With the little meeting of the Founder's Council over, in which they conspired against vampires in the backroom, Damon slid up to the bar. He slipped onto a stool and ordered himself a scotch with a smile and a glint in his eyes. Really, he wasn't sure that the irony of the situation would ever get old. Or charming his way into the hearts of everyone on the council as a past time, for that matter. He was, for the moment at least, pointedly ignoring Elena and his brother and their doe-eyed lovebird looks. He'd harassed them earlier, and would no doubt be unable to resist causing some sort of trouble before the party was over, but for now a glass of good scotch was certainly in order.
The Lockwoods spared no expense, and Damon was all about indulgence.