Alright so I'm writing with a new format for myself. It's kind of a way to not procrastinate. These chapters are split into more than several parts, skimming over not too indefinite periods of time. There are multiple pairings, not all heterosexual, not all a couple with ben and sally proportions. There is murder and sex, dancing, alcohol and drug use. Plenty of swearing (in multiple languages) and a healthy appreciation of art, music, dance, poetry and more sex. So enjoy, leave reviews.
1. This changes what is in the coffin, negating whatever happens post episode 3.11.
2. I do not own any of the Vampire Diaries characters otherwise I'd be rich and it would be on HBO or SHOWTIME.
-Jokerfest
-Raise Your Weapon by Deadmau5 featuring Greta Svabo Bech
Rippin' my heart was so easy,
So easy,
Launch your assault now,
Take it easy,
Raise your weapon,
Raise your weapon,
one word and it's over,
Rippin' through like a missile,
Rippin' through my heart,
Rob me of this love,
Raise your weapon,
Raise your weapon,
And it's over...
Ease up your ego,
You won't feel a thing,
Always number one,
The pen with a breathless crooked king,
sign away our peace,
for your war,
one word and it's over,
Dropping your bombs now,
on all we've built
How does it feel now to watch it burn, burn, burn?
Raise your weapons,
Raise your weapons,
And it's over...
-So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of Frankenstein—more, far more, will I achieve; treading in the steps already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation. Victor Frankenstein, - Mary Shelley
Beasts: Raised Weapons, Calling All Monsters
She is sin in a coffin, he thinks. Bonnie has said the correct incantation, has pronounced ancient vowels and smeared curious dark ink over the surface. It's not blood, he can tell, Damon can. Damon is eying the coffin, waiting but barely. Stefan knew he wouldn't rush the process, Damon understood patience in a way Stefan never did.
The lid pops and he and his brother stand side by side to lift the lid. Bonnie steps to the side, barely in his peripheral but he could hardly care who watches.
Who is she?
She looks to be a gypsy, caramel skin, lustrous dark hair, curling dark waves that ripple over her Bob Marley tshirt. There was grace, defined over a thin yet slightly upturned nose, slightly crooked mouth, with lush lips. There was a dark black tattoo, a rough etch of a star that covered her left eye.
"Who is she?"
Damon answered first, eyes tearing away from the girl. He nodded to Bonnie's question.
"Who knows, she'd better be able to kill Klaus. We don't need another problem on our hands."
"This is it," Stefan said almost to himself.
"So, how do we wake her up,"Damon said beginning to circle the coffin. Patience was over, now that the coffin was opened answers had better start coming. Stefan was more concerned with touching the girl's skin. He wondered if it was warm, though all sense dictated otherwise, he expected heat. His fangs itched in their sheaths.
"There." Yes, there. At her throat.
There was a necklace just at her throat, open. It was a black heart, made of cool metal, the inside was red and etched in silver. It was latin.
"Prius tactum est dulcissima quies est. Cras nunc ante, tum ceteris amplius."
"What the fuck does that even mean,"Damon scoffed.
"Latin's , rusty,"Stefan chuckled examining the inscription. It distracted from the heady scent and the knowledge that she was warm and the soft down of her throat was so close.
"Screw you. I understand the rest, rest, rest crap. And the sweet thing but that's it."
"It says, 'Rest until the sweetest touch is delivered. Rest until this moment, then rest no more.'"
"Cute, so a riddle. What is it with supernaturals and their goddamn riddles. Any suggestions?"
"It's a kiss. To wake her up you have to kiss her."
"No,you have to kiss her, this is your show."
Stefan was horrified and at the same time thrumming with anticipation. He wanted to taste those crooked lips. He released the necklace and looked over at his brother, then back to her. He leaned over, that spice and danger and rightness washing over him. He kissed her.
**Ingolstadt, 1790
She opened her eyes for the first time. Her father stood above her, that proud stern glitter in his eye. She blinked, and for some reason knew to sit, to glance around. She was excited, she was renewed.
Noise.
She looked up and saw another man coming down the stairs. That was what he was and what he was doing. How did she know? She wasn't certain, maybe her father had provided the knowledge.
"Father?"
"You are awake, my sweet one."
"Yes."
"Good. And for our guest, Mikael, please introduce yourself."
"My name is Shalyn Frankenstein, the Ebony Star. My objective is to kill all vampires, to destroy the Originals or put them permanently to rest. It won't be long, at least, before we destroy your Original Children, sir."
She turned to her father. "Habe ich auch beantworten, Vater? (Did I answer well, father)
He gave a nod, pleased she stepped down from the table. Her first step was filled with purpose. And something else, she wanted blood on her hands, to kill the wicked Children and especially to know what it meant to destroy Niklaus the Original Hybrid.
**Mystic Falls, Present Day
Her eyes were warm, he hadn't expected that. Dark brown, and expectant. He didn't expect the hand crushing his larynx inward either. She looked at him, then realized that he wasn't an enemy.
Damon, rushed to his brother's side, pulling him back.
"Sorry," she said quickly. Her voice was a mixture of accents, American, English, Spanish, German, all awash and refined as her voice. She sat up, pulled her hand to her chest, flicked her eyes over all of them. She wore a Bob Marley t-shirt and dark skinny jeans.
"You're our secret weapon," Damon huffed. She turned to him and smiled, wiggled her fingers.
"Nice to meet you too. Well, it's not like humans had any manners back in the day, what with their damn pitchforks and-what year is it?"
"2012, what's it to you?"
"Thirty years, actually."
"Damn, that sucks," Damon said a smirk on his lips. Stefan pointed at the shirt.
"So...who are you?"
"Shalyn, daughter of Frankenstein."
"Daughter? Didn't he have some oozing corpse, y'know, the monster?"
She got out of the coffin, dusted herself off. She was tall, taller than him by at least two inches. She was curved in ways that even the large shirt she wore, couldn't hide. He saw his brother appraise her figure, he would have rolled his eyes, had he not been doing the same.
"Frankenstein's daughter, how is that even possible? Did he make you?"
"Bonnie, right?"
"How did you know?"
"I read minds, sort of, better than vamps, anyway. Not really into that scene but when you're stuck in a coffin for thirty-two years and someone enters the room..." She shrugged.
"Are you...some kind of witch," Bonnie suggested. Stefan saw the not so subtle look at the tattoo. He was curious too and said nothing.
"Not a witch, but there is some magic involved in my general design. Father was more for science, it was Mikael that suggested I undergo...magical additions."
"So you knew Mikael? And Klaus," Damon, said.
"Look, how about I get out of these rags,eh? Get some McDonald's and we chat? I'd prefer it, and to be honest, I don't feel like sitting in a crypt."
"Good point," Stefan agreed, gesturing towards the door, "after you."
**London, 1801
"Get up! Again!"
Shalyn rose, familiar blue sparks dancing over her ebony skin. Her father had told her that it would take her some time before her powers would manifest completely, and that Mikael would train her.
Use her more like.
Day and night, for years, intense physical combat, endurance training. She knew nothing of the art, the music and the literature that father had entered into her mind, there was no free time to just be. And always the angry remarks, the mention of his failing sons, his duty to destroy their wretched infection upon the world.
Every day. Every day. Her new body, was well cut and shaped after her first four years. Her father had made her into a weapon and every day, of every year proved this fact. Her mind was bent on her human side, like some error purposefully made. Why had he given her the need to enjoy bird song alongside her horrid second skin? She was a beast underneath, just as her older brother was.
Craving, insane, beautiful and clever, a poet, a writer, a monster.
She had to find a balance, there had to be a way.
He aimed his foot at her face, she caught it with sparking hands. They danced up his legs,charring and burning, her mind ripped through veins and sinew, she saw red blood and reveled in it. A heavy hand, like solid marble punched the side of her head and she felt it knock heavily against her skull. Special living alloys and metal that were her scales, were the only things that kept that fist from crunching her head into a pulp. Instead her head snapped to the side and she bared dripping fangs. A swift upwards kick to the face, jolted all other thoughts from her mind. Who cared if she knew poetry, who cared if she could dance or sing sweet operas? She cursed her father, she cursed Mikael. Black spots danced in her eyes as rage took hold, she felt a blade puncture through her lungs before it punctured through her chest and the stone floor of the dank basement. There was no air to scream.
"Never bare your fangs at me monster," he hissed, "you are a means to an end and nothing more. I asked that you be made, and so it is only I who can unmake you."
He wiggled the blade, her mouth gurgled with blood and she spat weakly. He leaned down now on one knee and whispered close to her ear. "Not even your own father wanted you. My monster, you are too weak."
**Mystic Falls, Present Day
"Seriously, where is she keeping all that food," Damon asked for the tenth time. Stefan had long ago rested his head on the tabletop, damn the greasy scent.
Even if he did look up, which he didn't want to ,no one wanted to watch one individual go through seven hundred and eighty five dollars worth of food. No one. How his brother managed to continue looking at her and Bonnie managed to talk to her was beyond him.
It wasn't even that she had bad manners, he smirked quickly beneath his arms. Her manners were in fact pointedly poignant and her manner majestic in a way. It just seemed to be unreal, like watching someone bend their limbs in a seemingly unnatural way.
He heard her swallow, sip from what had to be her twelfth refill of coke.
"If you don't like my eating habits you can go to hell, because it's been thirty years and at least everything's dead and deepfried. Puto gilipollas (fucking idiot)."
"So, are you gonna tell us about yourself, because all you've done so far is eat," Bonnie said irritably. Stefan wasn't too shocked, after watching Shalyn eat, Bonnie couldn't any longer and Shalyn had eaten that after her proper please and thank yous.
"Fine," Shalyn grouched. Stefan looked up when she had stopped eating, wanting to hear this story.
"My brother,Lennart, is Frankenstein's first creation. He was not crude and misshapen as Mary Shelley describes, on the contrary, he was...beautiful. He was absolutely dangerous. He was my father's first living commission."
"Living commission?" Stefan's eyebrow raised.
"Exactly what it sounds like, a living being created for a purpose. Shelley only wrote of father's first creation, my older brother. She did not write about his second, third or even the sixth, who was the last of the humanoids."
"Shit, there are more of you?" Damon crossed his arms and leaned back. Stefan knew that his brother was trying to figure out how Shalyn could help them, if she would.
"There were. I'm not sure how many of my siblings remain and there were numerous other creatures that father had created. If he hadn't been murdered who knows what else he would have gotten up to."
"Murdered?" Bonnie's curious yet concerned look was obvious.
"By Lennart."
"But why-"
"No. I'm the better mindreader and I know that the three of you have enough to deal with regarding family issues. Besides, Shelley wrote a decent enough account on that too."
She snatched a few fries and popped them into her mouth. Her eyes closed. The look of bliss on her face did not escape Stefan. She chewed for a few short moments and when she opened her eyes she stared pointedly at him, perhaps she heard more than just stray thoughts. Thinking about her reminded him of Elena, their broken relationship, his tattered feelings for her.
Hearing her speak of her father's death made him think of himself, the look on his father's face as he'd realized what his son had become.
"Anyway, there was the first son, made to destroy the werewolf, he was commissioned by Mikael. Lennart took to killing werewolves with a fervent desire. However, he was flawed losing himself in his own rage, targeting indiscriminately. This failure made Mikael angry, he demanded another chimera be made."
"You."
She nodded at Stefan, smirked. "Yes and I was made to kill vampires, any vampire."
"How? That's the important part," Damon demanded.
"I can bring dead tissue to life. That's the important bit."
"Again, how?"
"Venom. The venom that my body produces, induces healing in vampires, too much or a delivery to any major arteries usually means mortality on a lasting level."
"And can it be made permanent," Stefan asked. Because wouldn't that be interesting?
"If enough venom enters the blood stream it can be permanent."
"And you've done it before?"
"Sometimes, Mikael preferred them completely human when he tortured them."
"God-"Bonnie exclaimed turning away.
"That's not the worst of what I've done, Bonnie. My father made real monsters, there was no time for curses and rituals."
"And just to get this out of the way," Damon circled his finger around his left eye, " what's the tattoo about?"
"It's not a tattoo," Shalyn said simply, "it's what's underneath."
**Vienna, 1803
It was a large theater, balmy yellow, colored the outside and pillars of marble upheld the statues atop, children frolicking.
There was not much time to observe its outer face, the hustle and bustle of other people forcing Shalyn to enter.
Voices, blending into a cacophany of sound, surrounded her. Her soft shoes, felt pleasant against the thick red carpet, she wriggled her toes appreciatively. She heard the sound of instruments as they were tuned by their musicians. She was not sure what to be more excited for, her impending kill or the music that Ludwig was soon to have featured in his ballet.
Or the ballet itself, she mused.
She presented her ticket and a young usher led her to the upper box. The crowd thinned drammatically as she was led to the upper floor. As she walked it was hard to tear her eyes away from the theater itself. Plush red seats of the audience up front, musicians preparing in the pit, Beethoven, dark hair pushed back, dark suit of fine material.
This was not the first time that she had heard music nor the first time she'd witnessed a dance but never had it been on so grand a scale, her first ballet, her first Beethoven concert.
It was hushed in the upper box, only three people were there. She had expected this, three of the Originals traveled as one, Mikael had said. She was glad that he had sent her alone.
She felt their eyes on her as she lifted her velvet skirts between fingerless emerald silk gloves. Her gloves were of the same color and material as the eyepatch that covered her left eye. It was embroidered with golden lace as was her dress and the small hat that adorned her head. She brushed loose strands of her hair away from her face moving closer to the edge of the balcony.
She gripped the cool wooden banister. It was painted with chipped gold and an amber paint that gleamed. It smelled of young tree, of life and vitality. She reveled in the atmosphere licking her lips.
The youngest, the woman approached first.
"My name is Rebekah Sheridan, a pleasure to meet you." The Original extended a hand gloved in a satin white.
Shalyn turned and stood, offering a warm smile, taking Rebekah's cool hand. At last, she thought, I will have my freedom. Father will be proud, and I will have done this great task.
"Vergnügen, Sie kennenzulernen, mein Name ist Shalyn Hildegard. (A pleasure to meet you, my name is Shalyn Hildegard.)"
Rebekah smiled and took her hand in hers. "Is this your first ballet? My brothers and I are followers of der Musiker, Beethoven. We had hoped to see his previous concert in another venue but he insisted that it be done here."
The girl led her by the hand to the two brothers. The elder, the dark haired one, gave her an interesting look, as if taking her measure. It was a quick look, something that one had to pay attention to see.
"Elijah Sheridan, die Freude ist unser (the pleasure, is ours)." He wore a thigh length black pea coat, the collar falling just short of his hair. He wore a deep purple cravat pinned with a small gold button. He was taller than she, by more than a few inches in his knee length leather boots. His gaze was heavy, like cognac in a crystal glass.
She extended her hand and he bowed and pressed his lips against her knuckles. It was chaste, polite, he was the more wary brother, Mikael had said. He had not been wrong. The next brother had been watching her the entire time. He reminded her of Lennart almost immediately. There was that same air of magnestism that drew you, features so gracefully aligned you'd think they were angels. Niklaus was gorgeous, angular cheekbones that gave way to an enticing jaw dusted with tawny blonde stubble. His eyes were like clear river pools,so blue. He reminded her of a lion, hair short curled, against his head, almost subtle sideburns making him even more like a great feline.
"My name is Niklaus but I would like it if you called me Klaus. Bitte(Please)," he added. The note in his voice stroked some other sense that Shalyn was surprised she had.
"Klaus," she repeated. She looked at the three together, smiled. "Well, to answer your question, this is the first time that I have seen an orchestra of this magnitude and the first time observing ballet. It has always been a secret passion of mine."
"Secret," Klaus scoffed. He had a bow shaped upper lip, pink and seductive over a generous bottom lip. His entire mouth was heart-shaped and when he suddenly smiled at her she felt a pang of worry.
"But not anymore," she stated. His hand carefully yet purposefully led her by the small of her back, to the balcony's edge once more. He took her left hand in his as they walked together. She could smell sweet blood and wine on his mouth, mint tinged his breath. There was also something else, something sweeter than everything else.
"I will tell you some secret that is not so small," he whispered in her ear, as the lights dimmed. The curtains parted and low basset-horn gave way to the sweet siren of the viola and the violin. Her heart fluttered and her breath caught. She was enraptured and the arm that supported her now seemed necessary. "Ihr Geheimnis ist nicht so geheim, meine Liebe. Dein Herz ist schon Rennen. (Your secret is not so secret, my dear. Your heart is already racing)."
The dancer moved like a candle-flame, a gentleman in a tight embroidered coat, leotard of white velvet. He flickered across the stage as the pace quickened and her heartbeat hummed in her ears. She leaned out and Klaus so gently slipped binoculars into her left hand. When had he let go? Only his hand at her back guided her now.
A woman glided in, ruby as a setting sun, the jewels in her hair like liquid sapphire and with it the obvious heavy cello, like honey. Another man appeared and a curious dance ensued. She could not help her small giggle. A crescendo, and more rapid violins and suddenly it did not matter whom she was with, simply that she watch and listen.
Her secret was not so secret.
"You said," she whispered, "that you had seen...Lehrer (Maestro)Van Beethoven?" And her eyes couldn't tear from the sweet and destructive display of gods over men, monsters beneath heroes, and that bittersweet notion that none is permanent, that there is still pain and death but there is still hope and joy.
She wept because she knew it was all a lie. She wept because she did not care. He would probably compell the Maestro at her behest. She would pretend that she did not know or maybe...
Yes.
She clapped as it finished, her senses still reeling from the emotion and elated thoughts that moved through the air like an ocean current. She breathed slowly and turned to him, him only a step behind. Elijah and Rebekah watched bemusedly from their seats.
She saw nothing else but Maestro Beethoven and Niklaus' bedeviled smile, sensual and almost protective. He wanted her to know this master of sound and beauty. And if she saw nothing else, she felt nothing else but his arm around her waist, her smaller hand in eternally calloused, tapered hands, sure and gentle. The faint smell of blood made her mouth water, her beast side more than just a little tempted. The bastard probably knew.
She waited a few moments outside of the small office that Beethoven had gone into. Niklaus went in after the smaller man and closed the door. Then he came out, Beethoven walking stiffly behind.
She smiled, allowing just a tinge of her psychic charge to extend. Almost like reading minds, like tasting emotion instead of guessing. She felt his anger, that agonizing pain to create, to care, to love the music he was beginning to lose. He didn't move, just looked at her, smiling once and then frowning grimely. They understood one another.
"Sie sind viel hübscher in Person, Maestro van Beethoven (You are much more handsome in person, Maestro van Beethoven)".
He smiled and took her hand, pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles. "Bitte rufen Sie mich Ludwig. Klaus sagt mir, dass Sie hungrig nach Musik sind. Ist das richtig (Please, call me Ludwig. Klaus tells me that you are hungry for music. Is this correct)?"
"It is," she says in a breathy voice. English had come to the forefront, it was the language she'd been able to properly discuss art. She smiled as he led her into the office.
And still, all else besides, her happiness was nothing to the addicting thought that she could kill all of them and dance in their blood. She thought one curse for Mikael and another for her father.
** Elsewhere in Mystic Falls, Present Day
The witch he had procured thirty years ago had not lied. He smiled, thankful that ripping out her heart and drinking its viscouous juices had not been a mistake.
He knew the instant that she had been awoken. He was mortified, but at the same time relieved. She deserved to be free, the damned pretty gypsy. Her crooked smile and eyes brown marbles, all aglitter and tempting. Damn, he'd missed her.
"Prius tactum est dulcissima quies est. Cras nunc ante, tum ceteris amplius (Rest until the sweetest touch is delivered. Rest until this moment, then rest no more). That was supposed to be me, love. There had been at least that."
Klaus stepped out into the chill night, now fully aware of where his family could be.