"I try not to drink too much because when I'm drunk, I bite."

-Bette Midler-

Loud blues music filtered from the jukebox, as the dance floor filled with both locals and tourist alike. Laughter and clinking glasses competed against the ruckus of the billiards game going on at the back of the bar. Waitresses rushed to refill libations and take down orders from each full table.

While the steadily growing number of witches grandstanded over their Queen's attention and soft smiles, taking satisfaction in the confused glares of the other supernaturals in the bar.

No immortal was more perplexed yet fascinated by the display than the inebriated Klaus, as he watched their shenanigans for over an hour.

He was beyond the limits of wasted and had he been mortal he would have died three times already from the amount of liquor he had ingested. Instead, he just sat in his seat, staring at his now empty cup—wondering how long it would take him to sober up.

He was pissy drunk, and he knew it.

Fighting with himself not to laugh out loud, he thought of the last time he had been this sloshed. Smirking, he realized he hadn't been smashed to this magnitude since the night Hope was conceived.

Though his senses were still sharp, his reflexes were slowed just a tad from all of the booze in his system. The world around him swayed and with each turn of his head, the faces of the bar's patrons blurred slightly around the edges of his vision.

Instead, he focused his attention on the young witch, in the cream-colored dress that the other witches in Rousseau's seemed to be fawning over. Watching as they bowed and offered her gifts of food and jewelry—practically preening when she so much as gave them an appreciative smile in return.

He almost snorted when he saw her magnolia tattoos begin to move slightly. A clear indicator to him that he might have drank too much.

Still, he admired the way their movements seemed to almost coincide with the blood he could hear racing through her veins. Her tattoos were delicately crafted and he marveled at the artwork and attention to detail—eyes skimming over her body, he curiously wondered if she had more.

She peaked his interest in a way he hadn't felt in a while. Mostly, it was the witches reaction to her presence that had him wrecking his alcohol addled brain to figure out who she was. He'd been around a long time. Seen both kings and soldiers alike receive this same treatment upon returning to their lands. So, he had no doubt that she was of some importance to the witches and he needed to find out why.

The brush of her magic slid across his skin, even from their distance across the room, leaving a trail of tingles in their path. She was quite powerful and obviously well loved by the covens.

The more his thoughts began to center around the caramel color haired cutie, the more he wondered how he could use someone of her obvious power and influence to his advantage.

It was obvious to him that, when their eyes met earlier, she had no idea who he was. Which gave him the upper hand in this situation.

He could learn more about her later; her strengths, weaknesses, anything he'd be able to use to his advantage—but first, he needed to devise a way to lure her to him.

Slowly, he rose from his chair, exaggerating his slight wobble a bit more, as he did. He wanted to put on a show for those watching that he was indeed drunk. Pulling out a few hundreds, he placed them on the table and staggered out of the bar.

Aimlessly, he wondered around looking for the perfect person to initiate his plan. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his mark and made his move. Allowing himself a small victory smile, he fumbled drunkenly a few feet more before his tall frame collided knees first with a nearby trash can. Holding out his hands in front of him, Klaus toppled over like a fallen tree, onto the wet sidewalk.

"Hey man are you okay?" asked the concerned man, in a dark grey hoodie as he ran forward to help. Just like Klaus had predicted he would.

Smiling, he looked the poor good Samaritan deeply in the eyes. "I'm fine, I assure you," he began smugly. "I do, however, have a job for you. And though you are not going to like it, you'll do it anyway."

Helplessly, the man nodded his head against his will, as he listened attentively as Klaus told him of his plan.

Smiling politely, Arsetti bid the French Quarter witches' good night. Though she hadn't gotten to see much of the problems the witches faced here. She had gotten to hear their complaints.

It turned out, Vincent had forgotten to mention a few things about the French Quarter witches dilemma—that had happened only a short while ago. How, after Marcel Gerard proclaimed himself king of the city, he banned witches from doing magic in the quarter. Even had gone out of his way to viciously kill anyone caught practicing—including her old friend Jane Anne.

She tried not to become suspicious of his reasons, simply choosing to believe that he had just deemed it unimportant compared to everything else he had said. Even though the witches seem to think otherwise.

Talking with them had given her a lot to think about and she asked them to spread the word among the factions. Tomorrow afternoon they would all meet at Cemetery #2, where she would gladly hear more of their grievances. At their nods of approvals, she bid them all goodnight.

Once the cool night air assaulted her exposed skin, she felt herself shiver. Not from the chill wind but from a feeling of someone watching her. It made the hairs on the back of her neck raise in alarm and gave her the distinct feeling of being hunted.

Slowly, she walked down the sidewalk watching as once bustling night time activities gradually were coming to an end. Clubs were doing last calls, bars were beginning to wind down and the streets were starting to thin out.

Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on which direction she could feel the eyes coming from. Once she found it, Arsetti made a quick decision to lure out her would be attacker. So, changing direction, she walked further away from her car and straight towards a nearby alleyway.

Whatever it was that was watching her, she knew would show itself if she made herself vulnerable. She wasn't worried about getting hurt, in fact the thought hadn't even crossed her mind. She had no reason to fear something or someone that she knew couldn't kill her.

However, the cold press of sharp steel against her throat still her movements. She had been so focused on the other set of eyes watching her, that she had missed the very human footsteps that followed her right into the dark dank alleyway.

Clearing her mind of everything but her target, she felt her power rush through her veins.

'If this guy was looking for a weak victim than he picked the wrong one on the right night,' she thought growing angrier by the second—unsure if it was towards the assailant or at herself for not paying more attention to her surroundings.

"Don't move or I'm gonna—" he began, only for the command to suddenly stop.

She felt the knife lift away from her neck abruptly, almost as if she had only imagined it there. Guttural grunts and the sound of skin being torn greeted her ears as wet coughing soon followed suit.

Turning around, she was meet with the most peculiar sight. Though if she were honest with herself she should have expected something like this.

The drunk dirty blonde guy from Rousseau's was savagely draining her would be attacker completely dry.

She watched as the attacker's body involuntarily twitched. An automatic response from his dying nervous system. The dark grey of his hoodie turning black as his blood soaked into the material from his shredded larynx. Satisfied, the blonde vampire stood to his full height and tossed the now lifeless body to the ground like a used juice box and smiled.

Blood ran in rivulets down his chin and stained his teeth, as he approached her.

"You have either a massive amount of bravery or are just incredibly naive," he chided mockingly. "Tell me love, what made you think it was a good time to take a midnight stroll through a dark alley?"

Taking a step closer to her, he swayed a little on his feet. Still intoxicated by the alcohol that was coursing through his system.

Frowning, Arsetti rolled her eyes and reached into her purse. Pulling out a white handkerchief, with her initials and magnolias delicately stitched in the bottom left corner, she handed it to him.

"I'm sorry, but I really can't take your drunk ass attempt at chastising me that serious with all that blood dripping down your chin," she countered slightly appalled. "Did your sire not teach you how to feed neatly and not like some half-starved wild animal?"

Politely he took the offered napkin, and grinning widely, used it to wipe the blood away.

"If by sire you mean my mother than yes, in fact, she did happen to mention that once or twice," came his cheeky response. Once he had cleaned his face from after effects of his impromptu feeding, he tried to pass the serviette back to her.

Only, for her to turn her nose up and grimace out a choked, "Nah, I'm good. You can keep it."

Shrugging, he placed it in his suit pocket and let his eyes travel over her form. "You know if I hadn't intervened when I did, you would have had a most unpleasant night. I believe a thank you is in order," he smirked.

"I didn't ask you to do that," she countered contritely. "Nor did I even need your help."

"And yet, I gave it to you anyway," he argued. "You know, I find it a bit fascinating how most women would prefer a man to be chivalrous. Yet, when I attempted to be gallant and gentlemanly, you looked at me as if my simple act of kindness affronted your very person. It's bad manners to not thank the generosity of others who did nothing more than save you from a most disagreeable evening event."

Taking a deep breath, she thought about what he had said, and he was right. Though she had no doubt his motives for saving her weren't completely noble, the least she could do was appreciate the effort.

"Thank you—oh, inebriated one," she joked. Then placing a small but beautiful smile upon her gorgeous face, added sincerely, "seriously, thank you."

Matching her smile with one of his own, he smirked. "you're quite welcome." Pausing, he added darkly. "However, if I wasn't in such an obliging mood I could have easily drank you dry alongside your failed assailant—crumpled up in a dirty alley and nothing but a dried husk."

Shaking her head, she refuted, "Nah, you wouldn't find me very tasty vamp daddy. My blood is filled with too much spice."

Shocked at her choice of words, he tried to contain his laughed at the use of vamp daddy. He had been called a lot of things in his very long life but had to admit that was the first time someone had called him that.

"If your still hungry though," she began. Than lifting her arm out towards the main street, she suggested, "maybe you should try the blander of the human species. I'm sure you could find some roaming around here somewhere."

Unable to help himself, he chuckled. The sound filled the otherwise quiet alleyway, bouncing off the brick walls and metal dumpsters.

"I've always had a deep admiration for this city because of its people and their resilience, and of course there's the food," he smirked.

Leaning down so that his mouth hovered just above her ear, he whispered darkly. "And just so your aware, I happen to love things with spice."

Being this close to him made her acutely aware of the fact that he was taller than she had thought—and he reeked of booze and blood.

For as handsome as he was, both of those scents were overbearing to her poor senses and a turn off by themselves. Yet, together, it was almost too much on her poor nose and she tried not to gag.

Distractedly, she asked, "so, what's your name stranger. I mean, it would be nice to know the name of my hero, after all." She breathed a big gulp of silent relief when he straightened up and took a step back.

"Niklaus," he answered lowly. Steadying her face as he did, gauging her reaction to his reveal.

Sighing dramatically, she complained, "so, you're the Mikaelson everyone has been telling me about all day. God, they made you sound like you would look like some kind of disfigured hell-hound with glowing red eyes, a forked tongue and psychotic megalomaniac tendencies."

Laughing a short humorless chuckle, she reflected, "looking at you know though, you look a lot more man than the monster they described you as." She let him see her eyes roam over his body before once again staring into those calculating blues of his.

Running his tongue slightly over his bottom lip, he sneered wickedly, "Whatever people have told you about me, it's all true. I can also assure you that I am every bit the beast they said that I am. Maybe, worse."

"Noted," she acknowledged plainly.

Getting the feeling that their conversation had come to an end, she readied herself to walk away. She now wanted nothing more than to go home and wash the smell of booze, blood and expensive cologne from her senses.

Arsetti knew that even though he hadn't said it aloud, it was clear he would be calling in her debt once he found something he deemed worthy of her usefulness. He had hinted that much. She could only imagine if he was this strategic and cunning drunk, what he would be like completely sober.

Shuttering a bit, she hoped like hell she never found that out. Heels clicking, she made her way out of the alley only for his voice to stop her once more.

"you're not going to tell me your name?" he asked softly. "It used to be alluring when women would play coy, but I am not in the mood. So, I'll ask again. Are you going to tell me your name?"

Turning back around, she decided to play her hand just a bit. She needed to gauge him as he had done to her.

Sighing, she explained, "I hadn't really planned to—to be honest. You're intelligent enough that I'm sure you'll have figured it out before I even get to my car. But if not, then you'll know it before we meet again and I've no doubt we will. As I'm sure your generosity didn't come free—did it?"

Smiling, Klaus didn't bother to try and dispute it. She was right, he was just surprised she had figured out his intentions so soon.

"Clever—clever girl," he grinned. "Indeed, it did not. A word of parting advise; there are others out that not as gracious as I am and would gladly snack upon that lovely body of yours, should you dally heading home," he warned fastidiously.

Nodding, she turned back around and began to walk away.

Calling over her shoulder, "enjoy the rest of your dinner Klaus. And please, try not to piss anybody off like I've heard you tend to do. It would be a shame if you woke up from your drunken night on the town in the New Orleans rain gutters staked and angry as hell."

The only response she received was silence, and a breeze that raced across her body teasing her hair and carrying the distinct scent of bourbon, and blood.