts.
It's beautiful – the food, not the boozers and schmoozers – overflowing with some kind of cheese sauce, bacon sticking out of it at every which angle, lettuce crisp and green. And, wolf nuggets, the patty looks like heaven. Not French cuisine, but hearty – meat, carbs and yum. Perfection on a plate.
I grunt a 'thanks' before tucking into the food somewhat like a starved dog. I will admit that I don't bother with delicacy; I sort of stuff the food into my mouth and hope my digestive system finds a way to protest the bulk mass I was forcing down it. No rest for the weak. Eat or be eaten. Yadda yadda, etcetera.
Matt must find my enthusiasm encouraging, because when I lift my head from the last potato wedge – heartbroken that it's done already – he's nudging toward me a toasted sandwich to the likes of which I had never seen before. Beautiful. I don't stare. I just glare it into submission, maybe lick my lips a little – because, damn.
This feast makes its way down my throat with just as much gusto and slightly less speed. This time I allow the flavours to linger on my tongue, the corner of my mouth. As the last bite disappears from the plate I neatly lick off the lingering sauce from my fingers. I lean back on the chair, closing my eyes for a moment before sinking back into the seat and casting my gaze around the room. Matt The Amazing Waiter returns and, now that the noise level has dissipated to the drone of a couple stragglers and background music, his voice is less hoarse.
"Not from around here," He muses, collecting my plates, his sandy blonde hair stands in tufts. His eyes are inquisitive and friendly despite their droop.
"No," I say and offer a smile, the least I could do for this wonderful man who fed me.
He grins, some of the fatigue seeming to fall away. He's younger than I thought. "We don't get many new faces around here,"
"Small town problems," I agree, my eyes doing another scan of the bar's occupants, this time taking in each face. Forks had been similar, if not vastly different in every way. "'Tis the way and all that,"
Matt chuckles, "Are you passing through?"
"Maybe." I shrug, "I'm looking for a place to…to settle, I guess." I flap a hand around to encompass the entirety of this town. "Mystic Falls is as good as any other place. The food is great at least."
"Ha," Mat snorts and he wipes down the counter expertly. "Not a big place this, things are pretty boring. The Grill's as good as it gets."
I try to ignore the way his eyes flicker to the side. "Every small town has its secrets," I know, I'd been one of them. And now, here, new secrets to be a part of, if I ever stay that long. I rustle up a bill and place it on the counter.
"Truth," he says and looks over my shoulder, his face twisting for a moment. He makes a sound at the back of his throat, lips pulling down. "Damon,"
A dark haired man settles beside me at the bar and waggles his fingers at Matt. Matt scoffs.
I eye the newcomer – Damon – hackles rising and back tense. The long dark hair reminds me of the reservation, but he also makes my skin crawl. I stare openly, trying to figure out why.
Damon eventually turns to return my stare, a smirk in place, and eyes perhaps a bit on the wild side. He picks up the glass Matt sets down without sparing it a glance. I gather my change much the same. The alcohol looks like liquid gold in the bar light. Damon salutes me with it, "To your health, Moon Moon."
My brows shoot up. Moon Moon? I watch as he downs the drink and points to Matt for a refill. Damon's…odd in the most basic sense of the word. And he moves wrong. I shift in my seat, trying to stifle the desire to outright scent the air or move across the room. I don't move and I don't blatantly sniff the air. But I do duck my head, drawing in a deep breath.
My nose wrinkles and the food in my gut makes a fairly brilliant attempt at escaping.
Vampire.
He's nothing like the Cullen's, although I had come to the conclusion that the Cullen's were on the odd side of vampire-ness. I chew my lower lip and narrow my eyes. It'd probably be too obvious to move away now – if I know what he is, he probably knows what I am.
Finally he favours me with his gaze, one dark brow raised and his red lips quirked. "Something I can do for you, lap dog?"
I scowl, well, excuse me. I shake it off, with a bit more trouble than it's worth. "You're a vampire." Clearly not my finest attempt at communication or subtleness, but heck if I cared. 'Lap dog' my perfectly non-furry ass.
His brows seem to do some intricate dance and he laughs, "Obviously," Despite the humour with which it is said, I've been around enough sarcasm to taste it in the air.
Damn vampires and their superiority complexes. I straighten in my seat, lifting my chin a bit so I'm looking down at him. I got enough of this garbage from the guys at home. Screw men. Screw vampires. Fuck, screw supernatural creatures in general.
"Damon," Matt snaps – when he got here is beyond me, or perhaps he never left – and leans across the bar. "If you start another ruckus, I'll-"
"What? Tell Elena?" The vampire's lips twitch into a broad grimace. "Do whatever you like, Legolas."
"What's wrong with you?" I demand after Matt walks off, waving my hand to encompass Damon's person. "Your scent is wrong."
The vampire snorts, brows still raised. "Rude." He leans toward me, scrutinising. Grey, his eyes are grey – I suck in a sharp breath. What the ever loving shit is going on here? "You're new around here. Clearly, it's the scent of sexiness, you must never have come across it before. Enjoy it while you can, hybrid, because it's the only time you'll ever get a whiff of it."
The arrogance is amazing. Somehow I'm not surprised though, he is a vampire after all. I unwillingly recall Jacob and Sam and it's painfully clear that haughtiness isn't limited to the cold blooded. A right shame.
"Why are you here?" He asks, "Did Klaus send his little pet to check on me?"
Despite my confusion, I growl at the patronising bastard. And of all the things I could ask, "Moon Moon? Lap Dog? Hybrid? Pet? What the hell are you getting at?"
His eyes narrow, "You are what you are, mutt."
I push to my feet, crowding slightly into his space. "I'm not sure how things work here at Mystic Falls, but be aware that I'm about two seconds away from ripping out your throat. My pack eats blood-suckers for breakfast." The twinge in my chest aches a little more, I ignore it.
He looks me up and down doubtfully. "Hm, do they?" I sneer. He huffs a laugh. "Not one of Klaus's pet projects then?"
Bristling at being referred to as a 'pet project', I slam my hand down on the bar, "For the love of Dokibatt, who is Klaus?"
The one or two patrons still in the Grill stop their chattering for a moment as Damon and I stare off. After a long moment, he laughs, "Oh, this is rich. I'd love to see his face when he finds out you're here. Who knew someone else was drinking his cool aid?"
I turn to leave. It's late, I've spent the better part of the last few days behind a steering wheel, and I didn't come to Mystic Falls to be patronised and treated like a joke. I'm tired, bone weary and emotionally drained. I don't need this, none of it.
"Hey! Hey, wait now. Not so fast, fluffy. What's your name?" Damon calls out after me and I pause in my escape to rub a shaking hand over my forehead. The vampire huffs, "All right, I'm Damon Salvatore. Resident asshole at your service. Now, you got a name?"
"Salvatore?" I breathe a sigh. Alice mentioned the Salvatores in passing, nothing concrete as to their stance on interspecies alliance, merely that they were one of the prominent covens in the area. I lick my lips. Thanks for nothing, Alice. I turn to the bloodsucker. "I'm Leah. Maybe you could help me out."