"There's three of them. Two men, one girl. Supposed to be the original owners," the stranger said. She stood with her fellow vampire as they looked up at the thin, colonial style home enveloped in trees that most respectably had been growing there for centuries. "Think Marcel knows who they are? The Mikaelsons?" the male vampire asked her. Just then, they both looked to see a young man standing in the double doors of the house, his dark Lennon glasses hiding his gaze. They could physically feel it was them he looked at. He wore a black dress shirt and slacks to go with the black hair they could see on his head. He appeared to be enjoying a smoke as he returned their stare. "Whatever...let's go," the female vampire swallowed. The man in the doorway only watched as they disappeared at a vampire speed as smoke drifted off his lips. "Wind is picking up South of here, forty-nine miles per hour. Which means she's been buried North, in the fields around the city's most populous plain; hopefully, her own impulsiveness is the only thing that's decayed about her. I'd hope her magic made up for everything else," he said, almost speaking to himself, "You promised her no more than a day past today that she should wake..."
In the back room, the man's brother broke a sweat while he used a forensics blade to dissect the body before him. "Polish the broomstick, sharpen the hat, catch some spiders to feed the bat and then you may continue to yowl with the cat," the brother recited exhaustedly. He then picked up his stitching scissors as kept his eyes on the body. "You'll not say that around her when she comes home, Victor," the man at the door replied with a light smirk. He adjusted his glasses as he slowly shut the door.
Hope cried relentlessly as the wind outside howled as if its next step were to have a monsoon of a tantrum. Rebekah sighed as she came in, picking up the sweet little girl who continued to cry. "Hush now, Love," she muttered to the little one. She shut the swinging blinds as she sat down in the nursery with Hope. It'd been so long since a storm erupted in the city, it was almost a situation they didn't know how to cope with. Hope's small, glistening tears didn't stop as she clung to Rebekah's jacket. "Your daddy will be back soon," Rebekah promised her. She looked up to see Elijah walking down the hall. "Elijah," she called. She watched as he paused and turned to look at her. He was covered in blood from his lips to his chest. Rebekah swallowed as she didn't say anything more. Hayley was gone—it was an unimaginable defeat toward the Mikaelsons and no one was taking it harder than Elijah. Klaus seemed to be in a mood most of the time, and being near Hope was the only thing that could calm him down; Rebekah had lost a friend, but she knew it was time to move on at this point in time. Marcel had come back into reign of the city with Klaus' uncooperative attitude, and Rebekah herself found a relationship with Marcel.
Elijah continued down the hall to his room and he began to remove his bloody shirt, his gaze cold and sullen. The power had been out since the winds started in the early hours, which kept his room lit with hundreds of candles. Klaus appeared in the doorway, arms crossed as he watched Elijah select a fresh shirt from his armoire. "Happy huntings?" he asked. Not a word from Elijah. "Your continuous moping is bringing poor fortune to this family, I hope you know. You've become the beast I have been time and again," Klaus noted. Elijah buttoned up his shirt as he fixed himself a glass of jack and watched the torturous winds out in the city. "Am I the only one who truly cares about the death of yet another family member?" Elijah asked calmly. "You understand that's not true at all. Hayley didn't deserve what happened...but we have to go on and raise Hope in her absence. And figure out how revenge may be extracted onto those responsible—whether or not there is collateral damage, but I'm assuming collateral damage is the delicacy dripping from your chin at the moment," Klaus replied. Elijah walked past as he balled up the bloody shirt in his hands and disappeared into one of the many rooms of the Compound.
Klaus looked back out the windows of Elijah's room as the wind picked up once more. He frowned as the lights flickered for a moment only to leave the existing career of illumination to the candles in the room. Storms didn't just pick up like this in Louisiana without warnings of a hurricane somewhere along the way. This was possibly a witch's doing.
The bayou was home to the wolves, a peaceful pack and family. But peace was far from their favorite word today of all days, not being allowed in the French Quarter for cover by treaty with the vampires. "Come on, we'll get some firewood and then we'll get going. They won't let us off the hook without some," one wolf said to another member of the pack. They looked around the most open spot in the bayou forests as the other tried to get rid of his frustrations. "It's ridiculous. For one day can't they just let us take over the church or something? We've got kids here!" the other growled. "It'll be alright, man. Let's just hope that this is no worse than the storm scare last Summer," his friend said. He took out his hatchet as he came over to a stump off to the side of the open center. The other steaming wolf looked around cautiously when he frowned. "Do you hear that?" he asked. "Hear what? The wind?" the other asked in fatigue.
His friend looked around as he chopped down the infant tree, when he felt his friend grab the back of his plaid shirt. "Marcus! Marcus!" he whispered violently as he pulled him to his side. "What's going on with you!" the other wolf, Marcus said. Marcus let his hatchet at his side as he looked where is partner pointed. The ground was ridden with life...it's center pulsing with inhale and exhale. "What the hell is that, Ollie?" Marcus growled quietly, hitting the other's chest. The second wolf, Ollie, held his arm out in front of Marcus to keep him from moving or making a sound. They jumped as a pure pearl-colored hand arose from the dirt and gripped the land beside it. The hand was attached to a limber arm...attached to a head of filthy licorice hair and a bare back with spinal detail. The woman who unearthed herself from mother nature was completely bare as she weakly stood covered in dirt looking at the two men over her shoulder. Her eyes were a shocking baby blue that only added to the fear Marcus and Ollie felt now.
"Who are you?" Ollie demanded, taking the hatchet from Marcus. She turned to them fully, her hair in perfect ringlets that covered her breasts with their thick volume. With a sinfully tantalizing voice, she replied, "Surely, your maker could tell you that." Her arm outstretched, her hand in the form of a clawing motion as Marcus suddenly disappeared into the tall of the trees shrieking. Ollie screamed his name as he looked back at the woman, lunging for her with the hatchet. An unseen force tackled him out of her way as she closed her eyes turning her face up to the sky. Marcus' warm veins now rained over her dirt-covered creme skin, as she licked him off her face and never let him come down. "Sister's home," she purred as she walked on, leaving Ollie unconscious.