For Aya.
Flickering lights in every color of the rainbow mingled with the eerie glow of ultraviolet bulbs, and psychedelic music pounded so fast and loud that even the clearest of voices became whispers over the din. The garish fashions, the paisley shirts and knee-high boots, all blended on the dance floor in a whirl of color. Bodies writhed, some to the beat of the music, others to no particular rhythm at all, swirling and stretching and beckoning; whether by drug or by ritual, all were intoxicated.
And then there was the strange, handsome man in the old-fashioned hat. Even the most oblivious of partygoers felt a chill when his gaze slipped over them, though whether it was fear or desire that gripped them never became quite clear. He sat all night, watching the crowds, the only one not dancing in the throng or groping strangers frantically in dimly-lit corners; occasionally he ordered a drink, the contents seeming to disappear all at once despite the fact that no one saw him even take the glass in his hand.
He was finally approached by a little redhead, flowers painted over bare skin to match her mini-dress, almost stumbling in her shiny boots, strings of beads flying side to side as she tried to keep her balance. She was not so brave, but emboldened by the drugs in her system, she felt as if she could do anything at all. Whatever incoherent line she blurted out, it was forgotten as soon as it was spoken; she froze in place when the handsome man stood slowly and began to smile, wider and wider, terrifyingly, impossibly wider. She stuttered, but that was all she had time to do. A lightning-quick, imperceptible movement later he was next to her, leaning in as if to kiss her.
And he did kiss her then, with an intensity that left her prone, paralyzed and wishing for more. She felt a hand on her side as he lowered his head to her neck and she closed her eyes, basking in every kiss and caress, too high to really notice as they grew more violent, gasping now and then with what she thought was pleasure. It wasn't until she felt something warm trickling down her neck and tried to pull away that she felt teeth in her throat and realized something was wrong.
She felt a tearing sensation as he ripped deeper into her neck, aggravated by the sudden movement. She tried to scream, but it seemed as though he now controlled her thoughts and actions, filling her mind, commanding her to silently obey. The pain was unbearable; he seemed content to lap greedily at her blood for only a moment before digging deeper, rougher, destroying not only the flesh, but all the muscles, tendons, and any other parts that stood in his way. His hand dug into her side, tearing easily through the flimsy fabric of her dress and puncturing the skin there too. She was losing consciousness now as quickly as she was losing blood, but his commands kept bringing her back to the searing pain, not allowing her the release she no longer had the words to plead for.
He flung her onto the table as easily as spare change, descending on the wound in her side with even greater ferocity than he'd done with her throat. She remained awake until the blood loss finally killed her, screaming within the confines of her mind, watching in horror as he dug into her insides, describing to her the name and purpose of every horrible thing he could pull out. The crowd barely noticed, and those who did complained about bad acid trips and shook their heads to clear the visions.
Then he came for the rest of them.
One by one he finished them off, some dying quickly and others in agonizing madness. Limbs ripped from their sockets, ragged bodies impaled on microphone stands and lighting equipment and blood in swirling shades of red reflecting every color of the rainbow from the lights above; the music had ended once the band members died. At last, he stood and surveyed his handiwork, licking the remnants of blood from his lips and tossing an eyeball from hand to hand. This was a wonderful decade to work in, he thought to himself. The few helpless idiots he'd allowed to get away were among the most drugged at the party, and when they came to the police with their unbelievable story - if he'd counted correctly, they were nearing the station just now - the final conclusion would inevitably be that they themselves were the killers, a tragedy brought on by a lethal mix of hallucinogens. There were many such stories in the news these days, after all.
He revisited the restroom, rinsing his hands and face in the only sink he'd left untouched by blood and gore. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he grinned and straightened his hat. As he made his way out of the tiny, back-alley club and into the snowy streets, he cheerfully whistled the first few bars of Silent Night.
*********
Many blocks later, he passed another of his kind, an arrogant boy with eyes like a crow's and hair as black as night; he had a shivering, giggling girl on each arm and a few hopefuls trailing behind. They stopped a few feet short of each other, each trying to size the other up first, already planning a strategy for battle or escape. One of the girls squealed indignantly as the arrogant boy tightened his grip on her, preparing to fling her out of his way or use her as a shield perhaps, but quieted down with a hissed command from him. They knew each other, though the younger vampire didn't know how deep their acquaintance ran. For a moment that lasted an eternity, it seemed the two might tear other apart at the slightest movement. Eyes narrowed, Powers gathered ... two predators facing off.
And then the man in the hat laughed and winked, tipping his hat to the arrogant boy, who visibly relaxed.
"Merry Christmas, sport. Peace and love."
Damon and Klaus parted ways as several ambulances and a police car skidded down the icy road in the direction of a little nightclub in a nearby back alley.
END.
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