Note: Honestly, I wrote this after I read one too many self-insert fanfictions. Apparently it's just something every author has to do and since I was annoyed at most of the ones I read (though I've found some that are absolutely great too) I decided to give it a try myself, make something new (hopefully). Don't take this too seriously, that's really the only advice I have. This was meant to entertain, nothing more nothing less. I just needed to get the idea out of my system.
Warning: Craziness. Casual talk about murder and other crimes. Obviousness. A totally new species, called HGT. An evil cup of coffee. Oh, and bad language. Lots of bad language.
English is not my native language. I apologize for any mistake in advance.
|petroltogo haunts The Vampire Diaries|
by MirrorShard
Chapter I #wrbs [would rather be sleeping]
or: How To Not Spill Your Coffee While You're Teleported Across an Ocean In Your PJs
To all my lovely readers: I know I haven't been posting like I usually do and for that I deeply apologize. There have been some…unexpected disruptions in my working schedule. Due to an…ehm…incident I lost my internet connection for a few days. You'll see what I mean in a moment.
Anyway, I'm finally back online and I have so much to tell you! I actually had to divide my story into a series of sorts because it turned out to be too long for a single post. So let me start with how I spend my usual Saturday morning. But before we get to that, here the quote of the day:
"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."
—Arthur Conan Doyle
January 22
I'm not a superhero.
(You didn't see that one coming, did you?)
In fact so far I've led a perfectly normal life, as you may already know if you've been following this blog for a while. Sure, I've been to different places and met interesting people, but I've never seen a miracle happen or have done something truly extraordinary. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining or anything. Especially because we all know how much fate loves to fuck with the brainless idiots who do.
Yet for some reason yesterday morning my whole life was turned upside down. Repeatedly.
I'm still feeling a little nauseous from all the turns and twists. Although that could also be because of the bloodied—or, well, bloodless—bodies surrounding me. But more about that later.
It was a completely normal Saturday (which is also a clichéd way to start a story, I'm well-aware, thank you very much) and I was sitting in my room, drinking a fresh cup of cappuccino my dad had just made me, and watched some of my favourite youtube clips to pass the time. All in all nothing out of the ordinary. I took another sip of my coffee and checked my whatsapp chats for news when it happened.
(And, despite the dramatic phrasing, 'it' was not very extraordinary at all.)
There was no crash of thunder or strike of lightening, nor did the power suddenly go out, nor did my laptop change into a small portal of swirling green that sucked me through a wormhole into a different dimension. I wasn't in a car that accelerated so fast, the world outside became nothing but a blur before I time-jumped either.
(Remember, I was in my room. We're trying to keep it logical here.)
I didn't press any red, Do-Not-Press buttons. And I certainly didn't wish upon a star for an adventure, saw some bright, blinding white light or fell asleep out of the blue.
(My seat isn't that comfortable and I had just gotten my daily shot of caffeine.)
As far as I remember I didn't even get hit over the head or was involved in some bizarre accident. And I didn't die—though it definitely would explain a lot.
(In case you're wondering: all these circumstances are well-known ways of traveling into another world/time/universe/dimension, at least according to the books, movies and fan-fictions I've seen.)
But as I've already told you, my experience wasn't quite as dramatic.
I blinked.
My eyes closed for the fraction of a second and when I opened them next I wasn't in my room anymore.
I was in Covington, Georgia.
Yeah, I did not see that coming either.
Somehow my blinking had taken me across one huge-as-hell ocean (which beats a twelve hour flight any day of the week, no matter how you look at it), only to drop me off in some decidedly unimpressive town in a state I never had any desire to visit (and who's police force would not be impressed by my lack of visa, green card or any other form of identification).
It probably wouldn't exactly help my case that I was still wearing my sleepwear: an oversized, pink t-shirt with the words 'you don't fool me' and a pair of perfectly acceptable grey sweatpants—except, of course, for the unmistakeable pole dance logo on my left butt cheek.
As far as freaky, supernatural incidents go, I could have done better.
#
So there I was, standing on the side of a street I didn't recognise at all, in front of a house I recognised all too well, sipping my coffee (that had miraculously survived the transatlantic teleportation), as I tried (and failed) to blend in with my surroundings and look like I belonged here all along. My brain was a little scattered, like the sudden and very literal change of scenery had knocked my mind off balance. It was like all my thoughts had to be disentangled and reorganised before I could even begin to process what had happened. Never mind form an appropriate response towards this new and very unexpected development.
Instead I blinked again, just to see if I had suddenly gotten the ability to teleport myself all over the world.
(I hadn't.)
When I opened my eyes again the sight hadn't changed. I wasn't back home, I was still standing at the side of the road and currently being subjected to a scratching glare from an elderly lady, who hastily brushed past me. Just the kind-hearted reassurance my self-confidence needed right now.
Anyway, all things considered I think I took the whole teleporting thing pretty well. My mind was racing and my hands were trembling a little, but I didn't have some overly emotional breakdown or anything like that—admittedly that was probably because I was too confused by what had happened. Because this couldn't be real. It didn't feel real. Me standing in my pyjamas in an unfamiliar town wasn't the kind of thing being a scout prepared you for.
(And I had been a terrible scout to begin with, in case you were wondering.)
I suppose I did the natural thing most humans do when they don't understand something. I went into denial.
It's impossible to one moment be in one place and the next moment hundreds of miles away, which meant it obviously hadn't happened. I didn't even spend much time searching for an explanation like a coma, a vivid dream or similar things, instead I simply didn't acknowledge that the situation I had found myself in required any sort of explanation. I just accepted the fact that I was in Covington now and decided to leave it at that.
(Though perhaps accepting isn't entirely fitting to describe the way I felt. It was more like glossing over everything that didn't make sense, moving on and not looking back once and shrugging off any question or thought that went too deep.)
Or I might have been in shock. People do strange when they are in shock and what I did next was definitely strange. And insane.
(Which would of course explain this whole ordeal too)
#
If you've been paying attention to what I've been telling you you might have noticed that I've said I landed in Covington, Georgia, even though I also admitted that I have never been in the United States. And no matter how convenient it would have been, I did not appear directly in front of a town sign. That would have been too simple and as I—or maybe we, but mostly I—know, the universe doesn't do simple.
Though to be fair it did give me a pretty huge clue as to where I was. Not exactly an Eiffel Tower or a White House but this was Covington, so I'll take what I get.
(A pretty stupid expression, now that I think about it. I mean, you can only ever take what you actually get, right? 'Cept when you're Captain Jack Sparrow of course, then you can take everything. And you get eaten by a giant, creepy kraken, but that's just life.)
My clue was the aforementioned house I had oh so kindly been placed in front of. Although 'house' might be a bit of an understatement. Should you ever find yourself in Covington you won't have any trouble finding this building, trust me. It's kind of hard to miss. Honestly, if I hadn't been to London before, I might have confused it with the Buckingham Palace. It's just so big and majestical and—well.
(One would think as an aspiring writer my vocabulary would be a little bit more extensive but alas that is clearly not the case. So let's just say that the mansion was rather impressive and leave it at that.)
But what really caught my attention was the fact that the house seemed familiar, like I had seen it countless times already. Which unnerved me a bit, to say the least. I've never been interested in architecture. Or art. Or history. You get the point. So logically speaking there was no reason why I should recognise the mansion. And yet I did.
(Briefly I toyed with the possibility of the Powers That Be messing with my mind and supplying me with the information I would need, but that sounded a little over the top so I discarded the idea—for the time being.)
Of course as soon as I finished said thought, it suddenly clicked. Like a word that has been on the tip of your tongue all day and yet you can never actually say it out loud, until some completely unrelated notion unexpectedly sparks your memory. I had indeed seen this particular building before. Often.
It's what told me I was in Covington, Georgia. Because this is where the TV series The Vampire Diaries has been filmed. And the epic house I've been gaping at like a mindless idiot? That, my dear readers, was the infamous home of the Mikaelson family, also known as the all-powerful original vampires, who now have their own spin-off series as far as I know.
A part of me was wondering why the place didn't have a better security—crazy fangirls anyone?—and looked almost deserted, whilst the larger part of my mind was still struggling to accept the implications of my latest realisation.
I mean there I was being magically whisked away half-way across the world, just to crash the shooting location of The Vampire Diaries of all things? Fate sure was a bitch.
Fate mustn't have appreciated my constructive criticism very much, because at precisely that moment it started to rain. And by 'rain' I mean 'pour'.
#
I like to think that I am a reasonably intelligent person, who keeps a cool head in most situations (despite all evidence to the contrary). As such I was aware that bursting into a stranger's home—a god damn set of a TV show at that—was neither the most polite nor the safest option I could have chosen under the circumstances.
This realisation didn't stop me from rushing towards the front door in my instinctive attempt to escape the sudden downpour though. I half expected some unnamed, well-muscled security guy to appear out of thin air and threaten to call the police but nothing of that sort happened and I reached the door—the entrance gate, really—without an embarrassing incident.
(If you overlook the fact that I was running through the rain, in my PJs and about to get a lot more personally acquainted with the owner of this mansion than I had ever planned to.)
Blinking I suddenly noticed that I wasn't actually in front of the entrance. I was inside the house, gaping at the blatant yet tasteful display of luxury. I would never admit it out loud but I was definitely impressed. Somehow a TV just couldn't do the view justice. Or maybe it was just a different experience to see everything for yourself. Of course I still rolled my eyes at the pompous elegance that was dripping from every artfully created part of the hall. Clearly 'inconspicuous' hadn't been on the producer's mind when he first decided to introduce the Originals in the show.
I must have been caught up in the moment, my inner fangirl going a little crazy for a bit, because I didn't even wonder how I managed to enter this place without having a nice, little chat with a couple of police officers, or even if the real owner would appreciate my exploration.
No, instead I walked down the corridors, looking at every painting, every very expensive antique, occasionally squinting my eyes in concentration when I tried to place one item or another in an episode where I might have seen it. In other words I was treating this whole out-of-body-except-with-my-body experience like a field trip with my old school class—though I had never shown the same interest in the museums and sights we visited back then.
It was fascinating how real everything looked. Like I had stepped straight into my TV, instead of trespassing on a stranger's propriety.
(I wisely didn't ponder too much about the second part of that thought.)
Stopping in the door frame of another room I slowly turned on my heels, taking in the sight from all sides and allowing myself one last moment of true appreciation for the Mikaelson Mansion—for that's what it always would be in my mind.
A loud crash broke me out of my reverie, followed by a barrage of swear words. And some very creative ones at that.
Disregarding my common sense (which was telling me to run whilst I still had the chance—and perhaps help myself to an umbrella while I was at it) the way I usually do, I instead walked towards the sound of shattering glass and loud voices, albeit hesitantly.
Rounding the corner I found myself with a clear view on the living room that had been featured in quite a few scenes, though never quite in the condition it was currently in. To keep it short, the room was a mess.
Fluids in different colours—most of them red—were sprayed across the once white walls. At least two light bulbs had been smashed and a battered painting was dangling dangerously on the wall, its weight only held up by one last nail. The floor was covered with shards, broken pieces of wood, dark liquid and what I could only assume to be the remains from several pieces of furniture. In all honesty, the desolate destruction was almost beautiful in its own way.
Unfortunately the two guys screaming each other's ears off in the middle of the room made it kind of hard to fully appreciate the sight.
At that point my thought process came to a screeching halt.
Wait, my brain seemed to say slowly. There are people in there.
Which is why my renown observation skills are sought after all around the world.
And people means trouble.
As is my logical reasoning.
Once my mind had recovered from the shock of being faced with two men—I mean, people? In a house? What's wrong with this world?—I finally had the necessary time and mental capacity to freak the fuck out. Because, oh my god, I was going to jail for breaking into these guys' home and I hadn't even finished my coffee yet!
(Which, by the way, had stayed faithfully in my hand during these trying times.)
Then of course it occurred to me that these guys—who were completely ignoring me, thank god—were currently in the process of trashing the living room, which was probably not your usual American Sunday morning tradition. In other words, they were either bat-shit crazy Vampire Diaries haters or really loud, really incapable burglars. And since I refused to deal with any basket-case other than Allison Reynolds before ten o'clock in the morning, them being criminals was the more appealing option.
If you ignored the fact that they clearly had a slight tendency towards violence.
I flinched when one of them suddenly turned around and kicked a fallen coffee table so hard, the wood gave in beneath his foot with a terrible, cracking noise. Alright, so maybe it was more than a slight tendency.
The other man didn't seem very impressed by the temper tantrum his friend was throwing and instead leaned against the stained wall with a careless smirk and an entirely unimpressed eye-roll. His nonchalance almost made me dismiss him and concentrate on his vicious accomplice instead, but something in the way he tilted his head a little to the right drew my attention.
The motion looked so incredibly familiar for some reason. As was his posture, now that I thought about it. I traced his features with my eyes and realised with a jolt that I knew this man. Or at least I recognised him.
It was that Nathan Bur-something guy who played Kol Mikaelson in the show.
I repeated that sentence inside my mind but it didn't make any more sense the second time around.
What was that Nathan (or was it Nathaniel? you know what, let's just call him Nate) guy doing here? Without a camera or a make-up assistant?
So yeah, I was a little slow on the update, sue me. In my defence: as stated above I hadn't finished my coffee yet.
(That I had somehow been thrown across the Atlantic—or was it Pacific?—had absolutely nothing to do with it.)
And hey, isn't the other guy the actor you plays Klaus? What's his name again? I only know for sure it's not James, even though I always think it is. So, what exactly are Nate and Not-James doing here, without the rest of the film crew at that?
And why are they arguing about the proper way to slit a throat?
(Around that time my brain finally bowed out with a graceless flair, abandoned any and all posts and officially shut down. Last I've heard it has made itself a living somewhere in the South of India, declaring itself the sun god of a remote village that's now slowly thriving towards utter world domination. It promised to send a postcard once a month.)
Overwhelmed by everything that had happened since I had made the grave but sadly entirely common mistake of leaving my bed in the morning, I could do nothing but watch as the two men argued, blink occasionally and allow myself to realise that at least they were no burglars since they—contrary to me—had the legal authorisation to be here. I wasn't sure if the destroyed room was a part of their contract but decided not to dwell on it.
The conclusion that they most likely weren't burglars should have calmed me down, but really, it did the opposite. Because at that moment Not-James bent down and picked a deformed, unidentifiable something up from the ground, swinging it around like a puppet to empathise his point.
And I froze.
Physically, mentally, emotionally and in just about every other way you can possibly think of. Although I must have continued breathing otherwise I would have passed out eventually.
Because there in Not-James arms was the unmoving, pale, bloodied body of some unnamed girl I had never seen before and probably wouldn't have remembered even if I had. But that's not the point. The point is the girl was dead. Her head was bent at a sick angle that made me cringe just looking at it and I swear her glassy eyes stared straight at me.
She was fucking dead.
Suffice to say at that moment breaking and entering was pretty much the last crime I was worrying about at that moment.
Usually in a thriller that's the point at which the evil guys suddenly turn around and notice the horrified, unwilling witness of their crime—of course said (usually blonde) witness normally screams or faints or reacts in some other socially acceptable way to the violent crime she has just been confronted with.
As for me I am neither blonde nor normal, therefore it probably won't surprise you when I tell you that I did none of those things. Instead I stood frozen to the spot, gaping at the impossible sight in front of me, my eyes fixated on the scarily real looking bite marks covering the dead girl's neck.
"Fuck!" I gasped out loud. "This shit takes the term 'Reality TV' to a whole new level!"
As far as hysterical exclamations go mine was on the quieter end of the scale. Obviously not quiet enough though, judging by the way both guys' necks snapped around so fast it had to give them whiplash. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you gain the undivided attention of two insane, murdering, bloodsucking fanatics.
Lucky me.
#
There was a moment of very oppressive, meaningful silence. Naturally it was broken by me.
"I suppose this is a bad time to ask for an autograph?" I joked weakly, trying desperately to ignore the dead body just a few steps away from me. I probably wasn't fooling anyone.
I blinked—I really had to stop doing that—and next I knew Nate stood directly in front of me. I hadn't even heard him move. Yelping in shock I jumped a step back. His grin widened as though incredibly satisfied with my startled reaction and I gritted my teeth in frustration. I would be damned if I let this guy push me around because of some stupid super powers.
I had teleported myself across a whole ocean for God's sake, I really shouldn't be so surprised when other people did it across a room.
"Oh, don't you worry, darling. Your timing is most impeccable."
The words itself might have been a lot more reassuring if it hadn't been Nate who said them. And if he hadn't worn the same dangerous smile I had last seen on his face, when he tried to decide which one of Jeremy's arms he should cut off.
"Kol," Not-James cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he was praying for patience. "How often do I have to tell you to not kill your food? We are trying to keep a low profile."
At that Nate rolled his eyes in a very Kol-like fashion—or maybe it was more of a very younger-sibling-like fashion. He backed off a little though.
"Come on, Nik, I'm only trying to have some fun. You kept me in a coffin for a hundred years, you owe me more than four girls. A lot more. Let's start with her."
He cocked his head into my direction and I saw his nostrils flare. The mocking grin on his lips disappeared suddenly and then he was back in my face again.
I'm proud to say that I barely flinched. Of course all my efforts to play it cool aka stay motionless and draw as little attention as possible were ruined the moment Nate leaned in to- Was he trying to lick my neck?!
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I hissed and hastily took a step backwards. Anything to get away from this complete psycho. And what idiot had built this stupid wall that was currently blocking my pathetic escape attempt anyway?
"You don't smell," Nate stated with narrowed eyes. Not-James tilted his head sideways, eyes lighting up with sudden interest.
I gaped.
"I don't smell?" I repeated incredulously. "Listen, mate, if that's your idea of a pick-up line it's a good thing your vampire alter ego has compulsion, because that's the only way you'd ever get anywhere with a girl!"
Not-James cracked up at that whereas Nate simply smirked, though the expression was about two shades sharper than it had been before. It looked deranged enough to shut me up. For a moment.
"What are you?" he asked like I hadn't even spoken, which only served to piss me off.
(Come to think of it, that's probably why he did it.)
Then his question registered in my mind.
"What are you?" I repeated again. Evidently I need to work on my comebacks. "What kind of question is that? What do I look like, moron? A two-legged mermaid with bunny ears?"
I must have hit a nerve or something because there he was again, right in front of me, his nose not even an inch apart from my own. I swear that guy has never heard of personal space before.
(If you are wondering if, at any point during the confusing events mentioned above, it occurred to me that antagonising two psychotic killers might not the best idea I ever had, let me assure you right now: it didn't.)
"What are you?" Nate repeated (Hah! I wasn't the only one lacking creativity here!) in a deeper, almost soothing tone.
His pupils dilated when he spoke in a strange, unnatural way, like he was actually trying to compel me. You know, like he really thought he was a vampire from the show. I mean, he couldn't be that delusional, could he?
My gaze fell on the dead body on the floor.
Then again…
Oh-kay, I thought inwardly. Things were officially getting weird.
(Technically they had been getting progressively more weird ever since I had been zapped away from my beloved laptop, but that's not the point.)
Crossing my arms over my chest I glared at the stupid vampire wannabe. If there was one thing I was known for it was my stubbornness and hell would freeze over before I let some insane jerk push me around. Figuratively speaking of course, considering my lack of height and muscles would make it very easy for him to literally push me around.
"I'm a ninja," I snapped sarcastically. "You can't see me."
So maybe that line was lame but I wasn't exactly working under the best of circumstances. And my blood was still lacking the necessary caffeine to function properly. Which reminds me.
A quick glance at Nate and Not-James assured me that they were a) not amused by my answer and b) not yet angry enough to kill me off. Yet being the deciding word but oh well. As my gran used to say, you can't win everyone over.
With that I turned my attention back to my cup of coffee, which I had somehow managed not to spill through all the dramatic turns my life had recently taken ('recently' as in the last twenty minutes). I took a sip and sighed in relief. It was still warm! Apparently I had some super secret superpowers to keep my cappuccino not only safely inside its cup but also at the perfect temperature!
This, I decided and eagerly took another sip, was awesome.
I looked back up again, only to come face to very close face with "Kol"'s vampire face.
I frowned.
For one thing I was pretty sure that Kol only showed his vampire face about two times in the entire series (contrary to Klaus or Rebekah, or any other vampire really) and for another I thought that face was computer generated? Perhaps it was time to brush up my knowledge on the TVD fandom.
For some reason the former thought seemed a lot more important than the later one at that time.
"Dude, you're acting totally out of character," I informed Nate with no small amount of disappointment. Kol had been one of my favourite characters in the show after all. Oh, who am I kidding? I had only continued with the fourth season because of him. My dedication was rewarded with a painful death scene and no real revenge or resurrection. I still hadn't forgiven the producers for that one.
Nate let out a very convincing snarl. Apparently that wasn't quite the reaction he was looking for.
His anger would have been amusing, if not for the still dead girl on the ground who's presence reminded me, that this guy was clearly fact insane. The uncomfortably intense stare Not-James gave me didn't help either.
Then Nate deflated suddenly, his unexpected mood change throwing me for a loop, as he turned towards his fake half-brother with a sullen expression.
"This is no fun! She isn't even screaming. Just snap her neck and be done with it already," he whined, sounding very much like the fake younger half-brother he usually portrayed.
I wasn't a hundred per cent certain what he was going on about, but the words 'snap her neck' really didn't leave much to the imagination. There was a blur from my right side before I had the time to react to the statement and I reflexively threw my arms up to protect my face, even though the rational voice inside my mind screamed at me that my very much un-muscular arms were hardly going to protect me from these two psychopaths. I ignored said voice and closed my eyes. Then a deafening crash drowned out any thoughts I had left as the giant mansion seemed to shake in its very foundation, until suddenly it was very quiet.
Too quiet.
Slowly I opened my eyes again. And blinked.
(That's how this whole mess started, isn't it?)
#
When it comes down to it, life is usually pretty simple. You are born. You live. You die. And usually in that same order too. Nothing especially unexpected or mystifying now, is it?
Here a few other facts while we are at it: Drying your cat by putting it into a microwave is a stupid idea. The safest publicly accessible vehicle is an escalator. Snapping a human's neck generally kills them. And despite what the commercials tell you, RedBull doesn't give you wings.
(Shocking, isn't it?)
So it was with the secure knowledge of all these facts that I opened my eyes again after having my lovely neck snapped by the equally lovely though quite murderous vampire-impersonator Not-James. Nice.
(Hear the sarcasm?)
I was honestly a little surprised that I still had two eyes to open. I always figured the afterlife was more about the soul and less about its outer shell, but what would I know? It's not like I've died before. Besides for all I knew, I could have been in some sort of inbetween to acclimatise myself to death. Like a newly brought goldfish, you know? You don't just throw him into your aquarium without so much as a by-your-leave, you let him float on the top of the tank in his plastic bag for a while to let him adjust to the temperature and environmental changes.
(In case you're wondering: Yes. Not only did I compare my murder with getting a new pet, once upon a time I did in fact own a cute, little goldfish named Lucky. Turned out Lucky was quite curious for being—you know—a goldfish and did not appreciate being locked into a small, glassy cage. He proved his point by trying and succeeding in freeing himself in three daring escape attempts, until at last he jumped (yes, jumped) through a small hole in the cheap plastic roof of the aquarium and happily examined my room by flopping all over the floor.
I suppose he was simply trying to live as a mammal and had been born in the wrong body. I mean there are transsexual people, why not transspeciel goldfishes too? Or would it be transmammalian? Anyway, Lucky was dead, and with him any chance of my parents getting me a pet ever again. Which is pretty unfair if you think about it. It's not like I asked Lucky to jump out of the aquarium or anything. Okay, maybe I tried to teach him to jump through loops but it's not like it worked and—you know what, never mind.)
Back to my latest—and first, now that I think about it—death experience, which, for the record, I didn't expect to wake up from. Because as far as I'm aware, death is still a pretty permanent experience for most humans. We can't all be Harry Potter, you know.
So there I was, slowly opening my eyes and half-way expecting to see some very clichéd, brilliant white light or a stern-faced man in a suit or maybe even a beautiful city built on fluffy clouds. Hell, I would have accepted floating above my broken body as a silver coloured, glimmering ghost, at least then I could have haunted my murderer to the end of his miserable existence. And given my little sister some fashion advice while I was at it.
Instead I found myself on the very hard, very uncomfortable ground of the same room I had been in before I had closed my eyes.
(By the way, I really need to work on these teleportation-by-blinking abilities.)
Needless to say I was disappointed.
Sitting up I groaned pitifully, wishing my life had a rewind button and that I had another cup of coffee. Truth be told I wasn't even hurt, just dazed, out of my element and the slightest bit irritated. Seriously, it's not like I asked to be kidnapped by some bored-out-of-its-lost-mind Higher Power, killed in cold blood by a raging lunatic and his smiling not-really-half-brother, only to wake up in a huge pile of dirt!
Wait a moment.
Staring down at the layer of debris, dust and bricks covering the ground, and by extension me, in confusion, I hesitantly lifted my gaze—almost afraid of what I would see—and gaped in disbelief at the newest addition of the now completely trashed living room: a giant hole in the wall. A hole that I was fairly certain had not been there moments before.
'Question for Brilliant Self (BS): Why is there a hole in the wall?'
'Answer from BS: There is a reason why creative spirits should not be allowed to become constructors. Besides it was getting a little crowded in here anyway.'
Furrowing my brow at the as per usual very unhelpful comments from my annoying inner voice (everybody has one after all, and mine only cost me a pound—which, looking back, should have probably been a warning) I stared at the not exactly aesthetically pleasing hole, then at Not-James' sprawled out body on the ground and finally at a hysterical Nate who was hugging his upper body in an attempt to stay on his feet and was laughing so hard he didn't make a sound.
I honestly wasn't sure which sight scared me the most.
Thankfully I was spared further mental trauma by the considerate Not-James, who took it upon himself to distract me from the disturbing sight of the guy who had ordered my death seconds ago and was now laughing his ass of. In a flash too fast for my poor eyes to comprehend (which really isn't very considerate at all) Not-James had picked himself up again and made to grab me with the most vicious snarl I have ever seen.
(Of course, people generally don't snarl like that, so that doesn't say much.)
The spidery, deep black veins magically appearing around his eyes helped raising my all-around terror level. To about three point six from ten.
I was too busy trying to remember if I had let go of my poor coffee cup when that raging maniac had jumped me (literally) to care much about fear or survival. Who knew, maybe the Higher Powers had mercy on my soul and protected my poor cup? Logically I knew the option was very unlikely, considering it were those same Higher Powers who had gotten me into this mess in the first place. But I figured it was worth a try.
The cup had been a Christmas present from my little sister, so I wasn't willing to just give it up as a lost cause. It was bright pink and had the words 'When I'll grow up, I'll be a princess' printed on it.
In other words it was love on first sight.
Of course finding him in the destructive chaos that had at one point been a living room would be a lot easier without a obviously-not-computer-generated vampire face blocking my view no matter which way I turned. That game got old really fast too. What did the guy want from me anyway? Couldn't he take a hint?
Not-James reached out to forcefully grab my shoulders.
Obviously not.
Then his hands glided through my skin like I wasn't even there at all.
His hand literally went through my chest as though Not-James wanted to rip my heart out like his Klaus counterpart so often did in the series. A strangled gasp left my lips as I stared at his arm in my chest in horror.
"Holy shit!" I cried, unable to look away from the grotesque sight.
I waited for the pain to hit me, for the burning sensation of tearing flash, the sharpest edge of pure fire before my body would either faint or dull the pain, the fresh blood running down my skin like warm water. I waited and waited but nothing happened. There was no pain, no wound, no inner organs torn apart by the callous hands of the fucked-up bastard in front of me.
Said bastard waved his hand around, inside me, through me, but it was like I wasn't even there. His fingers met no resistance where my body should have been and my appearance didn't flicker or dissolve into black dust or anything like that either.
At least he looked just as unnerved as I felt.
I stared at the fist poking (or maybe hitting, it's hard to tell when you feel nothing at all) my stomach, which I wouldn't have noticed had I looked the other way. It was almost like nothing he did, none of his touch, could have any effect on me at all, be it positive or negative. Considering the two charming guys I had known for all but four minutes had so far done nothing but plan my death and try to execute me, that was most likely a good thing.
Still. It certainly was an unexpected twist.
And I wasn't even floating or glowing in a silvery light or see-through like the ghosts in the movies always were. Which was how I came to the only logical conclusion there was.
"Oh my god," I breathed in disbelief.
Not-James kicked my leg in frustration and almost lost his balance because of the lack of resistance—which promptly caused Nate, whom had just recovered from his laughing episode, to break down again. Wonderful.
"I'm a bloody hologram!" I screamed, although I'm not entirely sure if it was in horror or glee. Let's go with shock, at least for the official statement.
"Don't be ridiculous!" Not-James snapped annoyed and finally stopped waving his hands through my body. I appreciated that. Just because it didn't hurt didn't make it look any less creepy. "Your mind is obviously here, even if your body isn't. You are no pathetic recording from one of these ridiculous science fiction movies."
There was anger and confusion swirling in his sharp blue eyes and I would bet my coffee cup that he would have ranted on for quite some time if Nate hadn't interrupted him.
"Now, now, Nik," he said, clapping his hands enthusiastically. "There's no need to take out your little temper tantrum on our lovely…guest. After all she is the first entertaining thing that has happened here in far too long," he added after a moment of thoughtful silence with a wide, almost unhinged-looking smile on his lips.
Nik—I know I said I was sure the actor/possibly-escaped-mental-patient's name isn't James but I'm even more sure it's not 'Nik' either—raised a disbelieving eyebrow, although he looked more amused than anything else.
(Honestly these abrupt changes in emotions are going to give me a headache.)
"Surely you are kidding?" he drawled in a way that would have done Severus Snape proud. "I seem to remember a certain incident not a few hours ago, when our dear mother attempted to end all of our lives permanently."
Nate rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "As I said, brother, it's been far too long."
The slightly manic grin didn't leave his face for even a second.
I warily itched away from the guy, just in case. Not-James-But-Not-Nik-Either opened his mouth, presumably to continue the bickering, but in that moment my mind finally caught up with their conversation.
"Wait a moment, pretty boy!" I hissed, fed up with being ignored and a little irritated over the fact that I hadn't just been transatlantically kidnapped like I had first assumed, but also been turned into a poor excuse of the White Lady ghost on top of that. Sure, I didn't get my neck broken because of my new-found status but that didn't mean I had to be happy about it. I wouldn't have broken my neck either way would I still be sitting on my desk like I technically should be doing right now.
"How about you stop arguing like two spoiled brats and tell me who the fuck you are?"
Thankfully Nate acted before his glaring 'brother' had the chance to say anything, no doubt sparing us all another verbal sparring match that might have been amusing if it wasn't so time consuming.
"I apologise for my brother's abysmal manners, darling," he said with an instant, charming smile that didn't even have the decency to look faked. "My name is Kol Mikaelson. It's a pleasure to meet you."
He bowed lightly, whether out of a curtsey that wasn't used anymore nowadays or out of mockery I wasn't sure. But considering he had just introduced himself as Kol Mikaelson I didn't care much about his motives either.
I'm not sure exactly what my expression looked like in that particular moment but I'm sure it was worth recording. Too bad I didn't have the foresight to bring my selfie stick with me when I was teleported into the United States. Luckily for me Kol Mikaelson turned towards his self-declared brother with an expectant look and therefore missed my monumental laps in composure.
"Don't be a spoilsport, Nik. It's only polite to introduce yourself. You did try to kill her after all."
Not-James-But-Not-Nik-Either sent him an unimpressed look. "You were the one who told me to do it, Kol."
"Now you're just nitpicking, brother. I'm fairly sure being alive for a thousand years means you are old enough to be responsible for your actions. Besides it's not like you usually listen to me."
At that point I decided to blend out their incessant quarrelling and tried to sort through the new information and revelations I had discovered within the last few minutes.
I was breathing heavily, desperately clinging to any straight thought I had still left at this point. Because whilst I had no fucking idea what was going on at that moment I was well-aware that it was a bad time to panic. Instead I tried to think rationally, without being too rational about what exactly I was thinking. If that makes any sense.
(It probably doesn't)
Fact #1: I was in the States. —Somewhat surprising and unexpected but I can deal with that.
Fact #2: I was a hologram-ghost-thingy. —Worrying and very unspecific but not the worst thing that could have happened to me, considering the company I am currently keeping.
Fact #3: The guy who looked exactly like the actor of Kol Mikaelson had introduced himself as Kol Mikaelson. —Nothing all that horrible or shocking. It's just a name, a role really. Although there might be some copy-right issues but then, you can't really put a name under copy-right, can you? I mean how many Sarahs are there walking around in this town alone? Or Mikes? Or Janes?
Fact #4: He called the look-alike of the actor who played Niklaus Mikaelson 'Nik' or 'Brother' alternatively. —So the man's name is Nik and he is Kol Mikaelson's brother. Neither revelation is bound to bring the end of the world in a fiery explosion of cosmic doom, or so the sane voice inside my head tells me. And no, I don't know how said sane voice comes up with these ideas either.
Fact #5: There was a dead girl on the floor, with very visible bite marks on her neck. —I am a hologram-ghost-thingy. Everyone knows that hologram-ghost-thingies aren't real. Therefore I'm not real. Therefore the fucking dead body two steps away from me isn't real either. Do not fault my logic!
Fact #6: These guys have very un-computer-generated looking computer-generated vampire faces. —There are only two plausible explanations: either what I am seeing is a very real 3D hologram itself or the people are actually The Vampire Diaries vampires. (Of course there's also a possible facial disfigurement to consider, but that does seem a little unlikely and I can't be bothered to think about it right now. I'm confused enough as it is and my medical knowledge is seriously lacking.) Taking into account that I am a hologram-ghost-thingy (HGT for short) I can not in good conscience rule the possibility out, that they are in fact bloodthirsty vampires instead of insane psychopaths.
(At that point I was a little miffed, or perhaps 'disappointed' would be a more fitting description. I've never been a huge fantasy buff but I have read my fair share of supernatural novels. It's no secrets that almost every author has a different version of how vampires really are, which myths apply and which don't, etc.
And frankly I wasn't all that impressed that The Vampire Diaries of all things was dead on with its interpretation of the blood-sucking creatures. I suppose the stake thing is alright but an Original Family, Hybrids and even a Hybrid Child later on? That's not clichéd at all)
Fact #7: The vampires were surprised by my arrival and my state aka the whole HGT thing. —They had obviously not summoned me through some badass black magic ritual that included the sacrifice of thirteen virgins or something equally gory. I suppose that's a good thing, though that doesn't explain much about how exactly I got here in the first place. (Except for my theory regarding the Powers That Be as they like to be called to retain their mysterious aura. I am currently cursing them in all the three languages I'm capable of speaking, just in case they are in fact responsible for this mess.)
Fact #8: I am still missing my coffee cup. —On it.
Unfortunately after I had decided to accept my current state as an HGT in the company of two vampires in the United States (and to be honest I'm still not certain which one of these facts shocked me the most) and moved on, I was distracted from my search for a certain cup by another thought.
Sure, I had already contemplated the fact that the guy currently telling his brother that slaughtering one little and on the whole rather unimportant village in the Alpines because he had lost a drinking contest against one of the locals was no overreaction at all had introduced himself as Kol Mikaelson. I had also already worked through my disbelief, confusion, doubt and finally acceptance. I had furthermore accepted that said Kol Mikaelson was a vampire and looked like a character from a TV show.
And yet for some inexplainable reason it was only then, as Nik (as in holy-fucking-shit-it's-Klaus-Mikaelson-insert-hysterical-screaming-here Nik) bared his teeth at his younger brother in annoyance, that I finally put the pieces together and the realisation actually struck me. Painfully so.
Honestly I have no idea why it took so long but I was probably in shock. Being turned into a HGT without any warning tends to do that to people. Or at least that's what it must have done to me. And in my defence, transporting yourself involuntary into another world isn't exactly the first thing you think of when you find yourself in a place you don't recognise. And okay, maybe I was a bit of an obvious, blind idiot but I'm not exactly one of those 'prepared for every eventuality' kind of people.
"You're Kol Mikaelson," I said.
Not my cleverest conclusion to date, but at least it got their attention. You change your location, species and even your fucking dimension and those morons still bicker like an old married couple. Honestly, boys.
"I did just say that," Kol pointed out helpfully. "Not the sharpest tool in the box, is she?" He addressed the second part to Nik, but didn't bother to lower his voice. From what I knew about Kol's character, I wasn't surprised.
I ignored him.
"And you must be Klaus Mikaelson," I turned my attention towards Nik. The Hybrid. You know, if I was a bit more of a fangirl and a bit less of a writer I would have probably squealed. Thankfully I spared all of us the embarrassment.
"How do you know my name?" Nik asked with a new sharpness.
Once again I ignored them dutifully.
"And you said your mother just tried to kill you a few hours ago," I repeated absentmindedly. That would be the third season, which was actually the last one I had fully watched. Which was good. Brilliant in fact. Of course I would still have to find out where exactly in the plot I remembered these people were right now and I would have to test if everything here happened the way I remembered it, but if it did… The possibilities…
"-Ey, ghost girl!"
The shout startled me out of my thoughts and my gaze snapped back to Kol. Kol. I couldn't believe it. I blinked. He was standing there, looking me over with an unreadable expression. I still couldn't believe it.
"You seem to have us at a disadvantage. Since you decided to break into our- or haunt our home, as the case may be, how about you tell us who you are? And more importantly what? And make it quick, mind you. I have a ballistic Mystic Falls Gang to escape from and a plane to catch." He smirked but there was an edge in his tone that made it obvious that it wasn't a suggestion.
I tilted my head to the side, contemplating his request aka demand for a moment. In that moment I ironically felt like one of those Original Characters in a fanfiction who got sucked into the Lord of the Rings universe or Hogwarts or Vampire Diaries as the case may be.
Having already read those type of stories a few times over the years and being a regular blogger myself I made an important split decision: This crazy, fucked up what-ever-it-was would probably end in some very dramatic way (or not, considering I got here by blinking of all things) and then I would be back in the real world and this would all be like a very strange dream. A dream that as a blogger I would of course post on the Internet.
(As you can see by this post my prediction came true. I'm pretty sure there is some seer blood down the line of my family tree, there's simply no other explanation!)
And we all know that real names and the Internet are a big No-No. In other words I needed a fake name and I didn't want to use one of my friends or family like I usually would have done.
Do you know this feeling when you're suddenly remembering the strangest and most random information while you should be thinking of something else entirely? Well, I was desperately trying to think of a name other than Anna (that was just too unoriginal, plus there already is one Anna on the show, no need to make the situation even more confusing) when I remembered my father's very passionate obsession with games. And I'm not talking about video games but old-fashioned ones, board games in particular.
Yes, I have no idea how my mind works either.
Anyway we have this huge shelf in our living room—which by the way looks a lot better then the one I was currently standing in because despite the cheaper furniture our house at least doesn't have a hole in any wall—where he's hoarding his impressive collection. And there is this one game I have never ever played in my life (actually I haven't played most of them) which is called 'Sylla' (I don't even know what's it about) that always stood out to me, simply because I liked its name. I actually planned on using it for one of my short stories but there's no time like the present, right?
"I'm Sylla," I said before I had a chance to second-guess myself. "And I already told you: I'm a ninja."
I managed to keep a straight face although it did take a lot of self-control. But it was better to keep them guessing than admitting to two age-old vampires that I had no idea what had happened to me. Giving them that kind of power over me?
Me, the big-brother-is-watching-you and it's-not-paranoia-if-they-really-are-out-to-get-you girl with a healthy distrust towards anyone, let alone bloodsucking vampires I had known for all but half an hour?
Sure.
Besides I always wanted to be a ninja.
#
Klaus and Kol didn't seem to be sure what to do with me. Obviously they didn't have a non-ghost-slash-self-declared-ninja-girl over very often. Then again, I can't say I blame them. I've heard HGT's are a bit of a hassle, especially if they're high on caffeine.
I guess it won't surprise you when I tell you that I was busying myself with digging through the pile of dirt on the ground in search for my sacred coffee cup. I was considering naming the thing should I ever find it. After following me from one dimension into another I figured it had earned the honor. If Klaus hadn't destroyed it in his quest to wreck the wall.
"-am just saying that the last person miraculously returning from death just tried and almost succeeded in killing us off!" Kol snapped from somewhere behind me.
He sounded pretty angry—they both did—but they hadn't really done anything but argue with each other since I had first set a foot into this house so I didn't let their aggression bother me. It helped that I was quite literally untouchable.
"Oh, knock it off with your conspiracy theories already! I'm really getting tired of your constant paranoia, Kol!"
"As opposed to your own naive, trusting personality?"
(Not to quote Sheldon Cooper or anything, but was that sarcasm?
'Insert comment from Brilliant Self (BS): You're kidding, right? Right?'
'Answer to BS: … Maybe?'
'Question from BS: Was that sarcasm?')
"You forgot charming and incredible handsome."
"Are you confusing yourself with me again, Nik?"
And so on and so forth.
You'd think after a thousand years of experience they would show a little more creativity in their insults. They must have had conversations like this one millions of times. Okay, perhaps not exactly like this one, because I'm pretty sure that it was at one point about me (and my whole existence had really caught them off guard—though they didn't buy into the ninja-explanation. Smart men. Who would have thought?), even if it had currently descended into an argument about the different hairstyles each of them had worn during the course of their lives and which one had looked better with it.
Maybe—hopefully—this was some sort of coping mechanism for them to process my sudden arrival (and their mother's betrayal of course). The automatism of their retorts suggested that this was a routine for them and considering how many issues each of these guys had from what I remember from the show, they need all help they could get. But I digress.
Where is that stupid coffee cup? It's not like the room is that big, god damn it!
To my—it would have been 'our', but the gentlemen were so engaged in their discussion they wouldn't have noticed a drunken octopus waltzing on the top of a spinning top of doom à la Kim Possible style—utter astonishment I did indeed find my cup under a layer of dust so thick, I would still be sneezing if it wasn't for that handy little fact that I was really transparent. To my utter delight it was completely untouched. The cup wasn't fractured, there was even still coffee in it and it was still warm. I took a sip and it tasted perfectly normal, no additional taste of cement or paint or anything.
"I shall hereby name thee Wonkerdoodle!" I proudly declared with all the dignity appropriate for such a significant occasion. Taking another gulp of my coffee I noticed that my supply still hadn't run out, even though the cup had only been half-full to begin with.
I eyed Wonkerdoodle suspiciously.
"You aren't a magically enchanted cup with it's own personality, that's using its capability to provide me with all the caffeine I need to gain my trust, only for it to be revealed later on that you are really an objectification of the great Dark Lord Peter Müller's spirit, who strived to end the existence of all blue smarties on this world and was—despite what his friends and enemies were led to believe—not originally German, are you?"
Wonkerdoodle maintained his mysterious silence.
"I'm still suspicious," I informed him after a moment of careful contemplation and promptly took another sip from my favourite cappuccino.
I would have taken a little more time to get to know my latest acquired minion-who-might-turn-out-to-be-a-Dark-Lord-after-all but the battle field we were currently standing on seemed hardly the appropriate location for such a talk. Besides the constant snarling and yelling was giving me a headache. Original vampires were really hard to ignore when they tried to kill each other right in front of you.
"And what pray tell do you suggest we do?" Klaus hissed scornfully. I turned my head into his direction, wondering what they were going on about. "Throw her out? Snap her neck?"
Oh. Still about little old me then. Who knew? And really, how long were they going to harp on about being unable to kill me?
I stilled for a moment as I repeated that last thought in my head and then I looked up at the bickering pair.
"Wait a sec, guys," I interrupted their pissing contest with a small smile that was growing so quickly, it must have been gleaming like a ray of sun reflected on a polished surface. "Are you telling me that as long as I am in my super secret invulnerable ninja stealth modus I can come and go whenever I want, tell people whatever I want and neither you nor anyone else can stop me?"
All the knowledge about the 'future' I can put to good use, all the information I can spread just the way I like it, all the people I can mess with and all the ways I can twist the plot the way I want it to be…
My grin reached a shade of mania that caused even Kol to take a step back and eye me warily in a way I had only ever seen him look when he had talked about Silas before this day.
That realisation was enough to make me cackle with glee.
Oh, this is gonna be fun.
#
To all my lovely readers: I had to stop at this point because my fingers ache from typing so much but don't worry, I'll update as soon as possible about everything that happened afterwards. Here just a few key words: petroltogo meets the rest of the family, daggers are drawn, a psychologist is desperately needed and Wonkerdoodle gains a secret power. Until then,
xx petroltogo
Comments [4]:
thenameisnotlizzy says OMG i think i'm in love with wonkerdoodle. i'm serious! when i first read your description i got all starry-eyed and then you went and NAMED him and it made everything SOOO much better!
Guest says I'm confused. Is this a story you're writing? Or a fanfiction? I thought you were a daily blogger please make it clear in the beginning of a post if you're going to write something fictional
KennyKlark says you should never name anyone/anything 'Lucky'. it's like tempting fate…
sunrise3440 says Never liked that show. PM me when you're back to your usual stuff
End of Chapter I
To be honest I'm not sure if I'll ever continue this. It was planned as a series of one-shots anyways, so I figured there'd be no harm in uploading it. But don't expect an update on this one any time soon (maybe never). That being said, did you like it? Was it too much babbling? Too much craziness? How would you react, if you were transatlantically, trans-dimensionally teleported to Covington, Georgia, in your PJs? :)
Have a great weekend, MirrorShard