. monsters and men .

i. little talks

Chester was currently unimpressed.

Today was the day she turned twenty-one.

It was an excuse for her to be out partying and indulging in those guilty hedonistic pleasures that regular birthdays just don't allow. It was a reason to act crazy, have fun, and be free of inhibitions.

A night to drink herself blind, but probably not one she would remember.

Chester has this uncanny ability to get so completely blackout drunk that trying to recall her own name the next morning would more likely cause an aneurism than anything else.

Chester actually quite enjoyed getting wasted despite the following hangovers—at least, she wouldn't have to suffer the shameful memories of whatever immoral act she'd committed the night before.

That's what she should be doing right this moment. Getting wasted and committing immoral acts. She was turning twenty-one, damn it!

She was supposed to be at some seedy rave, drinking booze with both people she didn't know and friends she didn't like.

She was supposed to be having fun.

However, in contrast, Chester was sitting on an uncomfortable wooden barstool, drinking alone, as she waited for her mother to show.

Instead of being able to binge drink and act like a slag with likeminded folks, Chester was stuck with the gruelling task of playing the waiting game with her mother.

Her mother, who was an hour and a half late—according to Chester's iPhone—and still hadn't responded to any of her texts or calls.

Sad thing is, Chester was completely unsurprised by her mother's behaviour. She wouldn't even be surprised if the woman didn't show up at all.

Despite it always being her mother who wished to meet up (it always is an emergency, isn't it?), Chester always ends up the one being let down, abandoned and alone.

One or two hours is nothing compared to the days and weeks the woman could disappear for.

Her mother pulled this act so many times on so many different occasions that Chester didn't even bother to be surprised anymore.

Chester sighed, fingering the edge of her tumbler as she thought of Elizabeth Bishop.

The woman was unstable, neurotic, and much too whimsical for her own good—the exact same reasons why Chester needed to wait for her, to worry about her, to take care of her.

Her mother would be lost in more ways than one if it weren't for her.

Chester sighed again, languidly dragging the slight condensation along the glass with a fingertip until small swirls patterned along the misted areas.

Looking at the muted light reflecting off the burnished orange liquid within her tumbler made her sigh once more, a soft huff following the previous.

Scotch. Single malt.

She hated Scotch, but loved to drink it. It tended to be her prime choice of liquor when she wanted to drown her emotions.

Which probably makes me out to be some sort of alcoholic, she thought with a deprecating sense of humour. Only drunks and desperate housewives know what type of booze they prefer to drown out their sorrows.

Drinking Scotch always made Chester forget herself.

Something about the burn of the alcohol against her larynx never failed to comfort her.

Plus, why waste time getting tipsy from pretty coloured cocktails when you can just get to it? she thought, the bitter taste of whisky lingering on her tongue. Not to mention, there's a marginal difference in the degree of hangover the next morning. Bonus? I think so.

The door to the Grill clankered open, clearly in need of some oil as it let out a muted cry; wincing at the sound, Chester instinctively turned to see who had arrived.

Despite knowing the likely probability of it not being her mother, Chester still found herself irritatingly hopeful.

Each and every time, she scorned herself. It's like I never learn.

Every time she's let down and ditched, Chester always tells herself that there wouldn't be a next time, that she wasn't going to wait for a woman who didn't care enough to show up.

But there always is a next time, and another time following that.

Chester hated that she just let herself be taken advantage, that she let her own mother walk all over her.

She told herself to learn from her mistakes, to stop expecting things to happen just because she wanted them to. Chester told herself all that, repeatedly and continuously.

Each and every time; and yet, Chester somehow always ends up waiting anyway.

Gripping the glass tumbler, she quickly knocked it back, drinking the remaining liquid. It wasn't her mother who just walked in.

However, it was someone Chester vaguely recognized.

She couldn't put a name to the face, but she recalled the familiarity of the girl; pretty, blonde, voluminous curls.

Ah, of course. Chester recalled a younger version of the girl, bright-eyed and sharp-tongued. She used to live a house down from Chester. Caroline, I think? She was vicious in her little spats with that tall brunette friend of hers.

Chester briefly wondered if she should wave, to invoke some sort of friendly nostalgia. Deciding it wasn't much of an idea, she quickly turned back to her empty tumbler before they could make eye contact (and thus be forced to acknowledge one another).

I doubt she even remembers me much, she thought dismissively. Even if she does, it'd be a rather awkward reunion. Chester quirked her lips into a smirk as a stray thought crossed her mind. I wonder if she knows that it was me who ran over her prized outdoor tea set that one summer, she pondered, recalling the disastrous incident. Probably not, since she has yet to bitch-slap me across the bar…

Chester smiled, remembering how nervous she had been in the face of ten-year old Caroline Forbes. She really loved that tea set. Even being four years older than the other girl, and Chester had still gotten sweaty palms and shaky knees when faced with lying to those dubious blue eyes. She probably cried for days after I told her a rabid raccoon rampaged through it. Never held a tea party ever again after that. 'To pay her respects for the dearly depart,' was her justified reasoning.

Now smiling, Chester motioned towards the bartender. She checked her phone with her other hand whilst waiting for her glass to be refilled.

Only a minute and a half had past since she last checked, making her sigh heavily. I hate it when time passes way slower than it seems.

Taking another sip of Scotch, she could hear the neighbouring customers speak out quite loudly, from further down the bar.

"I remember her from last night," a teasing voice said, smug with an oddly distinguished accent. It sounded mostly British, much like Chester's own lilt, but there was also something more to it. "She looks like a tasty little thing," the guy practically purred to his companion, almost goading.

Chester wrinkled her nose, wondering what exactly that meant. It sounded suggestive, but instead of a dark promise of pleasure, it seemed to propose something more... undesirable.

"Say another word, and I'll tear out your liver," replied a smooth drawl, deeper in tone but with the same accented speech.

Curious—and slightly disgusted, if she were being completely honest—Chester peered over the edge of her tumbler at the two men standing a few feet to her right.

They were both good-looking, oddly so—inhumanely so—and apart from their classic porcelain skin tone, they contrasted in colouring.

One was fair-haired and blue-eyed, slightly rugged with his perfectly chiselled features and nonchalant bearing. He looked suave, but Chester could see a predatory glint in his eyes, making her instinctively edge away.

The other had dark hair and eyes, with impossibly clean-cut features. He seemed much younger than his friend, the cheeky tilt of his lips adding a fresh quality to his demeanour.

While his blond friend had a dangerous air about him, Chester found herself more unnerved by the dark-haired one.

He just seemed off.

Chester felt a chill run down her spine. She rubbed her bare arms, hoping to rid herself of the unhinged feel of peril that crept upon her.

"Caroline," the blond man called out as Caroline made to brush by them with a confident indifference.

The sound of his voice was loud enough to distract Chester from the prickling unease scratching at the back of her neck.

Chester knew it was probably quite rude to be so interested in other people's business, but she was bored; she discretely leant further back on her bar stool and pretended to sip her Scotch as she silently observed.

Good to see things haven't changed much around here, she noted. Caroline always did have that incredibly odd knack of getting caught up in one drama or another, Chester thought, slightly amused. Perhaps if I observe long enough, I'll see something interesting and ease my boredom.

Chester edged back further on her stool, fully aware of how nosy she was being but was simply too eager for some sort of entertainment to truly care.

Caroline glanced dismissively at the man, making to brush him off by walking on by with a dismissive glance. In the same motion, she pivoted on her heel deciding to acknowledge the man's presence after all, crossing her arms and sneering down her nose at him.

"Oh, it's you," she said, rather snidely as she pursed her lips in contempt.

Chester almost scoffed when the blond man's features developed a complacent expression, pleased that he got the girl to notice him, and much too smug to notice a calculating look flash through Caroline's eyes.

Entirely too smug for his own good.

Foolish man, Chester thought with the slightest bit of pity. Confidence is one thing. Overconfidence, however, is something else entirely.

The look Caroline had in her eyes—coy, cunning, promising, but all for the wrong reasons—was similar to the one her mother loved to adopt in the presence of men. A look that aimed to lure and manipulate, a look to tempt and gain, a look that meant trouble.

Chester had seen the results of it more times than she'd wanted too; and it was always messy.

Well, whatever, she brushed off, not wanting to be unwarrantedly intrusive. Eavesdropping and 'people-watching' was intrusive enough. Giving random people relationship advice is just creepy. What he does is his business. If the bloke lands in Caroline's mess, then it'll be his mess to clean up. I don't even know the guy, so I don't really care either way.

"Join us for a drink?" the blond asked, tempting Caroline with his smooth voice and punctuating with a small gesture to his tumbler.

His dark-haired friend mimicked him, lifting his drink in a friendly salute with a smirk upon fixed his handsome face. He appeared more mocking than anything else.

"Hmm," Caroline pondered out loud, tilting her head a fraction. "I'd rather die of thirst," she sneered. "But, thanks." She sounded anything but thankful as turned and walked away, curly blonde waves bouncing in sync with the clicks of her heels.

"Isn't she stunning?" the blond commented, almost purring his words.

"She certainly looks good walking away from you," his friend sniped back in mocking humour.

Lifting his tumbler, Chester watched as the blond finish off the rest of his liqueur. Placing the glass down onto the polished wood of the bar, he smirked.

"I'll take that as a challenge."

Chester watched as the man trailed after Caroline, a confident glide to his walk as he slipped out into the night.

Of course, no man can resist a challenge, Chester scoffed. Typical.

Eyes still lingering on the closing front door, Chester absentmindedly smiled to herself, dragging the tip of her pinky around the circular edge of her glass.

"Amused, are you?

Chester was vaguely startled by the familiar accented voice, taking note of the dark-haired man as he sidled into a closer bar stool. It was the other half of the pair she'd been staring at.

His leg brushed against hers as he leaned closer, making her cross her legs in avoidance.

"Excuse me?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"I saw you staring," he said, "rather blatantly, might I add. I know I'm quite handsome, but you should work on subtlety."

"I wasn't blatant."

"But you were staring," he pointed, grinning. "As you've all but admitted when you didn't deny."

"Innocent until proven guilty?"

"More like guilty until proven otherwise," he shot back. "I know you were staring."

He was too smug for Chester's liking.

Smirking, she raised a brow in challenge.

"Perhaps I was, perhaps not. Either way, it wasn't at your so-called 'appeal'. You're not that fit."

He scoffed, raising his own brow fractionally whilst giving her the most dubious look possible. He clearly regarded himself quite highly.

Fine, you're pretty damned hot, she admitted within the confines of her mind. Though I'm not about to admit anything when you're already this bigheaded.

"So?" Chester prompted. "What do you want?"

"I was curious."

"About…" she trailed off expectantly.

"Why were you so amused?" he bluntly asked, his tone all but demanding.

Chester didn't like the sense of entitlement he seemed to adopt in his speech. She scowled at his gall.

Clicking her tongue in chastisement, she knocked back the rest of her Scotch. Wincing at the burn, the buzz of alcohol made her decide to humour him.

There's almost nothing else to do anyways, she reasoned. Why not play with the cheeky, little prat to pass my boredom?

"Your friend was foolish," she said frankly, "to follow Caroline, I mean."

He smirked, ruffling his dark hair before straightening it out with deft fingers.

"Really? I've heard Nik called many things, but 'foolish' isn't usually one of the many."

"If he couldn't tell she was clearly up to something, I'd reckon he's more daft than foolish."

He laughed, the corner of his lips tilting up to reveal straight white teeth.

"Daft? Oh, that's just rich."

"Yeah? How so?"

"Just that…" he trailed off, chuckling to himself as he seemed to recall something amusing. "Well, it's just that usually when something involves my brother," he shook his dark head derisively, "people tend to limit their name-calling to nicer things, like: psychotic monster, bloodthirsty killer, and sadistic mass-murderer." He raised a finger to note each name he'd listed.

Chester stared at his earnest features.

"You're joking," she denied plainly.

Smirking at her unamused expression, he pondered quietly, "Am I, really?"

Chester looked at him inquisitively, she hadn't clearly caught what he mumbled beneath his breath.

He chuckled once more, shaking his head in amusement and sending her a calculating look from beneath long, dark lashes.

"Well," Chester prompted, "let's say, hypothetically, your brother really is some psychopath with crazy-ass, murderous tendencies." The dark-haired man snorted in flat humour. "Reckon that he probably enjoys hunting people, or something, 'cause it gives him a thrill." He tilted his head fractionally, waiting for her to continue. "Shouldn't he have better survival instincts if he's such a big, bad predator?"

He peered at her with subtle curiousity, scrutinizing her with slightly narrowed eyes.

"I fail to see your point. If he's the predator, wouldn't that make her the prey?"

"Hypothetically, yes. However—"

"Isn't her who needs to be more cautious?" he interrupted.

Chester rolled her eyes, annoyed that he cut her off. It was him who wanted to know what I'd thought in the first place.

"Before you kindly interrupted like a pleasantly bigheaded prat," she said, smiling sarcastically when his eyes flashed with slight irritation, "I was going to say that the predator versus prey analogy shouldn't actually be applied in real world situations—especially not when we're talking about interactions between opposite genders—because it'd be, like, totally unreliable in its inaccuracy."

"Oh?" he prompted. "Seems pretty accurate to me. Girls tease, men chase—isn't that how it's always been? Pretty much a predator versus prey situation, no?"

"Yeah, but who's the predator and who's the prey? There are a lot of man-eaters out there."

"'Man-eater'?" he asked, dubiously. "What type of forsaken creature is that?"

Chester looked at him oddly. "Surprised you've never heard of them before, pretty boy. They aren't 'forsaken creatures'—'man-eaters'—they're typical humans, usually women, who have a taste for the flesh of man. I reckon you've seen one or two before, they're practically everywhere nowadays."

"I'm pretty sure I'd remember if I'd seen one," he retorted, looking at her unconvinced. "Also, pretty sure humans with taste for actual flesh are called cannibals."

Chester gave him another odd look, a mix of amusement and bemusement tingeing her features.

"They, man-eaters, are just incredibly dominant women who have many different interchangeable sexual partners, all of whom they use as they please. Like toys. They don't actually eat men," she clarified. "You know that, right?"

He paused to give her an unamused stare before rolling his eyes indignantly. "Of course I knew that."

"Right. Sure you did."

He glared at her as she scoffed out a soft laugh.

"So that Caroline is one of those? A 'man-eater'?" he spoke the word with no lack of distaste.

Chester laughed loudly, taking a sip of her Scotch before speaking, "No. No, I don't think Caroline is going to eat your brother," she teasedgnora. "In any way," she added pointedly when he gave her a suggestive leer. "But I do remember Caroline to be pretty vicious. Your brother's in for it if he wants to chase that one about."

"She looked pretty harmless to me."

"That's the point."

"The point of?" he prompted.

"That's the point of it. She looked pretty harmless, not because she is. Even if you're brother's a psycho axe-murderer, he's still going to get caught by her."

"Caught? I reckoned my brother was the one doing the chasing, not the other way around."

Chester grinned. "That's why you're just as foolish as him."

"Thank you for that," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"At least you aren't as daft as him."

He laughed. "Yes, at least I've got that going for me."

"At least you've got that, yes," she drawled, finding herself flirting as she gave him a suggestive once-over. He really is really fit. Incredibly so. "But that's pretty much all you've got going for you," Chester added snarkily, shaking herself out of her entranced state.

"I beg to differ, darling," he purred, leaning in. "I saw that."

"Saw what?" she asked innocently.

"You're still as blatant as before," he breathed.

His face was within an inch from hers, and she could almost taste the sharp scent of his cologne.

Chester paused for a moment, transfixed by how good the man smelt and how dark his eyes were.

Coughing loudly, she broke herself away and proceeded to down her Scotch in effort to calm her nerves.

Giving him a sideways look, she said, "You better quit while you're ahead. I'd be too much trouble for a bloke like you."

"I like trouble." He smirked cheekily.

"I'm sure you do," Chester drawled sardonically, smile tugging at her lips once more. "But some things are better left untouched."

He hummed thoughtfully, smirking more prominently as he voiced his disagreement by giving her a slow, appreciative once-over.

"So, about my brother, what makes him so foolish?"

Pleased at the change in topic, Chester scoffed, "The fact that he was so willing to give chase—like a puppy with a ball—is what makes him so foolish. That was exactly what Caroline wanted, and he played right into her hands."

"But it shall be her who pays when she gets caught, won't it? After all, she is playing with fire here. She will get burned." He smirked with an eager look of anticipation.

Chester paused. "One, that was super creepy how incredibly bloodthirsty you sounded right there." He chuckled darkly. She gave him an odd glance. "Two, Caroline might get singed a bit, but in the end, she'll be the one tugging around the leash. Not him."

"He might strangle her with that proverbial leash then."

"Once again, you're super creepy," she said, giving him a disturbed glance, "and she won't give him a chance to do so. Did you see the way he freaking chased tail out of here?"

He laughed loudly at her words, speaking through his chuckles, "I'm quite enjoying the way you keep comparing my brother to a dog."

Chester rolled her eyes. "Aren't all men?" she joked with a quick smirk.

"You seem to speak from experience," he retorted with a slight leer, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. "Lots of it."

"Hardy-har-har," she said flatly, though she was unable to quell her lingering smile. "Watch out folks, we've got quite the comedian here."

"I aim to please." He wagged his eyebrows for effect.

Chester scoffed, "Please. Don't make me vomit on you."

"More like swoon on me."

"Not even in your wildest dreams, pretty boy."

"Now, darling, what would you know of my wildest dreams?" he purred.

"Nothing," she responded with a snort. "I don't know a thing, and for that I'm glad, 'cause I doubt I'd have enough bleach to handle it."

"There's plenty of other things you could handle instead." Chester scoffed dismissively at his innuendo, but that didn't deter him as he placed a hand upon her knee, slowly trailing up her leg with his slender fingers. "Under my guidance, we could make them into reality, those wild dreams of mine," he whispered into her ear. "They'd be so much more hands on, you see—so much easier to handle, yes?"

Chester bit at her lip, slightly tempted to just ditch the idea of waiting around for her no-show mother and give into the idea of having a quick one-night stand with a really hot guy whose name she didn't even know.

Like mother, like daughter, she found herself thinking derisively as she inched closer to the dark-haired man.

He seemed quite pleased with himself as he shifted even closer, harshly gripping her thigh with firm fingers.

She leaned in further, intent on closing the space that lingered tensely between them. His breath felt cool and minty along the seam of her lips.

His lips barely brushed hers as her phone buzzed loudly, making an irritating noise against the wood of the bar top as it vibrated.

Jerking away in surprise, Chester quickly palmed her phone, answering with a heavy sigh.

The dark-haired man seemed to share her sentiments as he frowned angrily at the electronic device.

"Hello?"

"Hey, hey, hey, honey," a drawling voice slurred the speaker. "It's me, your mother."

"I've gathered, mum. There's this thing called 'caller ID' that conveniently exists in our world."

"Hey, no need to sass me, young lady. I am your mother."

"Fine," Chester huffed. "So, where are you?"

A hysterical giggle sounded from the phone. "Yeah… About that…"

"Mother!"

"Chill out, baby. I just need to think a bit, yeah?" There was a pause; drunken stumbling could be heard on the other end. Along with more giggling and a rougher, manlier chuckle."Where are you, sweet cheeks? Out partying it up like the proper young lassie you are?" She laughed uproariously as if she told the funniest joke before continuing to speak,"I've certainly been rather busy—if you know what I mean."

"Mum, you're drunk. I've been waiting at the bar for at least two hours now. Where the bloody hell are you?"

"Language, missy," the voiced tsk-ed. "Wait, which bar?"

"The Grill, Mystic Falls, remember?"

"Yeah…" she trailed off."Nope. Don't remember jack. Did I really tell you to meet me there?"

Chester clenched her jaw. "Yes."

"Well, clearly I'm not there. Am I now, my dear? Are you sure I asked to meet up with you? Today?"

Chester was breathing deeply through her nose. "You said it was an 'emergency'. To 'come quickly', because this time you weren't being the typical you and spouting out bloody nonsense as usual," she snapped. "Clearly, you're still being you."

"Aw," the voice could be heard feigning a pout on the other end. "Don't be mad, baby. You should be glad that nothing bad has happened, yeah? You can drive on home now that everything's good with me. Not like you have much to do anyway," her mother said light-heartedly."You should go out more, missy."

Chester could feel the heat rising to her face, and she didn't know what exactly made her explode but she reckoned it was either her mother's unwarranted tone of condescension or the throaty male chuckles that echoed through from behind them.

"Fuck you, mum," she hissed viciously. "Oh, wait. Clearly that's already being done by whatever loose-ass bloke you're currently with."

"Excuse me?"

"Goodbye, mother. Have a nice fucking life. Don't call me again, and don't ever expect me to worry about you anymore. Bye."

Chester hung up as her mother struggled to reply, slamming her iPhone onto the bar for good measure.

Remembering that she was still currently sitting next to someone, she turned awkwardly towards him with an uncertain expression across her face.

He stared blankly back.

"So," she ventured. "This is awkward."

He scoffed, "Spell out the obvious, why don't you?"

"Be incredibly snarky, why don't you?" Chester bit back. She sighed. "Sorry, sorry. It's just… Family stuff, y'know?"

He smirked humourlessly. "Believe me, I definitely know."

Both of them fell into silence, neither in the mood to continue their banter as different topics weighed heavily upon their minds.

Chester cleared her throat. "Well, I guess I'll go now, yeah?" She gathered her phone into her pocket and shrugged on her red pea coat. "Nice talking to you, pretty boy."

He stopped her with a firm grasp on her arm. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but stopped himself, only giving her a dark leer in response.

Chester frowned as the grip on her arm tightened. "Right. You can let go now." She tried to tug herself free but with no avail. "Hey…" she protested.

She felt her breath quicken as the dark-haired man gave her an inscrutable look, making her feel rather light-headed at how entirely foreboding it seemed.

He smirked. "Let me walk you out."

"Uh," she stammered. "No, that's okay. Really. I'll be f—"

He dragged her out of the Mystic Grill before she could finish her sentence.

The cold air hit her face like a rude awakening. They were in the back alley, Chester noted, using her free hand to pull her jacket closer as a draft caught her throat.

She shivered, but not because of the cold.

"Now, although we've talked for quite some time, I believe we've yet to be introduced," he said pleasantly. "Quite rude of me, really."

Chester looked up uncertainly, opening her mouth to speak.

"No, wait," he demanded, almost childishly. "Don't tell me your name. I like the mystery. This way, you'll be all mine to solve." He chuckled, the light sound tinged with a sinister edge.

Yeah, no thanks, pretty boy. Chester spun on her heel, jerking herself away through the use of her own momentum. She barely made it a step before she was slammed into the hard brick of the building's wall.

Chester's eyes widened as her breath got knocked straight out of her; they widened even further at the proximity he was suddenly forcing. He had her pressed flush up against the wall with his own larger body, looming over her before she blinked twice.

I swear I didn't even see the guy move, she thought in alarm.

Chester felt an involuntary shiver rack down her spine as she caught his menacing gaze. Gone was the pleasant, if not incredibly cheeky, boy she'd bantered with, and in his place was something else.

Something more.

Feral. Sadistic. Real.

Chester breathed a shuddering breath, the white wisps fading into the dark night.

"I'm Kol Mikaelson. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

His eyes turned blacked as he lunged forward.