A/N: These'll just be random multi-shots for when I have writers block on my actual Originals story (or other stories). Or just trying to improve my writing. Some of these will be long (like this one) others can end up being drabbles. If you like, comment. All will be random and may be AU or canon. :) T rating permanent.
LUCIEN ACCEPTS HOPES ODD REQUEST FOR A BABYSITTER. HE SOON FINDS OUT THAT HE ISN'T CONTROLLING THE SEVEN YEAR OLD AS MUCH AS HE HOPED. - OBVIOUSLY LUCIEN IS ALIVE-
The phone rang for a third time and he wrestled away from the two woman, grappling with the phone at the edge of the glass table. It nearly fell out of his fumbling hands before his eyes narrowed to identify the blurry name on the screen. "Compound?" He muttered.
It must be important if one of the Mikaelsons had called this many times, and if he could benefit from their troubles . . . well, he wasn't one to say no to an opportunity. He shoved one of the women away from him as he twisted up. "And who is this time, needing help?" He drawled.
"Is this Mr. Lucien?" A tiny voiced asked.
A hand began to slither beneath his boxers and he shoved it away. Jesus, they were more honed in on their target than a missile. Didn't they know he was going to throw some money their way later (if they survived)?
"Now here's a voice I haven't heard before. Is this still a Mikaelson?"
"It's Hope. Hope Mikaelson." He rolled his eyes, as if there were any other Hopes any supernatural entity needed to know about, "Can I ask for your help, Mr. Lucien?"
"Well that really depends . . . I'm a little busy."
"Oh." Her voice dropped in disappointment, "Well I'm home alone . . . um, all alone."
Lucien swatted away one of the woman's hand away again. Finally he sat up and a bra fell onto his lap - where the hell had that even come from? Events like these were always a flurry of clothes that ended up falling down from odd locations with no particular timing. It always lead him to questioning Newtons law; clearly the man had never been to one of his parties. A little voice brought out of his drunken reverie, "What do you mean you're home alone?" He asked.
"Nobody's here. And daddy says I need someone to be here at all times."
"And you called me, then?"
"Yep!"
"And you realize I'm not to be trusted, don't you? With daddy's paranoia I thought you really would've learnt that lesson by now."
"Ok! But I trust you, Mr. Lucien. So can you please come over?" She said as she threw out his words of advice straight through the window.
He was drunk and the two imbeciles were pawing at his lap . . . Well it wasn't like he was about to miss anything great and a change of scenery may wake him up a little. Plus, there was an opportunity in this somewhere, he knew. "Oh alright, stay put."
"You can come in, Mr. Lu-" but he had already hung up the phone and now turned to face the woman who's mascara had smeared around her dark eyes.
"I need to sober up with another drink." He announced. Before the woman could giggle at the thought of more alcohol her eyes widened in horror and a sound escaped her lips as she tried to back away. Quicker than a viper he had grabbed her and pulled her close, her heart beat against his chest and he tightened his grip before sinking in his fangs; her scream was cut short.
Meanwhile his other hand shot out and twisted the neck of the second. She'd make a good snack when he came back.
-0-
He found her hiding beneath the blankets with all the lights turned on. A wolf, lamb, and horse stuffed animal were surrounding her like guardians. Rather futile ones, in his opinion. "Well you sure sounded more confident on the phone."
Her head peaked out from under the covers. After scrutinizing him to make sure it really was Lucien she let the covers slid, revealing a blue pyjama set. She let out a little sigh in relief as she looked at her newly ordained babysitter.
A bloody babysitter. Why has he agreed to this? But before he question his mental state any further Baby Mikaelson began speaking.
"Of course. That's what Mommy does, and Aunt Freya, and Auntie Beks, and Uncle Elijah, and-"
"Alright I got it. If you go through all of the Mikaelson spawn I really will die of old age."
"What does spawn mean?" She asked.
". . . Ask your father. Now what do you want me to do. What does babysitting even entail."
Hope opened her mouth and closed then. Then her eyes slid upwards as she thought hard over what being a baby sitter really meant. Finally she refocused on Lucien, who was now leaning against the old oak desk. "Well . . . I don't know . . . You're just here. But Uncle Kol likes to tell me stories about witches - they're not very nice witches. He thinks it's funny so I let him tell them anyway, I don't think they're very funny . . . But Auntie Beks always tells me fairy tales; so does mommy too. Dad reads books; he's reading to me right now The C-"
"Alright I don't need your life's story" he waved his hand dismissively, ". . . alright, so watch Baby Mikaelson. Got it."
"I'm not a baby." She said haughtily.
"Oh, and how old are you, then?" Lucien asked.
"I'm seven."
"So a baby." He translated.
"I'm not a baby!" Hope protested.
He gave a sound of indifference. Finally they settled into uncomfortable silence. Her indignation had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Now Hope was looking at him as if she expected something more of him. He had already come over. What did the demanding little cretin want? His eyes wondered around the room. Perhaps there were interesting supernatural artifacts hiding around . . . Artifacts he could use to his own ends. Who would suspect an innocent child's room, after all?
A child's room with multiple horse drawings, presumably drawn by the great Niklaus Mikaelson himself. A child's room with a little pink lamp in it and a book shelf full of children's books.
Then again . . . He couldn't imagine a possible scenario where Nik would ever allow his precious little supernatural baby to ever get caught in the crosshairs of war. Ironic, as he had built a thousand year highly impressive reputation as being a despicable monster. She was born in battle and would have her entire life surrounded by it. Just as his life had been ruined by the Mikaelson's, so would hers.
But back to artifacts and cursed objects. No one was around to see him snooping. No one but the little creature he was looking after. That would be easy to take care off. . .
"Mr. Lucien?" She asked, bringing him out of his thoughts.
"Yes?" He sighed
"Can you tell me a bed time story?" Her voice was tentative while her eyes were widened hopefully.
Was that all it would take to make the little creature quiet and able for him to explore? "Sure. There once was a man and woman. They fell in love. The end. Alright goodnight I'm going to go-"
"Wait, what?! Mr. Lucien!" She exclaimed, appalled. "That's not even a fairy tale, what's the girls name? Where did she come from? Where-"
He cut her off before she could unleash a million and one questions. Did all children do this? Wasn't there a bloody mute button somewhere? He had never been happier that he could have no children, let alone a 'happy' little accident . . . or ten-thousand. The thought nearly made him shudder. "You asked for a bed time story, not a fairy tale."
She frowned, "I meant fairy tale."
He considered locking her in the basement. "Will you go to bed if I do this?"
She pressed her lips together for a moment as she thought. Finally she said, "Will you leave me after?"
No, I'll be looking for dark objects to use against your family later. "No, I'll stay here until someone comes home. How about that?"
She gave a happy nod and quickly settled in the bed, pulling the covers up to her check and tossing onto her side to look at him. With unease at her intent gaze he settled himself onto the chair. Lucien didn't know any damned fairy tales. It wasn't as if there was ever a scenario where he needed to use it. Until now, apparently. It looked like he did not always think ahead after all; it was a scenario he hadn't pictured. And what were the bloody odds? Clearly the cretin in front of him was defective, all other children steered clear of him. None would even dare ask him for a story let alone come up to speak to him.
He scratched his neck as he thought. Finally he had one. He may well be able to use it against Nik later if he could sway Hope into sympathising with the story . . . When she grew older he would tell her the real story behind each character. Yes, this could actually all work out rather well. All because Kol, presumably, had left his little niece. He never was the smartest of the Original Brady Bunch.
"There once was a pauper who lived in a castle. He played with- "
"What was his name?"
"Er - Symon. Well, Symon was best friends with Agnes. But Agnes was a beautiful princess who was going to marry some prince some day. Her father was a very cruel man and he had the paupers father killed because he did not pay a debt in time."
Hopes eyes widened and her brow furrowed, "but why not? Why didn't he pay in time?"
"Because the cruel King had decided the debt was due much earlier than he had originally said. The pauper was very angry at the King; and the court; and all the little rich people who ran around. The pauper knew they hid behind their money. They weren't very nice people, he decided. Now the pauper was all alone. Him and the princess Agnes were no longer best friends because the pauper was angry. Agnes grew up to be a wicked little princess, but only because of her father. The pauper knew she was still nice if he just looked for her kindness. He knew she could be as kind as she was beautiful, and her smile was like the shine of the summer sun and her eyes sparkled like a thousand stars. One da-"
"But a princess can't be wicked. She's supposed to be gracious and kind to every person and every animal. She's supposed to love everything." She interrupted.
He rolled his eyes. "Did you pay attention to anything I said? I said she was a product of her surroundings - but deep down she's not actually wicked."
Hopes small brows furrowed at 'products of her surroundings', but she pressed onwards, "but Cinderella had a cruel stepmother and sisters and she still didn't turn out mean."
"Well Agnes isn't Cinderella." He snapped. "Anyway one day a demon came to the castle. But every one thought he was a man. The pauper became friends with the demon - Nilson - and when the pauper found out what he really was, he decided a demon that was that nice couldn't actually be bad. So Nilson and Symon became friends-"
"Why would he trust a demon? That's stupid."
He smirked and wagged a finger at her, "Ah yes, that was to become Symons greatest regret for a long time, Little Mikaelson! That demon turned out to be very wicked indeed . . . And very hard to kill."
"Did Symon kill him? What did the demon do?" She asked, continuing her relentless onslaught of questions. It would be a lot harder to hear her questions if she was in the basement . . .
"Symon has been working on that. And if you let me get back to the story, I can tell you."
Hope nodded. By now she had moved from her previous position to sitting up in anticipation.
"Well Symon and Agnes had become to talk again. She was as beautiful as a rose yet as sharp as its needles - only because she had been raised that way, you see. But Symon knew her love was blossoming for him like his was for her. Then the wicked demon came with false promises and lead her astray-"
Hopes eyes widened. "He used magic?"
Lucien shook his head, "No, not quite-"
"But then why would Agnes go with him?" She wrinkled her nose, "that doesn't make sense. She left because she wanted to?"
He felt a surge of annoyance, "she didn't technically leave because she wanted too. The demon was just a liar. Now let me continue you incessant little creature. Symon told his friend, the demon Nilson - lets call him Nil for short - that he loved the princess Agnes. The pauper was too afraid to give a letter of love to Agnes himself . . . If he was caught, then he would be killed just like his father. The pauper wanted to tell Agnes he loved her, you see, and that they should run away together, go somewhere they'd both be safe.
But the demon threw the message into the fire place when Symon left. Because the demon had betrayed the pauper long ago; he wanted Agnes all to himself. And so that very night he pauper was walking in the hallways when he saw two people kissing. He thought nothing of it. That was what the rich people did in the castle all the time. Scurry off to a dark corner and hitch up- I mean kiss. Like those kisses you see children's movies. Anyway, when he came closer he saw that it was the Princess and the Demon-"
"She doesn't sound like a princess! She's a witch! And she's mean! And it doesn't make any sense the paper would love her." Her voice had risen in frustration and her face was one of deep displeasure.
"It's pauper" he corrected with exasperation, "and he loves her because she can be very kind and loving and she's the most beautiful woman in all the land. Like I've stated multiple times before. Really, do all children suffer from severe mental deficiencies and an appallingly short memory?" He was sure he could find dogs more intelligent than the little beast sitting in front of him.
"Well I think the pauper is being silly. Every time he talks about her, he always has to defend her. If she truly loved him too she wouldn't hurt him in the first place." Hope said, matter of factly." She ignored the rest of his insults.
"You are curiously argumentative for someone who wanted a fairy tale." Lucien retorted.
"Yes but I want a fairy tale with a happy ending." She hugged the wolf to her chest.
"And what makes you think it doesn't?" He scoffed.
"Because princes don't end up with witches!" Her hands went up in exasperation.
"Oh, he's a prince now?" He challenged. This wasn't even her story to tell.
"That's how all fairy tales go, Mr. Lucien. They always become a prince and a princess in the end! After defeating the wicked witch, or sorcerer, or step mother."
He leaned back in the small chair; it squeaked under his weight. "You and I haven't been reading the same ones. Tell me, you annoying little creature, have you ever read the Brothers Grimm?"
"No, are they more fairy tales?"
"Oh yes, with lots of bloody mur-"
"- and horses? Do princess and Princess get to ride off into the sunset together? And get married and live happily ever after forever and ever?" Her voice rose with excitement.
"You and your horses. It's no surprise you'll turn out to be one of those notorious horse girls later on in life, what with having luxury beyond belief and -"
Hope interrupted him again, "No I don't want to just ride them. I want to take care of them. I want to work in the stables."
His eyebrows rose up. "You want to be a stable girl? And what, go from - all this-" he gestured to the Compound, "and go live with life of a bloody stable girl?"
"Yes." Her jaw jutted out as her stubborn streak flared.
"You don't know what you're talking about." His voice was dismissive now. He wondered if he was still drunk, because there was no possible alternative as to why he had even lowered himself to argueing with such a little cretin. Niks cretin.
"Yes I do! I've already been to the library to read about it. And I even cleaned out the stables today. If I'm good enough maybe I can get a real horse."
His nose wrinkled. "No wonder you smell like a barnyard - and did you just say this place has a barn?"
She nodded. 'It's downstairs."
He debated whether just to wrap up the stupid story which she clearly wasn't getting, or to go down and teach her that being a stable hand was nowhere near the fun she thought it was.
Finally his need to show her won out and he stood up. "Alright, get up. Let's go to the stables and see your work."
He had barely even finished his sentence when she had slid out of bed and was already waiting for him, her entire body tense with excitement. It really was like seeing a dog. Tell them something new was happening and they got all bouncy and energetic.
He raised a brow, "Well you know where it is, not me."
"Ok. Follow me!" She marched forwards with certainty and he lingered behind, his eyes wondering around and quickly peering into rooms.
They went down the square and then a minute later into what was surprisingly another courtyard. He didn't know this place existed.
But there it was, two stable doors. He wasn't sure how to destroy her hopes of getting a horse . . . It would clearly never fit through a small door and hallway. Couldn't she see that?
As soon as he stepped in his eyes flickered around. It was about big enough to hold two, possibly three horses. He was still impressed the Compound could hold any at all. Of course this was the Mikaelsons, and opulence and grandeur was their signature style. Oh how they had once started, squabbling over dead mans clothes in an effort to hide from their dearest father.
He looked back at Hope who was babbling on about stable life and pointing and various objects. Like it was exciting. It wasn't exciting. It was droll, monotones, and endless. He may not have been born as a stableboy, but he may as well, as from the age of six he had been given the task of assisting at the stables, and there had never been a possibility of another life of him. He should've been a farmer like his father, but after he was murdered that possibility ceased to exist - though it wouldn't have been much funner than being a bloody stable boy. At least he wouldn't have done it alone.
"You missed a spot here . . . and there . . . also there . . . you missed enough to gather an entire barrel of hay." He drawled.
Hope frowned as she looked around. "But I only had a broom."
"Well thats what you have hands for." He said as he crossed his arms and looked at her expectantly. She'd given up soon once she realised she would have to step down from the pedestal everyone put her on and being a stable hand was actual, real work. He wrinkled his nose at the faint smell, the smell that brought back an onslaught of memories. He felt agitation stir within.
Hope got onto the ground and began picking up piece of hay after piece of hay. He stared at her. Her jaw was jutted out again as her little fist held several strands now. His eyes wandered to the two pales at the end. "Are you even strong enough to carry water to the horses? It has to be done several times a day, you know. They're very heavy."
She paused her work and looked up at him, "I already did it. We only had two buckets though . . . but since we don't have any horses yet I think it's okay."
He raised a brow, "You got the pales to and from the barn? With all of that water?" He was skeptical now.
"Well, not really carry, I had to drag them, they're kind of heavy. But if I have to do this work then I need to be able to do the work." She stated.
He was beginning to realise after nearly half an hour of the little cretin working in silence that she was remarkably stubborn. Not once had she complained or broken into tears. Instead were two little piles of hay as she moved with determination across the floor.
"You also do realise you'll have to clean out all of the muck that accumulates in the stalls?"
She looked at him questioningly and he rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You have to clean out horse faeces from stall. Get it now? Doesn't sound like something a princess would do."
Hope just shrugged instead of balking at his information. "I like being outside a lot and I get dirty all the time. Uncle Elijah and Auntie Beks hate it. But being outside is so much fun. Auntie Frey helps me plant in the garden."
They resumed silence as he continued staring at her. Why didn't she just stop. What was she even trying to prove? That his job was easy? That he should've found it fun? Enthusiastic? What was she trying to do to him? What was her aim? Was she trying to rattle him? If so, what was her motive?
His thoughts whirled faster than a cyclone. All the while the silence stretched on in the room until Hope began humming an old folk tune as she gathered the hay. Finally, though, she broke the silence and interrupted the mad swirl of his thoughts.
"You never finished the story." She reminded him.
"Perhaps because you kept interrupting me." He snapped. "And what else do you want to know? That the pauper lost to the demon?"
Hope sat back on her heels and dropped the remaining hay onto the pile. "Okay, but if I follow your story, and I promise I won't ask why the pauper guy is stupid anymore . . . then why in the fairy tale doesn't he get the princess at the end? Isn't that how the fairy tale is supposed to end? Everyone lives happily ever after?" Her voice was quiet now, as if sensing he had become unbalanced.
"Because stable boys don't become anything but stable boys! Paupers don't get anyone but another bloody peasant and they live the rest of their life in shambles, the end. There is no happy ending." His words were sharp as glass. But Hope didn't seem phased; a small frown tugged her lips downwards while she looked at him.
"Is that why you're upset, Mr. Lucien, because the story doesn't have a happy ending?"
"Sure", he sighed, feeling some of his anger deflate. Partly because of his own frustration over losing his temper, because of a damn seven year old. Secondly because she still sat there unphased and unafraid. Most would either have responded to his anger in the latter or the former.
"Well that just means the story isn't done yet. One day the stable boy will find a stable girl and they'll live happily ever after." Hope said, still not deterred by his anger. She was adamant in the hopefulness of a happy ending.
Suspicion flashed through him and he narrowed his eyes, "I never did say he was anything but a pauper."
She nodded slowly. "Well I know but you're really upset and I don't know a lot about paupers or nothing, so I made him a stable boy. Because I know about that." She shrugged with a small smile.
His hearing amplified to catch the small pitter-patter of her heart, but as he heard no rhythmic change the suspicious slid off of him as fast as it had come. She didn't know anything about his past.
"And you really believe that? Anyone can get a happy ending?" He asked curiously. He knew he shouldn't bother. She was seven, and what did seven year olds know?
But he would take to the grave with him admitting her . . . - he nearly laughed out loud - her hope was infectious. The blood may have sobered him up a little but he had to conclude he had had much more than he originally thought; it was the only explanation. This entire night had taken a very rapid turn from what he had wanted, and it was a bloody seven year old that was in charge of it all. He was the one that ran the show. Always. Yet from the moment she had called it seemed that had shifted and he hadn't even realised until now . . .
With her nearly maddening hopefulness and determination, he supposed he should give a chance to answer such a question.
She nodded vigorously. "Have you ever heard the story about the two wolves?" She asked.
Oh, wolves, how very unsurprising. He noticed her arms were raised with goosebumps and her breath was coming out in white puffs. For that matter, she was shivering like a leaf. He wasn't a decent person; he was only going to send her back to bed because a certain Hybrid would kill him if he didn't send the little child back to warmth."Why don't you tell me on your way back to bed." He said.
She pursed her lips. And it finally dawned on him, he couldn't help the small smile that tugged on the corner of his lips, threatening to widen. "Don't tell me you've been distracting me so you could get out of going to bed?"
Hope crossed her arms in indignation. "I meant every word I said! So have you heard it?"
He nodded towards the compounds main square. "Tell me while I march you upstairs you surprisingly devious child."
She smiled and accepted his command. He walked alongside her this time as she told the story, though not without its stumbles and stutterings as she tried to recall it. He altered it in his mind to give the story a smoother flow.
"There are two wolves in your heart. One is evil. It feeds off of all of your anger and your sadness and venge-ven-"
"Vengeance."
"And all of your vengeance. And the other wolf, that feeds off of the happiness and love and all of that other good stuff. And the two wolves, they always fight. But the wolf that wins is the one that you feed."
So, if the stable boy just feeds the good wolf then he can become happy too. And then he can finally find his princess - or stable girl - or whatever and then he can live happily ever after! He has to focus on himself, Mr. Lucien, not on mean witches and demons." She was staring at him outside her door with hands on her hips, as if she really meant business now.
His lip twitched for the second time that night. "Has anyone ever told you, you are oddly perceptive for a child?" And wonderfully naive?
"They just tell me I'm really smart."
"Well that won't contribute to your ego."
"Ego?"
"You can ask your father that. He has an abnormally large one."
He shooe'd her into the room, "Now get into bed. You have been awake much too long."
"But . . . but you're staying, until mommy or daddy or someone gets home, right?"
Her shoulders lowered in defeat. It looked like there was no way he would get any opportunities today. She looked at him with pressed lips and wide eyes.
"What?" He asked.
"Can you check under my bed for monsters? I don't want to go into bed . . . " She stood still at in the doorway, looking at him with uncertainty. And was that a twinge of embarrassment?
"Are you embarrassed?" He inquired bluntly.
Her lips pursed to the side. "Well, I mean, it's just that . . . everyone is always so strong and brave . . . and they can fight monsters, but . . ."
Don't worry, the scariest in the monsters in the world are always with you. Lucky for you they've decided to protect you.
"Well maybe you're braver than you think. How about we check together?" He wasn't going to let her get out of making him do all of the work. Lucien Castle had not sunk to the level of letting some little princess decide his actions wholly. He wasn't going to say she had made him do anything at all. Because he was a thousand year old vampire and he decided what he did. Not some little girl - some cretin.
"Ok." She said uncertainly.
As he began to sink down to check under the bed he felt a hand latch onto the red shirt sleeve and he nearly jerked his hand back in discomfort. Why was she doing this? That little kid was beginning to severely test his sanity. First she showed no fear and now she was holding onto him for comfort?
"Alright let's just make this quick." He muttered, having the desperate urge to fiercely jerk his hand back. He was used to intimacy, of a wholly different kind. And this was very far from it and anything foreign and uncontrollable made his hair stand on end. Surely there was a joke to this. Nik was probably here somewhere laughing at him, the half-breed-bastard mutt.
He lifted the duvet up as he looked beneath the bed and Hope tentatively joined him. Quickly he stood up and took his arm back. "Looks like there's no monsters. Now you can get to bed. And before you say it yes, yes, relax. I won't abandon you."
Hope leapt into bed and tugged the blankets up. "Goodnight Mr. Lucien, thank-you for babysitting me and thank-you for the story."
"Yes, yes." He muttered, "But you owe me. I had a very compelling night ahead of me that I dropped because of you."
"I will Mr. Lucien!" She said before yanked and snuggling into the bed, pulling the wolf closer to her. Good, as long as it wasn't him she was trying to latch onto.
Down below he heard the faint sound of footsteps. Excellent, he could finally get out of here. Get away from the little girl who had somehow managed to rule over him for the past two hours. But it meant nothing. All he needed was to empty the liquor cabinet to forget about this.
He headed down, ready to face and at least briefly taunt - because he deserved that - whichever Mikaelson had come home. He was hoping it was Nik. At he looked behind him, he saw Hope was already fast asleep.