I do not own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, or any characters therein, though I have taken artistic liberty with one character from TO in particular.
"You're being unreasonable."
And that was it. Screw decorum, he didn't owe her an "I think" half-assed rebuttal. She lived in his home, did her duties (even if quite admirably at times), and still he would now allow her to talk to him that way. He was Niklaus Mikaelson, the new King of New Orleans. Nobody spoke to him in such a manner.
She shot him an exasperated look, obviously long since used to his mannerisms. "I'm unreasonable. Sure," she said flatly. "She's still not going."
Klaus lowered his voice, advancing on the woman who dared talk back to him even after all these years. "She's seen more bloodshed than even you at her age. A party can hardly corrupt her worse."
"Oh, it can, and you know it," she shot back. "You'd love it, in fact."
She had him there.
Klaus rolled his eyes. In the end, what did it matter? So he lost some bonding time. Surely he could make up for it some other night. Perhaps a literal witch hunt would be more beneficial.
"Fine," he ground out, refusing to reveal his willingness to capitulate so easily. "You can be the babysitter for the night."
"It's called being a parent. Try it sometime."
"Yes, Hayley, you are just the picture of perfect motherhood," he mocked. Though, as far as mothers went, he could certainly think of worse. Klaus ignored her scoff and turned on his heel, stalking out of the room. Really, what difference would it make? Just a few more years would make a world of a difference.
It wasn't that he couldn't see her point. A part of him raged at the thought of anybody attempting to take advantage of his flesh and blood, no matter the circumstances. All the same, he had no patience for pretending an introduction to debauchery was completely out of the picture. Hayley was a fool if she thought acting the hovering mother would protect their daughter from the truths of the world.
He strode down the halls, taking the twists and turns until he found his own room. Upon opening the door, all entertaining thoughts of taking his daughter for a night on the town were obliterated.
"What. Is. This."
At his snarl a tiny head swiveled to look at him. Guileless hazel eyes peered up from a tangle of curly rust-tinged hair, though the innocent effect was ruined by the devious glimmer the child earned from both mother and father.
"Daddy, I painted," said Hope proudly.
Klaus far from shared in her elation. He stepped ominously closer to his child, eyes narrowing at her crude handiwork. Paints and brushes were scattered all over the carpet, his own works disheveled from their original places. His artwork could, at times, clutter the space, but this was just a catastrophe.
To make things worse, the damn kid hadn't even embarked on her own painting. Instead she'd made the fateful decision to "improve" upon one of his. One that plagued him, because the image in his mind never matched what he wanted to see on the canvas.
Klaus snatched the brushes from her small hands. The defiant look that usually made his chest swell with pride now heated his rage to a white-hot point. Oh, how she looked far too much like her mother right then. She had most of his features, but those damnable eyes just served to grate on him if he was in a mood less than pleasant.
"Out," he snarled.
Hope folded her arms, jutting out her jaw as she stared up at him. "I like it better this way," she said.
"Out, before I change my mind and beat you within an inch of your life," he roared.
If Hope was afraid, she didn't show it. Still, she knew when her antics had gone too far and headed toward the door. In a last show of insubordination, she spun around, stuck out her tongue, and sped off with inhuman speed.
Klaus clenched his teeth, willing the pulsating in his brain to calm. Shouting would do no good, he already knew. Hope was as stubborn as her parents, unfortunately. Even worse, she had her father's propensity for prodding at people until the poor victim was liable to explode.
He loved his daughter, but dammit if there weren't days he wished to just ship her off with Elijah until he drilled some respect and sense into her.
Klaus set about cleaning, trying not to make a storm out of it. The stains in the carpet were irreversible. Once again, he'd have to have them ripped out and changed. Was that a process that ever ended? It often seemed he was doomed to replace things his child broke or destroyed. Why couldn't she be reasonable and restrict her destruction to those who dared to disobey or go against their family? If he had to toss the rugs, at least bloodstains made sense and gave him something to be happy about with her development.
He did his best to stay away from the painting Hope had ruined. Bad enough the image was burned into his brain; he didn't want to destroy it completely in a rage, not if it could be salvaged in any manner.
It's watercolor, a nasty voice in his mind nagged. Better to start from scratch than salvage now.
Klaus had finished cleaning and was standing between his bed and the destroyed art, arms crossed and teeth gnashing, when a firm knock on the door pulled him away.
"Come in," he said tersely.
He knew immediately from the smell it wasn't Hayley or Hope. Klaus turned, shifting subtly to block the bulk of the painting from his guest's eye.
Marcellus took note of his expression. "Hey, man, I can always come back later."
That he could. Still, Klaus nodded for him to make himself comfortable. "I assume this is something of importance."
Marcellus shot him a half amused, half wary look. "Depends on your mood," he hedged.
Klaus's mouth twitched into a small smile.
Taking his cue, Marcellus finally relaxed. Though their camaraderie during the war to take back New Orleans had been rife with fury, betrayal, and petty in-fighting, in the end Klaus had never been more grateful to have a man such as Marcellus on his side. He'd never say that his old friend's aid had turned the tides, at least not to his face. But the fact was teaming up with Marcellus and his lot had been more beneficial than harmful.
There were times Klaus could see the seething resentment Marcellus held for being usurped. But, for now, bygones were bygones.
Besides, Klaus still wouldn't hesitate to tear the man's beating heart from his chest should he turn his back on him again.
"We have a visitor." That was Marcellus, quick to cut to the chase.
Klaus smirked. "Tourist?"
"She claims so. I'm not so certain." Marcellus rolled his eyes. "How many tourists do you know who rent out apartments when they're just sight-seeing?" The quotation marks around the last word were unspoken, but apparent just in the way Marcellus rolled the syllables off his tongue.
Finally, something to boost his mood. Klaus smiled to himself, relishing his options. "Well then, we'll just have to introduce ourselves officially, won't we?"
"I may have already welcomed her to the city."
"That was charitable of you," said Klaus. He strode away from his position in the room, mulling over the details. "When is she due for a visit?"
"I told her I'd find her soon enough," Marcellus informed him. He shifted his weight in Klaus's periphery. "But judging by the clothes she had hanging, I'll bet you money she'll be prowling the streets tonight."
Tonight. This was even better. A way for Klaus to get some sort of tension relief. "I had intended on joining some of the Mardi Gras festivities either way," he mused. Then he turned to Marcellus, flashing him a wolfish grin. "Care to join me, mate?"
Marcellus decided to show off brilliantly white teeth in response. It had been far too long since they had taken to the streets together. "I'll be more than happy to point her out." Then a thought seemed to occur to him, his smile fading a notch. "Are we on babysitting duty?"
Klaus scoffed. "Hope will not be out tonight," he said coldly. No need to add that it was largely due to Hayley's nagging persistence. "If you haven't noticed, she's been quite the destructive little cretin." He waved a hand angrily toward his carpet.
"Uh, can't say that I have," Marcellus said mildly. Then, for the first time, he seemed to really look back where Klaus had stood before. Too late did the hybrid king realize his mistake. His shoulders tensed, but he made no move to hide the painting. That would just raise suspicion. And if Marcellus knew what was good for him, he'd acknowledge the work as an insignificant scribble and meander on with his life.
Unfortunately, Marcellus's dark eyes took in the sight. The muscles of his face twitched, vividly displaying his puzzlement.
"Is there a problem?" Klaus couldn't contain the growl that escaped with his demand.
Marcellus finally tore his eyes away, shaking his head. His expression went back to suspiciously neutral. "Sorry about the hellion. I'll get one of the guys to replace the carpet," he offered.
Klaus was hardly placated, but he nodded anyway. His mood ruined once again, he said, "If there's nothing else."
His subordinate took the hint.
Once the door closed behind Marcellus, Klaus turned back to the painting. It had been a ridiculous oversight to leave this within a child's reach, he supposed. But that didn't mean he had to stand for what had been done. It was one of those projects he kept starting over, using different paints, different brushes, new strokes and techniques. Yet the inspiration was never enough to condense all his expertise into perfection.
Now red oil slashed in crisscrosses over the blonde's profile on the canvas. His brat had deliberately mixed oil and water. Klaus scowled at the picture, resisting the urge to trace a lock of curling blonde hair. Perhaps, he reasoned, Marcellus had assumed he was attempting a portrait of Camille. Not that the two had much in common, aside from flaxen tresses and a stubborn streak
But for Marcellus's sake, he hoped that was what had gone through the man's head. Any further curiosity was not something Klaus wanted either explored or exploited.
Disgusted, Klaus ripped the portrait from the easel and smashed it. No, he decided. He would not attempt to fix such a horrid marring of the one person he respected most in this world.
It was always best to start from scratch.
A/N: So, I've gotten a couple reviews already expressing the hope for no baby. I'll take the time to say here that the latest episodes I have seen are TVD S6E6 and TO S2E6. I am working with the canon and, obviously, taking liberties from there. I realize Klaus having a child has been a massively controversial issue within the fandom, but please understand that, to me, this makes for perfect dramatic and emotional fodder. Also, particularly after the TO season 1 finale, I'm of the opinion that this child is essential to Klaus's shift in priority and personality, even if it's just a little bit. I don't want to say more without giving away my ideas. I just wanted to get all of that out of the way. My goal is that the quality of story ought to outweigh personal opinions on premises from either show, so hopefully I end up doing that.
Thanks for reading.