marcel gerard.

The sun had begun to set, casting splashes of yellow light across Alexandria, and Bonnie could already feel her limbs begin to ache, something akin to a migraine setting in. She was self-medicating, as she did every month, a joint pressed between her fingers. It was Bonnie’s third of the evening, and she was hoping to squeeze a fourth in before she really had to retreat to the woods. Realising she’d completely tuned out her neighbour once the pain had set in, she shook her head, apologising. “Sorry, I’m -” She sighed. “It’s getting close.”

Noting that tonight was a full moon, Marcel was on his way home, getting ready to lock his doors. Now that he’d cut his ties with Klaus, solidifying them as enemies, he’d cut off his supply of hybrid blood that’d save him if he ever got bitten. He didn’t fancy taking any risks, especially not in a town full of packs, whether they were cured werewolves or not. As he pondered the thought, the scent of one hit him, and as he saw who it belonged to, he couldn’t deny his interest. So, against his own rationality he approached her, figuring a quick conversation wouldn’t cause any harm.