[Shock. She just feels shock. Because that's one of the last things she expected him to do in response -- maybe not to say, but to do -- and it steals the breath from her. She's not hurt, not physically at least, and she lifts her fingers to lightly touch her throat as she watches him drop back into his seat.
But her wide-eyed, gaping look does not last very long, and perhaps it's the apology in his voice that snaps her out of it. (He didn't hurt her; he was just trying to scare her...) Elena presses her lips together, feels a familiar prickling of frustration and impatience, of anger.]
Just be quiet, Damon. [She barks the words out, and says the only thing she can think of saying.] You know what you're not really understanding? That I know you're a damn vampire. [She shrugs a little, the corners of her lips turning down.] I've accepted a long time ago that you're a self-serving sociopath who only bothers to care about maybe three people after yourself. So why don't you cut the supernatural lesson short because I've heard it, Damon. I've seen it. The only thing someone's not comprehending here is you can't sink your teeth into whoever you want right now! It's dangerous and it's stupid. [Oh, and then in a right fit, she stomps over to the table of all his alcohol, grabs the rest of his beloved scotch with purpose, and stalks over to the fireplace to throw it in. The bottle shatters, the liquid splatters, etc. She turns to face him, crossing her arms, her tone firm. It was vindictive, yes; but at this point she's not sure how to get through to him.] And don't ever touch me like that again.
[Damon's eyes snap to Elena face when she snaps at him. It's unexpected, to say the least. He couldn't seem more hurt if she'd hit him. Then again, he can take physical pain. It's the emotional pain that he can't seem to handle. It cuts too deep and in ways that he's not used to. He lets all of his emotional defenses down around her, whether he likes it or not. It makes everything she says that much harder and dig that much deeper. He can't shake it off. These things stay with him] I've been doing it for over a hundred years, Elena. It's no more "dangerous" or "stupid" than it ever was. Unless she somehow wound up with vervain, there's no more to worry about than there ever-
[He's on his feet the second she grabs the bottle of scotch. He knows what he plans on doing, he knows that he knows, but he doesn't want to believe it. And he doesn't. Not until he actually sees the bottle shatter. Then he's at the fireplace, about to reach into the flames to retrieve the broken bottle. The searing heat, though, reminds him that there's a fire and that this is stupid. It's just alcohol. But it's also about so much more than that right now]
[Of course it's stupid. This is just, bottom line, the most frustrating and circular conversation she's ever had with someone. For weeks. And sure, maybe a few weeks ago she was trying to convince him of his own humanity, but right now? Not really. She's just trying to protect the town, protect her friends, and god help her, protect him.
Elena merely turns to face him by the fire, completely unsurprised by his burst of speed. She huffs out an incredulous breath of air.] Are you hearing yourself right now? You said it before: the council is breathing down our- [But there she stops herself, lifts her arms to hold her hands up defensively.] You know what? Forget it. I tried. Now I'm going home.
[Quota for dealing with Damon for the day: more than fulfilled. Cue spinning on her heel to go collect her things off one of the couches.] Enjoy your alcohol or digging your own grave or whatever else you're planning on doing tonight.
[He walks back to the chair when she turns to collect her things. There's no great attempt to go after her, physically try to make her stay, and tack on a few flowery words to make everything seem alright. He just walks back to the chair and practically drops into it. He drums his fingers on the arms of the chair, staring out at nothing in particular or maybe nothing at all. He's just staring for the sake of it. Thinking. He stops the drumming with one hand, lifting it to rest his head against it] You're right. [He pauses and looks up at her, letting his hand fall from the side of his head] You should go home. [And maybe she's right about more than that too]
[Oh, she's not letting him do that. He can't just make that face at her and expect -- god, she doesn't even know what he expects. Maybe the way that look softens up her insides is all on her. But it barely flickers in her impatient, no-nonsense gaze, because she's not giving in to whatever self-pity he's feeling over his self-destruction. She holds his eyes as if to wordlessly say so, yanking her jacket on with forceful, jerky movements. Looks away only to hoist her book bag over her shoulder. Her voice is only somewhat calmed. She can't help him if he doesn't let her, and she hopes he gets that.] Fine. [She heads towards the foyer.] Good night, Damon.
[Making her stay would be a mistake. He knows that and for once, he's sticking to that idea. He just draws lazy circles on the arm of the chair, now watching her every movement. He's trying to gauge whether or not she really feels the anger and frustration and whatever else is in her voice. Her body language, though, it says the same things her tone is saying. That impatience, that frustration, it bleeds into her every movement. And that's what keeps Damon from trying to make her stay, from trying to argue with her more about what happened. Instead he pushes himself up out of the armchair and goes to the table containing a select few bottles of alcohol. He pours some of the contents of one - while eying the spot where the bottle of scotch sat - into a tumbler and goes to sit back in the chair. His eyes are back on her when she speaks, having not really expected that. He didn't really expect anything at all. He doesn't respond, though, just takes a deep drink from his glass, mildly disappointed by the taste, the lack of the burn he gets from the scotch]
But her wide-eyed, gaping look does not last very long, and perhaps it's the apology in his voice that snaps her out of it. (He didn't hurt her; he was just trying to scare her...) Elena presses her lips together, feels a familiar prickling of frustration and impatience, of anger.]
Just be quiet, Damon. [She barks the words out, and says the only thing she can think of saying.] You know what you're not really understanding? That I know you're a damn vampire. [She shrugs a little, the corners of her lips turning down.] I've accepted a long time ago that you're a self-serving sociopath who only bothers to care about maybe three people after yourself. So why don't you cut the supernatural lesson short because I've heard it, Damon. I've seen it. The only thing someone's not comprehending here is you can't sink your teeth into whoever you want right now! It's dangerous and it's stupid. [Oh, and then in a right fit, she stomps over to the table of all his alcohol, grabs the rest of his beloved scotch with purpose, and stalks over to the fireplace to throw it in. The bottle shatters, the liquid splatters, etc. She turns to face him, crossing her arms, her tone firm. It was vindictive, yes; but at this point she's not sure how to get through to him.] And don't ever touch me like that again.
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[He's on his feet the second she grabs the bottle of scotch. He knows what he plans on doing, he knows that he knows, but he doesn't want to believe it. And he doesn't. Not until he actually sees the bottle shatter. Then he's at the fireplace, about to reach into the flames to retrieve the broken bottle. The searing heat, though, reminds him that there's a fire and that this is stupid. It's just alcohol. But it's also about so much more than that right now]
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Elena merely turns to face him by the fire, completely unsurprised by his burst of speed. She huffs out an incredulous breath of air.] Are you hearing yourself right now? You said it before: the council is breathing down our- [But there she stops herself, lifts her arms to hold her hands up defensively.] You know what? Forget it. I tried. Now I'm going home.
[Quota for dealing with Damon for the day: more than fulfilled. Cue spinning on her heel to go collect her things off one of the couches.] Enjoy your alcohol or digging your own grave or whatever else you're planning on doing tonight.
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