A/N: Happy Fanworks Day and happy Presidents' Day! On this very special day, we've decided to post a fic we've been working on for a little while now, based on the hit CW show "The Originals." We are insanely in love with that show, and even with how horrible and everything Klaus is, WE LOVE KLAUS! We just can't help but adore him. Don't worry, though, we still love us some Elijah and Kol :). Rebekah is a freakin' awesome badass, and, well, nobody likes Finn.

Okay, so, here's some stuff you need to know before reading this. It'll be pretty obvious early on what the twins' connection to Klaus is. This takes place a couple years after season 2, and season 3 hasn't happened. Although we may bring Lucien, Aurora, and Tristan into this story. Basically, the Mikaelson family is piecing itself back together. Kol and Finn are back in their Original Vampire bodies, Freya is living in the compound, etc. Hayley and Jackson are married and live with three-year-old Hope, but Haylijah's going to be the endgame. So, if you're a Jackson fan . . . so sorry. There may be some possible Klamille, but she's human right now. Hmmmm . . . that about covers it.

Warning: Amy and Jessica Kaslova begin this story as terrible influences with underage . . . essentially everything. They are not meant to be role models. They were given up at birth into the foster system and had no semblance of stability or family love, except from each other and later somebody named Leon. This story is partially about their redemption as they learn how to survive with different lifestyle choices.

Extra warning: There's some profanity, that's why along with the whole "bad influence" thing, we decided to rate this story "M."

Anyway, please read, review, and enjoy! Thanks so much! :)

Disclaimer: We aren't Julie Plec, and we do not own the Originals. No Klaus for us. :( However, we do own Amy, Jessica, and Leon, as well as any other OCs we create later on.

Chapter 1: Catch Us if You Can

Amy's perspective

The blinding sunlight rudely awoke me from my fanciful dreams of a killer party with the best music ever (duh, my sister and I chose it), a plethora of booze and pot, and a whole lot of great sex.

"Mmmmm," I groaned, burying my face into my pillow. The light was pure torture in its worst form- why did it hurt so damn much? Wait, was I hungover . . . ? My pounding head made it difficult for me to separate my dreams from reality.

Eyes shut firmly tight, I abruptly sat up and a wave of pain coursed through my skull. "Ow," I whimpered. "Why do I never think about this part when I'm drinking? Every time, every damn time . . ."

I reluctantly peeled open my eyes and gasped at the scene before me. Bottles of vodka, tequila, and whiskey littering my floor like candy wrappers, extinguished joints of marijuana, and the real doozy . . . a stranger sleeping next to me in my bed.

"Oh dear God." Scooting backwards as quickly as possible, I tumbled unceremoniously out of my bed and landed with a hard thud on a passed out teenage boy. He only shifted in his sleep and muttered something unintelligible.

It occurred to me then that I was naked as the day I was born, so I pawed through the dresser my sister and I shared and threw on underclothes, a pair of mini jean shorts, and a tank top. It turns out, there were more people asleep around my bedroom and I fought back a snicker . . . which promptly died away as my head betrayed me once again. "Ow, c'mon!"

The boy in my bed was fast asleep and rather handsome, with scruffy brown hair and a decent tan and reasonably sized muscles. Tapping my forehead, I murmured, using a Jimmy Neutron reference on purpose even though nobody could hear me, "Think, think, think." Did I really sleep with him? I don't even remember.

Did I sleep with him or not?! A flash of memory burned through my mind and a slight blush crept to my cheeks- yes, yes I did. Oh well, he was a good lay.

My twin sister, Jessie, was nowhere to be found. "Jessie?" I hissed as softly as I could as to not wake anybody up. "Jessie, where are you?" I searched my room thoroughly and finally decided to try our shared bathroom- bingo. "My eyes!"

Well, there was image I didn't need to see. My sister was sleeping soundly in our bathtub with an empty bottle of vodka near her head and a stranger by her side- the two of them very much without clothes. He was good-looking, tall, African American, lean . . . I just didn't need to see as much of him as I did.

Jessie's messy tangles of blonde hair, sky blue-streaked hair were damp- it appeared that halfway through the night she and her new friend decided to take a shower together, and once done with that were too lazy to leave the bathtub. Indolent fuckers. At least they remembered to turn the water off, thank the heavens for small favors.

"Jessie, wake your skinny ass up." I kicked the side of the tub for good measure and her normally bright, alert green eyes fluttered open.

"Wha- what am I doing here?" she slurred, unsticking the side of her face from the side of the bathtub. "When did I-" And that, ladies and gentlemen, was when she noticed the boy right besides her. "When did that happen?"

I tossed a towel over to her so she could regain a little modesty. She gingerly separated herself from the boy's arms (he was a cuddler all right) and I explained, "It was a crazy party last night. I woke up in bed with some guy I hardly know- met 'im last night."

Clumsily making her way out of the tub, she countered me with, "Ooooooh, yeah! Hey, well, same here- except I didn't get to awake in a nice comfy bed. Do you know what it feels like to sleep in a freaking bathtub with no water all night?" She wrenched her neck to the side and it popped with a satisfactory crack. "Do you?"

"I think you did a little more than sleep," I said lightly and she rolled her eyes, then flinched.

"Ow, pain, ow. Damn vodka." She massaged her temple. "Curse the universe and all its inhabitants."

"That includes you, nimrod." She, having no response for that, fished through our dresser and after putting on undergarments, wore a pair of skinny jeans and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt that she shaped into a tank top and a crop top. It lowered to her upper ribs and revealed her midriff, so I playfully poked her in the stomach. She batted my hand away- she was extremely ticklish, which I consistently used to my advantage.

An annoying buzzing sound sounded from somewhere in my bedroom and when I vouched to ignore it, the little bugger persisted. "Might want to answer," Jessie said off-handedly, running a brush through her wavy locks of hair. "Might be Leon."

Leon was a business associate, per se. He hooked us up with music gigs and robbery opportunities alike. Interesting guy, committed countless crimes yet never seemed to be arrested for them. He had more than one trick hidden up his sleeve. "I doubt it, we just scored big time. He'll leave us alone for a while." Nonetheless, I searched for my cheap cell phone.

See, we performed a very successful theft the previous day. Leon threw us in the wealthy man's orbit after developing a few shady clients who had an eye on one of his pricey antiques. It was a profitable business. We stole the merchandise, Leon sold it to his clients, we split the sum they paid us for it. At least it kept Jessie and I off the streets and put a roof over our heads.

Yesterday, I donned a stylish auburn wig to cover my blonde, magenta-streaked hair and pretended (rather well) to be a high-level prostitute- who was not a minor. Leon, who buddied up to him, talked me up to a nearly superhuman extreme. I had no intentions in sleeping with the man, but I needed to distract him long enough for my sister to find the antique.

So, we chatted, flirted, sipped at expensive champagne. He was growing antsy so I warded him off with lust-filled (on his part) make-out sessions until he was drunk enough for me to complete my part of the plan. I slipped a mixture of drugs into his champagne and he knocked out like a light. There were roofies so he wouldn't remember my face, and a date rape kind of drug to knock him out. And it did, perfectly.

Leon, earlier that week, had found a way to disable the security alarms so Jessie could break in without worry of capture. He had sent a few lackeys in to pinpoint where the antique was a few days prior. Not to obtain it, but for a brief in-and-out location mission. Jessie was good at what she did, real good, and Leon wanted to leave it to her. She had a surprising knack for locks, combinations, and safes just as I had a flare for acting and lying.

Anyway, as the man and I were getting familiar with each other, Jessie (she later recalled to me her part of the plan, after it was finished) had her ear to the safe in the lower left wing of his enormous library, fishing for the combination. She cracked the lock and stole the antique, making absolute sure to leave no fingerprints (her black gloves came in handy).

And then we were gone. She had been wearing a wig as well to not leave any DNA evidence in the form of hair and I had to talk her out of throwing it up in the air in celebration. In a different kind of celebration, we called over all our friends and their friends and the friends' friends to our apartment for a monster party. It was a miracle nobody called the cops.

There was this . . . special thing about the two of us that enhanced our criminal abilities. You see, we had these powers that weren't exactly natural. Supernatural, even. We both possessed a form of telekinesis that was especially helpful when breaking into safes and the like. We had no idea why, and had no idea what we truly were, but Leon just told us we were special. Only he knew.

I digress, I digress. I finally found my cell phone on my nightstand and slid it open. There were three missed calls and four new texts; I decided to read the texts first. Akin to Jessie's predictions, they were from Leon.

The first one was from midnight.

Hey, Amy baby, I know you're probably partying right now, but we need to talk. Call me.

A few hours later:

A little birdy told me that we might be outed. Need to talk. Call me. I'll leave a message, even though you're not picking up. Tell your sister to turn her phone on.

Only an hour ago:

What the fuck are you doing? Answer your fucking phone. We're outed. The cops are onto us. They came to my door and are off to interrogate my clients next. CALL ME BACK.

Just a few minutes ago:

Answer your fucking phone, you bitch. The asshole clients stabbed us in the back for a deal with the police. We're done. The police are after me right now. CALL. ME.

I collapsed to my knees. My hands were trembling out of control and my heartrate was off the charts. "Oh God, no, no." Jessie looked over to me with concern.

"What is it? What's the matter? Is it Leon?"

My voice quivering, I answered with a simple, "We're fucked," before calling Leon back.

He picked up on the first ring and instantly dove into me. "Where the hell have you and Jessie been?! What the hell is wrong with you, bitch?!"

I fought to keep my cool and replied calmly, "Cut the bollocks, Leon, I'm here now. What is going on?"

Jessie kneeled down beside me and anxiously yanked out individual strands of beige carpet. She was no idiot; she knew something was terribly, terribly wrong. "Turns out that one of my clients is a double agent. The police have been looking to bring me down for years. But they ratted you out, too. It's only a matter of time before they're at your doorstep. Run. Leave the city, even the state if you can." A siren blared in the background and then abruptly ceased. "They're here. They're fucking here. Look, just get the fuck out, okay? I'll try to contact you soon." With that, he hung up.

My entire body wanted to freeze and shut down, but there was no time for that. I immediately jumped into action, throwing open my closet to pull out my emergency duffel bag. Jessie scrambled to her feet and demanded, "Amy, what the bloody hell is going on? Talk to me."

"Get your emergency bag," I ordered her coldly, too panicked to be in any way nice about this. "The police are onto us."

Her expression shifted into a split second into a look of sheer terror. "We're boned!"

"Jessie!" I struggled to lower my volume to not awaken any of our unwanted roommates. "Pack up your shit, then we've got to go. Remember to pack up your pills, too."

She didn't need any more encouragement, which was good, because if she protested I probably would have tossed her out the window. I rapidly shoved my feet into my favorite pair of combat boots and positioned my saxophone case near my duffel bag. Summoning up all my breath, I hollered, "EVERYONE GET UP! YOU HEARD ME, WAKE UP!"

Moaning and bitching, most of our guests stirred from their deep sleep. My bed buddy asked nearly incoherently, "Hey, baby, what's goin' on?"

Jessie arrived at my doorway with her duffel bag, and her own instruments' cases. "You heard the lady. EVERYONE GET OUT BEFORE I CHOOSE THIS PRECISE MOMENT TO EXACT MY MURDEROUS RAMPAGE!" The dresser tipped over and crashed into the ground right when the words left her mouth, though most everyone most likely was not smart enough to realize that no, that was not a coincidence. We tended to have trouble controlling our power during fits of anger or excitement.

Even with the severity of the situation, I couldn't help but snicker a bit. Her word choice was always flavorful and entertained me greatly. And boy, did they leave. The naked ones hastily dressed themselves, even the boy in our bathtub, and then they were gone. Our new "lovers" tried to spark up a conversation with us, but once we made it clear we'd physically kick them out if necessary, they got the memo and left with the others.

I searched for our emergency stack of cash and stuffed it in my duffel bag. "You ready?" Not giving her any time to answer me, I said, "Let's go."

We were out of the apartment building in the blink of an eye. We had to skip town before the cops arrived. Sure, we had been arrested before, but nothing like this. This was heavy, and signified some serious jail time. And orange jumpsuits were just not my color.

"Let's go to the train station," my sister panted alongside me and in agreement, I led the way. The two of us were garnering strange looks left and right as we tore through the streets and hopped into the nearest taxi like a crazy ax-murderer was on our tail.

The taxi driver was the human equivalent of a sloth, so I ripped out a crisp twenty from our cash pile and said, "You'll get another one of these every ten minutes this as a tip if you hurry your ass up to the nearest train station." He slammed the gas pedal to the floor.

"Any particular idea where to go?" I prompted Jessie as the cab jerked around and zoomed down the road.

"No, not really." She shrugged, even though I could tell our planless escape was bothering her. "Ought to leave Manhattan, though, probably New York entirely. Start afresh somewhere new. We could just buy the tickets to the train that leaves the earliest."

"Sounds good to me." I lost another twenty dollar bill along with the actual total before the driver dropped us off at the station. We, rather lost, wandered around until we stumbled onto the nearest ticket booth.

I cut down straight into business mode. "When does your earliest train leave?"

The young, perky ticket lady chewed on green chewing gum with obnoxious pops as she looked over the schedule. "You aren't from around here, are you? Sound like you're fresh out of England." When we just impatiently awaited the schedule listings, she added, "Train to where, hon? Are your pare-"

"We'd like a train going anywhere but here," Jessie interrupted rudely. "What do you have?"

Giving her the evil eye through her hipster-style glasses, she grumbled, "We have a train to New Orleans leaving in ten minutes."

Exchanging a look of confirmation with Jessie, I looked back to the lady and said strongly, "We'll take it."