Disclaimers: Damon and Stefan belong to L.J. Smith, Wowbagger (though unnamed in this ficlet, and I take a slight liberty with his list for the purpose of what little plot there is in this) the alien belongs to Douglas Adams.
Summary: Damon has an extraterrestrial encounter. A crossover with Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Life, the Universe and Everything.
It was, Damon had to admit, an impressive sight. Given he'd been around for five hundred years, that wasn't something he'd say lightly these days, but there wasn't really any other way to describe the sleek, silver spacecraft that had descended from the starlit sky above him. It circled the area elegantly a few times before it glided silently to a stop a few yards in front of him, landing legs popping out, and light spilling out of the opening hatch. A ramp extended from the hatch, and a tall silhouette emerged, framed by the golden glow behind.
It was all very surreal, and Damon was starting to wonder if his meal earlier that night had been dropping acid or something. He didn't remember anything tasting off, but drugs were getting pretty sophisticated these days, so he supposed it was possible that he just hadn't noticed. He watched warily as the figure approached him.
It stopped inches away, tall and exotic, grey-green skin shining, black, slitty eyes blinking oddly, long, golden robes draped over spindly shoulders. The creature glanced at Damon, peered down at the shiny clipboard-like technology it was clutching for a few seconds, then looked back up. "Damon Salvatore?"
A raised eyebrow was the only evidence of surprise that Damon let slip. "Yes?" he said at last.
"You're a jerk," it said in a clipped and efficient voice.
Damon's other eyebrow shot up. "I beg your pardon?"
"A jerk," it repeated. "An asshole. A wan...!!" The alien was abruptly cut off, a final gurgle escaping as the clipboard went flying. In the blink of an eye, Damon had lunged at the alien, one hand wrapped around its neck, squeezing ruthlessly. It stared bug-eyed (and Damon was /really/ impressed with that, given the slitty nature of its eyes in their natural state) at him, and the vampire bared his fangs, hissing at the thing for good measure. Its eyes rolled up in its head as it passed out, and it crumpled gracelessly to the ground amidst its ridiculous golden robes.
Shaking his head, Damon brushed his hands on his pants, then bent down to pick up the discarded clipboard. His eyes skimmed over what appeared to be a list of names being ticked off in order, and he smiled wickedly as an idea popped into his head. Erasing his name with the attached stylus, he added another, and threw the pad carelessly down on top of the unconscious alien. Starting up a jaunty whistle, he wandered off into the night.
"Stefan Salvatore?" the alien asked croakily as it rubbed absently at its neck.
"You're a jerk..."