Buzz Kill

In his heavily intoxicated state, Damon nearly lost his balance as well as she fell onto him and he hit the brick wall on which he had been leaning against before. He inhaled the subtle

flowery aroma, flooding his head and causing it spin and suddenly had the strangest urge to kiss her. He found this odd because kissing was a human thing, for vampires it was no more

than a useful technique to seduce an unwilling donor. Damon figured it was just some sort of side affect from the alcohol, but in any case, he kissed her.

Her lips were soft, as he imagined they would be. And he was further confused by the urge he had to never stop kissing her. Until his lungs threatened to burst and he gasped for air. The

girl wrapped her arms around his neck and molded against him, intertwining her fingers through his hair almost absent mindedly. Damon waited for the blood lust to take over, he could

hear her heart beat and the blood pulsed through her veins in a hypotizing rhythm. He grunted as she suddenly tugged on his hair and forced his head to the side, bringing him out of his

drunken daze. In the split second that followed, he saw her eyes blacken and the erected kanines as she went to strike his throat.

"Aspetti! Io sono come te!" he interjected as he felt the razor sharp kanines just faintly graze his throat as she stopped. She pulled back from him and looked at him through heavy lidded

eyes, her brow slightly furrowed.

"Comme moi?" she said quietly. "Un burveur de sang?"

"Sì, un bevitore di sangue." He hated to admit that he had begun to panick, fore he was never anyone or anything's prey. He, Damon Salvatore, was always the predator…

"Oh… dans ce cas, pardonnez-moi monsieur, je n'avais pas vu-"

"Forgive me, but I'm afraid my French is a little rusty…" he said apologetically. She laughed slightly, but then caught her head as she nearly collapsed once again and moaned.

"Connaissez-vous d'un endroit où je peux rester?"

"Well, you can stay with me if you would like?" he could only register about two of every three words. "But do you have a car? I seemed to have left mine… somewhere…?" he suddenly

realized that he had no idea of where he had left it. In fact, he had little memory of the last time he had driven it.

"Oui… dans la rue…" she mumbled. Damon could recognize that much.

On the street… "Alright, come on." He said as he took her arm and led her back through the bar, wrapping a secure arm around her waist. When all at once, a Miss Caroline Forbes

confronted him with the angriest of expression he'd seen on her face to date.

"What is this, then?" she snapped, her hands on her hips. Realization suddenly washed over Damon as he remembered that Caroline had been his date to the party- his end of a bargain

that he had made with her, but to him had meant no more than a convenient excuse for a free snack. Damon groaned and looked back at Caroline.

"Sorry Caroline, but friends don't let friends drive drunk." He said in a heavily sarcastic voice. "So if you would excuse me now, and forget all about me being here…" he said through

narrowed eyes as he enforced it in her dimwitted brain. It only took half a second but all ill feelings rose from Caroline's face and she smiled at him.

"Okay then, so I'll see you tomorrow then?" she asked cheerfully.

"Don't count on it, just go back to whatever it was that you were doing before." He added as he walked around her towards the exit.

"Okay, call me!" she called after him before she went back to sit with some of her friends as though nothing had happened, just as she always did. But as for the drunk vampire girl

leaning on his arm, Damon was surprised at how obediantly the she walked with him. When he got to the street lined with cars, he looked around and frowned. "Which one is yours?" he

asked.

"The red mustang…" she mumbled, clumsily retrieving the keys from her pocket and giving them to him. He spotted the old 1965 mustang and raised his eyebrows in approval, but then

frowned in confusion. He had been sure that that spot had been marked for handicap drivers and he looked at the hole in the concrete for a moment and laughed.

"Couldn't find a better spot huh?" he snickered.

"I'd already gotten out of the car." She shrugged slightly in indifference. Damon snickered to himself as he helped her into the passengers seat before jogging around to the drivers side

and getting in, looking around and admiring the interior.

"Where'd you find this one, and in such good shape?" he wondered after igniting the engine and listening to its smooth humming.

"Some small town just north of Albany New York in 1965…" Damon looked at her in surprise once again.

"You never fail to amaze me." He said as he sped down the nearly deserted street, heading in the direction of the Old Wood.

"Comment cela?" she mumbled.

"Well, first the almost-bite, then the on and off French and English thing, the car, the parking space, and now you're telling me you're at least fifty or so years old? So start talking." He

said, suddenly fascinated.

"I am well older than that." She laughed.

"Oh?" he glanced over at her for a moment before back out at the road. "How old, may I ask then? And please don't slap me, I tend to get hit a lot when I ask women about their ages."

He added in quickly, making her laugh again.

"I am about… five hundred and seventy years old now. Dates were not so well recorded when I was born and it's hard to keep up with the years when there's so many to keep track of."

She explained.

Damon raised his eyebrows in surprise once again. "Really? That's incredible. I grew up during the Renaissance era, in Florence Italy."

"Oh? I speant much of my childhood in Florence, at my family's summer home. Though I was born, raised and educated in Paris."

Damon frowned, this was sounding far too familiar… "How did you die, exactly…?" he was afraid of what her answer might be, but he had no idea why.

She hesitated and looked straight out the windshield. "Childbirth…"

There was a two second pause that ended when Damon slammed on the breaks and she barely had enough reaction time to catch herself from flying out the windshield.

"What the hell are you doing here Lizette?!" Damon cried, turning to face her in agonizing fury.

Lizette turned to look at him, shaken by his outrage and suddenly felt strangled by what she saw. It was him… how could she have not seen it before…? How drunk could she possibly

have been…? She could not speak, she could only stare at him in shock. Her hand slowly raised to grasp her throat in an absent minded remark brought on from her years of etiquette

and propriety. How could this be? This must be another dream?

"D… Damon…?" her voice shook with sobs. "Peut-elle vous être…?"

Damon shook with anger and he grasped the wooden steering wheel in fury, this could not be happening to him… not now. She was supposed to have died centuries ago… how could she

still be here?

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be dead!" he cried as he thrashed in his outrage, he had never imagined that she could still be alive… the thought had never crossed even

his wildest dreams, and he had had some pretty crazy dreams in his time… But this was impossible! He started to recite a well ordered string of profanities in quite a few diverse

languages, and some of them, Lizette did not recognize as any earthly jargon. And tears streamed down her face as she stared at him in shock, shaking her head in disbelief. No… surely

this could not be real… surely this was no more than just another bad dream… But it hurt like reality, her heart ached more like the way it did upon awakening from her dreams… this was

real… as impossible as it was, it was real…