RANDOM WORD: LACONIC
She knows she's fighting a losing battle and pushing him never gets her very far, but she can't help herself. She's so terrified of losing him that she's doing exactly what's guaranteed to push him away.
"Where have you been?" She strives for a tone of non-chalance and knows she's failed miserably.
"Out." He answers with a slight edge. He doesn't like being questioned. Over a hundred years of solitude does that to a person.
"I know, but where?" She shouldn't push. She's pushing.
"You're pushing." He responds as he moves about the room with a fluid ease as he changes clothing.
She watches for several moments silently. Damon getting ready for bed and Damon getting ready to go out again are shockingly similar patterns and she's waiting for the tell tale sign. Will he reach for the towel and head into the bathroom or pour himself another drink? She closes her eyes willing his choice. She is disappointed, but not surprised, to hear the liquid falling into the glass.
"You're going out again." She hears his sigh and forces herself to let it go. He's only here for a little while and her constant questioning of his whereabouts and activities only makes their time together strained. "I'm sor..."
She's opened her eyes and her voice trails off. Lamely unable to finish the sentence. No Damon. Just a half drunk glass of brandy and a room that's far too big and way too cold.