Dameon felt her eyes upon him. He wasn't even worrying about the woman next to him. His lifestyle taught him quickly women had no patience for a man who stuck in the nightlife. He sighs and plays with his drink. Swallowing a large gulp of it. He didn't care how well liked he was or wasn't. None of this filled that need and longing to have something he could most likely never had. And this knowledge had him slightly iced over where his hearts emotions was concerned. Looking around without raising his gaze from his drink more than a couple of inches.<br/><br/>He was just himself. He was french and grew up in Paris. Try as hard as he might...he couldn't freeze over the die hard romantic. He hid it well though and so not many knew it. He looks up. Catching a scent yet having no idea what it was chalked it up to weariness. He looks to the woman next to him. "Nice night isn't it?" he asks.  And finishes the drink. It left a hint not of alcohol but of blood on his breath. Yet that fruity scent of his own blood was there in his breath as well.