Monsters at the Ball - For crossroadskink
Cleans Up Nicely
Damon did clean up nicely, when he wanted to.  As much as he clung his his jeans and black leather jacket like a uniform most of the time, suits did do wonderful things for his figure.  Made those pale blue eyes even more striking, accented his shoulders and his waist and made him look almost respectable, which was admittedly a dangerous proposition.  Candlelights twinkled on almost every surface, flickered in the light summer breeze as outdated classical music played.  He wondered if they actually thought that the highschool crowd would dance to that, or if that was part of the point.

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.  

For willneversayyes
That Look
Considering that the last new person to show up to the Council had been John Gilbert, Damon wasn't exactly looking forward to new introductions.  But, his interest was piqued; the man was apparently not related to Mystic Falls' founding families at all, and given how keen their little group was on this whole bloodline thing, he was a little interested.  Although, he supposed they were potentially in danger of ruining the whole village mob vibe they had going on.

He slid over with an easy smile when the man walked in.  Well.  Certainly nicer on the eyes than John -- not as if that was particularly difficult, admittedly. He offered his hand with a lift of an eyebrow, all charm laid on thick as he usually was when he was here playing nice, a distraction from that predatory nature that curled even in how he moved.

"Damon Salvatore.  You must be Sam."


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