100 Years

Damon looked at his reflection in the mirror. Most years came and went and he hardly ever noticed his birthday, giving more attention to the day he was turned than anything. After all, the day he'd been turned was the day he'd grown stronger and been given a second chance at life. At least, it had seemed that way then; he still remembered how excited he had been. But, this year was different. This year he couldn't ignore the fact that his face did not match how it should look on his one hundredth birthday. His reflection looked exactly the same as always. Dark, slightly unkept, thick hair and blue eyes staring out from a perfect 25-year-old face without a wrinkle in sight. One hundred years and he still looked like a freaking teenager without a single wrinkle or the slightest graying of hair. Not even a bald spot. He'd be lying if he said a part of him didn't take pleasure in that fact. There was something to be said for being eternally young and good looking. But, today, more than usual, it bothered him. Because there was also something to be said for earning those gray hairs, starting a family and growing old. None of which he would ever do. He could do anything he wanted, except for grow old. He'd considered starting a family once or twice, but he'd seen enough friends live and die to know that a family would only ever end one of two ways: a grave or they'd turn—a tragedy either way.

He missed his brother. Nearly 75 years and he'd only seen him twice for a brief period, one being for a funeral. Stefan was the only family he had left now and it'd been eight years since he'd seen his little brother. The last time, he'd left him at a train station to go off to war. He'd kill Lexi if she hadn't kept her word about keeping an eye on him during those 5 years of hell. Different war, but he figured wars never really changed; really, they just kept getting worse. Not even fifty years had passed and already the world had been in two world wars; the last just ended and there were already rumors of an atomic bomb being made. Looking back on WW2, he cursed himself for never even trying to write at least a letter, but he still recalled how catastrophic wartime letters could go. Still. But, he consoled himself that he had at least tried to keep an ear out for any string of murders over the past eight years and hadn't heard any; so, he only presumed Lexi had kept her word. He glanced over to the wall mounted phone, wishing he could give Stefan a call, or that his brother might give him a call. But, he knew that was delusional and didn't entertain the notion any further. He'd given Stefan absolutely no reason to want to contact him and he had no idea where he might be.

Well, it was 1949 and he could do anything he wanted. Damon didn't exactly have a birthday plan in mind, but he knew it wasn't going to be to keep sitting around feeling sorry for his old self. New inventions and ideas had been popping up everywhere these days. He didn't see much use for the TV that people were starting to buzz about. But, the engineering world was a different matter. He'd heard talk of this new Porsche model that looked sleek and fast. Maybe it wasn't the car for a hundred-year-old dude, but to hell with it; he looked 17, might as well look the part; he certainly wasn't going to go for the stupid Volkswagen Beetle they were also talking about.

Damon took absolute pleasure cruising along in the navy-blue 356 Porsche—which the dealer had graciously given to him "free." He'd had an idea and was headed toward the infamous Lafitte's Blacksmith Bar in the Quarter. Located on Bourbon and attracting some of the more nefarious types with its rumors of piracy and spies, it always provided a good chance for some decent booze and the perfect accompanying meal, courtesy of someone who had it coming. Old? Hardly. No birthday was better spent than one at Lafitte's.

A/N: Yes, Damon's Camaro is fantastic, but if I'm understanding historic timelines correctly, it wasn't invented yet.