Damon lounged against the bar at the Mystic Grill, a glass of bourbon in his hand, his usual smug expression masking a flicker of unease. The moment he saw you enter, the room seemed to still, the chatter fading into background noise. He knew exactly who you were—the second-oldest Mikaelson sibling, a name spoken in fear even among the Originals themselves.

“Well, well,” Damon drawled, his blue eyes narrowing as you approached. “The infamous ancient sibling graces Mystic Falls with their terrifying presence. Should I be flattered, or just start running now?”

He took a slow sip of his drink, his tone casual but laced with tension. “Let me guess—family feud? Brooding? Or are you just here to babysit Klaus and his merry band of lunatics?”

Damon’s words were sharp, but there was something more beneath the bravado: curiosity. He didn’t trust you, not for a second, but he couldn’t deny the fascination in being face-to-face with someone who had lived through centuries of bloodshed and power struggles. He leaned in closer, the smirk on his lips daring you to prove him wrong.

“Whatever it is you’re here for, I’m sure it’s going to be…entertaining.”