What Do I Do
"Klaus Mikaelson? As in the Klaus Mikaelson?"
"Is there any other?" Klaus responds and grabs her by her waist and pulls her to him once again. He leans closer and purrs in her ear. "Now where were we?"
She could say that he caught her off guard, and that she didn't know what was happening when she was plummeting forward into his embrace, but Caroline was never a good liar, even to herself. She does a good job of making it seem like she's resisting though.
"No, no, no." Caroline swats lazily at his arms like she was a meek, furry little sloth. (What, she tried! He's really strong, okay?) Those brawny, manly arms- yes, yes, YES!
"No, no, no, this is wrong. You're a villain," she swoons and arches her back as she squirms and pushes against him for release.
"Am I? A moment ago I was your partner in crime, helping you find lost grooms, and spying on unsuspecting fathers."
"Yes, well, that was before I knew who you were." She stops to struggle, giving up on her silly attempt at dominance.
"Come on, Caroline, take a chance," he tempts her. The snake that tempted Eve was nothing compared to Klaus Mikaelson. He doesn't even need an apple, not with that kind of a…cellphone.
He pulls her forward again, this time with greater ease. They are mere inches apart. His breath is tickling her lips and his hand presses firmly on her back. He just feels and smells so good. You know the saying 'he's like catnip to the ladies'? Well his cologne makes this little kitty come running. She shouldn't, but oh how she wants to, it would just take a slight motion forward. Just another inch…
"Oh excuse me," a small voice interrupts, causing Klaus to release his grip enough for Caroline to escape. She doesn't escape though, not right away at least, she stays locked in his embrace and snaps her necks at the intruder. She doesn't want to stop her perfectly legitimate eye-groping of Klaus.
Dark hair and blue eyes encompass a cherub face and a small frame wrapped in a traditional black and white uniform of the Help. She doesn't look up, she just stares in the distance as if she didn't just walk in on a torrid affair. "I'm sorry to intrude…it's just…um, Miss Forbes, Miss Rebekah is asking for you."
"Not now, April!" Caroline berates the poor girl causing a small whimper followed by a scurry down the hallway. Caroline rolls her eyes and shakes her head back toward Klaus. He still stands there with his arms around her waist and a smirk at the corner of his lips.
He doesn't see it coming. A fluid, perfectly manicured hand strikes him across the face. "Ohf," he says as his face swings the other way.
She takes a step back and straightens her dress and fluffs her hair. "I think it's best if I go see what Rebekah needs. Can I trust that you'll find Stefan?" All business and no fun Caroline is back in action!
Klaus massages his face and chuckles. "No need, he'll be along any minute, love."
Of course he knows where he is. He probably did the whole time. "This!" she says and flips a finger between the two of them, "did not happen! Are we clear?"
"Oh I'm sure I'll replay this little encounter a few more times before the night is through."
Dun-dun-dun!
Finn Mikaelson is standing in front of a giant mirror adjusting the black bow tie he's wearing. He smoothes down his fabulous hair and winks at his reflection, his snow-white teeth flash back at him. The oldest son of Mikael and Esther is a far-famed male model. His hair starred in many commercials: shampoo, hair conditioner, hair gel, and anti-balding serum. You can find his upper body on shower gel advertising posters, while Finn's smiling trustworthy face encourages Americans to buy an anti-aging cream for men. The truth is, Finn and Esther deepen their mother-son bond twice a year by going to a ritzy clinic where their wrinkles magically disappear. Without straining yourself too much you can easily deduce which one is Esther's favourite son. Only hours spent on discussing body balms in a remote Spa in the Swiss Alps can create such a profound bond.
This, or plotting someone's death together. Speaking of…
"Knock, knock." A redhead croaks and sneaks into the room. There is something witchy about her, a wicked gleam in her eyes, the way they shine with greed at the sight of her wealthy husband. It all seems like yesterday. One moment they're drinking tequila in a bar, the next they're standing before the altar. Sage can shamelessly call it the greatest accomplishment of her life.
"Are you ready for the slushy-schmaltzy ceremony, Muffin?" She coos.
"Don't call me Muffin.'' Finn grumbles, the corners of his mouth go down making it look like a horseshoe. "It makes me feel fat."
"But you have those lovely hamster-ish chubby cheeks when you eat my-"
"Sage!"
"As you wish, my Cutie Patootie." She saunters toward him and clings to his arm like a little girl. "It's just so irritating, you know. Watching your spoiled sister walk down the aisle and marry Stefan the-"
"Don't say it!"
"-Perfect Pompadour." Sage blurts. Her hands immediately clasp over her lips when she realizes she's hit the raw nerve once again. Stefan Salvatore and his hairdo are Finn's worst nightmare. Like every other narcissistic male model, it's his jealousy that keeps him at the top of his game.
Finn's fist collides with the nearest wall. He lets out a hysterical squeal when the pain shoots through his hand, "Aaah! My hand!" He crumples to his knees.
Sage, surprised by his violent reaction, echoes the sound he's made and wails in agony as she watches her perfect husband fall to the floor and start sobbing. "Schnookums!" she rushes to his side, "you know you have that Bvlgari watch photo shoot next weekend!"
"I try so hard, but it's never enough! The agencies want me and only me! ME!" He keeps pointing at himself in case you have any doubts. "L'Oreal keeps calling every morning, but those ignorant fools of MysticFalls still favour that goddamn Salvatore!" He starts rolling on the soft crimson carpet like a rolling pin on dough, still wailing. Sage kneels down and tries to stop him from moving. The $5,000 suit will crinkle if her dear husband's spasm continues.
"Shhh, calm down, Snugglebunny." She holds him in her arms while he sobs uncontrollably into the thin fabric of her black dress.
The soft and expensive touch of silk slowly soothes his tantrum and he takes in his wife's attire. "Why are you wearing black, Pumpkin?" Finn sniffs, his sad puppy-dog eyes boring into his wife's worried ones. Sage wears colors that fit her mood.
"Because there is nothing to celebrate, you know I hate your sister more than my first nanny." Sage shivers at the memory of Helga; her coarse discipline and God awful schnitzel. "Helga," she says in disgust.
Finn, ever aware of how quickly his wife's moods can transform from simple black to the vengeful abyss of Hell, changes the subject to channel her rage somewhere else. "What about the poison? Did you contact the guy?"
"I did. It will come by post as a small parcel in a few days." She grins and leans forward, their noses touch. "When our plan is complete, nobody in MysticFalls will dare question your amazing hair. Not even the Salvatore. You'll be the most powerful man in MysticFalls."
Finn's face lightens up with a sinister flame. His arms reach out and he grabs Sage by the waist, then forcefully draws her closer and growls like a savage, "Yes! The Plan! I love when you're so cunning." He playfully nibbles at the tip of her nose, "Grrrr."
She wrinkles her nose, baring her teeth like a bitch in heat. "Oh I love when you are so wicked. Rawr."
A good villain has a quality evil laugh. It rings through their dungeon, or their laboratory, or in this case, spare bedroom, and strikes fear into anyone who hears it. This is not the case with Sage and Finn, if anything the pair of them sound like a pig being brought to slaughter and a beached whale sputtering and gasping its final breath through its bloated and dried up blowhole.
If you haven't figure it out yet, Sage is the pig and Finn is the blowhole.
Dun-dun-dun!
When Caroline stumbles back into the Bride's quarters, its pure hysteria. In the midst of the bridal party, who were primping and elbowing each other for mirror space, is a white, lacy ball of panic.
"Oh thank God," Elena says and Caroline watches as her ever calm and regal friend crumbles into a chair. "Caroline, you're the only one who can handle her."
"CAROLIIIIIINE!" Rebekah races to her, nearly tripping over her gown and with black streaked tears running down her face.
"Oh for crying out loud," she throws her head back, exasperated by Bekah's inability to keep a dry eye. "Can we get Rebekah some goddamn waterproof mascara please?!" she hollers at the other maids. The other women scramble to their purses, clearly trying to keep things afloat.
"Caroline, is it true?" Rebekah grabs Caroline by the shoulders and shakes her vehemently.
"Is what true, Bekah?"
"Stefaaaaaan!" she bawls, "Is it true? Caroline, IS IT TRUE!?" she screams hysterically.
Caroline slaps Rebekah. "Bekah! Get a hold of yourself, woman!"
"Has Stefan really gone missing?"
"What? No, of course…who gave you that id-"
"Kooooool," she wails.
At the mention of his name Caroline quakes with rage. Blast that Kol Mikaelson! "He is insufferable!" she exclaims. "Why can't all of your brothers be like Elijah?" She glances at Elena, "You really did get the only good one, you know?" Elena just blushes and nods. She's perfectly aware of how lucky she is, which only annoys Caroline further. "Finn only cares about himself and his modeling career. Kol only cares about causing trouble and screwing anything that bats an eyelash at him." Caroline's rambling. The Mikaelson's have gotten on her last nerve. Not to mention she's still in the cool down period from her earlier encounter with… "And Klaus! Ugh! Why does he have to be so, so…(hot, sexy, seductive, luscious) sinful?"
Caroline collapses in the chair next to Elena and starts to bite on her thumbnail. She doesn't realize that all of the girls in the room have stopped what they are doing and are now staring at her. She's too busy remembering how it felt to be wrapped up in the fiend's arms. She looks up from her nail biting and glances around at the frozen dressing room. "What?"
There is a clatter of female voices all at once, spouting out and bombarding her with questions.
"You saw him?"
"What's he like?"
"Is he as handsome as they say?"
"Did he attack you?"
"I heard he only drinks gin…vile drink, gin is!"
"Did he use fowl language and obscene gestures?"
"Was he boorish and ungentlemanly?"
"I heard he really knows how to use a paintbrush."
"I heard he has a huuuuge…"
Caroline's cellphone rings in the background, cutting off the incessant downpour of chatter. She looks down to see Stefan's name. She holds up a finger and quiets the girls. "Yes, hello Stefan."
"Stefan! Is that my Stefan on the phone?" Rebekah squeals and reaches out her hands to take the phone. Caroline swats her hand away and brings a finger to her ear to hear him better. "Mmm hmmm, okay…yes, I'll see if I can find him…okay, someone will be there soon."
Rebekah taps her foot and holds out her hand for the phone.
"Okay, Stefan, I think you're bride would like a word…okay, here she is." Caroline hands over the phone to the impatient Creampuff who snatches it and begins to sob again.
"Stefaaaan, where are you? What's going on?" She continues her questioning but, thankfully, on the other side of the room. "I am dying here! Do you hear me? Dying! D as in Downey Junior, Y as in why the hell aren't you here , I as in I will go crazy if you don't come, N as in…" Her speech trails off into gibberish.
"What was that all about?" Elena asks.
"We need to find Damon. Stefan has a flat tire and needs someone to come and get him. Have you seen him?"
"I think he might have flashed past me somewhere…" Elena says innocently, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
"Can you find him and tell him to get Stefan? Rebekah may start killing people if he doesn't make it to the wedding."
"If you ask."
"You are our savior, Elena Gil…I mean Mikaelson!" Caroline gives her a tight hug, and Elena spreads her arms wide and just pats her casually on the back, careful not to scratch the fresh layer of nail polish she's just applied. "I owe you a new friendship bracelet!"
Dun-dun-dun!
Damon is sitting by the open bar, sipping whiskey on the rocks and checking out the waitresses that are running in panic. Two of them actually collided, a bottle of champagne got spilt, tears followed, and Esther's rant ended the show. As you see, Damon has a blast watching people work while he observes. He inherited enough money to make basking in luxury his lifetime occupation, and he doesn't mind one bit. This is also the basic difference between him and his brother, Stefan. While Damon lives and breathes money his father left them, Stefan is a busy bee. Eager beaver. And other animal-related epithets. His work ethics and flair for business are the things his soon to be father-in-law, the head of the family and prominent businessman, likes about Stefan. This, and Stefan's hair of course, but everyone likes Stefan's hair.
"Having fun, I see," Elena quips as she approaches him.
He slowly turns around, wearing his infamous slanted smile. "You want to see real fun?" He wiggles his eyebrows and suggestively touches the buckle of his belt.
"I wish I could, but right now you have to save your brother's sorry ass, or the party's over," she pouts and straightens his crooked bowtie, before tracing her finger along his chin and turns to feign leaving.
"One condition." Damon Salvatore never just does something out of the kindness of his heart. No, he always needs something in return. Fortunately for Elena, most of what he requests is something she's more than willing to give.
"I'm all ears." And teeth, and lips, and hands, and body.
"I want to have a wedding night tonight, too." He whispers into her ear, slowly uttering each word. Elena shivers, thrilled at the thought of what his tongue is capable of.
"What about my husband?" She whispers over her shoulder and teases, fighting the urge to turn around and kiss him, her whole body tense from excitement.
"He had his wedding night, didn't he?" He asks and his hand sneaks to the small of her back.
"Excuse me Mrs. Mikaelson, but the kitchen staff is wondering what they should serve fir-"
Ugh! "NOT NOW, APRIL!"
Dun-dun-dun!
Finally! Caroline never thought this moment would arrive. Everything is in its place, the guests-crème de la crème of the whole country and even a few eminent guests from Europe and Asia, mostly business friends of Mikael-are waiting in the garden of the Mikaelson household, everyone dressed like it was a royal wedding. One lady wears that ridiculous hat with…is it the Eiffel Tower on it? Ew. Caroline instantly imagines Klaus wearing a high hat with the Sphinx or Pyramids or Big Ben or Buckingham Palace on top.
Distracted by her fashion fantasies about the certain British hottie, the Maid of Honor doesn't notice that the other girls and their escorts have made their way down the aisle and the Best Man is already standing by her side. Caroline shakes her head to chase away the nagging thoughts, and turns to grace whoever accompanies her with a polite smile…
…and she comes face to face with no one else but the infamous Klaus Mikaelson aka Stefan's Best Man.
Her eyes widen in shock. "What are you doing here?" She mouths, her eyes nervously squinting at him.
"Best Man duty." Klaus mouths back, his stubble covered face oh-so-smug. He has that devilish spark in his eyes that makes Caroline's blood flow faster in her veins, her heart skips a beat just to start racing and pounding a second later. Damn you and your evil charm, she thinks. And the worst thing is, he knows she's staring, she's making it too obvious.
Caroline lets out a deep irritated breath. Great, just great. She's so riveted by her companion she doesn't hear the music that begins to drift around, and people expectantly look at them. As befits a true gentleman, he offers her his arm, and they start slowly marching down the aisle.
The profound words of Ke$ha, a gifted artist and the true voice of her generation, fill Caroline's mind.
What do I do with a boy, with a boy like you.
Got me lost, got me hooked.
Now I'm so confused.
Caroline forgets about the whole world. In that very moment there is no wedding, no jealous boyfriend sitting somewhere among the guests, no spilt champagne, no Twilight, no Kardashians, no ship wars. Everything that was troubling her mind fades away. The only thing she knows-she feels-is the man walking arm in arm with her.
Caroline is wondering along with the boozed pop queen of auto-tune.
Was this a part of your plan?
I don't really understand.
What to do, what to do with a boy like you.
Caroline's fingertips press firmly into his forearm, and he watches her chest heaving. He makes her nervous, and truth be told, she makes him nervous too. She really isn't like any woman he's met in his life. Years of traveling the world to exotic locations with exotic women always throwing themselves at him, but none of those women hold a candle to the exquisite beauty beside him. She has the radiance of Aphrodite, a true beauty that's mere existence is to cause men to grow weak at the knees and offer her all of their worldly possessions for one celestial night in her arms.
What she wouldn't be like to sketch. He looks at Caroline and imagines her wrapped in just a sheet with all of the proper parts of her body showing. That doesn't necessarily mean her breasts, or any other obvious female anatomically correct part of her body, but her neck, her collarbone, her wrists, the subtle curve of her lower back, yes, these are the parts that make up the grace and seduction of the female form. He gets lost in his mind, imagining a sheet clad Caroline posing for him and eventually being wrapped in that sheet along with her.
The two of them wrapped in the sheet on the floor.
Rolling on the bed.
On top of his father's mahogany desk.
On the sand in the Coloseum in Rome, the sheets getting dirty like Caesar's robe.
Under the Arc de Triomphe in Paris. Caroline clutching on the sheets, moaning Oui, oui, oui!
On the green grass of the garden of Tokyo Imperial Palace, wearing the sheets like kimonos.
In a plane bathroom, thousand miles above the ground. Still in sheets.
He can feel her body squirming beneath him, the imagery so real now that he feels another anatomically correct part of his body begins to squirm and beg. He shakes his head and berates his impatient "fella", Settle down there Buddy, wrong place, wrong time. His equipment's cooperative spirit is gone, though.
As much as Caroline would like to stay in La-La Land with the blonde singer and the British god of sex appeal, they near the end of the aisle. It takes Klaus removing his arm from hers for her to realize that it's time to separate. Her fingers graze along his forearm a little too long as she releases herself from his grasp and slowly makes her way to the left of the Bishop. She has a terrible time keeping her eyes in the direction of where she needs to stand, as she continues to cast glimpses in Klaus' direction. Fortunately, the scuffle of the guests standing to greet the bride as she makes her entrance brings her back to the present.
The orchestra starts the familiar refrain of "Here comes the Bride", Bekah wanted them to play Pachelbel's Canon, but Caroline insisted that she stick with the absolute perfection of the world's most well known processional. It was rarely used anymore, giving off the impression of Rebekah having traditional and classic taste. Caroline smiles at herself, proud of what she has accomplished, she can't wait to see the reaction of the guests when Rebekah makes her entrance. The orchestra plays the first line of Here Comes the Bride once more, perhaps Bekah didn't hear her cue.
The intro plays again…
Any moment now…
Here comes the Bride… not.
DUN-DUN-DUN!
Will Rebekah make it down the aisle?
What are Sage and Finn up to?
Will Damon steal Elena for his own wedding night?
Are Klaus' sheets real Egyptian Cotton?