* the devil will weep

Tatia jerked back out of reflex when he spun around to face her.  She had to lest she find herself running face first into him. He was mad having brought up the name he had been born with. It seemed he was trying hard to forge himself a new name, to forget his old identity. Though he had still reacted it, albeit negatively. So that meant it was a name he kept buried deep. “Fine, Klaus.” she hissed, not liking his tone.

His words stung. He had made no move to be gentle. Instead had figuratively crushed her heart in his hands. She of course had been a young mother, a young widow working hard in their little hamlet to provide what she could for her child. Any of the “male” oriented jobs around the home would have been done by her and her alone. And that had included hunting.

Her head hung, unable to hide her tears behind a curtain of hair. Her child had lost her mother and now that she had been resurrected it was all too painful for her to come to terms with that she had lost a child: her firstborn. If this was how Esther had felt losing not just her first but her last born as well then now she understood ( though it did not mean that she condoned her actions, in fact she condemned them now more than ever ) what had driven her to utter madness and Dark Magic.

She remained quiet after that, lost in her thoughts and unable to verbally fight with him… for now.

            Klaus was grateful for the silence that stretched in the wake of his words. At present, he would much rather tear into something than indulge emotional hysterics. He had little enough patience for such things under normal circumstances, and his mother’s apparent involvement, whether knowing or unknowing, in Tati’s resurrection, had only set him on edge. A pity the dead could not just stay dead and save him all the trouble. A thousand years had passed, and in their passing he had lost any desire for the ghosts of his past.

            The witches had kept her in the crypt of a cemetery mausoleum, and Klaus almost wished as they ascended to the humid air upon the surface that he’d left a few to be slaughtered — or that others would arrive to investigate the disturbance he’d caused. Anything that he might sink his teeth into and ease his rage at his present circumstances. At least witches were a threat against which he could inflict physical damage. Whatever threat Tatia’s arrival posed… against that he was helpless, for now.

            He took them through the city by back ways; the blood upon his skin, her clothing, might have gone unnoticed in the chaos of New Orleans streets, but Klaus had no patience for the throngs and no desire to risk the discovery that might come. Not until the doors of the Abattoir were safely closed behind him that he dared relax even a modicum. As they’d moved through the city he’d tracked the sound of her footsteps behind him, ensured she did not become lost in the winding streets of a modern city. 

At least he hadn’t called her a liar. That was one of many things she hated other than dark magic and violence against those who were weaker: being called a liar when she did not lie. She could not. It was not something she could do with no guilt. She had always been taught to be as truthful as she could unless it was of extreme importance.

She bristled at his order. But it didn’t matter really. He could have killed her, sent her off to go find peace. She’d have to count her lucky stars that he had not. So even if he didn’t ask her to follow him, she still would. Being around dead bodies would only cause her to finally give into her disgust and fear.

She did not like being around dead, soon to be decaying bodies for long. To her they had to be lit on a funeral pyre as a proper send off. “Lead the way then, Niklaus. After you,” she said softly. She ran her right hand over her left ring finger, a finger that had once had a wedding band on it, as sort of a nervous kick.

She eyed him, seeing his face as it gave nothing away. He was no longer the young Viking boy who had fallen in love with her, who had clashed with his older brother over her, who had been rejected BY her in the end for his brother. Merely because she had not loved him the way he had her. Had that been the start of his current vengeful nature? Instead here was a cold blooded killer.

“…. Niklaus,” she said, her voice soft so that she would not anger him. He looked to be in no mood to deal with questions about himself. So instead she wanted to know something else entirely. “Niklaus, praytell… do you know what became of my daughter? Of Caia?” Even though resurrected, her first thoughts now after everything had seemed to calm down, was of her baby girl.

            The full name proved worse than the nickname. Though he now reserved Nik for his younger siblings, at least it did not carry the weight of condemnation that Niklaus so easily bore. Klaus was certain it was intended to crawl beneath his skin, to enact vengeance for some slight against her. There were plenty of reasons she might have offered. He bore it the first time without comment. He had begun to turn already, and with her verbal agreement to follow, he saw no need to hesitate in this place a moment longer. A little light, a little bourbon, and the security of territory belonging to him, not his foes, would go along way towards easing his brewing mood.

            The second time she spoke the name, he gritted his teeth against it. The third, however, he stopped dead, spinning to face her.    ❛ Niklaus is no longer a name that I recognize, Tatia. Call me Klaus. ❜

             He did not wait for a response, confirmation that she would obey the edict, nor a refusal to heed his wishes. Only when he had resumed walking at the agonizingly-slow pace she, as mortal human, would require did he so much as acknowledge the question she had uttered. He had no answer for her, and made no effort to temper his words, to soften the disappointment they must surely provoke.    ❛ As for Caia, I must confess I had other concerns to trouble myself  with at the time. ❜    Keeping an eye on Tatia’s daughter had not ranked among his priorities, nor even occurred to him.    ❛ Though really, given that a thousand years have now passed, it would scarcely seem to matter. Whatever fate had in store for her, she is long dead now. ❜

           His amusement is half-hearted, just shy of forced, when he replies.    ❛ Feeling poetic tonight, are we, love? ❜    Instinct cries at him not to consider the words to deeply, not to permit the depths of the ocean lurking in his soul to hall him in and drown him. He drowns in himself often enough as it is; he’ll drown her too, sooner or later. If he hasn’t already. Sometimes, he can’t tell. 

Bonnie’s heart was in her throat, the direct result of the very real fear she felt at seeing him again.  She managed to hide that fear from washing over her face (at least she hoped she did).  She took a deep breath, calling forth her magic and wishing she still had those hundred witches to back her up.  

She would have to make do with what she had.

“You shouldn’t have come back here,” she told him.  He should have taken his victory and ran, leaving them to pick up the pieces.  Now, she felt like their tentative peace was about to be blown to hell once more.

            He could feel it in the air, the faintest tingling of that magic she summoned to defend against him. It was meagre, nothing like what she wielded against him that night that she and Elijah nearly killed him. A pity, he thought. A Bennett witch stuck in a small town where she’d lack the resources to realize the power she innately had access too --- forget channeling the power of long-deceased witches.

           But this was not the reason he returned to this accursed town which he’d gladly have left forever behind him. He’d thought his business concluded; his curse broken, the endeavor to create others like him failed, his father slain. He filed the thought away; this particular witch was more trouble than she was worth and better left where she was. Here, she’d never be more than a trifling nuisance again.

He took her reasoning for staying and effectively cut into pieces.  Of course he wouldn’t keep the truth from her — he’d be foolish to even try.  In that case, she would prove to be an effective thorn in his side, poking him until he spilled forth the truth.  But she knew that was the case.  He would tell her freely and by admitting so, he was telling her something else.

Go away.

She should have known the moment she came to him with this problem that this was how it was going to end.  With blood and death.  She couldn’t blame him, not truly.  That was how he operated, how he ensured that he stayed in the position he was.  He did not get to the top by granting mercy to those who had crossed him.  Still, she felt…well, complicit somehow.  She stood there for a moment, her eyes on his.  They could have a battle of wills right here and now. She had no idea who would come out on top.  But it would be a waste of time and energy.

And in the open for anyone to see.

The last thing she wanted was to be another complication in this story, especially when she didn’t know where it was going.  She tore her gaze away from his and then nodded.  “I’ll…go back to my apartment.  You can find me there when this is all said and done.”  She gave him a look that spoke volumes: he better come find her.

            It should not have stung as it did ---  the way she glanced away before conceding. The knowledge that he should not take it personally, that the words were doubtless difficult for her to speak, did nothing to comfort. It never did.    ❛ I promise, ❜    he said, somber and earnest. He might have laughed, under other circumstances, that she doubted him so. He might have joked about the hell she was sure to unleash upon him if he failed to return to fetch her before pursuing the matter past her unwanted shadows. 

            Now did not seem like the time. 

            Besides, he had another reason to return to her after all was said and done. His request had unsettled things between them; he could almost feel the rift. It settled as an gaping absence in his gut. He did not care to consider the consequences for them for him if he left the rift to fester. He valued her friendship far too highly. He could not mend it now, not without surrendering his victory and facing the consequences when he must confront her pursuers with her as witness by his side. 

            But afterwards.... afterwards he must find some way to set it right. 

             Elijah can’t help the smile from coming to his lips. Oh, they could, couldn’t they? They could empty this square out of silly tourists one by one without anyone noticing if they were careful enough, run in, grab some empty headed idiot, drag them to a dark corner and bleed them out. Rinse and repeat until they are no longer occupying the historical square that frankly deserves to see better treatment.

          ❝ Would you do that for me, brother? Without making a ruckus? I’m flattered. ❞  Maybe not right now, but he’s keeping the idea at the back of his mind, maybe when night sets they can come back, certainly then Klaus would have an easier time not making said ruckus and causing a panic.

            ❛ A ruckus? Me? I’m offended. ❜    A melodramatic press of his hand to his heart accompanied the words, weighed deep by sarcasm.    ❛ I wouldn’t dream of such a thing, ❜  They both know he lies; though not quite as prone to elaborate and blatant mayhem as their younger brother, the word subtle only entered Klaus’s vocabulary when it suited him. Now, however, might just be one of those times, he thinks as his fingers tap impatiently upon his thigh. 

He drew in his breath, his eyes narrowing at his brother’s attempt to insult him.  The fact that Klaus threw their brother in his face spoke volumes to Elijah.  “We wouldn’t want that, would we?  You might no longer have a use for me — and then I will end up in a box,” he shot back, his feather sufficiently ruffled.  His siblings (and their treatment at the hands of Klaus) would always be a sore spot for him.  Klaus must know that.

Of course, Klaus would rebuff his attempt at making amends.  Elijah was convinced that he wanted nothing more than the both of them to tear into one another.  He might have gone low in his attempts to get under Klaus’ skin but he was not prepared to go that low.  “What else do you want of me, brother?”

            The fact that he would always ‘have a use for’ Elijah --- to banish the eternal loneliness that plagued him, if nothing else --- was something Klaus would never utter aloud. If pressed, he might attribute the rare times that Elijah had spent acquainted with coffins to their sister’s fondness. Klaus could not keep Elijah locked away without facing Rebekah’s wrath. Not that Rebekah did not find plenty in Klaus’s other actions to inflame her ire, but he needn’t give her one more. Yet for now, he would let the threat hang, content to have had some meagre revenge upon his brother.

“Nik,” she began, refusing to call him anything other that. They had been close once. But it seemed that the closeness they had once shared had been torn into pieces. “I have every right to hate Esther. Why would I want to WILLINGLY help her after all that she has done? She took a KNIFE and slit my throat! She took me away from my daughter, my parents. You and Elijah and Rebekah!” she countered, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I wish I knew. Because as soon as I found myself in the forests of our home, I fell asleep. And the next thing I know I am waking up here surrounded by the dead bodies of what looks to be an entire group of witches and you.” At this point she knew her story sounded so far fetched, but it was the truth. She would never lie to him about that.

She looked away then, looking very unhappy. But now that she had returned Tatia didn’t plan on dying any time soon. Dying was so easy, there were many ways to escape living. But that was the cowards way out. Living was harder and it took courage to continue onward despite it all.

“You probably do not believe me. Which is fine. But I am not lying. I am sure you would know if I was.”

            Klaus, never one to apologize for slights whether real or imagined, lacked the words or the desire to make amends for the implications that upset her so. He could, however, set her straight on one matter. Though he would not trust her, nor the circumstances of her presence in his city when her body ought to long since have rotted along with the rest of his past, he had no cause to disbelieve her words, such as they were.

            ❛ Frankly, love, I’m less concerned about your willing complicity in some new plan of Esther’s than I am your unknowing involvement in matters that will pose no small inconvenience to me. This lot, for example, ❜    --- he gestured at the witches he had slaughtered, whose blood yet dried upon his hands ---    ❛ have been nothing but a pain in my ass since my return to New Orleans. And here you are, a face from my past, a sleeping beauty kept safe in their little castle. I am not such a fool as to see it as mere coincidence. ❜

            No, if they had brought her here, then it could only be part of some grand scheme of which he yet remained unawares. That irked him as much as anything, that he had been oblivious. Oblivious, at least, until the rumors had reached him of this particular little safehouse of theirs and some secret housed within. He had not expected her, and he could not fathom the intentions they had held for her. The rest of their machinations remained obscured in impenetrable haze, and he hated it. 

            It left him in a predicament. He could send her to join the witches in their slumber --- one from which she hopefully would not awaken once more. In doing so, he might rid himself of the entire dilemma, at least once he’d seen to the remainder of the coven responsible. But this solution rested upon an assumption he was not willing to make: that Tatia’s link to Esther was broken, that should he kill her now, he would not permit the return of his mother once more. A violent death and resurrection, a constant, eternal seesaw. And between Tatia and Esther, he would choose the first over the latter any day, no matter the schemes of his enemies.

            ❛ Precisely. ❜    It had worked less well over the centuries than Klaus cared to admit. It seemed that at every turned he managed to allow himself the disappointment he sought to avoid --- even while thoroughly believing that there was not a single person upon this earth whose loyalty would prove unshakeable. 

            It did not matter whether he expected Rebekah’s eye to be claimed by yet another foolish young man doomed to break her heart. He still felt the pain of the betrayal when she chose another over him. It did not matter whether he expected Elijah to forsake him; when their arguments boiled over into a decades-long estrangement; he still felt the absence just as keenly. It did not matter whether he had awaited the turning point, the moment when their acquaintanceship turned sour; when she left New Orleans and saddled him with the idiot she termed her ‘replacement,’ he was no the less bitter for the expectation. 

           There seemed to be little enough on which Klaus and Caleb agreed. This particular matter, however, Klaus could certainly not contest.     ❛ I’m glad we’re agreed, then. ❜    It would make the following hours --- Klaus refused to concede that it might stretch beyond the afternoon --- less aggravating. It did not mean he was willing to forgive Caleb in the slightest for the present situation, for Ana’s unexplainable absence.     

            When he scowled, it was as much in displeasure at himself as it was in distaste at her words. Nik wanted to tell her that yes, he knew. Of course he knew. Some things were easier said than done, however, and forsaking timidity, trusting in his work, continued to elude him. Yet Nik would rather not press that bitterness upon her; he restricted the ‘I know’ that hovered upon his lips, the ‘I guess that means I’ll never create anything real’ which lurked behind it, cowering in the shadows where only he could see it.