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January 28th 2011
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Breathing in the sweet sea air, Elena Gilbert lays her torso across the balcony railings and just observes the ocean waves lapping at the shore below. They're in a hotel in Greece, the last stop in their grand tour of Europe and Asia (not that they'd really been planning on Asia but one of the wolf packs had ran and Klaus does so hate to be tricked, does so hate it when his prey gets away) before they return to America. She's not quite managed to shift the American accent, what with never sticking around a country long enough to start picking up the language. Though, with any luck, she'll have a bit of twang to her speech now, having spent near two years in Klaus's company… Hey, a girl can hope, right? His accent (not quite English, but certainly not American) is fantastic. It does naughty things to her insides.
"And just what are you doing, Love?"
Tilting her head back and to a side, Elena grins at Klaus before twisting her whole body around, perching her ass on the railings instead.
"Fantasising about your voice. The usual." He rolls his eyes and Elena bounces forwards, flicking her hair back and over her shoulder. She's getting a fair portion chopped off the second she'd back in America; it's grown a like a weed while she's been sunning herself in Southern Europe (and freezing her tits off in the Northern half) and is desperate need of a cut. She misses shoulder length.
"Near two years and you've still not thrown in the towel?"
"Why would I when your eyes follow me so?" Elena snarks back, folding one leg against the other solely so the fabric of her shorter than necessary nightgown hikes up her thigh. As predicted, Klaus' eyes linger on the new strip of freshly exposed tanned flesh. What started as her semi-joking retort of 'dating him' has evolved into this stupid little cat and mouse game in which neither of them are willing to back down. Elena rather gets the feeling the only reason he's not fucked her six ways to Sunday now is because he'd be admitting defeat, given he'd started off by ignoring her advances. Probably assuming it was small town 'I'm finally free' craziness.
She's seen plenty of Europeans paraded about before her eyes and, now that she's not one of them, she can see the appeal.
But Klaus is it for her.
She's come to that conclusion over their travels, spending time with him and realising that, what had started as a joking 'it'll probably never go anywhere' suggestion on her part has, in fact, resulted in genuine attraction her part. She likes the way he looks, but she's liked that from the start. That's nothing new.
What is new is the fact she likes how he always puts on more suncream than he needs to. She likes how he'll regale her with the history he's lived through whenever they're driving (and there's something about him handling a stick shift car that's extremely sexy). She likes the fact he picked up that she doesn't like vegetables cut into huge chunks and he's adjusted how he prepares meal on the handful of occasions he actually cooks. And, though it irritates the fuck out of her, she's somehow come to like the fact he sleeps with the window open too. It's utterly mad.
So, the seduction game has been upped by three hundred percent. It's almost to the point she's considering bathing in scotch to entice him over. There has to be some kind of breaking point; it's clear he's attracted to her, after all. She's got a face he was in love with a thousand years ago, but she's also got a bomb-ass personality that he likes. She knows he likes her, otherwise she'd be spending her days a compelled, mindless blood-bag.
"Even the likes of I am susceptible to teasing, Love."
"Then why am I still waiting on a kiss?"
Oh, they've shared kisses before, little on the cheek greetings when they'd hit up France and the gesture had left the country with them, sticking like a limpet mine.
Both she and Klaus know she's not referring to those kisses.
"Our flight leaves in three hours."
"Never took you as the duck and distract type." And there it is, the twinge of muscle in his jaw as she calls him out on his avoidance. What other move does he have, barring giving in?
He knows she's serious enough about her quest to win his attentions that blatantly bringing another woman back with him would break her heart. He's probably assuming a heartbroken Elena would be less inclined to sharing her visions and he'd be one hundred percent right. Oh, if he genuinely wasn't interested in her, then she'd have sucked it up and wouldn't have batted an eye at him having a different girl every day.
But he is interested. She can tell. He knows she knows and she knows that he knows that she knows. It's almost a dance. They're flittering around one another, one of those stupid dances where you get closer and closer but never actually touch.
"Oh, Love, I could distract you in so many ways it would make your head spin." And suddenly he's there, all up in her personal space and Elena stares up into those eyes, the same shade as the ocean to her back. The lack of shirt that has accompanied their hot climate is usually a blessing but, right now, she can smell him all the more clearly for it and it's making her head spin. True to his words then.
"I- You- Yes. Distraction. Yes please."
Klaus laughs, the sound thick with amusement, as he steps back from her. He's still staring into her eyes though and Elena is a'okay with that. He can stare as long as he wants, as long as she gets to stare back.
"So, er, where are we going?"
"Well, you did say things are going to get exciting there soon enough. You'll be getting your first look at New Orleans as I take it back."
"Right… and we had such a good mood going on between us two as well."
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Klaus does not take the news that Marcel has survived, survived and thrived, well.
Sitting atop her suitcase (now loaded with the chocolate body-spray she'd been considering applying an hour ago but has since thought better of), Elena continues to wiggle the zip around the edge, ignoring the shattering sounds of all the pottery within the house sailing through the air and becoming well acquainted with the walls. Or the floor. Or the roof. Honestly, she's not sure what Klaus is destroying his best Greek vases against, but Elena's well aware of her fragile humanity enough to not go looking for answers.
Instead, she checks her wristwatch a second time, noting that it's been twenty minutes since Klaus began terrorising the villa. His villa, some poor compelled sap's villa, who knows.
After another ten minutes pass, Elena plucks up her courage, her suitcase, and her trusty camera. Then, she proceeds to make her way down the stairs.
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She finds Klaus in the entryway, the shattered remains of pottery scattered about his feet like ash from his volcanic epicentre. He's facing the door, shoulders taunt and stiff, hands fisted and thick blood dripping between fingers like molten lava weaves through crags.
"I raised Marcellus as my own," Klaus states, his voice low and slow. It's far from the first time she's seen the bubbling eruption of his anger (again, those wolves that ran made an incredibly poor choice), but Elena still watches warily. "Raised him like a son. I gave him everything, taught him, loved him. That he would not seek us out, that he would take what I had built and call it his own…" Klaus trails off, head tilting up to inspect the ceiling and the spears of glass that hang like stalactites. It seems he took out one of the mirrors too then. Wherever he's going with his speech, he finishes the next part internally, slowly turning to look at her, to inspect the length of her body, the suitcase she clings to. The stupidly big holiday hat he'd purchased for her at the market, despite mocking her fondness for the kind, stating they make her look childlike, something she'd been against from the start of the acquaintance.
"And, unbelievable, stupidly, you are still here, Love."
"Where else would I be?" Elena asks for it's the first question to spring to her mind. She is the doppelgänger and the Original Hybrid needs her. She's Elena, and she needs Klaus. It's that simple to her, she's not quite sure why he feels the need to comment on it.
Klaus walks over to her, places his wet, warm hands on her shoulders before he apparently thinks better of it, reeling her into a hug. Given that she still stands on the first step of the staircase, they're at level with one another now. He rests his head on her shoulder and Elena returns the gesture in kind, one arm wrapping around his back because she's not foolish enough to let go of her suitcase now. Getting her toes crushed before they fly would be terrible.
Klaus doesn't say anything as he draws back, just takes her head in his hands and places a soft kiss to her forehead. Then, he walks off without a word.
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Though the plane is delayed for twenty minutes to ensure they get on board (leaving a great deal of passengers very unhappy but they should be delighted, quite frankly, that he's decided he doesn't need an in-flight snack) but they're flying soon enough.
Staring hard out of the window, Klaus drains his second bourbon of the flight, aggressively ignoring both the fact they've only been in the air for twenty minutes and the worried look from the air hostess. He's not in the mood to play charming right now; if they'd been on American soil when Elena had told him Marcellus lived, he'd have been tearing along the highway at an excessively fast speed straight to New Orleans. As things stand, he has to settle for the speed of an airbus to cart them across the Atlantic Ocean. Certainly, it's faster than his last crossing. Calmer too, given the siblings he's completing the crossing with are all in boxes. Katerina too. He's still umming and ahhing over what he should do with her, too busy building his hybrid army, too busy trekking across Europe with the better doppelgänger. Speaking of which-
He flicks his eyes to Elena, finding her hunched over her scrapbook, the third one in the series: A Study in Kidnapping; A Study in Hunting (yes, those foolish wolves that had fled, the ones they'd hunted across Asia for a few months); and now A Study in Resistance. He assumes the last one refers to his weakening attempts to stand against Elena's seduction efforts. At eighteen, nearing nineteen, she's a beautiful woman, though he'd not had any doubts she about that. Can be nothing but, given her doppelgänger status. Not even a bad haircut would change it. And he's not bothered by her flirtations. Welcomes them, in actuality. She's serious about it, about the idea of a relationship with him, despite exposure to his many different, volatile moods over the course of their acquaintance. Were he sick of them, of her, then he'd have made it blatantly clear by entertaining other women.
He does find her attractive, does appreciate the little sunshine her personality brings. The variety of seduction techniques are endlessly amusing, endearing too. He's always enjoyed a chase and it's a novel experience to be on the opposite end of it all, to slip free just as Elena thinks she's managed to trap him.
The bathroom incident is burned into his mind.
Klaus watches her stick the latest picture in; it's the one of them on the beach upon which the villa they've just left was located. She's captured the both of them on the sand, suncream not yet rubbed into her cheeks and one of those stupidly large hats on her head, while the image of himself does have suncream correctly applied to his skin and his necklaces glimmer in the sunshine. With it being January, he probably could have gotten away with wearing a shirt. But, just as Elena is aware of how his eyes follow her, he's not blind to the effect he has on her too. She's far from the only person to watch him, to let their gazes linger. And he's over Tatia, has been for centuries.
It doesn't change the fact there's a little thrill there when she does stare. His little reborn doppelgänger.
'Seduction attempt #207; failure.' Elena writes, handwriting blocky and simple in a way that would have seen her a laughing stock a century ago. Now, it's the desired neatness elementary school teachers are supposed to have.
He wonders how long it will take for the calligraphy-like style to experience a resurgence.
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He waits until she falls asleep (it's an Elena-travel thing; she's nodded off in the car and on boats before, she nodded off on the flight over here too) and then he makes his own comment on the page. He does that every so often, though he cannot say for certain if she ever actually checks the page once she's done with it. She's made no changes nor spoken of his little remarks. It'd another point they don't openly talk about, just step around, circling but never nearing.
Klaus tucks her sleeping form in with the plush blankets of first class. If he compels another passenger to hand over his pillow so Elena may wake without a crick in her neck, then there's no one around capable of calling him out on it. And then, once she's nestled up warm and comfortable, he draws his own sketchbook out, a thin strip of hard charcoal balanced between his fingers. It's still the first book, the one with Elena's sleeping face on the front page. Unlike her, he doesn't have as much time to sit down and work on his book. He also likes working large, though she's yet to notice some of the abstract paintings he's completed all house colours drawn from the palette of her skin and hair, from the deep chocolate brown of her eyes.
Klaus captures the soft wave that frames her cheekbone with wide, sweeping lines, keeping the thin hair of her lashes and brows sharp with the tip of the charcoal.
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The hostess asks him how long they've been together. Klaus responds that it will be two years in May. Hardly inaccurate, but not in the context she was asking. He places the pad of his thumb in the corner of her mouth, drawing it across her lower lip, soft and slow. He's not surprised when she sucks the digit in a moment later, hot tongue brushing against his skin once before she release him.
"Morning," she chirps in a soft whisper, all bleary eyes and forcibly suppressed yawn.
A quick look out of the window confirms his thoughts; it's the dead of night.
"I suppose it's morning somewhere in the world," Elena muses after following his line of sight, shuffling about until she's sitting up. The wide collar of her shirt slips to a side, exposing the curve of her shoulder, the sharp jut of her clavicle. The pale oval of his bite, scarred into her flesh from the night of the sacrifice. He traces it with own finger, following the curve that resides upon the column of her neck.
"That won't be the last hickey you give me, right?" Elena asks and Klaus wishes he were in the mood to laugh at the statement. It's the subdued mindset that has him running his hand up to trace the shell of her ear before departing to take a gentle hold of some hair, tugging gently.
"Not until we get to New Orleans, Love."
"Not until- woah, wait. Is this you promising to take me on a date in the town you built with your own bare hands?" A bit of an exaggeration, but she's not completely incorrect. He did indeed help with some of the building there.
"One date, Love. Best impress." It'll give him the chance to get the lay of the land there while on a date; few vampires would have survived Mikael's wrath as he hunted his bastard son down, so there will be few to recognise him by face alone. And if Marcellus is the one he should run into, well, Klaus wouldn't be the one in danger.
"I'll make the best damn impression you ever did see," Elena promises with a whisper and Klaus doesn't doubt the sincerity of her words. The cat and mouse game has been fun, but it is about time they added a little twist to it.
Yet, the twist will just have to sit for the slightest bit. He's going back to New Orleans, Mikael is dead and his city is ripe for the taking.
It's only right that, when he regains it, it is with his family by his side. The entire family.
That means finding Elijah. And probably suffering a punch to the face too once he reveals the truth about their siblings' current states of existence. That will be less than ideal. He is itching for a fight; his brother can tide him over until he reaches New Orleans.
Given how Elena's face was plastered around the country, there's every possibility that his brother believes he's broken the Sun and the Moon Curse. He'd be right, of course, but if he believes the doppelgänger to still be alive is another thing altogether. Then, there's Katerina in her coffin to contend with... well, she will make a spectacular body double for Elena if needs be, and having a vampire to hand that he can send into New Orleans to do his dirty work could be a bonus.
"So, New Orleans, huh?"
"Soon enough, Little Love. First, we find Elijah." Which shouldn't be too difficult, he'll only have to follow the purchase trial of expensive liquor and tailored suits. Predictable to a 'T', his dear brother. And then, once he has Elijah on side... then the retaking of his city can begin.
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February 12th 2011
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"I know this one; they're in Greece."
Jeremy Gilbert is sixteen years old. He's best friends with a witch called Bonnie and a vampire named Stefan. He's also been acquainted with Elijah Mikaelson for the past year and a half. The other vampire had turned up only a month after Stefan did, scaring the shit out of Shelia Bennett who hadn't been able to make him leave. Apparently, that's just how Originals work. They do what they want and the best of luck to anyone trying to stop them. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it doesn't work. The other one, well, they're usually up against each other and just end up clashing horns, unable to gain any ground on one another. Or, that's how it used to be in the past.
Right now, Elijah doesn't seem too sure if this Klaus guy's curse has been broken or not, given Ellie's still alive. That, that's something Jeremy takes comfort in. Though he doesn't think Ellie would be stupid enough to go and play ball with a fucker trying to kill her, he's also well aware that his sister knows more about the world than she probably should. It does explain how she always won at rock-paper-scissors when they were kids. What worries him about all this is that if this Klaus guy has broken his curse, that makes him stronger than Elijah. Elijah who can take out other vampires with a flick of his hand, Elijah who can listen to Shelia Bennett's warnings and the casually disregards them if they stand before his end goal. The Elijah who can compel another vampire (and hadn't that scared the shit out of Stefan's asshole of a brother?).
"Greece?" Jeremy repeats, inspecting the latest picture that Ellie's sent. It's a few days old but Elijah's a busy man- er, vampire. He only rolls into town for a day every fortnight, all undercover, of course. To anyone outside their little circle, he's Elijah Smith, historian. Mum and Dad thinks that it's cute that he's getting involved in the family history (and some vampire hunter Dad is; he's not so much as twitched upon meeting Stefan and Elijah, the oldest vampire of them all). Aunt Jenna just thinks he's cute. Elijah, that is. Jeremy has long left the definition of 'cute' for his aunt, given he's no longer toddling around after her with a lisp.
He looks at the picture again, feeling that familiar ache in his heart. Ellie looks good, all tanned and smiling happily in her sundress. She's got one of those stupidly big hats she's been wearing since she was a kid, matched up with a pair of sunglasses. Klaus stands beside her; it's been strange, watching him become more and more involved in the pictures over the years. Three months ago, there'd been one where Ellie was mid-piggyback with the vampire. Elijah had stared at that one for a long time, something indescribable to his features.
"Yes. Niklaus bought that particular vase during the time of the Khmer Empire." God, Jeremy has so many questions for this guy. Is it just a vampire thing, to be able to remember anything and everything? Or is Elijah just that knowledgeable?
"Well, it's little more than a shattered relic, according to Ellie's latest," Jeremy muses, waving the letter about until Elijah accepts the piece of paper, scanning over the words and an unbelievably fast pace.
"Your sister continues to make no allusions towards her impending ritual, nor her magical survival."
"Why haven't you gone after them?" It's a question that's been bugging him for months. Elijah has more resources than Jeremy could imagine, along with a motive. When he'd asked, back when they'd first met, Elijah had confided in him that he was hunting Klaus as he'd stolen his siblings from him. And, while the thought of more vampires as old as this guy does freak him out a little, Jeremy had found himself bonding with a kindred spirit.
"I have been hunting Klaus for decades. In truth, Jeremy Gilbert, your sister's regular, one-sided correspondence is the most reliable method I have of keeping tabs on Niklaus. It is for this exact reason I know a plane left Greece two weeks ago with a couple on board in first class resembling the two. The air hostess was all too happy to share the gossip once we began conversing." He honestly can't tell if this is Elijah's round about way of confessing to compelling her, or if he really is just that charming. Could be one or the other, in truth.
"Well, if they're back in the country, maybe they won't be under a cloaking spell anymore?" The Original vampire frowns, the look upon his face making it blatantly clear he doesn't believe this will be the case. Given the vast array of tracking methods both Bonnie and Elijah's witches, the Martins, have tried and failed to apply, Jeremy can understand the frown. Nonetheless, his supernatural companion rises from his seat and brushes imagined dirt from the seat of his pants.
"I suppose we should go and see the lovely Miss Bennett then."
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"Is this a joke?" Elena is hunkered down in the front seat of the jeep, an upgraded version of the one they'd been tumbling about the American countryside in back when they'd first met, back when Klaus had just begun building his hybrid army. Across the road (far, far across the road), she can see her brother and Bonnie walking down the street with two vampires. Both familiar, though one more so than the other. If only because her team-up with Klaus means that, in her future, Elijah has always been lying in wait.
Sitting beside her in the driver's seat, Klaus seems just as confused, though how that can possibly be true when he's the one who has been keeping tabs on Elijah, Elena isn't sure.
They're both in disguise, her more so than him. The blonde wig she wears this time is a far more natural one instead of the usual bleach blonde, green contacts in her eyes and face caked in make-up. Not in the 'I'm-joining-the-circus' kind of way, but the arty way that can create dips and curves in the face that aren't normally there. She doesn't look like herself, cheekbones too low, face seemingly too thin. She'd barely recognised herself in the mirror. The chances of people who haven't seen her in nearly two years recognising her? Yeah, slim to none.
She still kinda hopes the do anyway.
As for Klaus, well, the extent of his disguise is a parka coat with the hood pulled up. That'll fool absolutely no one.
"I've already had the occupants of the diner they're heading to compelled," Klaus admits, fingers tapping on the leather of the steering wheel, his lips pressing into a hard frown. Elena stares more than she needs to, running her tongue against her own, the muscle kissing up against her teeth in the process. "The town's so called vampire hunters-" how ineffective they are is something that passes silently between them "- are off dealing with a little run in they had just two hours previously with a baby vampire who doesn't know better, so there'll be no idiots on vervain to interrupt. And dear Gretta has already sealed the diner so no one can leave until I give the say so," Klaus muses, twisting the dial of the radio so that the volume dips low. Probably another barrier to stop Elijah from overhearing them.
Elena, however, is too busy considering Gretta. She knows the other woman is helping Klaus of her own accord, all because she fancies herself his favourite witch. She wouldn't be wrong, at the moment. Does Elena feel threatened by her presence? No, not really. She knows if he had to throw one of them under a bus, it'd be Gretta on the road and there wouldn't be a moment of hesitation from Klaus. She's his doppelgänger. That beats out witch anyway of the week.
"Well, Little Love. Can I interest you in a spot of lunch?"
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Mystic Grill hasn't changed a bit during her time away from town. Still the same interior design, still the same patrons, if a little older. Matt's working as a server now, Elena notes as she walks in with Klaus. Her hand finds his, forcibly wiggling her fingers into a loose hold, fingertips brushing up against his knuckles.
"At least have the decency to wipe the sweat from your palm next time, Love."
Elena hums in acknowledgement, thankful for the layers of make-up that ensure her blushing cheeks won't be seen, even if the pounding of her heart can probably heard quite clearly by her vampire company.
"Hang on, 'next time'?" Elena repeats quietly, bumping her hip against Klaus' leg, smile on her lips.
"Well, I am taking you out in New Orleans, am I not?"
"I'll need a new dress," she muses, eyes lingering on Elijah's tense shoulders. Clearly, he's heard Klaus' voice now and, judging from the looks Bonnie and Jeremy are giving him, he'd cut himself off mid-sentence upon hearing them. The fact he's not leapt out of his seat to punch his brother in the face is a surprise all in itself, given the asshole moves that Klaus has pulled off throughout the years.
"Budge up, Mate."
"Please," Elena tags on the end, smiling at Jeremy and god her heart hurts. Why is he hanging out with Elijah and Stefan? Bonnie she can understand, but the two vampires? She figured Dad'd have inducted him into the family business by now, but the fact he's in the company of two vampires without trying to stab them both contradicts her personal predictions. Of course, she'd known he'd started hanging around the two; with her power, how could she not? But it's a bit different, seeing it in person. And she doesn't exactly get backstories about why every little thing happens.
"I- Ellie?" And Jeremy's voice cracks but she's not really in the mood to tease him about it. Instead, she forcibly tears herself from Klaus' side to take a seat beside her baby brother, happily accepting the hug he engulfs her in, Bonnie's arms joining a moment later. She only spares a single moment to recognise the other sibling reunion happening today is probably not going to end in hugs and squeezes like her own has.
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Elijah wants to punch him. It's clear in his eyes, the way his expression is completely neutral. The only reason Klaus isn't already on his back (or being launched through the air towards the bar) is that his brother knows he doesn't have all the facts. That's the sole thing stopping him.
He chances a glance towards Elena, who remains tucked under her brother's arm and is now shovelling French fries into her mouth, licking the granules of salt from her fingers. She introduces herself to Stefan Salvatore (and ah, now there's a familiar face) with a wiggle of her fingers and a cheery smile. Her friend and brother seem to be a bit thrown off course by the green eyes, the ostensible blonde hair, the way the make-up has distorted her face. But they're not yet questioning if she'll be sticking around. Not yet. He probably has about ten minutes before the start pushing for Elena's future plans and that's when things could get… tricky, given the presence of the witch. Not that Klaus wouldn't be able to extract his doppelgänger if necessary, but he'd prefer not to fight the witch before they make for New Orleans.
"Mikael is dead," Klaus states, and it's clearly not what Elijah was expecting him to open with. He takes the moment to slide into the booth, Elena forcibly pushing her brother and, thus, everyone else along in order to make room for him. Thighs brushing in the close proximity, Klaus ignores the way Elena throws one of her legs over his, taking note of the fact she's already discarded her boots under the table top by the way her sock-clad foot brushes against his calf. "And I lied. Our siblings are not at the bottom of the ocean, just daggered."
"Wait, 'our'?" Stefan Salvatore repeats, as if he isn't the very reason that Rebekah had been daggered. Memories or not, he's the cause for Rebekah's current punishment.
"Ah; did dear Elijah never mention we were brothers?"
Elena pinches him in the side for the taunt and Klaus swats lazily at her hand, catching her wrist and drawing it up to his mouth to plant a kiss on her knuckles. If he gently grazes his teeth against the skin in reprimand, then who's capable of calling him out on it? No one, that's who.
"Of course, Elijah has been labouring away under the illusion I've disposed of them. Far from it. Dealing with Mikael required a finesse that both Rebekah and Kol would interfere with. But, now thar Mikael is no longer an issue, we can reawaken our siblings and return to our home in New Orleans. Family once more."
"Do you believe it will truly be that easy, Niklaus? That all will be forgiven? By both our siblings and myself?" Oh. Elijah's upset. Unsurprising, but less than ideal. Especially with what is brewing within New Orleans.
Fingers dancing across the table top, Klaus lays his other hand across Elena's knee, the one that's thrown over his thigh. He gives the limb a squeeze. His doppelgänger is here, his hybrid army stands at his back. He'll take back New Orleans and Marcellus will rue the day he took what was rightfully his.
"Does it matter? In the dawn of a new age, you'll come, Elijah. You always do. Do not forget, it was you who aided me in the daggering of Kol. It is you who agreed that to leave Finn to rest would be the most beneficial outcome for the five of us, just until Mikael was dealt with. And, I assure you, had you been around for the circumstances that led to Rebekah's daggering, then you would have agreed with me yet again." Unbidden, his eyes slink over to inspect Stefan Salvatore and Elijah clearly recognise the look, clearly understands the other vampire at the table had something to do with all of this. Most likely, he guesses that Klaus has something to do with his missing memories of Chicago. "You've always been the most level-headed of us."
It goes unspoken that, between himself, Rebekah and Kol, Elijah'd had no other option but to be level-headed, least he allowed them to lead themselves to their own ruin.
"I'm going with Klaus to New Orleans," Elena suddenly states, pulling her head up from where it'd been resting on the young Gilbert's shoulder, ignoring his desperate whisper of her nickname. "I'm safest with him. I mean, I can see the future, but Klaus' the one who can usually act best on what information I get. It's a mutually beneficial partnership; I wouldn't have contacted him before, otherwise." Ah, self-preservation. The oldest and truest of Petrova family traits.
"Ellie- do you have any idea how much Mum and Dad have missed you?" Young Gilbert asks and Klaus does his best not to roll his eyes. To a normal teen, that might have been enough to entice her back. But Elena's a reborn spirit. She recalls her past life and will have undoubtedly gone without what she considers her parents before. He's secure in the knowledge that she'll be accompanying him.
Which is why he can confidentially turn to Elijah and raise a brow, a silent question. He knows his brother, knows his strengths. Knows his weaknesses. And family, his inane desire to prove there is something within Klaus worth saving will be the key factor in reeling his brother along to New Orleans beside him. The fact Klaus has their siblings stashed away, dragging their desiccated bodies along on his adventures, will only entice him in that little bit more.
"I could guess," Elena murmurs, running a frustrated hand through her hair. She doesn't recall it's a wig until she's already pulling on it, no doubt causing a great deal of pain with how many pins and clips are holding the blonde tresses in place.
She does look so much better as a brunette.
"That's why I'm going to keep sending letters. Given the activities Dad was getting up to, and I do hope it is 'was' and not 'is', I'm not sure I can stand to be in the same room as him right now. Don't get me wrong, he's Dad and I still love him. But just because they're vampires, that doesn't mean they can't feel pain, that they don't experience things like we do. And I can't advocate torture. Besides, once things have settled, you and Bonnie can always come visit us in New Orleans. Right?" She turns to him for confirmation, forcibly pulling Klaus from his staring match with Elijah to consider her request.
Having a weak human that's attached to his doppelgänger around in New Orleans would be a hinderance. But the witch could be a great aid given the way New Orleans witches rely upon ancestral magic. And the Bennett line is strong; she'll certainly be a help if needs must. Though Klaus is quite certain he can do this alone. He can do this with his hybrid army and his doppelgänger. With his family, should they make the right decision. And why wouldn't they? He has gotten rid of Mikael, has made the world safer for them. Now, nothing can touch them.
"It would be rather hypocritical, Little Love, to invite my own brother and then bar yours. However, I would recommend holding off your visit until the supernatural dust has settled in the city." Squeezing Elena's knees when hr foot begins to trail distractingly high up his shin, Klaus turns his gaze on Elijah again, allowing the wolf to flash behind golden eyes.
"Well, brother? What's say you?"
If we could tag things on here, then one would be 'time-line screwed six-ways to Sunday'. That is all.
Tsume
xxx