"Again," she instructed, sounding bored.
Caroline found her feet, picking up the dropped sword and sighing. "How long are we going to do this?" she asked, almost annoying herself with her whiny tone. Almost.
"Until I say otherwise," and she lunged.
For all her speed Caroline still found herself floundering, reacting, forever on the defensive. She figured she was improving, if the decreasing number of cuts and bruises after each session were any indication, but her assailant never offered praise. It was only ever what she was doing wrong, how her ineptitude would see her killed in record time. Once again she found herself flung to the ground, yet more burning slices marring her skin. "How long have we been doing this?"
"Long enough to determine you'd be a lamb to the slaughter. Again," she motioned upwards.
How long had she even been here? She wasn't sure; time seemed to flow differently here, wherever here was. She had not been idle in whatever time had passed, she hadn't been allowed to be; every day she had spent under attack, each moment a lesson in how easy it would be to kill her. Caroline was exasperated, every part of her ached, each cut burned intensely and for reasons she didn't understand they would not heal, not until the session was deemed over and the black eyed jailor would give her a blood bag.
"Again," she coolly informed.
Body protesting Caroline rose once more, well aware that if she wanted that healing bag of goodness her body craved she had to do as she was told. Experience had taught her that if she didn't get up she would be left to wallow in agony until she did. "Can this be the last time?"
"Are you capable of improvement?"
This time Caroline lunged, and for all of two seconds it was her on the offensive, but then she was desperately attempting to defend herself as the black eyed jailor continued the trail of cuts across her body before she appeared to get bored and swept her legs out from under her. The air expelled from Caroline's lungs as she hit the deck and the collection of abrasions across what was left of her skin cried out in torment. Even so, she managed to drag herself up before the chant of again was uttered.
She was rewarded with a smile and another hard tumble to the ground. Caroline wondered if this was to be her life from now on, punching bag extraordinaire. Every slight movement was painful, requiring a mammoth effect she frankly wouldn't have considered herself capable of when she had first awoken here. Somehow her legs were under her again.
"Enough," her voice had never sounded sweater.
Caroline breathed a sigh of relief then practically moaned as the blood bag weighted down her hands, she drank deeply and felt the soothing warm of it spreading through her veins healing on its way. When the bag was empty she looked up surprised to discover that her jailor was still there having become used to her retreat after each and every session, her absence in between.
"I thought we were done for the day," she tried hard to make it more of statement than a desperate plea.
"We are," the woman sat down upon the replica couch.
"So, then?" it was just weird to see the woman sit, she never sat. She was always just kind of floating around the place like ghosts did in movies. Caroline sighed feeling uncomfortable under the never blinking gaze. "In a chatty mood are we?" she attempted to lighten the suffocating atmosphere.
She did what Caroline believed was her best impersonation of a smile, a small little thing that barely turned her mouth. "Not particularly, no."
And yet, she remained.
They watched each other for a time, neither speaking, just watching … waiting. This was new to Caroline, it was against the established order of things and she wanted to know why. "Was there something you wanted to talk about?" she ventured.
The woman merely shook her head in response.
She found her really annoying sometimes, hell the woman was constantly annoying, the woman for which she still didn't even have a name for. It irked her. "I've decided to call you Constance, Connie for short," she announce with an expression boarding on spiteful.
"I've been called worse;" with a shrug of the shoulders.
"Such as?" the silence was answer enough. "Right … another time. I don't suppose I could get my cell phone back seeing as you're so not chatty."
A bell chime laugh was the only response.
"Everyone's supposed to get a phone call Connie," she did her best sickly sweet impression.
"Special rules for special people Care," the answer was in the same vain.
Caroline was fairly certain they hadn't reached the level of friendship - or any level for that matter - that made Connie's use of Care permissible, she just wasn't certain it would be in her best interests to say so. It occurred to her suddenly that Connie wasn't the best choice in name, it was too similar and that wound was just too fresh.
Connie was still staring, but Caroline sensed a slight shift which made her fairly certain that the weird little interlude, or whatever it was, would not continue for much longer. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, so many that really needed answering, but she found herself asking one which she doubted was important in the grand scheme of things. "Can you see Bonnie?" she chewed her lip. "Is she here?"
The smile froze on Connie's face, her eyes widening in surprise for a fraction of a second but long enough that Caroline noticed ... And wondered.
"Bonnie cannot come here," was the response, the smile disappearing altogether.
That didn't fit with what Caroline knew of ghosts, the supernatural variety in any case. Bonnie and Caroline shared a strong bond so surely if she thought of her, focussed solely on her, she would come. Bonnie loved her, maybe not as much as Caroline loved her in return, but it was an undeniable fact. So why couldn't Bonnie come? What prevented it?
"Is it a spell that keeps her out?" it was a logical leap.
"Yes," was the indulgent reply.
"Couldn't you lift it? Just for a little while so I could talk to her," she could feel the tears pooling in her eyes, the longing overtaking her.
"It was not of my making and I will not undo it," there was no sympathy in those black eyes.
"Whose spell was it?"
"Do you know how vampires came to be Caroline?"
Why was it always so difficult to get answers? "Yes, Esther cast a spell, Mikael killed them; they came back, drank more blood to transition..."
"The Originals aren't actually original, try again," it was like she was back in school.
Silas … right. How did she manage to forget him? "Qetsiyah and Silas wrote an immortality spell, she cast it for him."
"What happened next?"
"She thought that he loved her, but he didn't. He wanted to make another woman immortal so Qetsiyah killed her." She failed to see the point of this.
"And then..."
"Then she created the Other Side and the cure which she buried with him. He had two choices take the cure so he could die or desiccate."
There was a slight pause, as though Connie was considering her response. "And why didn't he take the first option?"
Caroline got the distinct impression the woman was going to say something else.
"He would have been trapped on the Other Side, separated from his love." Saying it out loud made Caroline feel sorry for Silas, sure he was a homicidal twat who made her and her friends lives less than pleasant – practically killed Bonnie – but hey, Qetsiyah was a bitch. There was no denying it. And when all was said and done, she was quite certain she wouldn't have been a box of bunnies after desiccating for two thousand years – it probably wasn't conducive to a sound mental state.
"And there you have it." Connie stood.
"Seriously? How exactly does that answer my question?" she found herself sneering.
"Remind me Caroline, what was your question?"
Well duh! "Whose spell was it?" Oh. "Qetsiyah," so now she felt a little stupid. "It's the same spell, isn't it?" she wasn't sure what made her think it, it just seemed right.
Connie inclined her head, the small smile back.
But then ... was that even possible?
"Do you know what he sees in you Caroline?"
Abrupt change of topic if ever there was one. Caroline wanted to pretend she didn't know who he was, wanted to feign disinterest and stay on topic, but she wanted to know where this line of questioning would lead and so her curiosity rendered her incapable. "He told me I'm full of light."
"He's not wrong," the eyes narrowed briefly, seemingly considering. "There is something about you that is rare amongst your kind and quite impossible to find in my own."
"Which is what exactly?"
"It's difficult to define, a certain kind of joy, a lightness of spirit."
"No, I meant, your kind." Caroline firmly believed that Connie had known exactly what she meant and had chosen to deliberately misunderstand her. That in mind she didn't actually expect an answer, only reiterating her query in an effort to annoy the other woman. She'd been there for like forever and learnt quickly that Connie didn't volunteer information about herself, seemed to avoid the topic like the plague. So it surprised Caroline when she didn't just turn and walk away.
"We have many names and none at all. What would be your guess Caroline?" she smirked.
"I don't know, I thought you were a witch at first, but that isn't right."
"No, it most certainly isn't," though her tone didn't noticeably change Caroline felt as though the words were colored by contempt, as though Connie considered witches were lowly creatures.
"So what are you?" she figured she may as well try. She who dares wins, at least in the movies.
"Old," Connie immediately turned away indicating an end to the conversation.
Caroline wasn't quite ready to drop it. "You healed me didn't you?"
The woman paused in her retreat, but didn't turn.
"The venom, you healed me?" she prodded.
"Yes."
"Thank you."
Connie stiffened ever so slightly and then turned her head until their eyes met. The black eyed woman parted her lips as though to speak but then simply nodded and melted back into the darkness.
Caroline knew she hadn't left, the woman never left, her presence always felt whether within view or not. Sometimes she wondered if the woman was as much a prisoner there as she was herself.
Silas had stayed in New Orleans; there was simply no other choice but to do so. He should have been employing his time better; he should have been in Mystic Falls working on bringing back the Bennett witch in order to be that one step closer to his Amara, one step closer to denying Qetsiyah victory. He shouldn't have wasted his days following around the Original Hybrid, following the quest to retrieve what was taken. He shouldn't have, but he did.
He had somehow convinced himself that before he reunited with his raven-haired love, he needed to ensure that his little ray of sunshine was safe. It was puzzling, but he was resigned. And so he followed the best lead he had.
At first he had made an effort to be discreet, to remain hidden but it hadn't taken long for him to become frustrated, not only with the Hybrid but with himself. They were both of them wasting time he thought. So he made himself known, he sat himself down in a bar full of vampires and waited.
"You're new," a deep voice pronounced.
Silas was amused; the great Marcel King of New Orleans had decided to grace his table. "Not so much."
Marcel smiled wide, "got a name?"
"We aren't going to be friends, best move along," it seemed as though everyone in the room was suddenly on edge.
"This is my town, so you follow my rules, name?" the voice harder, more menacing now.
"Stefan Salvatore," a familiar voice answered.
Silas smiled, "Klaus."
"Friend of yours," Marcel eyes shifted to the Hybrid who merely smiled in response.
"Let's go for a walk mate," Klaus motioned towards the door and then turned and walked out of it.
Silas got up to follow when Marcel grabbed his arm, "Next time Stefan you best show some respect."
"Now why would I do that?" he shook off the offending arm, then grabbed Marcel by the throat.
Marcel looked shocked, less because he'd grabbed him than no one else reacted Silas thought. "Next time we meet you best show some respect," he whispered before releasing the King and leaving. He had walked only a few steps before he turned and found Klaus by his side.
"She's not here," he told him.
"But you are, and why is that?" Silas knew already of course, but appearances and all.
"This is my town."
"The way I heard it, this was your town, now it's Marcel's," he watched the Hybrid flume with satisfaction.
"Not for long," he sighed. "Why are you here Stefan?"
"I'm here to help you."
His jaw clenched, "and just how do you propose to do that?"
"I know the location of a certain room," he stopped walking.
Klaus seemed for a moment dumbfounded, and then Silas found himself pushed up against the closest wall. He briefly entertained the idea of throwing the Hybrid off, but decided to continue the pretense.
"How?"
"I followed Marcel," well in his mind anyhow.
"Not possible."
"Everyone was too busy watching you," he kept his expression blank.
The Hybrid didn't look convinced, his thoughts were murky as though he was making a deliberate effort to block him. Silas wondered if the Hybrid had figured it out, but then he released him. "Show me."