Crack in the facade [Tom]

Damon patrolled more like a predator, rather than a lawman. In fact, his whole being in general was like that. He was a cop, but not quite. Good at his job, but certainly not conventionally, and for some, at a price. People loved to argue over him, as well as stare at him with a mix of hatred and grudging respect, or plan to stab him in the back without ever going through with it.

He was more than comfortable with all this- it was the ideal. He adored his job and the state it was in. Others could argue all they wanted, and he was just going to keep on rolling with the punches and making all the self-indulgence count.

It was late in the city, his favorite time to go looking for trouble, and the air felt charged with energy. Something was familiar, he could feel it perking up his mind and exciting things, and a nasty taste was in his mouth. Clearly there was something worth checking out happening nearby, and he'd been lucky enough to stumble on.

Damon had always been lucky.

The dirty cop crept down back alleyways, areas that sometimes got to be like mazes for those not used to them (he loved it). Others lurking within either lit up at his passing through, or scattered like a bunch of terrified cats. He grinned like a shark at all of it, but also didn't stay to play around with anyone he could've. He had something specific to look into tonight.

"W-Whats happening to me...?"

And really, aren't all the best things gift wrapped in the form of a pretty face?

Instead of making himself known immediately, Damon took silent steps forward as he examined the source of the interesting energy he'd been feeling. She was glowing, even. He only grinned more, sharp rows of teeth shining eerily in the odd lighting.

"I don't think we'll have to wait long to find out," Damon offered in a purr, as some sort of morbid reassurance. "But I can tell you one thing, doll- whatever you've got goin' on? It feels very familiar."