Ensemble cast fic. Delena, other pairings undecided. M.
A note before we begin: I will not tolerate any slut-shaming on this fic. Probably my LEAST favorite thing to see in this entire fandom is the phrase "whorelena". First of all, there isn't likely to be any actual prostitution. Second, even if there was, even if one of the characters sleeps with as many people as are in the cast, I just don't want slut shaming. It's really offensive to me. I love keeping the comments open to everyone, even grayfaces, and I love getting feedback both positive and negative about my work (even if I curl up in a ball and wonder what I did wrong in the world after negative responses) but if it becomes necessary, I'll do what I have to to prevent that kind of crassness. Commodification of human sexuality is something that happens. Human sexuality in general is awesome. Let's all be mature adults about it.
On that cheerful note, I present to you...
Original Sins
Damon Salvatore is not doing paperwork.
This is not to say that he has no paperwork that needs doing. He does. It's strewn across his desk like a really boring jigsaw puzzle with an answer that just ends in more paperwork. So of course he's not doing it. It's a never-ending cycle that somewhere along the line would result in Alaric giving him more actual responsibility over paperwork. As it is, his partner simply throws it at him and tells him that he's not going to put up with Damon not doing his half (though it ends up more like a third). That's fine. Damon's willing to do his work, he just doesn't want anyone to start expecting it.
Alaric's not here right now – to be specific, he's in their supervisor's office – so Damon puts his feet up on his desk, throws a tennis ball up in the air, and doesn't do paperwork. No one gives him so much as a second glance. By now it's a given that Damon will be Damon, no matter what anyone else says or does. In fact, if he hates what you say or do enough, he might just go out of his way to be himself in a way that pisses you off. That's just how it goes. Damon gets more annoying when he doesn't have a case, too. He's the kind of person who doesn't deal well with being bored.
Finally, Alaric reappears. His expression carries black irritation. Whatever just happened, they're probably going to end up drinking together tonight so Alaric can bitch about it. That's how they do things. Before Damon can say anything, he gestures back towards their supervisor's office. "Your turn."
Damon raises his eyebrows mockingly. "Damn, Ric. You got us both sent to the principal's office. What'd you do? Tie that kid's pigtails to the chair when she wouldn't cooperate?" He wags his finger at his partner. "You know she couldn't help it. She'd been so brainwashed she probably wouldn't have been able to tell you her favorite color without her boyfriend's input."
Ric just rolls his eyes, not even bothering to make a return quip. That's a bad sign. With a sigh, Damon stands and ambles towards his superior's office. Section Chief Mills is a bitch and a half, but she's also good at what she does. While Damon may not always be her greatest fan, he has a great amount of respect for her that he conceals under a veneer of insubordination and apathy. He's not sure how they make it work, but they do to the point where she hasn't yet killed him and hidden his body, as she once threatened to do.
"Mills." He leans casually in her doorway. She has quite the presence, even sitting down behind her desk.
"Salvatore." She fires his name back drily, motioning for him to take a seat across from her. With anyone else, he might prefer to remain standing, but the way Mills turns back to her computer leaves him with absolutely no questions that she expects him to obey. Damon sits. The chair is almost as uncomfortable as those in interrogation. He's long since decided that she likes anyone who comes into her office to feel unbalanced. It's a power complex that rivals that of his last girlfriend.
Leaning on her desk, Damon steeples his hands under his chin. She glares, but does nothing, refusing to get into a power struggle. He quirks an eyebrow in response. "So. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
"Saltzman didn't tell you?"
No, of course not. That would be too easy. "He was too busy tying that girl's pigtails to her lawyer when we were trying to get her to give up the boyfriend."
Mills nods, still engaged in whatever it is she's working on, then does a double take, dark hair flying around her face as she turns her head to stare suspiciously at Damon before deciding he's being an ass. As usual. "Funny, Salvatore. I can make your life a whole lot harder if you keep giving me lip."
Damon just shrugs. "From the look on Ric's face as he told me we were in trouble, you probably ate his puppy, so I'm not going to like whatever comes next anyway."
"Kitten," she corrects almost absentmindedly, and Damon snorts. She stands, rummaging around in the files on her desk before pulling out the absolute messiest of the lot. Damon winces. Messy files are the worst. The less organized they are, the more likely it is that they've been passed from hand to hand, either because the case is horrible or because it's not a real case. "Here." She hands him the file, then sits back down. When he makes to open it, she snaps. "Later." Never gives her full attention, always demands his. That's Mills for you. "Saltzman's just pissy because he doesn't want to spend the next few months breaking a new agent in."
Immediately, Damon freezes, mouth dry. "What?" That's not good. Not good at all. He and Alaric have been partners since he first joined as a rookie with a snarky streak a mile wide. It's thanks to his friend that Damon's softened at all, though he'd never admit it. Besides, he just likes Ric. They work well together. And he doesn't think there have been any cock-ups as of late. If she's splitting up Team Badass, someone must have done something really wrong. For once, he doesn't think that it was him.
"Don't worry," she reassures him, but not after rolling her eyes prominently. "You'll be able to pick up your 'bromance' right where it left off when you get back. He's just getting a green one temporarily. She won't be his forever partner."
Well, that's a relief. "So what, then? Ric sign us up for the twelve-week volunteering to help fragile and confused grads course?" If he's been assigned a newbie partner, even for a short while, it's going to take every ounce of his self-control to not shoot the kid after a day.
"Please, like anyone in their right mind would trust you with a recent grad." Mills waves a dismissive hand at him, and Damon's not sure if he should be relieved or offended that she didn't even consider the idea. "He's getting a temp partner. You're getting a temporary merger. So a partner, but not a green one."
"I'm not working with White Collar again, am I?" Damon whines. "Because I think I'd rather shoot a newbie than put up with them."
"And you wonder why you're never going to advance beyond your current position," she mutters. He really doesn't wonder – he knows – but he gets her point. At the look Damon's still giving her, Mills sighs. "No, it's not White Collar. It's Violent Crimes. So you have no reason to complain, seeing as you commit them on a daily basis."
Under any other circumstances, Damon would rise to the quip with one of his own. The words "violent" and "crimes" when put together have the remarkable power to distract him, however. He winces. Violent Crimes is a major unit. There's nothing to be concerned about. A bad feeling persists. It's not uncommon for the Criminal Enterprise Section (read: drugs and gangs) section to cross over with the Violent Crimes section, but not to brag, he's quite good at what he does over here with the drugs. Either it's a high-profile case, or more skewed towards the violent side of things. As Alaric's not assigned, the only reason Damon can think of that they'd want him on it with an unknown partner is if he's already familiar with who he'll be working with. Very familiar.
Snapping in his face brings him back to the current situation. "Hey. Salvatore." Mills' face lies somewhere between confused and irked. "Now you look like I've eaten your kitten. I thought you'd be happy. You've only been bugging me to let you at this case since you first got wind of it. Now we finally have reason to."
Despite her earlier orders, Damon opens the files. At the very top of the first slightly crinkled page lie two words that make him grin in spite of himself. Original Sins. Well. That does make things better. Damon's been convinced that there's something substantial to the Original Sins case since he first got wind of it two years ago during one of Ric's fits of vengeance. But Mills would never let him have it, saying that people had been interested in it for years without anything substantial on which to base an investigation. Damon, being Damon, investigated when and what he could. He doesn't have a lot more information, but he's not the only one who's ever been interested in this club. That's why the file's such a mess. It's the work of Agent after Agent with a hunch, a prickling feeling on the back of his or her neck that there's something wrong there. And it's his.
"The powers-that-be said you can have it." She breaks into his reverie without a hint of remorse. "Apparently things get interesting when people start disappearing."
Of course. It takes the suspicion of murder to get a case Damon's 100% certain involves fucktons of illegal drugs. That's why Violent Crimes is getting involved. Because everything's more important, more interesting, with Violent Crimes. And no, he's not bitter. Not in the least.
"So you're with your brother on this one, if you hadn't guessed already." Her attention's back on her computer screen, shrewd brown eyes focused on some aspect of the onscreen text that must be absolutely fascinating. Or it's just an excuse to effectively dismiss him. Damon suspects it's more the latter. Absolutely nothing about being in management at the Bureau seems to ever be even remotely interesting. "Undercover, so you'll get altered identities that are relatively close to your own. You're working in their section, so though you'll report to me, they're taking care of your stories, lodging… And you'll need to give up your desk for Saltzman's rookie until you get back. Any questions?" It's not an invitation. Mills's body language makes it perfectly clear that if he has any questions, he needs to quit being a pussy and suck it up.
He does have a question, though, and Damon leans forward, proving that he's not a coward simply by going against what Mills so obviously wants him to do. "That's fine and all," no it's not. His desk is his, thank you very much, and moving into Stefan's territory sounds like an absolute nightmare after he's worked so hard to carve out a niche of his own. Damon says none of this, though, just going with "How long is this going to take?"
The smile Mills gives him is positively malevolent, and he thinks in another life she might have made a good dictator. "I don't know, Salvatore. That's really up to you, isn't it?"
Damon excuses himself with nothing more disrespectful than an eye roll. Definitely dictator material. Or maybe professional sadist. He's not putting it beyond the realm of possibility that she derives pleasure from his pain. It's a bittersweet victory he's won. He got the case he wanted. But he doesn't get to investigate it with his partner. Rather, he's going to have to resurrect history and face his little brother. Take on this case with a man he hasn't spoken to since they last brawled like children. Is it worth it? He flicks open the file again, looking at the cover page, the scrawled notes, the effort his co-workers have put into this case. He wants in. Even if. Even if everything. Damon Salvatore wants to investigate this whole fucking situation. But first.
"Hey, Ric. I need to get a drink."
x.x.x
When your homicide investigation involves no actual dead bodies, you know something somewhere has gone wrong. It could be the "higher ups". It might be the subjects of your investigation. More likely it's your brother.
Morosely, Stefan flicks through the pages of the most haphazard case file he's ever seen, He's only been in the section for a year, and this is his first case that looks like n incomprehensible disaster. Not only that, it makes him feel like a child. Denigrated. As though his superiors are unimpressed with his work (but why would they be? He has a legacy and a strong track record even with his relative greenness) so they want to put him on an impossible project just to get him out of the way for a while. Why would anyone even waste resources on investigating this, when they're not at the local level with nothing going on and no one better to gawk at for a while?
Across the room, a blonde girl about Stefan's age is bent over a mess of evidence and statements, talking quietly but with undeniable enthusiasm to her partner. Jealousy immediately smacks Stefan hard. Whatever Lexi's working on, it's certainly productive. More so than sitting here with a case he doesn't want and a re-assigned partner, waiting for his brother to show.
Lexi and Lee are the second dream team of the Violent Crimes until, outdone only by Jones and Swan. To be fair, they've both been around significantly longer than Lexi, and as far as Stefan knows have been working together the entire time. But Lexi had the top shooting-under-pressure and marksmanship scores of their year. She'd gotten assigned to Lee a few months after joining the unit, when his partner died in one of those horrible tragedies that happens significantly less frequently than popular media would lead you to believe. She got incredibly lucky, in Stefan's opinion. The only flaw he can see in their partnership (because Lee certainly has some flaws) is that they're together in defiance of explicit FBI protocol. He hasn't reported them only because Lexi's his best friend. Stefan trusts her to do the right thing. Even considering that, he wishes he could have gotten a partner like hers, if only so he could blow right past the stupid cases like this one.
He looks back to the door. Where the hell does Damon think he is? He ought to have gotten reassigned this morning, and since it's almost noon, there's no reason for him not to be here. Violent Crimes and ACES actually work pretty well together. Not like Violent Crimes and White Collar. Even Stefan's Section Chief can't stand White Collar, and she can put up nicely with almost anyone.
"Salvatore? Your brother's not here yet?"
Turning to look at her, Stefan shakes his head. No, of course he's not. Damon is as rude and selfish as he's ever been, he couldn't possibly rouse himself to not waste everyone's time unless it benefitted him.
She frowns, a worried look on her face. Section Chief Blanchard has always been too sensitive for her own good. Until Lee's partner's death, Stefan couldn't comprehend how she'd managed to rise to her position. But her leadership ability in a crisis, the steely look she got in her eyes as if she was preparing for battle left him in no doubt that if she'd wanted to be, she could have been an army sniper. She's more than equal to violent crimes. "Have you tried calling him?"
"I haven't been able to get in contact with him. Maybe he has his phone off." It's only kind of a lie. Stefan hasn't been able to get in contact with Damon. He just doesn't mention that he hasn't been able to get in contact with Damon for years. Though they work for the same agency, sometimes even in the same building, he deleted his brother from his phone and never looked back. Damon's no good for anybody. How he's supposed to work with him for an extended period of time, Stefan doesn't know. If his brother botches their assignment – not that there's much to botch – he's going to be furious.
"Ah." She nods, and turns away, almost running into someone coming through the door. "Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you were there."
"It's no problem. Really. I should have been watching more carefully where I was going. Do you think you could direct me to Section Chief Blanchard?"
Stefan knows that voice. Years of separation can't erase it from his head. The smooth, self-confident quality it has. That easy presumption that coils around everything. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, they say. Well, if there's any truth to that saying, Damon has just proven it.
"You've found her. Does that make you…?"
"Special Agent Salvatore, ACES. At your service."
"Perfect, we were just talking about you!" Perfect is not the word Stefan would use. Annoying, maybe. Intrusive. Thoughtless. But perfect? No. "Salvatore!" She looks over at him.
Stefan stands are marches over to Section Chief Blanchard and Damon, the latter regarding him with an amused smirk. "Hello, brother."
"Damon."
Blanchard smiles guilelessly up at both of them, either oblivious to the tension or simply ignoring it. "Since you're both here, we might as well get started. You'll probably want to get started on the drive early, or you'll have to go through the night." She turns on her heel and motions for them to follow. While Damon responds like a well-trained puppy, Stefan's still nonplussed.
"What?" The pair of them stop and look back at him in almost the same motion. Damon's always had that skill of mimicking people if he wants to. Stefan doesn't like it. "Drive through the night?"
Damon shrugs. "Not if we get started soon. It's only about five hours."
He strides forward so that the whole room can't listen in on their conversation. Stefan's missed something, obviously, but he doesn't want his co-workers to know that. It would reflect horribly on him if he can't keep up with his own assignments. "Five hours? I thought we were investigating a club."
"We are." One dark eyebrow is cocked disbelievingly, as if he's can't believe that Stefan really doesn't know this and is looking for his brother's angle. "Original Sins. It's in Mystic Falls, Virginia, but as close as possible to West Virginia and Kentucky as one can be in a notable metropolitan area."
Though he always tries (and succeeds) to take his work seriously, Stefan can't help but make an incredulous face. "Mystic Falls? Sounds like the smallest small-town settlers ever built."
Damon doesn't miss a beat. "It was, once. It started out as this tiny outpost built in the Civil War. There was a population, but no one really cared that much. There were a couple skirmishes there, but the only interesting part is the massacre of 1864. Union soldiers fired on a church. Twenty-seven civilians died. After that, it was tiny for a few years but has actually grown into something relevant. Which is pretty impressive, considering it could have easily been a rural nowheresville."
Blanchard cocks her head, making an impressed face at Damon. "Very good, Special Agent Salvatore. How'd you know all that?" Stefan would like to know the answer to that question, too. She holds the door to her office open, and Damon nods his thanks. Stefan follows his brother in.
"I've been to Mystic Falls before." At Blanchard's gesture of invitation, they both sit, Damon leaning back with complete ease while Stefan keeps a more formal posture. "A pretty big gang – of child snatchers, you might have heard of it – was targeting a wide area around there. My partner and I teamed up with another pair. Never ended up catching anyone, but the kids got home safe and the leader shot himself in his own apartment. So I've done my homework."
Stefan can tell Blanchard approves. She's not particularly skilled at hiding her emotions, especially not the positive ones. He shifts uncomfortably. When Damon of all people is showing him up, he knows something's gone wrong with the world. "That should make it easier, then, if you know some of the local mythology. We're placing you two as Pennsylvanians who have been interested in business in the area for a while."
"Why?"
Damon cuts in to answer. "Because it's got a couple relatively wealthy areas. 'Forest Lake', I think is one, and some other similarly pretentious places that pretentious people like to move in. Plus, it's located so close to state lines, it's far easier to run illegal business because of the infinite questions about jurisdiction."
"And why would we want to be investigating illegal business opportunities?"
"Because we're actually investigating a club. Duh." That last sound had to be tacked on purely as an insult. Stefan grits his teeth. How, exactly, is he supposed to work indefinitely with this immature man-child?
Even Blanchard seems a little taken aback by Damon's rough casualness. She rallies. She's a leader, after all. "Right. So, Salvatore… um…" She turns from one to the other, somewhat lost. "Salvatore."
"Please, call me Damon." Unprofessional. But then, what else did he expect from his older brother.
"Oh, alright. Anyway. The two of you will be playing brothers, of course. Your father just died, and you inherited quite a bit of money from him. You're looking to invest it in Mystic Falls, and one of you – Damon, probably – is a Civil War buff. One of you, too, whichever, is interested in investing in Original Sins, or in getting into the business entirely, I'll leave that up to you. The other's uncertain, so you'll have to spend some time there. Figure out what your jobs and backstories are, but you're rich. Probably nouveau riche. From Pennsylvania so that you don't have to have accents. You'll use your real names, but we'll create false identities for you online, so you have to give us as much information as you can as quickly as you can. It's a certainty that the Mikaelsons will be looking you up. They'd be fools not to. It shouldn't be too dangerous, but people have been disappearing, and it might be related." She sighs, looking from one to the other to make sure they've absorbed her lecture. "Any questions, either of you?"
Damon narrows his dark eyes, and Stefan has a sudden flash of panic, or perhaps you could call it a premonition, that Damon is going to say something he doesn't want him to. "Yes. Why us?"
Of course. But Blanchard just smiles easily, taking the question in stride. "It was a balancing act. We needed new agents, but not green ones. Ones who would be able to work closely together – it's a lot harder to go undercover than anyone thinks – at least, that's how I understand it."
Now Stefan too leans forward, intrigued. "Why new agents, though? Why not Damon's partner? Or Humbert?"
"They're too established." Blanchard speaks conspiratorially. "It would be impossible to pretend either Agent Humbert or Agent Saltzman has never worked at the FBI. The two of you, though… You're good, but you don't have much history. Especially Salvatore." She frowns, realizing she's referring to both of them. Damon smirks. "So it's going to be easier. Neither of you have ever been in the press. We do the right work, and the two of you disappear. The Damon and Stefan Salvatore who work at the FBI will never have existed."
The two brothers exchange a glance. Neither can quite explain why, but for a moment a chill runs down their spines. Even if it's all pretend, the idea of ceasing to exist doesn't sit easily with either of them.
x.x.x
"What happened to you?"
Elena winces, hurriedly pulling her hair out of a ponytail. "Do I look that bad?"
Blue eyes widen into a guilty expression, and Caroline waves her hands in front of herself, attempting to dispel the implications to her question. "No. No! I didn't mean it like… You're just late. And you didn't straighten your hair. I just usually expect that from Katherine – the lateness, obviously!"
A laugh bursts from Elena's throat. Kat may know next to nothing about punctuality, but she always has time to do her hair, her makeup, and of course apply her signature blood-red lipstick. Though she'd never say as much, Elena thinks Katherine wears the color in part because she likes leaving dark lip prints everywhere she can. "Is she here already?"
"Yeah. She bounced in a minute early with this odd, gleeful look in her eyes, muttering something about a toy who needs a serious lesson." Caroline mock-shudders. "I didn't ask." She leans against the lockers, watching her friend change without a hint of shame. They're used to it. "Something go wrong with Jeremy?"
"Huh?" Elena shakes her head, wrestling with the many straps of her top. "No. No, Jer's fine. I just figured I'd schedule a doctor's appointment for him at the same time I had one – clinic check up, you know – and it ended up running later than I thought. I still had to take him home, so…" She shrugs. "It's fine, right?
"It's ten." That's not really an answer. "How late are you planning to stay?"
Elena sighs. She hates working all night. But someone has to do it, and sometimes that someone has to be her. Especially when she has to take Jer to the doctor. She makes decent money, but health care is a problem and she's not going to just let her brother not get attended to because they don't have insurance. "I'll probably be here until closing. I haven't got a client tomorrow. Jer can drive himself to school."
Reaching forward, Caroline deftly untangles the straps on the back of Elena's top, laying them flat against her friend's skin. "There. You really are off today, aren't you?"
"No!" She pauses. Sighs. "Yeah, a little. I hate clinic days. Even though there's nothing to worry about…"
"You psych yourself out," Caroline finishes, nodding sagely. "It's totally normal. Med students do it all the time."
Elena tosses her friend a skeptical look over her shoulder. "And what do you know about Med students?"
"I've been in the hospital before!" Her voice stays light, but Elena winces. She'd forgotten about that. Or not quite forgotten, but put it to the back of her mind. She supposes she's been in the hospital too, but it was a brief childhood incident, like the kind everyone has. "I know how things work."
"Sure you do, Care."
"Next time you're dying from a drug overdose, I won't tell you, then. I'll just watch you. And then when you're dead I'll tell you that I told you I knew things."
Elena rolls her eyes, but it's playful. "Okay. I'll keep that in mind next time I don't do drugs."
Caroline swats her shoulder. "Oh, shut up and get your ass out there. Rebekah's prowling around tonight, and she'll give you the judgment look if she sees you walk of shaming out onto the floor." With a shake of her head, the blonde pivots on her heels and sashays towards the door. She opens the doors and music spills in, washing over Elena for a moment before the door closes and she's alone again. With a sigh, she finishes changing and hikes her foot up on the bench, strapping on ridiculously high stilettos. It amazes her still that she's learned to walk in these things. The first time she tried, walking through her home under the watchful eye of her cousin, she had fallen almost immediately. The second and third attempts had gone similarly. And now she glides around in seven and eight inch heels as easily as she runs in sneakers.
Elena sizes herself up in the mirror. Hair loose, bobby pins tucking the frontmost strands back so they don't fall in her face. Top artfully arranged so that it looks as though it's hanging off her body with a few straps, barely covering what needs to be covered, when in actuality there's no way in hell it's going to be displaced. Bottoms so scandalous that she's infinitely glad Jeremy can drive now, and doesn't ever have to hang out in the locker room while she's working. That was a horrible time. Especially with Kat flouncing around without a care in the world for what anyone saw. Sky-high heels notably extending her legs. Dark circles under her eyes. Well, not everything can be perfect. Hopefully no one will notice. Doesn't seem like she's going to get enough sleep tonight, either, with four and a half hours of dancing, and then having to get up early to see if she's gotten a last-minute job. But there's nothing that can be done about that. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Elena walks to the door and pushes it open, letting the ambiance of her workplace engulf her.
As always, there's a slight perfume in the air. Not enough to irritate anyone, and carefully chosen so as not to activate any allergies. Even after four years, she can't quite place the scent, but it's comforting. And it covers anything else. Gives the place class. The lights are atmospherically dim, but not so much that she can't see to the other side of the room. Not like the club. Vicki took her over once, just to look at what went on there. Elena could barely hear, barely see, and barely move (given all the bodies thrashing around with a distinct lack of respect for other people's space). Music throbs in her bones without breaking her ears. Yeah, she knows this place.
Without even thinking about it, the sway sneaks into her walk, switching Elena's hips from side to side as she walks, drawing attention to her curves, the snaky, feminine way her waist twists. She becomes liquid, silk, feline. Anything and everything to draw eyes, draw desire. The stage isn't the main attraction. Not here. Maybe at lower-class places, but here discretion and elegance are valued. She'll dance, but most of it won't be for the public.
More than seeing it, she feels when ice blue eyes snap onto her, assessing everything about her. Rebekah. Of course she couldn't get in without the girl noticing. Elena isn't quite sure why, but Rebekah does not like her. They seemed like they might have an acceptably cordial relationship for her first few months here, but gradually that devolved into a palpable dislike that it's rough for Elena to ignore, considering Rebekah's effectively her boss. She purposefully doesn't make eye contact, just throws an extra undulation into her next step as she winds up towards the stage where Vicki's already performing.
The main stage looks a lot bigger from the floor than it actually is. There's barely enough room for the three poles set into an appealing triangle. A really ambitious Vamp could probably jump from one to another, if she danced barefoot. Which has been done before. (By Katherine, no surprise. Elena's pretty sure there's no one else shameless enough to walk around the club without her shoes on.) Vicki hangs off of one of the front ones, smiling in a way that bounces between seductive and simply happy. Of all the girls, she probably likes the pole the best, even showing off her burns with something akin to pride.
Elena nods a greeting to the other performer before she places her hands on her own pole, walking around a few times just to adjust her hands to the texture, the way it grips and slides. She does this every night, and she's not going to start dancing until the song changers, preferring to just use the back pole to warm up, slip into her splits a few times, and let Vicki finish doing her thing. Courtesy among the dancers is something she infinitely appreciates about working at Original Sins. Intense competition is discouraged, and Elena's never seen a physical fight in her time here.
She scans the crowd. Not good, but not terrible by any means. What can one really expect from a Wednesday night? Instead of Hump Day, the girls have taken to calling it Slump Day. Wednesday and Tuesday continually compete for "worst working night of the week". Frustrating, but what can you do? Nothing. And it's not like any of them are starving. With a sigh, Elena body rolls against the pole, twisting herself into her first lift of the night. It's just a simple climb, but it settles her.
The music changes, and she moves forward, twisting around the pole next to Vicki's and sliding down it, sticking her ass out. Catching the other dancer's eye, Elena mouths "what's going on tonight?" Vicki nods to let her know she got the question.
Both of them twirl around their poles a bit, Elena pulling herself up and hooking her ankle around the equipment, suspended in the air before she slithers back to the ground. Once they've worked themselves into a position where Vicki's back is to the audience, the brunette responds "mostly quiet. Anna didn't show. Rebekah's pissed." Another nod, this time from Elena.
She keeps it simple this song, nothing more complex than using her own momentum to pull herself up sideways, moving into a downward twisting splits. There will be more time for interesting tricks later in the night. Midnightish. Ten isn't bad, but right when the club first opens at seven and towards closing, there's not even any reason to put out effort. No one in the audience is ever worth anything. After a couple more exchanges of information, Elena learns that there's more than one Wolf in the club tonight for the first time in a couple weeks and that Bonnie's replacement for the night is botching the other side, so Rebekah isn't the only one who's pissed. She has nothing new to share, so it's mostly listening, but the exchange of information is a vital part of being a Vamp. For whatever reason, they've learned to survive as a unit, rather than as individuals.
The song winds down, and Vicki bends backwards on her pole, hanging on with one hand and blowing a backwards kiss with the other. Elena tries not to giggle, both at the enthusiastic response from the men present and the disgusted one of the bartender. Then again, she supposes if Jeremy saw her like this, she'd want him to be revolted. Hell, she'd be revolted.
Vicki cycles out, but Elena signals that she wants to do another stage dance. She does get tipped for this, if not as well as she would be for more private functions. It's still early in her night, so she wants to warm up. Ruby joins her onstage. Twenty years old, with a red streak in her hair, her genius lies in the fact that she uses her real name for her pseudonym and no one ever suspects. It also ensures that she never trips up, which is always a problem for new dancers. Elena nods to the other girl but doesn't attempt to talk to her. She doesn't know Ruby like she does Vicki. An establishment like Original Sins has to keep a decent staff of girls, and Elena's close group can't include them all.
When she finishes the second dance, Elena's positive that she's rubbed every inch of her body against that pole. It would probably smell like her, if someone cared to test. She struts off the stage and onto the floor, where people are looking at her appreciatively and signaling to the coordinator. She hopes it's not a group. That's always so much more impersonal and objectifying, as well as rowdy. The good behavior of men tends to decrease considerably as their numbers rise.
A swish of dark hair and thigh-high boots catch Elena's attention. There's only one person bold enough to wander around like that. She chases after the other form, cutting her off midway through the room. "Katherine."
"Elena," her cousin purrs, lifting the whip Elena hadn't realized was hanging at her side and stroking it down Elena's face. "Nice to see you. How'd the appointments go?" In contrast to the utterly mundane topics, Katherine's voice drips with sex and promise.
"Fine, I think. I won't know the results of mine for a bit, but everything's alright with Jer. He's clean."
Katherine nods, leaning more into her hip with an increase in relaxation neither of them knew she needed. "Oh. Good." For all their differences, Elena is sometimes struck by how similar to her cousin she is. Not just facially, though with such close features and coloring they're constantly mistaken for sisters, but in caring about family. Whether she admits it or not, Jeremy's short dalliance with pot worried Kat just as much as it did Elena.
"So, what are you doing out of your Red Room of Pain?"
Katherine raises her eyebrows mockingly, which is as close as she'll ever come to taking offense over something like that. "Red Room of Pain? Really? That's the best you can come up with, Elena?"
"I just got on. Give me some time to drop my mind in the gutter."
The way Katherine laughs is nothing short of sinful. "It ever rises out of there? We haven't done a good enough job of corrupting you." They're leaning close together so they can talk without being heard. It doesn't register until a man taps Elena on the shoulder.
"Are you two sisters?" His tone of voice makes it absolutely clear what he'd like them to do if they are. Perfect at her character, Katherine doesn't rise to it at all.
"We are." It's an easy lie, and brings in more money. Kissing cousins is a joke, not a fantasy. "But…" She thwacks her whip down on the man's shoulder, not hard enough to really hurt, but so that it makes a notable sound. "I was just leaving. Things to do, people to beat… Maybe we'll see you later." She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow and all but dances away, swaying her hips in a way that's the envy of every other Vamp. Try as hard as she might, Elena's never been able to quite recapture the essence that is Katherine.
"Nina!" The girls' coordinator waves her over, and she politely excuses herself. "You've made a new friend."
She smiles up from under her lashes at the man, who holds himself with all the nervous bluster of a wealthy first-timer. "It's nice to meet you, sir." Exchanging an appreciative nod with August, Elena watches for him to flash up the room number for her – three – before indicating that the client should follow her to the back. She got lucky early on, but the night's just beginning, and who knows what the next four hours will bring.
x.x.x
Opening the door to their house as quietly as she can, Elena ushers Kat through first. Her cousin's barefoot again, heels hanging from her hand like a rich drunk girl, as she immediately moves to the kitchen to make herself something to eat. Exhausted, Elena just throws herself down on the couch with her hand over her eyes. She's not sure if she wants to join Kat or just find a way to go to sleep forever. Both sound more appealing than the last four hours.
After her first private dance, the night had been slow. Wednesdays. Slump Day. Kat complained the whole way home about it, and Elena was too tired to even tell her to shut up. She'd spent so much time dancing that they'd actually run out of poles for a while and some girls did floor work while others showed off their acrobatics. Plus, her feet ached. "Ugh."
"You alright?"
"Jeremy!" Elena sat up, looking into the hall in alarm. "It's three in the morning, what the hell are you doing still awake?"
Her little brother shrugged, coming to sit near Elena. "I was asleep for a while. Guess I've just developed a sixth sense for when you two come in." What he means is 'I was worried', but he'd never say it. Both Elena and Katherine have made it clear that they can take care of themselves and don't need someone to watch over them, especially not someone who needs to focus on school. Mostly, Jeremy listens to them.
"Yeah?" Elena yawns, her eyes falling closed for a second. "Well, if you know when I get home, would you mind telling me? My feet are pretty certain I'm still working."
Though Jeremy laughs, he looks concerned. "Do you want me to bring you to your room? Or bring blankets out here?"
"I'm fine, Jer. I can walk to my own bedroom. Thanks for offering, though."
The sound of the blender starts up, and both siblings simultaneously wince, turning their heads to look suspiciously at the kitchen door.
"You don't think she's breaking it, do you?"
"Probably not?" Katherine's not usually excessively destructive. A terrible cook to rival any other bad cook ever? Yes. But she doesn't crack things on a regular basis, which Elena is grateful for. They don't have the budget to constantly replace things. "I'm more worried about what she needs the blender for at three in the morning."
"Dinner, obviously." Katherine appears in the doorway, drinking from one glass that looks like it contains sludge, and holding the other out to her cousins. Apprehensively, Jeremy gets up and takes it, bringing the offering (which thoughtfully contains a spoon) over to Elena.
She prods it. "What's in this?"
"Fruit, yogurt, protein stuff, graham crackers, almonds, chocolate chips…" Kat shrugs. "You know. The main food groups."
"Why am I drinking it, again?"
"So you don't pass out. I'm pretty sure you burned half of the calories you consumed today just by humping that pole."
Elena shoots Katherine an annoyed look, eyebrows raised and eyes flicking to Jeremy, just for a second, clearly asking if she has to say that in front of Elena's brother. In response, Kat just raises her glass, making it perfectly clear that she knows what she's doing. Of course. Elena loves her cousin, but some moments she hates her too.
Grimacing, she takes a sip of Katherine's concoction. It's actually not terrible. Weird, and definitely chunky (the graham crackers were a bad idea) but palatable. Elena sits up, curls her knees to her chest, and keeps drinking it, scooping bites into her mouth with the spoon. "You should go to bed, Jer. You have school tomorrow."
His brow furrows as he looks between the two girls, his sister and his cousin, his only remaining family in the world. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I didn't even make anyone bleed tonight." Katherine raises her eyebrows suggestively. "The only not okay I am is disappointed."
Jeremy winces, standing up to return to his room. "Wow, Kat. I always think I know exactly what I don't want to think about you doing. And then you go and throw something like that out there."
She presses a kiss to her hand and blows it towards him, wiggling her fingers in a goodbye wave. With a laugh, Jeremy raises his middle finger in response before disappearing back towards his bedroom. Katherine sighs, throwing herself down on the chair her cousin just vacated.
"Oof." Throwing her feet up on the coffee table, Katherine takes another sip of her drink and gags on what appears to be an overlarge chunk of graham cracker. Once she finishes coughing, she looks over at Elena, eyes half-open but still alert. "Long night."
"Don't do that," Elena complains. She's exhausted, and that just makes her more annoyed with Katherine's antics.
"Do what?" Kat's fellating her spoon. It's really a marker of how much their jobs have infiltrated their lives – or perhaps how much Kat enjoys hers – that she doesn't even seem to be doing it on purpose. There's no one around to scandalize.
"Talk about me like that with Jer around. I'm still his big sister."
She rolls her eyes. "It's not like it's some big secret, Elena. He knows you're a stripper. He knows I'm a stripper. Hell, he knows all of our friends and they're all strippers too! So if you're worried about scarring him, I think it's a little late for that."
"Because you've done it all on your own, haven't you?" Groaning, Elena kneads her forehead. She needs water or something. To combat the dehydration she's almost positive is setting in. "I'm still his sister, Katherine. I have to take care of him."
"Just in case you've forgotten, Elena, he's eighteen. I'm not saying he's an adult, by any means…" She pulls a mocking face. "But Jeremy can take care of himself too. Eventually he'll be grown up, and you'll have to figure out how to be his sister and his equal." With a wink, she stands up from her chair and drains her glass, all fluid movement even at home. "Just something to think about."
Elena throws a pillow at her cousin's retreating back. It flops uselessly to the floor, and Katherine just laughs, disappearing off to her own room to get some sleep and leaving Elena alone in the living room, drinking the weirdest "dinner" ever with her knees curled up to her chest.
Everything seems clearer, but also blacker at three in the morning. It's as though the confusions of the day flutter away, leaving behind simple clarity. The only problem is that clarity sucks, everything is hopeless and stuck. Part of her thinks that Katherine's right. Her life is what it is, and pretending it's different around Jeremy won't make things better. The other part says that he's her little brother, and it's just excessive. She might just have to learn to live with it, though. Elena's not quite sure what dancers do after Original Sins. All of her peers would be close to graduating college now, and she hasn't attended at all.
That, perhaps, is the worst part of being a Vamp. She's still young, but this is a profession with a ticking clock, counting down the time until you're no longer viable. It's not like she has any prospects. She's never worked another job, and putting "stripper" on your resume tends to turn away potential employers. For a moment, Elena lets her mind flick to the notebooks in her nightstand that she hasn't touched for years, to her editing pencil and the longest word document on her ancient Mac. But that's history. She stands, bringing her glass to the kitchen and putting it in the dishwasher, stretching out her protesting muscles before bed. It doesn't matter anyway. No matter what she thinks or wants or fears, there's one rule that holds absolute, one rule that's going to dictate her future.
Once you belong to the Mikaelsons, you're theirs forever.
x.x.x
Getting an email to this inbox requires a shitload of work. It's rerouted through four different servers, scrambled through two individual codes, and encased in an equal number of firewalls and viruses. A good offense is the best defense, except when you have a good offense and a good defense. Consequently, when the alert pops up that there's a new message, he checks the contents immediately. Which really means directing his brother to the laptop to run several more manual security checks. Better to be safe than sorry: a lesson that's been hammered into all of their heads since they were children.
Finally, the computer is handed back with the assurance that the email is safe. He opens it, running his eyes down the page. The message is brief and cryptic, but comprehensible if you know what you're reading. He does. Leaning back in his chair, he steeples his hands, index fingers pressed to his mouth. He reads the email again. Well. That's interesting.
He picks up his phone, hits two on the speed dial and waits while it rings. She has the most normal schedule of any of them, which is why she's the one who lives with their brother. Finally, she picks up, sounding as irritable as a wet cat. "What?"
"Sister."
"It's five in the morning, what could you possibly want from me?" The accent in her voice gets higher and whinier when she's tired. He smirks.
"Do you think your vampires can play nice with the wolves?"
"Don't ask stupid questions," she grumbles. He forgives her for the rudeness only because she's half-asleep (and because if he spent his time holding her personality against her, they'd never get anything done). "Why do you need them?"
"Let's say I have a feeling we're going to want some bloodsuckers around."
"At five in the morning?"
"Fine." He can be generous. It's not like they're on too much of a rush. But if anyone needs to be with him on this, it's her. "Call me back at seven."
Before the call ends, he hears something that may or may not have been her muttering instructions for him to go fuck himself. Ever setting a model of class, his little sister is. Despite her bad attitude (or in part because of it), he dons a self-satisfied grin. He doesn't care if it causes problems for other people, but he does so enjoy it when things start to get interesting.
Authors note: you normally won't get these, because I just don't write them. Buuut as I said, a lot of pairings are undecided. And I wonder what people are interested in. So if you have any opinions, tell me. That's all for now, loves! 3