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I don't need a drink. [ Or the spirit. She shakes her head and denies it even as she takes the offered glass from him, cradles it in her lap. Frowning is sort of her default state, so Damon might just have to get used to the wrinkles if she makes it to her thirties; that exactly what she's doing. One exhale later and she's bringing the whiskey to her lips to sip, wincing at the taste and burn; she's still not accustomed to it yet. Speaking of drinking. ] How do you - I mean, is there a hospital here?