A.N.: Happy birthday, Thenchick, I hope you managed to enjoy it!
This chapter took me forever to get right, I'm not sure why. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.
Resurgam
45
Just a Bunch of Hocus Pocus
"What about lipstick?" Zita asked, gazing up at her with guileless green eyes, as Giulia set down her blush brush. She had used some of her makeup to turn Zita into Vanellope, contouring her nose into an even tinier sun-blushed button, playing along with Zita, giving her a "makeover" by giving her nude taupe eyeshadow, curling her eyelashes - but no mascara.
"Your lips are just so perfect, I don't want to put any more makeup on you," Giulia said, cradling her daughter's tiny face in her hands, smiling indulgently as Zita dimpled at her. She had her hair pulled up into a tiny high ponytail full of ringlets, bound with a Redvine, and Giulia had pinned black fishnet over her head glued all over with clay candy. "What about…if I put on some lipstick and give you a kiss?"
"Okay," Zita beamed, watching Giulia as she went through her dressing-table, and found her favourite rosy-nude lipstick, reapplying another layer, to then give Zita lots of kisses. She gurgled with delight as Giulia squished her playfully.
"There you go," Giulia smiled warmly, as Zita turned to the mirror, to examine herself, puckering her lips. "Perfect." She reached up to rearrange the tiny coils of Zita's ringlets, smiling softly to herself.
"Come on, girls! The sweets will all be gone by the time we get into town," Enzo called from downstairs. Zita gasped softly.
"Hang on," Giulia said gently, and handed Zita the heart-shaped clay medal they had kept secret from Enzo. "Remember to give this to Enzo."
"I will!" Zita promised, gasping softly as Giulia handed her the cookie medal dangling from shimmery pink ribbon. She cradled it like the Holy Grail as she padded downstairs, her little Reese's peanut-butter cup skirt swishing, and Giulia smiled. Zita was more focused on keeping the medal safe than herself as she took each stair one by one rather than hold on to the banister.
"Are you boys ready to go?" Giulia called, following Zita downstairs as she teased her long curls so they had even more volume than usual, sliding her tiara in place. She heard a wolf-whistle, and raised an eyebrow at Enzo as she tossed her long hair over her shoulder. It needed a good cut, she thought; perhaps in the spring she'd go for a chop.
"I see my prayers have been answered," Enzo said with gusto, eyeing her costume, following the gentle swish of the golden lasso coiled at her hip. "Diana Prince returns." Giulia glanced down as Enzo smirked, luxuriating in the sight of her in her Wonder Woman costume: Chocolat had made it for her, an absurdly detailed replica of Gal Gadot's costume.
"Look at you guys," Giulia beamed. They had put together Enzo's Wreck-It Ralph costume weeks ago, and it was funny to see Enzo with tousled spiky, untidy hair. As for Fabian, Giulia bit her lip to stop from laughing.
"Please tell me you can magic that away after," she said, pointing delicately to his moustache. Fabian laughed, leaning into to give her a bristly kiss. His skin was deliciously warm as he tucked an arm around her waist, drawing her in for a gentle hug; his arms were bare due to the white tank-top he wore, the only adornment he wore a spiked armband buckled just above his bicep, and it struck Giulia for a second that, if not for his crippling visions, Fabian was a specimen. She loved his tight pale jeans. Freddie Mercury would be proud.
"Enzo!" Zita chirped, offering the medal to Enzo, gazing up at him, her face a picture of pride and anticipation. "I made it for you."
"What's this?" Enzo asked, gently taking the clay heart from Zita. "'To Stinkbrain'…aww, Zita. You say the sweetest things."
"Turn it over!" Zita giggled. Enzo did, and his features softened.
"'You're My Hero'," Enzo read quietly. He leaned down, and gave Zita a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Zita."
"Do you remember the Bad-Anon creed?" Giulia asked, taking the medal from Enzo to drape it over his head.
Enzo thought, and then chuckled softly, smiling, "'I'm bad, and that's good. I will never be good, and that's not bad. There's no-one I'd rather be than me'." He held her eye, smiling warmly. Wreck-It Ralph, while being one of the kids' favourite movies, had struck home with Enzo, too: Just because he was a 'bad guy' didn't make him a bad guy. Giulia reached up to stroke his cheek affectionately, and reached for her phone, to take photographs, as Enzo picked Zita up, propping her against his hip, so she could fiddle with the medal.
Giulia had already loaded the kart into the bed of her truck; and they parked outside the Saltzmans' house, where not only J.D. and Ruth were ready and raring to go trick-or-treating, but Spencer was, too, his cast removed, finally, dressed up as Captain America, complete with shield. The Saltzmans took Giulia's lead, and didn't make it a thing that Fabian was with them. They introduced themselves, and focused on the kids.
"We're just in time!" someone said brightly, as the kids swarmed around their feet, itching to get going while Jenna, in a Poison Ivy outfit that complimented her kids' DC villain costumes, grabbed the pumpkin-shaped candy buckets. Giulia glance over, and laughed.
"Negasonic Teenage Warhead?" she beamed, and Gyda strolled into view, wearing a yellow-and-black X-Men costume, her black trench-coat billowing around her legs, her short dark hair slicked back and tousled, her lips painted a rich plum-black.
"Gyda! Gyda!" Zita gasped excitedly, almost going ass over teacups as she tried to extricate herself from the kart; Spencer had to grab her, and help her. "Hi, Gyda!"
"Hi, sweet girl," Gyda sighed, squatting down to receive an enormous hug from Zita.
"Hey, Kol," Giulia said, smirking, as Deadpool swaggered up, carrying a unicorn plush-toy, his leather suit perfectly recreated - she would hazard a guess the katanas strapped to his back were real, too. The Originals were so extra.
"How could you possibly know it's me?" Kol asked, his voice muffled by the mask, throwing his arms up in exasperation. There wasn't an inch of skin showing, but Giulia knew.
"That perky little behind," Giulia said, and Kol struck a Marilyn Monroe pose that was so on-brand for Deadpool, trick-or-treaters walking past with their parents laughed. "I thought we'd have Gyda to ourselves until later."
"I'm here purely to be a carthorse; Gyda wants any sweets I accumulate," Kol muttered.
"Who made your costume?" Giulia asked curiously.
"Gyda," Kol said. "She made them all. She really loves Halloween."
"I'm starting to appreciate that," Giulia said, watching Gyda with J.D., Ruth, Spencer and Zita, praising their costumes, amping up their excitement. "Where's everyone else?"
"Oh, they'll meet us at the Haunted House," Kol said. "Finn's already there, helping Rose."
"I'm surprised you're not there, picking apart the inaccuracies," Giulia said, giving Kol a look.
"That's right - Gyda said the theme's voodoo," Kol gasped. "It'll feel like home."
"Why aren't you in New Orleans, by the way?" Giulia asked. "Samhain means more to the covens than Mardi Gras. It's your big earner at the bar."
"Oh, the speakeasy's still open, of course; but I've had decades of debauchery in the Big Easy," Kol shrugged. "It's actually a refreshing change-of-pace to be bullied into trick-or-treating by Gyda. Plus - how good does my arse look in all this leather?"
"Very jaunty," Giulia said. "Whose idea was Deadpool, anyway? 'The merc with the mouth'. I mean, it's very apt."
"Gyda's idea - apparently a boy at school introduced her to the films; Gyda was a collector of comics long before it was cool," Kol remarked. "But she missed Deadpool's debut."
"I suppose the benefit of being daggered through the Nineties and Noughties and the last decade is that Gyda can pick and choose the best parts from those decades without having to actually have endured them," Giulia mused.
"Grunge," Kol said, with great emotion, and Giulia laughed.
"Are you kids ready?" Jenna called, getting her camera ready. When the obligatory photographs had been taken, Vanellope von Schweetz, Captain America, Catwoman and the Joker (complete with green hair) were escorted by Negasonic Teenage Warhead, Wonder Woman, Wreck-It Ralph, Poison Ivy, Deadpool and Freddie Mercury as they wandered through the neighbourhood, collecting candy and treats.
By the time the backup carrier-bags were fit to bursting with swag, Zita had long since gotten tired from pedalling the kart, and rested in Enzo's arms, sucking her thumb, while Captain America and the Joker took turns joyriding in her wheels, Deadpool wielding his katanas, playfully teasing Catwoman, who had stolen his unicorn.
When they finished their loop of the neighbourhood, Giulia and Enzo carefully lifted the kart into the bed of the truck, buckled in the kids, and they made a convoy heading over to the Boarding house, parking behind a long line of other vehicles, making their way to the house on foot, down the long drive made eerie by strategic lighting, reflective eyes attached to tree-trunks, Spanish moss and dry-ice wafting fog around. It was made more evocative by the fact that Rose hadn't had the grounds cleared of debris created by the storm; felled trees created eerie shadows in the fog.
The Haunted House never disappointed. The front lawns had been transformed into graveyards seeping with fog, partially-obscuring eerie zombie bodies crawling or staggering along toward the house amid cracked headstones featuring names of their favourite literary heroes, a few familiar names thrown into the mix, a makeshift mausoleum reconstructed to look like the Salvatore crypt, the door ajar, a shadowy presence lurking just beyond, faintly illuminated.
And Finn frightened the life out of the kids, bursting from one of the nearest graves, covered in dirt, made up to look like a decaying zombie; the kids screamed, and darted away, down the driveway, toward the circular lawn where a glorious stone angel stood amid a blanket of fog, softly illuminated, curls perfect, hands clasped, face rapturous with a kind of religious zeal hard to capture…one blink, and she had disappeared. Moved…
Frozen, in place, closer, her posture different, still beguiling, entrancing…
And again, with every blink, appearing closer, to the left, the right, frozen like a statue in different poses.
Until, suddenly, she was upon the kids, her face morphing, fangs showing, veins flickering beneath glowing black-and-red eyes, even with the grey face-paint.
Caroline, using her powers for good.
To send the kids screaming and scurrying for the front-door, stood ajar with a coaxing golden light spilling onto the front-step splashed with spine-tingling bloody footprints…
Giulia laughed softly, as Caroline's face morphed back to normal, giggling softly.
"Hey," she said quietly, giving Giulia a hug, her eyes lingering on Fabian, who was watching Jenna trying to reassure an upset Ruth.
"Nice costume," Giulia smiled. "The Weeping Angel look works for you."
"Thanks," Caroline grinned. "It's gonna take hours to get this paint out of my hair."
"But it's so worth it," Giulia smiled. "How many people have you gotten so far?"
"Oh, all of them," Caroline beamed, her curls not quite as bouncy as usual, stuck in place with grey paint. "It's nice to see you again, Fabian."
"And you, Caroline," Fabian said softly, turning his gaze to her. They had met at Bill Forbes' wake: Giulia had heard the murmurs that she had brought a date to Bill Forbes' funeral - and the gossip that Fabian was actually her estranged husband.
As Mr Bennet said to Lizzie, 'For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn'.
People could say what they wanted: It didn't matter. She had been there for Caroline and Liz, no-one else. And Fabian had been there for her. When he was lucid, and remembered her, he knew how hard it was for her, how exhausting, to take care of him; when he could, he would support her. And sometimes, they got to play; like tonight. He was lucid, and content, and happy to join Giulia for treats she had arranged months ago.
Caroline had met Fabian the other day; and in spite of never having met him before, not even invited to Giulia's wedding - they had eloped, after all - she treated Fabian like a brother she had never had, because he was Giulia's husband. And her personal feelings for their situation aside, Caroline would respect that Fabian was in town because he and Giulia were still married, and Giulia wanted him there. She knew Fabian was dying; and she knew Giulia was devoted to taking care of him. To Caroline, that meant it was her job to make sure Giulia had as many opportunities to create wonderful memories with Fabian and the rest of her family as possible. Tonight was one of those times.
"Have you taken photographs?" Giulia asked, and Caroline shook her head. "Get back on your perch. I think I can hear people coming. When do you get off?"
"Another hour, and then we'll all head inside," Caroline said, climbing back onto her short plinth, the billowing skirts of her robes making the fog whisper and coil around them. She took her first position, and froze, eerily still. Like a living-dead statue. It was simple and creepy as hell and damn effective, and it set the tone for the rest of the house: It was a sensory masterpiece, designed to send shivers down your spine.
Rose loved Halloween, and tended to start working on the next Haunted House every first of November: She'd had a year to plan and craft, and stepping into the foyer, Giulia was struck with a sense of claustrophobia, and simultaneous déjà vu - she felt like she had just walked into Katie's shop in the French Quarter, the Jardin Gris, right down to the apothecary jars filled with eerie liquid and dubious…remnants.
A shiver went down her spine, realising the foyer was decorated with more voodoo paraphernalia than she had originally noticed - including dolls. Ragged hessian dolls made with pins and twine, stuffed with hay, and gorgeous, porcelain-faced dolls with perfect ringlet curls and frilly dresses that made Giulia shudder. The archways into the Great Room had been blocked off, forcing visitors to follow the path determined by Rose; it was strange, to see the Boarding House so transformed, reminding Giulia more of the house she had grown up in, with the subdued lighting, moody colours and eerie, oppressive sentience that seemed to seep from the very walls, cluttered with macabre trinkets and toys Giulia knew she had removed from the attic years ago - to be tucked into storage for Rose to pull out on occasions such as this.
"I thought I heard your voices," said Rose, appearing in full voodoo queen regalia, and J.D. backed up against Giulia's legs as they noticed the live python draped around Rose's shoulders. Rose smiled beautifully at J.D. "The zombies didn't get you, did they? Not even a nibble? Good. They're quite incorrigible."
"I like your snake," Spencer said, watching the boa's head dip and rise, its tongue flickering out.
"Nagini's a sweetheart," Rose said, stroking the snake. "It's William Snakespeare you want to watch out for. Perhaps you can help me find him."
"…find…?" J.D. spluttered, and Rose smiled warmly at him.
"He's probably in the library," Giulia smirked, and Rose laughed.
"Are you ready for the tour?" Rose asked, and J.D. shook his head, looking dubiously at Nagini. Sucking her thumb, Zita reached for Giulia's hand, and Giulia lifted her daughter onto her hip, the better for Zita to see, as they followed Rose, who ked them down shadowy, cluttered corridors, J.D. and Spencer holding Ruth's hands to coax her into every themed room in the place.
Kids gaped at the spectacle of the macabre, shuddering at every scare: Adults were awed by the effort put into every design. They were shiver-inducing, and marvellous, and would feature in nightmares for years to come.
The tour ended in the Great Room, where magic and showmanship were combined with practical rigs to make onlookers shudder as they entered the room through the library, the ceiling hung with cages full of birds twittering, snakes and lizards - all real, all borrowed from the local pet store - the Great Room transformed into a mix between a mirrored neo-Gothic portrait gallery and a voodoo queen's parlour, skeletons dressed up to look like Dr Facilier and the lovechildren of Captain Jack Sparrow and gypsy princesses gathered around a large round table set up for a séance, the table messy with esoteric symbols, hand-painted tarot cards, scattered knuckle-bones carved with runes, a glowing milky-white crystal-ball, voodoo dolls, the skull of a small goat, and one empty chair, grand, upholstered in velvet, a tarantula perched on the back.
The high walls had been transformed, the windows shuttered and concealed: There were ancient mirrors hung in crumbling frames, candle scones flickering spine-tingling shadows across the partygoers, and between them, creepy masks hung - eerily accurate masks of the supernatural members of their community in full shift, strategically lit to make people shudder - amid portraits made to look like they were mouldering from age, the walls prepared to look damp with dubious stains. They were harrowing, grotesque Rococo-style portraits, again, of very familiar people.
"Oh, I look wonderful!" Kol cooed, gazing up at the portraits. It was all in the eyes, Giulia realised; the artist had done a spectacular job of making it seem like the subjects of the paintings were watching them, even if they had only the one, half-blind eye…
"I needed a showpiece for this room," said Rose, smiling fondly at them.
"Where on earth did you get them?" Giulia asked, gaping at the portraits - the Originals, all of them, even Willem and Kol. Giulia knew which portrayed Klaus immediately: The artist had evidently experienced one of his macabre shifts, to show his true nature in acrylic, made to look like warped Rococo portraits. Only Finn and Willem were largely unchanged, though Finn's portrait looked ghostly, intangible; Willem, more lupine, a full moon shrouded with mist glowing behind his shoulder.
"More to the point, how stupid are you to risk insulting us, the Original family?" asked a voice, and Rebekah sauntered into view, in full flapper outfit, right down to tasselled, beaded headband and vintage silk shoes, her dress shimmering and sparkling, finger-curls glinting in the candlelight.
"Rose is far from stupid; you just have a fragile ego," Gyda sniffed, her posture becoming slightly aggressive as Rebekah glowered at Rose. "I'm not surprised you're the one to complain about the portraits. They are, after all, punishingly accurate."
"Accurate -?!" Rebekah snapped.
"I commissioned Gyda to paint me something horrifying weeks ago," Rose said, her pretty eyes sweeping over Rebekah, who shimmered in the candlelight, a cocktail in her hand, her red lipstick vibrant, her glower dangerous.
"And I chose to paint us all," Gyda said, grinning viciously at Rebekah. Giulia realised why Finn and Willem alone seemed to have favourable portraits - they were Gyda's favourites, after all. "I thought I'd do the thing properly."
"They're very…Dorian Gray," Giulia winced.
"Yes," Gyda smiled, but her features turned soft, and sad, reflective, as her dark eyes roved over the horrifying Rococo paintings. "We remain young and beautiful; our portraits reflect every vice, every inner torment…they show us as we truly are."
"They're rather a little too on-the-nose, my darling," said a familiar voice, and Elijah appeared, holding a cocktail. He leaned in to give Gyda a kiss. "However punishing your artist's eye, no-one can deny your talent is boundless."
"What can I say, after watching another one of Niklaus' tantrums, I was inspired," Gyda said, shrugging delicately, as she gazed up at the wall of horrors. Elijah smiled grimly, but he brightened up as he swept his eyes over everyone else - over the children, in their costumes; he reached out to playfully pluck at one of Zita's gorgeous ringlets, and raised his eyes to Giulia.
Giulia's heart thudded as it dropped to her stomach, taking in Elijah's costume. Pressed beige uniform; vintage leather jacket worn by World War I fighter pilots. And by the way his tiny smile lit up as he took in her Wonder Woman costume, he realised that…unintentionally… They had matched. Diana Prince, and whether or not he had intended to be anything but an historic fighter-pilot, beside her, he looked like he had dressed up as Steve Trevor.
"Nice jacket," she said to him, smiling softly.
"Nice lasso," he replied, smiling softly, leaning in to give her a gentle kiss on the cheek. His eyes slid to Fabian, his face sobering, and he offered his hand. "A pleasure."
"Elijah Mikaelson," Fabian murmured, and Giulia watched him closely; watched as his eyes slid out of focus, glazed. She rested a hand on his shoulder, and he shook his head slightly, as if dislodging water from his ears, grasping Elijah's hand. Fabian's eyes turned thoughtful, and he stared at Elijah with an intensity that bordered on indecent.
"Should I leave the two of you alone?" she asked Fabian, raising her eyebrows. She knew better than to ask about the reading he had taken from touching Elijah's hand, but couldn't help wonder what he had gleaned from their brief contact. And he wasn't likely to tell her, his eyes glazing over.
"Drinks?" Enzo asked, and Giulia gasped, "Yes!" and let Zita down to roam freely around the Great Room and investigate. Elijah's presence broke apart whatever had been brewing between Gyda and Rebekah, though Rebekah continued to shoot Gyda filthy looks as people admired the grotesque paintings, some of them even spotting the similarities between portrait and partygoer.
The Great Room was always left mostly cleared, so people could mingle; it was, after all, a Halloween party, and though the kitchen was always overturned to resemble something like a torture chamber or a set piece from Blade or Underworld (as it had in years past, complete with blood and body-parts) the staff always prepared canapés and Halloween treats for guests, displayed like Nearly-Headless Nick's Death Day party on a long buffet table, amid shrunken-head bobbing-apples, bubbling cauldrons, black candles and delicious foods displayed on silver platters - the overriding theme this year was voodoo; New Orleans cuisine had inspired the menu, with vats of étouffée, gumbo and jambalaya on offer, with cornbread and rice and beans, apothecary jars full of pecan pralines, and a couple of gorgeous banoffee pies - Rose's favourite, adjusted from the English recipes she had to accommodate a New Orleans flair of rum-flambéed bananas.
The smells made her close her eyes, and think of home - of New Orleans…of lazy Saturday evenings with Tyler and Zara, sitting on the porch, enjoying a plate of jambalaya, playing cards, resting from a hard day's work renovating the house, refreshed from cool showers, humidity kissing their skin, listening to the birds singing, admiring the camellia and peonies Zara was determinedly growing in terracotta pots, Tyler cuddling with tiny Zita. She sighed, and shifted her focus, wincing at the wonderful memories of a time in her life she missed…
Approaching the buffet table, set before the roaring fire, Giulia's gaze went to the portrait hanging directly over the mantelpiece. Like Finn's and Willem's portraits, it was one of the few significant in being…almost completely normal, although beautiful. It was also remarkable for being rather plain, with a dark background speckled with stars, a handful of candles in the corner illuminating the subject. The portrait was of a woman with a delicate nose, pretty lips, high cheekbones and blonde hair shimmering in the glow of candlelight. She looked elegant, sensual, the danger in her loveliness, but her clear blue eyes were…heartbroken, Giulia thought, mesmerised by the portrait. Gyda's talent was exquisite: The woman might have been sat within the frame, so detailed was the painting.
She wasn't the only one who stopped to stare.
Elijah stood beside it, staring grimly at the woman, and Giulia realised she had Elijah's and Finn's cheekbones. Rebekah's dainty little nose. Lagertha's eyebrows. Willem's eyes were the exact same shade of clear sky blue. Lagertha, Isak, Rebekah all had the same blonde hair. This was Ástríðr, their mother - as Gyda remembered her.
"My mother," Elijah said softly, as if the familiar pendant subtly glimmering where it rested on her dark dress wasn't proof enough of her identity. Elena's pendant, the one Stefan had picked up amid broken glass in a Chicago speakeasy in the 1920s, worn by Rebekah for a thousand years, her mother's…the pendant Klaus had ripped from around their mother's neck after ripping out her heart.
"It's a beautiful portrait," Giulia said.
"I…had no idea Gyda's memory of her was so…clear," Elijah said softly, gazing up at his mother as if he took no joy in it.
"Why put your mother on the wall?" Giulia asked softly, and Gyda appeared, reaching or a plate to help herself to some food. "Gyda, why paint your grandmother?"
Gyda sighed, and stared up at the portrait.
"What Niklaus did to us after he brutalised her," Gyda sighed, shaking her head, her eyes never leaving the portrait. "Her murder dictated all the horrors we have endured over the centuries. She died unchanged…we will linger, decaying…as long as Niklaus has anything to do with it."
"He won't," Elijah murmured, glancing at his daughter. "No longer."
"It's easier to say it than see it through," Gyda sighed, looking grimly at her father. She piled her plate with food and drifted off, leaving Elijah gazing painfully at the painting.
"She's right," he sighed. "Our recovery will not happen overnight."
"Take it one decision at a time," Giulia advised, "to help make it seem less daunting."
"One decision at a time?"
"Haven't you been trained, over the centuries, to default to what is best for Klaus?" Giulia asked, remembering their time together a decade ago, when Elijah was fighting every instinct to plot against his brother for the return of his family. "Each decision you make, now you have to judge what benefit it is to you, your happiness. Not so easy, I know, when everything Klaus has done to you over the centuries constantly reminds you of the risk of doing anything for yourself…"
Elijah smiled softly at her. "Is this Dr Salvatore, psychologist, speaking to me?"
"A little," Giulia said. "I had to drill the same advice into me… You know, Gyda has painted you all as warped grotesques, creatures in pain…I wonder how the portraits would alter if you all started to heal."
"Some need a great deal more help than others," Elijah sighed, gazing at his own portrait.
"All you have to do is ask," Giulia said quietly, from experience. Elijah made that rich, masculine, expressive sound deep in his throat, and he gave her a soft smile. His eyes drifted from her, to the library entrance, and his smile widened. Giulia followed his gaze, and saw Lagertha entering the room, resplendent in a winged helmet, shining breastplate and braids Daenerys Targaryen would have envied, carrying sword and a shield beautifully carved with ancient runes and motifs of swans. She wasn't just a shield-maiden, a Valkyrie - she was Freyja, Norse goddess of love, beauty, sex, fertility, death, gold and war. And beside her, Willem - swathed in a red cape, his hair glimmering gold, twisted with a lock of dark hair; Marvel's Thor. As soon as he saw Willem, Spencer in his Captain America costume darted over, grinning around a mouthful of jambalaya. Caroline drifting in after them, accompanied by Damon, in his old Confederate uniform, face and uniform smeared with blood, made up to look like a zombie by way of The Walking Dead - and Finn, dressed similarly, also turned into a zombie, looking like he had done his utmost to shed the dirt from his clothing and hair, walking with the air of a man trying not to dislodge any dirt on the carpet.
"Finn…" Rose beamed, wrapping her arms around his neck, giving him a huge hug. Giulia glanced at Elijah, smirking softly at his raised eyebrows, as Rose kissed Finn's cheek. "Thank you."
"You made a marvellous zombie!" Gyda grinned, squeezing Finn's middle when Rose released him.
"A dull, slow-moving, brainless creature?" sneered a familiar voice, and several people tensed as Klaus hunched his way into the room, his eyes aglow, veins flickering, fangs visible. His voice was thick, guttural; it was difficult for him to speak around the fangs that cut his lips, bloody spittle dripping down his chin. And yet, he managed to sneer at Finn, scoffing, "Fitting."
"Niklaus," Kol sighed, his expression concealed by his Deadpool mask, his irreverence and disdain evident in his voice, doing Ryan Reynolds proud. "Slipped the leash, did you?"
"That's the problem with no boundary protection," Rebekah said coolly. "All the riffraff can enter at will."
"What are you doing here?" Elijah asked quietly, dangerously.
"Well, this is a family event," Klaus simpered. "It wouldn't be a family gathering without me."
"Believe me when I say, Niklaus…we have always been more of a family without you," Gyda said coldly.
"You speak to me so, after a thousand years protecting you -"
"A thousand years you've manipulated and abused us, inflicted worse horrors on us than you ever have on your enemies," Elijah said, squaring up to Klaus, whose eyes flickered and glowed menacingly, his bloody maw twisting with cruelty as his eyes swept over the children gathered at the bobbing-apples. Elijah's lip curled with rage, as he said, "All in the name of family. Always and forever. It was an immaculate deception, I will admit."
"Giulia pulled the wool from our eyes," Lagertha said, accepting a cocktail from Willem. "The truth has freed us. From you."
"Ah…Giulia Salvatore," Klaus' voice went silky-soft, his eyes resting on Giulia. His smile turned lethal. "She will live to know the taste of her child's intestines as the brat squeals for death." Elijah glanced at Giulia, whose eyes had narrowed on Klaus, her features cold as stone, perfect. Unmoved, unimpressed. "Only after I have wrought every exquisite agony upon her shall I release her…oh I shan't kill her." He smirked at Elijah. "I will leave what remains of her for you, brother, a little pet for you to dote upon. Better than a spaniel!" Klaus stalked too close, shoving his face in Elijah's, his smirk terrible. "You shall keep her, as a reminder of what happens when my family disappoints me."
"Hm…" Elijah sighed, watching closely as Klaus' face twisted, warped, his eyes flickering, and a snarl emitted from his throat, his nose contorting, stretching into a muzzle, and Elijah realised, in a heartbeat, that Niklaus was struggling to retain control over his own body. Proximity to vampires - the werewolves' natural enemy - triggered his shift in self-defence, and yet his own vampiric traits overlaying the werewolf nature he could never embrace were at war. He was impotent to his own warring nature.
Elijah used to step back. Now, he leaned forward - and every Original in the room noted that it was Niklaus, for the first time, who backed down.
"Your threats seem to have lost their bite, brother," Elijah said softly. "After all, how is it you intend to torture anyone, in such a state as you are in? Barely coherent, for the first time in months? Look at you, fighting for control… A rabid beast. And as for Giulia, I trust she can more than handle you." He shot Giulia an indulgent, proud smile. "After all, it was she who predicted…this. In fact, she fed herself to the fire to ensure it. My unconquerable brother…bested. After a thousand years, no enemy but the worst villain in history could best you; you were the architect of your own undoing. The irony is exquisite."
"What's that?" Kol quipped, as Klaus snarled, twitching away from Elijah. "Didn't hear you. No more warnings for us, Nik?"
"You will not stand against me, brother," Niklaus growled, but they all watched him with faint disinterest, even boredom. "You know better than to do that."
"Nine centuries you kept Finn in a box; Isak, five, and Lagertha, closer to two. Rebekah, you have daggered more times than I can count," Elijah mused. "But me… I alone evaded the dagger. I am no fool; I know why."
"Enlighten me, brother," Klaus sneered.
"I am the only one strong enough to stand against you…the only one you both feared - and envied. It is your envy that has saved me from a coffin all these centuries. There has been nothing I have built for myself that you have not taken, for spite. No lover to outlast your vindictive envy. Few friends to survive your malice…" He sighed, and glanced at Giulia, who was keeping track of her daughter as the rest of the partygoers ignored them - or appreciated the theatre of Niklaus' costume, their confrontation. They saw the portraits on the walls, and Elijah overheard people praising Rose for her ingenuity. "There would have been no satisfaction in simply boxing me away - no victory there, and you so crave domination over your siblings - but breaking me, oh…you took centuries, and you were methodical, you were emotionally manipulative, violent and psychologically abusive, until I was but a shadow of the man I once was when I so reminded you of all that you wished to be, all you envied in others, all you wished others saw in you, all you were incapable of ever being… That man was not broken, Niklaus. I am Viking. I am far stronger than even your worst attempts to ruin me."
"Oh, don't even think about pitching a fit," Kol yawned, as Klaus growled, his body vibrating with rage. "Rather redundant, wouldn't you say?"
"Not to mention childish," Gyda sniffed. "But then, you've never truly outgrown your formative years, have you? Still the same petulant, self-absorbed, manipulative coward you have always been."
"Leave, Niklaus," Elijah said quietly. "You are not welcome."
"We shall not waste another moment on you," Rebekah said, turning away to sip her drink, smiling flirtatiously at Stefan.
Rebekah screamed, as Klaus launched himself at her, savaging her exposed throat from behind, tearing chunks of skin away, blood spraying those nearest, soaking her vintage dress.
Without warning, Klaus howled in rage and misery as a shadowed figure appeared, plunging his hand through Niklaus' back, yanking his head back by his hair so his jaw released Rebekah - she stumbled into Stefan's waiting arms, shivering with pain.
"Now, is that any way to treat your sister?" said a calm voice, and Elijah exchanged a quick glance with Giulia, who moved slowly to place herself between Mikael and her daughter, her posture defensive, poised - ready.
"Father!" Lagertha gasped, as Mikael released Niklaus, pulling the handkerchief from his breast-pocket to wipe the blood from his hand, as Klaus stumbled and bristled, his eyes flashing, fangs lengthening.
"Stefan, go!" Rebekah grimaced, holding her hand to her shoulder as her skin started to heal. Stefan glanced from her to Mikael, his face sombre, but he didn't budge, supporting Rebekah. The partygoers applauded, wiping their faces, their costumes, turning away from the altercation as if it was all part of Rose's Haunted House.
"My darling, your…what do they say nowadays?" Mikael frowned. "Your boyfriend has nothing to fear from me, Ragnfrid."
"Don't call me that," Rebekah panted, glowering at the blood staining her dress, removing her hand from her healing neck. "That girl died centuries ago."
Mikael's benign expression turned soft, sad, and he said quietly, "She did not die, my darling…she was lost."
"You killed us," Rebekah said softly, her pretty lips pursing.
"Yes…I killed my children, and created monsters," Mikael said, his voice a touch acerbic despite the unassuming nature of his expression, his stance - contrasting the blood on his hand.
"You and Mother created vampires; you did not create monsters," Elijah said quietly, moving between Mikael and Klaus, still bristling - not to protect Klaus, but to prevent them from creating a scene that threatened the lives of everyone in the Great Room. "Niklaus did that to us."
"And yet you would shield him now, as you have for a thousand years?" Mikael said softly.
"We know the truth, Father. Niklaus murdered Rollo, and his family. Murdered our Mother, in cold blood, and turned us against you for his own self-preservation," Lagertha said sternly. "We will not allow you to kill Niklaus…for the thousand years' worth of torture and abuse we owe him in turn, the loved ones, the lives he has stolen from us - he is owed an unending life of torment and pain."
"Your bestial half-brother will find a workaround for his present predicament, as he always has," Mikael said, white-hot rage seething beneath a calm exterior. "You are too well-versed in his methods to underestimate him, Ejnar." Elijah glanced at Mikael, sighing.
"Perhaps. But the knowledge of what he did, to Mother, to you, a thousand years ago does not supersede what he has forced us to endure for centuries…" Elijah said carefully.
"While the whelp lives you shall never be free. The runt must be put down, for the good of the pack. Your wretched half-brother was a weakling even from birth, you know…born too soon, squalling like a stuck pig hour after hour, fragile as a hatchling… Ástríðr nursed him, she said…all babies are delicate… Delicate. It would have been a mercy to the family to drown the creature, little more than a cuckoo infesting our family…killing the trueborn children."
"Henrik's death was an accident," Elijah said sorrowfully.
"Henrik's death was avoidable!" Mikael snapped, the first glimmer of rage he let slip beyond the façade of benign calm. "My laws were hard; we lived in a hard land. And your wretched beast of a brother flouted those laws for his own amusement. Laid waste to all we had spent decades building - to rut on a slave-girl." His lip curled in a sneer as his eyes flashed, glaring at Klaus. "Henrik, dead, on account of his lust…your families, killed by his arrogance." Mikael raised his clear blue eyes to Elijah. "Björn, Annika, Alrik, Gunnar, Olle, and Torvi's last child, Ejnar…" His features flickered with sorrow, and he sighed heavily, turning his gaze to Lagertha. "And Lagertha…"
"Don't," she flinched, her tone made of iron.
"You do not have to say their names, Father; I remember them," Elijah said quietly, distracting him from Lagertha, who wavered where she stood, devastated. "Always and forever."
"To avenge all that was lost to us has been my goal through ten centuries of solitude," Mikael said calmly. He frowned gently at Lagertha, his own expression softening at the stricken look on her face. He took in her costume. "Freyja… You honour the goddess of love and war, and the sister named for her." Mikael's own features betrayed his devastation; even a thousand years on, he missed her. They all did - all who remembered her. "You remember her."
"Always…and forever," Lagertha said softly. Long before Rebekah had been born, Lagertha's only sister, her older sister, had been Freyja. Finn's twin-sister. An exquisitely talented witch in her own right, fierce - Viking.
"We lost Freyja and built a new world for ourselves," Mikael said softly. "Henrik was murdered, and with his body the world we had built burned to ash."
"Killing him won't bring any of them back," Lagertha said, in iron tones, glaring at Klaus.
"And what if executing the whelp - as I should have done centuries ago - could give you all you have had taken from you, all he has taken from you?"
It was the way he said it. Not vicious, angry; speculative. Coaxing. They glanced at each other, and back at Mikael.
"You cannot erase the past, Father," Elijah said.
"No. But you can alter the future," Mikael said, and Elijah glanced quickly at Giulia, who was frowning thoughtfully at Mikael. "You cut out the tumour before it kills you."
"It would change nothing," Rebekah said, her neck fully-healed, her dress still bloody. "The last thousand years…"
"Would not be echoed in the next," Mikael said thoughtfully. He took the drink from Kol's hand, taking a sip, and turned to Klaus, cowering and growling and whining on the carpet. "Shall we play an old game? I wonder…just how brave is the legendary Niklaus Mikaelson without his playthings to protect him."
"It takes no bravery for a dog to hunt down rats," Klaus snarled, and Mikael's lip curled, smirking.
"And you spent ten centuries fleeing, boy. Which of us is the wolf?" he murmured, making Klaus flinch. Mikael's eyes drifted to Willem, his bulk shielding petite Gyda. "If Rollo could but see you - Willem…a man any father is proud to call son…and you, Niklaus…you can no longer conceal your monstrous nature." He squatted down, going down to eye-level with Klaus, who snarled and cowered, exposing his fangs, as his tufted ears flattened to his head in fear. "Even I must admit, lifting Ástríðr's spell is the most exquisite punishment anyone could ever have devised for you, boy; to strip away your mother's protection you hid behind for so long. Yes…" He smiled, straightening up, and glanced at Giulia. "I commend your courage and your brilliance, Dr Salvatore." He inclined his head respectfully. "An honour."
Giulia raised her eyebrows, but otherwise did not react. It was one thing to have one's life threatened by a monster; to be shown deference by one? That was something else entirely.
"Enough of this, old man," Klaus snarled, shuddering as he tried to straighten up.
"I shall teach you manners before the end, boy."
"It shall not be my end, Father," Klaus sneered.
"We shall see. Do your worst, boy," Mikael said softly. "Without your siblings to shield you, I do wonder how long you shall last."
"My whole life you've underestimated me," Klaus said, eyes bulging as he glared, his voice rising as he sneered at Mikael, the room reeking of his terror. "If you kill me, you will have lost your children forever. They will never be yours. Never love you. Respect you. So go on, old man! Do your worst."
"Do you know something…" They all stiffened as Mikael withdrew something slender from his inside jacket-pocket. It was a stake of pale wood, intricately hand-carved. "I have carried this for a thousand years. The only thing on this earth capable of killing me. A thousand years, and every morning, I think…this morning, perhaps, is the one I finally plunge it into my heart… What has kept me from following Ástríðr to Valhalla all these long years…the knowledge that I would be abandoning my children utterly, to you…" His lip curled, sneering at Klaus, whose eyes never left the white-oak stake as Mikael traced his fingers over the carvings. "You see, I live only to put an end to your tyranny over my children. The moment your heart beats its last I shall be free."
"The moment your undead heart beats its last, Mikael, I shall be free," Klaus said softly, his bravado unyielding. "Free of you."
"And what are you, boy, without me? Without your siblings who have protected you all these centuries, given you the illusion that you can create true, meaningful bonds with others. What are you, without those whose loyalty you forced? Without friendship, without family," Mikael said gently. His lip curled again, his eyes glimmering cruelly. "You will have nothing. You are nothing. You have always been…nothing."
Klaus abandoned all caution, any sense of strategy, and hurled himself at Mikael.
It was terrible to watch, and yet, for the first time…Elijah was not moved to intercede, to protect his brother. As they thrashed and fought, whaling hits onto each other that could have toppled buildings, moving too fast, hitting with too much force, people cleared away, but watched, wide-eyed, smiling, as if it was still just part of the Haunted House. And for the first time in eternity, Elijah stood aside. As brutal as the fight was, it was very clear that Mikael possessed a discipline and strategy Niklaus, for all his furious bluster and rage, could not match…so, he did what Niklaus did best. Used his siblings as shields - as Mikael anticipated, switching hands to avoid thrusting the white oak stake through Rebekah's heart as she stumbled, flung into Mikael's path by Niklaus. Lagertha grabbed Rebekah, dragging her bodily out of the way, as Rebekah bristled, her eyes glinting with fury as she watched Klaus. Elijah, Lagertha and Willem formed a wall to keep the two penned in, away from the other partygoers, the best kind of fodder Klaus would use without hesitation.
They heard Mikael's soft laugh of amusement as he shoved Klaus into the fire - they heard his screams of pain, and yet Elijah watched dispassionately as his brother's skin burned and bubbled, smoking, melting away in places to show the bloody bones beneath. Several of the human guests screamed, and Finn murmured something to Rose; they gathered up the children, retreating to the library, Finn closing the door behind them, and guarding it. No-one was going to get past him to Rose and the children.
And Klaus freed himself from Mikael's grip, thrashing away from the fire, bellowing his wrath, trailing embers that licked at the old carpet, bubbling, oozing, blistering bits of skin dripping from his bones.
"Brother!" Klaus cried, reaching for Elijah. Mikael took his time, tossing the white-oak stake over and over in his hand.
"Predictable, Niklaus," he sighed. "Utterly predicable. The last you could do is meet your fate like a man."
Klaus roared, and launched himself at Mikael, who dusted him aside as if he was nothing but a fly - Klaus screamed, as the white-oak stake pierced his abdomen - missing his heart by inches. Mikael snarled, withdrawing the stake, but Klaus raked his claws across Mikael's face and chest; he roared, half-blinded, and a second blow from Klaus sent the stake skittering across the carpet.
In the huge fireplace, the flames roared, and several people yelled as they soared, two metres high, spitting embers and tongues of flame - suddenly, they changed colour, a blinding, searing white that made Elijah throw up his hands, blinded.
Out of the brightness stepped a shadow.
And just as suddenly as they had exploded, the flames gentled, illuminating a modestly-dressed woman with lustrous blonde hair falling past her waist as she stepped out of the fireplace, onto the ruined carpet.
She raised a hand, antique-looking rings glinting on elegant fingers, and all around them, the noise was stifled, the music silenced, the humans all but frozen, their faces contorted in mid-speech, eyes wide with surprise, startled, or enthralled, beaming with delight at the show.
Tears splashed down Rebekah's cheeks, and Lagertha's lips parted. All eyes rested on the woman who had stepped from the fire.
"End this foolishness," she said softly, in the Old Tongue, and somehow, the white-oak stake appeared in her hand. She slowly approached Mikael, blood dripping from a split eyebrow, a flourishing bruise quickly healing, and they watched, as she raised a hand to cradle his cheek lovingly.
Elijah never thought to see that again. The way Mikael's face seemed to soften as the woman he loved, respected and admired displayed her affection for him. Her touch, his gentleness. His vulnerability was always reserved for his wife, who alone in the world heard his sorrows, his dread, his rage and his plans. A thousand years ago, they had made an indomitable team.
A thousand years…
And yet Elijah remembered his mother's face as if he had just left her side at the jarlshall, the scent of sage smoky in the air, her hair glimmering in firelight, serene and understated and powerful.
It was Mikael's expression that confirmed what they all fought to believe…that Ástríðr had indeed wandered out of the fire.
"It is time for you to rest, my love," she murmured, and Mikael closed his eyes, resting his brow against hers, in a moment of pure intimacy - of ecstasy.
Ástríðr drove the stake through his heart.
He desiccated before their eyes, and as Lagertha yelled, fire igniting the stake, burning from Mikael's chest, consuming everything - he became nothing but a raging column of flame, as his body crumpled to the floor, and too soon, the flames flickered and died, nothing but ash whispering on the ruined carpet, disturbed by Ástríðr's footsteps as she turned to examine each of her children.
Applause rang out, cheers and delighted shouts, and praise rang out for Rose. The best Haunted House yet. How had she managed to rig everything? How had the woman come through the fire unscathed? How had they switched the man for a dummy to set alight? How had they ignited the dummy with a stick?
It was marvellous.
Elijah stared, uncomprehending.
Mikael was dead.
Ástríðr was very much…alive.
His breath came in short, sharp, painful spurts as Elijah glanced at his siblings, at Gyda, all of them gaping, as shocked and bemused as him.
Nothing remained of Mikael…not even his wretched stake.
And yet the pervasive scent that dominated all others, even the charred remains of his father…was fear. Niklaus' sheer, undiluted terror as Ástríðr swept her depthless blue eyes over each and every one of her children - bar Isak, who had remained at the Klaushaus with Elena Gilbert.
Mikael was dead. Now Klaus had Ástríðr's vengeance to fear.
Mikael had been the jarl, their leader, their ruthless father, and a man set upon Niklaus' destruction for a millennium, a tyrant and a patient menace. And yet, though Mikael had been a visionary and a Viking…
Ástríðr had always been the deadlier one in their partnership.
And suddenly the sacrifices made sense, as did Ashlyn's squirrelly behaviour.
Ashlyn, the last living descendant of Ástríðr and Mikael's line, had been used to resurrect her most powerful ancestress. Ástríðr.
How did Mikael's death figure into it? Elijah couldn't help but wonder.
The humans applauded what they would be led to believe was a show - a narrative planned by Rose, highlighted by the portraits so eerily similar to each of the siblings…and the portrait of Ástríðr resting above the mantelpiece… And Elijah glanced at Giulia, and saw in her eyes, glowing silver in the firelight as they slid from Ástríðr to her portrait and back, her lips drawn into a thoughtful bud, that Giulia understood; this was what it had all been for.
The Order's grand play. Resurrect Ástríðr. The only witch powerful enough to create vampires…surely had the power to unmake them.
Yet, why now? Elijah wondered, and realised, as he watched Willem step closer hesitantly… They were all together, here, in Mystic Falls, where it had all begun a thousand years ago. All of them, even Willem, and all of them were awake. This was the first time in nine centuries all of them had been compus mentis, taking agency over their own lives…
"You're not real," Klaus wheezed hoarsely. "This is some trick, some machination of the witches! To torture me, with thoughts of any freedom in a life without Mikael - they intend to use you to torment me!"
"I assure you, my son," said Ástríðr, in perfect English, her features turning hard and cold as she beheld Klaus collapsed on the carpet, "I am no trick."
"You…you were resurrected," Kol murmured, and Ástríðr glanced toward Kol, who removed his red mask, his hair rumpled, eyes wide as he stared at Ástríðr. "It was all for you."
"Yes," she admitted, and her features warmed as she reached to cradle Kol's cheek. "You, at least, have not forgotten what I taught you."
"Why…why are you here?" Lagertha asked, and Elijah was surprised to hear anger in her tone, see rage seething in her sapphire-blue eyes as she beheld their mother. Ástríðr gazed steadily at her eldest-surviving daughter, and the joy when she had beheld Kol softened into sadness as she examined Lagertha.
"I am here…to do what a mother does," she said quietly, turning to gaze at each of them in turn: She gazed sadly at Finn. For Gyda, her face melted into an indulgent smile of delight and coy playfulness, pride. Rebekah, she gazed at long and hard, her heartbreak clear. Her eyes lit up when she beheld Willem, and she smiled proudly at him, reaching out to cradle his cheek in her hand, pressing her other hand over his heart. Kol she gave a troubled wince, and Lagertha…she could not meet her eye. Elijah…her eyes glittered, and her smile was tremulous. "I shall fix things."
"And how are you going to do that?" Rebekah asked, and Elijah was unsettled to hear the sneer in her voice. Rebekah, who had wept every day for years, so keenly had she felt her grief for Ástríðr's death, who wore Ástríðr's necklace every day for nine centuries to keep something of her mother with her always and forever.
Ástríðr turned a very cool look on Rebekah that instantly reminded everyone that this…this was Mother. And rudeness was not tolerated. Rebekah's eyelashes fluttered as she glanced away, shame-faced without Ástríðr having to say a word.
Elijah frowned softly, and instead of approaching Ástríðr as his siblings did, hesitantly, awed, curious, Elijah found himself at Giulia's side as she gazed down at her hands. Her exquisite rings glittered on her long, elegant fingers, and Elijah's lips parted, realising her hands shook. That was why she was gazing at them. Suddenly, her eyes widened, and her gasp cut off as she whirled, searching the room, lifting her nose to scent her way, and darted off.
And Elijah, rather than wrap his mind around his mother's resurrection and all the implications, followed Giulia.
He understood something then that would define the rest of his life: He would always follow Giulia Salvatore.
He followed her, then, through a disguised door into a rather grim passage leading into a network of cellars. He heard her footsteps echoing off the stone, heard her intake of breath and a tiny, heartrending moan, and almost tripped over her as he turned a bend in the corridor and found her on her knees beside a young-looking man, sprawled on the floor beside a reinforced door.
Sweat sheened over the man's exposed skin; his entire body had seized so badly Elijah dreaded his bones might snap, his muscles pulled so tightly as he shook and shuddered. Worse still than watching his seizure was the blood, oozing from eyes, nose, ears, mouth, a wickedly slow drip-drip-drip that drained him of vitality, of life, with every drop. The floor was coated with his blood, the tank-top he wore soaked through, vibrant ruby-red.
Loathe as he was to admit it, the smell made Elijah's mouth water.
Giulia carefully drew her husband's head into her lap as she knelt beside him. She tenderly brushed his damp hair from his forehead, and Elijah felt her moan of anguish in his marrow.
Her pupils were blown, black all but consuming the silver of her eyes as she glanced up, her breaths shallow, on the verge of hyperventilating, dangerously close to triggering a panic-attack as her gaze darted from her husband to the reinforced door, her hands still shaking as she smoothed her husband's hair.
And Elijah remembered…this was where her father had died. Where she had found her father, dead.
Something wounded Elijah then, worse than anything he had witnessed upstairs.
Giulia was crying.
Elijah undid his coat, and carefully draped it over Giulia's bare shoulders. He sank down onto the dusty, bloodied floor, and he waited with her.
Because he would rather sit quietly with her, as she looked after her dying husband, than have to go upstairs and be Elijah Mikaelson and know exactly what to do with the fact that Mikael was dead and his mother, murdered centuries ago, had been resurrected through sacrificial magic, and appeared to understand English perfectly.
She was here to 'fix things'.
It was too much. He had no answers, though as eldest the others would look to him for affirmation, to settle their own ragged nerves, to take point and handle everything…
Not this time.
Ástríðr was alive.
And he felt raw. And powerless.
So he sat with Giulia, and quietly held her hand as she cried, and her husband continued to bleed, and he knew she felt it, too. Raw, and utterly powerless.
A.N.: Ta-da…
I find it very difficult to write Klaus scenes - because I hate them, and think his character was overplayed in TVD and The Originals. Elijah shouting made you pay attention, because he rarely raised his voice; Klaus threw a tantrum every single episode, and it was tired. His rage and paranoia and vindictiveness, his manic behaviour, his ego…and yet he was the writers' darling - a bit like Hayley, they twisted his characterisation, inserted some sob-story to excuse every atrocity he committed against enemies he created over a thousand years!
Sorry, I'm re-watching The Originals and it's reminding me how much I dislike Hayley and Klaus, and for the same reasons - sob-stories inserted post-TVD to make them seem more identifiable/sympathetic, but… I can't wait to write New Orleans storylines! Oh, the clean-up I'll do!
