I got the ways and means to New Orleans

I'm going down by the river where it's warm and green

I'm gonna have a drink and walk around

I've got a lot to think about.

- Concrete Blonde, Bloodletting

Storm clouds roiled not only over the city of New Orleans but also around the world's original hybrid as he stalked the sidewalks of the French Quarter. Very little had pleased him since he had returned to this city, and the phone call he had received only twenty minutes earlier had not broken the streak of irritations. Klaus Mikaelson was not a man who played well with others, he was certainly not a man was to be summoned by anyone's whim, and the call he had gotten was definitely not a polite invitation. The fact that he had to, yet again, remind everyone who he was made Klaus a very unhappy man.

None of the main floor lights were on inside the bar, apparently closed to business that night. Klaus did not hesitate for a second. He kicked the doors open, rending metal locks in twain. The glass window in one of the doors burst, raining shards of glass across the floor, when it rebounded off the wall behind it

There was the sound of people moving overhead and Klaus growled, "Marcel!" Then he waited. He would go no further. They would come to him, as it should have been all along.

"Klaus, Klaus, my man," Marcel sing-songed good-naturedly as he came down the stairs that were roped off and posted as 'Personnel Only.' He did stop at the bottom of the steps to take in the broken glass, busted doors, and his very angry maker. "There's a doorbell, you know," he joked, never losing his wide, white, smile.

"Do not dissemble with me, Marcel," Klaus warned. "Explain to me why I shouldn't be revoking my earlier truce and tearing your heart out right now. Or was the phone call I received just another misunderstanding?"

Marcel's friendly façade evaporated. "I thought you might be interested in a little something my boys picked up earlier this evening," he said with a cool assuredness that only came when one truly felt they held the upper hand.

Haley. The name instantly echoed through Klaus' mind. Marcel had used whatever power he had over the witches and found the coven and the girl. 'No. Elijah would have gotten word to me faster than this lot could ever have assembled. Elijah would not fail me there.'

There was movement on the stairs behind Marcel once more that drew Klaus' attention. One of Marcel's 'boys' appeared first, closely followed by a second who had a prone form thrown over his shoulder furthest from Klaus' view. Without even turning around to look at his goons, Marcel gestured for the man to unload his burden on top of the bar.

"Anyone you know?" Marcel asked and he stepped aside to give Klaus a better view.

Klaus couldn't keep his heart from pounding when he saw the cascade of blonde hair that had spilled over the edge of the bar. He pushed past Marcel to get to the bar and let his hands delicately trailing over the bits of flesh that his eyes visually examined for any sign of injury. Her hands and ankles were bound with ropes that had been soaked in vervain. They left red burns on her milky skin, but there were no other marks or bruises.

Klaus leaned forward over her, protectively pressed her against his chest, and softly whispered near her ear, "Caroline?" She made no other sound except that of delicate inhales and exhales.

"They found her near Jackson Square talking with a witch. About you."

"Marcel," the word was barely more than a rush of breath but they oozed with menace, "you are about to have a whole new world of trouble to deal with. I daresay, you won't have time to even think about witches."

"I told you Klaus, this is my city now! I make the rules and my boys enforce them. Any supernaturals who want to spend time here obey the rules."

"You do not command me, Marcel!" Klaus roared as he spun back to step up toe-to-toe with his once-progeny. "I made you! I am an Original!"

The softest dry cough broke into the tension and all of the men shifted to have a better look at Caroline on the bar. "Klaus?" her voice was raspy and unsure. Her eyes were open, but heavy lidded. Slivers of relief shot through the black rage that held Klaus tight.

Klaus went back to her and cupped her face with his hands, his eyes frenziedly searching hers. "Are you all right, Sweetheart?"

"I…," but her eyes fluttered closed as she slipped into unconsciousness again.

He let his fingers stroke her hair back from her forehead a few times as his system reshaped a flash of helplessness into the razor-sharp coldness that Klaus knew so very well. "For you, love," he said to Caroline.

The elder vampire moved with such speed that the two lackeys didn't even realize what was happening until Klaus was up to his elbows within their ribcages. His hands tightened around their pumping hearts and he gloated at Marcel's wide-eyed gape.

"You may think this is your city," Klaus hissed vehemently, "but you do not rule me. And you do not touch what is mine!" The two hearts in his hands tore easily away from their arteries and connective tissues and the two vampires slumped to the ground at Klaus' feet, the terror of their final moments frozen onto their faces. Their dismembered organs plopped wetly on the floor when Klaus dropped them. "That's three of your boys that I've killed now, and they won't be the last. You've brought this bloodletting on yourself, Marcel."

Marcel said nothing and made no move as Klaus went back to the bar and scooped Caroline up into his blood-smeared arms. Klaus stopped one last time on his way out of the bar when he was side-by-side with Marcel. "That's the problem with being king, mate," the Original vampire said convivially with his most wicked of grins. "There's always a revolution just waiting to overthrow you. Viva le roi."