Elena smiles at some Fell boy or other, accepting his request to dance. She's on the dance floor for what seems like hours but is probably only about forty-five minutes, circling through Founding Family sons, one after another. She never dances with the same one twice.
Their faces are familiar enough from years of Founding Family events, but not one of them is particularly memorable. Truly, she only bothers to recall maybe half of their names, and she lets their words go in one ear and other another as they twirl her around.
Elena would feel bad, except she knows that most of them don't see her as a person. No, she's just a potential trophy; a pretty face and a pert pair of breasts that they wouldn't be ashamed to bring home to their parents. (She is a iGilbert/i, after all.)
And then one of Tyler's distant Lockwood cousins spins her into the arms of her next dance partner. Unlike the others, every part of him is unforgettable: face and name and words.
"I'm surprised to see you here," Elena comments offhandedly, as if she doesn't notice the heat in his eyes as he gazes down at her face, and her bare neck, and the swell of her cleavage peeking out of her gold dress.
"As I am surprised to see you without a Salvatore breathing down that lovely neck," Klaus responds, a smirk on his face. If it's an attempt at deflection, it's a poor one; Elena has played enough word games with Elijah to know when a Mikaelson doesn't want to answer a question.
She doesn't bother pushing. That isn't the way to get him to brag about his next scheme or other. And the best way to make sure the next body that drops isn't someone she loves, is to engage Klaus's attention while making it seem like that's the last thing she wants to do.
"I don't need a babysitter," Elena tells him, letting her annoyance slip into her voice. Klaus just keeps smirking, clearly amused by her retort and the fire she lets him see in her eyes.
"History suggests otherwise, sweetheart," Klaus replies, all condescension. "Are you here to pick out your next suitor? You appear to have a line of them." He tilts his head, like she isn't aware that the room is filled with Founding Family sons who follow her with their eyes, as if she's an object to be won.
"I just wanted an excuse to wear this gown," she says, raising an eyebrow as she catches his eyes dart down to her cleavage yet again. Klaus just chuckles, unashamed to be caught ogling.
"And what a gown it is," he comments. "You look incredible, Elena."
"I know," Elena responds archly, no hint of modesty to be found.
She has a mirror; and even if she didn't, she'd have to be blind to miss the way she draws – and holds – what seems like half the eyes in the room. Besides, Elena doesn't think false humility is the way to keep Klaus's attention – to keep him italking/i.
"You aren't going to thank me for the compliment, or return the favor?" Klaus asks, pouting just a bit, like she's hurt his feelings. (As if.)
"You know how you look," Elena tells him. She's been to his mansion; she knows Klaus has more than enough mirrors there.
"I'll take that as a compliment," he murmurs, smirking again.
The song comes to an end, and Klaus bows, bringing her hand to his lips. Elena lets him, meeting the challenge in his eyes – pulling away only after an appropriate time has passed, instead of ripping her hand away like he probably expects, clutching the pearls she isn't wearing.
Yet another Fell boy approaches to ask her to dance. Elena wonders if this is it; if she's lost her chance to interrogate Klaus (without seeming like she's interrogating him). Elena turns away from Klaus to start the next dance – and then suddenly, Klaus steps between her and the Fell boy.
She can't see Klaus's eyes as he tells him to go ask someone else, but she'd be willing to bet quite a lot that his pupils dilate as he gives the order (it isn't a request). The boy walks off without another word, certainly compelled.
"Shall we?" Klaus asks, turning back to her with a smile and offering his hand.
Elena huffs, as if it isn't exactly what she's been angling for.
She takes his hand.
