A/n: Hey, y'all! So, I've decided to go full on poly-Mikaelson relationship for Klaus, Rebekah, Elijah, AND Kol!
Sorry, no Finn, only because I'm 100% sure Sloane can't stand broody boys.
I haven't seen a lot of well-written poly relationships in here outside of It Happened— Ménage et Trois by SupaaFly, so why not? Not to mention, I kinda feel like Sloane is gonna be the only one who's able to tolerate all of their issues. So, LET'S DO THIS THING.
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"If you don't have a seat at the table, you're probably on the menu."
—Elizabeth Warren
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Chapter Two:
Lions' Den
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Third Person POV
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It was a very busy evening at the Mikaelson estate, but Esther Mikaelson was just happy that they were able to successfully plan something in such a short period of time.
After all, orchestrating her children's murders had been difficult to plan just on it's own. To orchestrate a scenario where she could not only have access to the doppelgänger's blood, but where she could also feed her children the linking spell had not been easy without attracting suspicion. Also, it had to be a good ball altogether, otherwise she'd be shaming her family name. But, it had all worked out in the end— and she couldn't be more relieved when she saw the doppelgänger and her pair of brother beaus enter the foyer.
Now all she had to do was wait for her guest: the new head of the Carmichael family.
It had taken her a few tries with modern technology, but Esther had finally been able to reach out to her via 'text message.' With some help from Finn, of course.
But, that was besides the point. What had mattered was the message that she had received in response:
Maybe.
Esther was unsure who was the head of the family in the present day— she hadn't looked in on them from the Other Side for quite some time— nearly two-hundred years. And then, when she had finally been resurrected after careful planning, Esther Mikaelson had realized her mistake.
She hadn't secured a bloodline to channel for the ritual.
Of course, that could've been an easy fix by using the Bennett line— but, not only was one of them close with the doppelgänger, who's renowned through history with several versions of her to not keep to her deals. Esther would use it if need be, but the source of power she was hoping to siphon from was much stronger than the Bennetts.
The entirety of Mystic Falls was swirling in different groups of gossip, circling drama amongst one another, and Esther briefly wished that her life was that simple.
That anything could be simple again.
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Sloane's POV
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It is almost always important to come to a party fashionably late.
Not only is it easier to make a decent entrance— but it also carries with it a certain degree of refinement, if you can pull it off right.
Obviously, since I hadn't received my confirmation text and picture confirming Miguel and Mila's ends, I wasn't in a good mood— but, that didn't matter.
I needed to look like I was.
Pulling out my compact mirror from the back seat of the Rolls Royce, I double check my makeup job. As predictable as it was, first impressions were important, and so my war paint needed to be immaculate.
Bright green eyes blink back at me in my reflection, but that's all— it's too dark. Not even looking, my magic flips the overhead light on and I can more completely see my work. Thick dark lashes frame my eyes— and I have to brush some of my curls out of my face to see better in the light—but, I can now more clearly see the shimmery gold shades painted on my lids, and the dark brown painted on my full lips.
Perfect.
I closed the compact with a snap as the Rolls Royce pulled forward towards the elaborate ivory manor, quickly adjusting my gold, high-slit dress to where I can easily step out of the vehicle in these six-inch heels. We pull to a stop just as I'm fluffing my faux-fur coat, and I allow myself a moment to admire the manor.
I'd almost say this is as large of a structure as my home back in Miami. A little niche for my tastes, but I could understand the appeal.
Mr. Hutchins exited the car promptly, moving to open my door as he had for the last twenty-two years of my life with grace, as he greeted, "Ma'am."
I nod my assent back, slipping my hand into his weathered one as he assists me out of the Rolls Royce. After, he hands me my small black and gold clutch with a warm smile on his face.
"I'll be waiting to bring the car back 'round, ma'am."
And with that, he turns to re-enter the vehicle; me in turn facing the manor bustling with voices within. After a quick breath out, I straighten my back and proceed to strut forward— confident, and ready for anything as I approach the large double doors, which are opened for me as I approach.
The room is nearly as golden as my dress in it's opulence. Ball gowns, tuxedos, and suits all blur together as they mingle, voices low as they now see me as I see them.
Jesus. Am I the only black person here?
Eh. So be it.
The attendant to my left moves to take my coat, gently assisting me out of the fur as he pleasantly takes it away to store it. Turning back to face the party, I realized there were quite a few more supernatural auras in the room besides vampire than I expected, all of varying degrees of strength.
The citizens of Mystic Falls watch me covertly as I wade through the crowd in an attempt to find the host of this party, and I'm once again reminded how much humans annoy me. There are whispers of gossip— a stranger in a strange land. This was entirely different than Miami, or any other city I had business in. Business didn't tend to be in backwater small towns.
Luckily, I had always thrived under pressure.
I continued my confident strides forward, somewhat used to the glances of lust and equal glances of envy that came from the rest of the people around me.
Finally making my way through to the foyer and passing the crowd around it, I pause when I see that a significant amount of the party within this portion of the room are hovering around a majestic grand staircase. The room is silent when there's the subtle ding of someone tapping their glass to catch our attention, and that's when I see who is at the top of the staircase.
A very attractive group of people— no, a family— stands there looking down at the crowd, all sporting matching superior glints in their eyes denoting their status.
The Mikaelsons.
As the crowd zeroes in its attention on the family, I work my way through a analyzing each, trying to figure out which one could be which.
The first one at the end of the stairs is a tall man.
He seems a bit older than me, leaning more towards thirty than twenty and probably the eldest or the second eldest of the bunch. Definitely seemed the rule-following sort. Pretty handsome, but nothing that you couldn't find in any suburban neighborhood mowing a lawn. My gut said he wasn't trustworthy, at all.
This Mikaelson had the face of a man who would squeal— a weak link.
A mental note.
The second one along the staircase is an absolute bombshell in an emerald dress.
She definitely held a degree of youth to her that the rest of her family did not, so she was obviously the youngest. The Original had high cheekbones, full lips, and beautiful blue eyes— the American dream girl.
Well, if she would be if she wasn't a Viking or whatever the hell the Originals were a thousand years ago. Grandpa hadn't been too specific about those kind of details.
Hm. Definitely has a "bitchy" vibe to her, so we'll get along just fine.
Third one up the majestic steps is the one who has tapped his glass to call the room's attention, and I can tell this isn't his first, second, or hundredth rodeo. Sharp jawline, same pronounced cheeks as the girl before, but his eyes. Dark. So very dark. He had the same wicked glint of sharp intelligence that I could clearly see was a family trait; none of the Mikaelsons were insipid.
He's tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly muscular underneath is clean pressed suit. Reminded me of every single Wall Street Wolf I had ever seen: blue blood, excellent at hiding his emotions behind a blank face, and—
"Welcome, thank you for joining us," the third one elegantly greeted the crowd, proving my final description: excellent liar. "You know, whenever my mother—," my brain immediately cut off whatever he was about to say, instead narrowing my eyes on the woman the third Original looked to.
Ah, now that's E. Mikaelson, I hum in my head, smirking slightly when the woman's intelligent blue eyes instantly snap to my form.
Once again, I'm hit by the gut instinct that I shouldn't trust jack shit she says, same as the first man.
She had the aura of a rat, and I understood quickly that I should be on my toes around her.
Continuing to slink around the edges of the party, the other Mikaelsons don't see me as the third one continues to speak to the crowd, allowing me to continue my analysis of the family with only one aware of my doing so.
The fourth one along the stairwell was a different aura entirely.
An odd muddled energy between vampire and werewolf— this one must be Klaus Mikaelson.
I wasn't fantastic at remembering names, but I did remember the rumors and childhood stories of a monstrous hybrid with a temper the size of Kansas. And god, was he a pretty, pretty man.
To my surprise, the Original hybrid was handsome in a blond devilish sort of way. It was obvious that the bombshell from before and him were related, looking almost as if they could be fraternal twins.
His grin held a sort of feral cockiness to it, and his stormy grey eyes were volatile, paranoid, and altogether very striking. Klaus was a tall, lithe man also to my surprise, giving off more of a 'starving artist' vibe rather than a 'sadistic, murderous hybrid.'
Now this was a man that I could understand and admire.
A man who had amassed a legacy of terror, respect, and power over a thousand years, creating a dynasty of such repute was more than enough to be impressive to me. Hopefully his accomplishments would rub off on me.
Then, there was the fifth one up— and didn't he look mischievous.
Dark, wicked eyes confidently scanned the room with a manic gleam to them, as if looking for somewhere to start trouble. I continue analyzing his darkly handsome face under his dark brown hair. I could definitely see the resemblance between this one and the third one. Both were remarkably handsome, but it was clear that this one was the rebellious one while the third Mikaelson was clearly more of a rule follower.
All very interesting characters so far, indeed.
I suddenly pause when I see his dark set of eyes lock on me, a cocky smile spreads across his Puck-like face at seeing my eyes already on him. There's interest in that wicked gaze, quickly eyeing my form in the gold dress lasciviously before meeting my gaze once again in challenge. My brow arches back at him, unamused, and I see a sort of resolution settle on his face, grin as devilish as ever.
Oh, now I see the 'Klaus' in him.
And then, of course, there was the lady of the hour at the top of the staircase. My gaze meets hers once again, and she shoots a look towards the back of the room. Glancing, I see that she is looking at a small descending hallway hidden in the back corner of the room. I don't nod, since I have another Original's eyes on me, and I have no idea what their family's teams looked like. Or if E. Mikaelson has even informed her children that she'd invited a Carmichael in the first place.
And then, the room shifts, and I realize that I have completely ignored whatever was being announced in the first place whilst I've been looking at the impressive family.
People beginning moving to one another, pairing off, and I quickly realize that I need to migrate elsewhere if I don't want to be caught in a ballroom blitz.
My heel steps off towards the bar area, determined to wait there until I actually see E. Mikaelson walking towards the hidden-ish hallway. I absolutely hate to be kept waiting without a drink in my hand, and if she wasn't heading down from her perch now, I'd rather wait at the bar.
Suddenly there's a grip on my wrist, and I have to fight not to accidentally shoot off my magic at the rude person reflexively.
Finding myself spun back around in the other direction, lo and behold, the mischievous Mikaelson has somehow made his way down here in record speed.
His dark eyes are much more interesting to see up close, almost appearing like to black holes that threatened to swallow you whole. This Mikaelson had a bonafide predator's gaze.
My own glare sharpens at his hand on my wrist before glaring up at the tall Original, himself. He smirks even more widely at my angry look, as if it amuses him, and bent down properly to kiss the back of my hand in greeting.
"Kol Mikaelson," the Original introduces, intrigued gleam in his eye when he sees that I'm unaffected by his act of gallantry.
"Didn't ask," I reply simply, shaking his hand off my wrist and promptly turning back to walk to the bar as more people move to the makeshift dance floor appearing in the center of the room.
Kol proceeds to take my dismissal as "continue walking next to me," chuckling slightly when I roll my green eyes at his childishness.
"Is that German? Swedish?" he soothed charmingly with his pleasing British accent, and I nearly scoff at his surprisingly quick wit.
"Very funny. But, I'm busy right now. Go ask one of these little girls giving you puppy dog eyes."
"I'm not a dog person," is his smooth reply, and this time I can't fight the slight smile it brings on my face as he steps in front of me once again. "Besides, it'd be a waste to wear that lovely gold number and not show it off. Dance with me, 'Didn't Ask?'"
Glancing up at E. Mikaelson once again behind his head, I nonverbally ask what she'd like me to do. I see the slightest of nods from the older woman's blond head, and quickly snap my gaze back to Kol before he can get suspicious.
"Aren't I a bit old for you?" I ask, challenging him first before giving in without telling him I know who he is. It's obvious that that's what he likes.
"I doubt that, darling," Kol replies cryptically with a knowing smile, "But, I'm sure you know that already, Carmichael."
My eyes immediately narrow, trying to figure out how much he knows, or if the older Mikaelson woman even has him involved in all of this. If not, then I needed to keep up the charade for as long as humanly possible.
I finally give in, "Fine. But, my name is Sloane."
"Sloane," Kol repeats in a way that sends shivers down my spine, and I'm reminded once again that accents are my weakness.
"What a pretty thing you are, Sloane."
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A/n: Hey guys! Sorry this took a minute, but my inspiration has been all over the place lately! Also, that's my apology for not opening my other books yet, but I promise it'll be soon. Thanks for the comments, favs, and follows.
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