i live in a hollow ground with you

W H O: Davina Claire, Marcel Gerard, Piper Warren.

W H E N: January 16th 2015, approx. 8 PM.

W H E R E: St. Anne’s Church.

W H A T: The witches are confronted by Marcel when Davina returns to the attic, and the vampire loses his temper. Listen.

Despite herself, Harper began to walk towards him. She didn’t want to be near him, not consciously, but as infuriating as his forced serenity was, she could feel the cracking of it underneath, and her desperation to force the carefully constructed facade apart and see something real had her starting towards the stairs, up them and around the steps she’d broken as his last words echoed hollowly through the room. “Stop talking like that,” she said softly, fingers curled far harder than they needed to be around the railing as she came up the stairs. “Like you don’t care about them; like all that matters is revenge, and power,” she continued, letting her hands fall uselessly at her sides as she approached him. “Davina isn’t about power. Davina is a teenaged girl, who thinks she’s alone, who thinks everyone is using her. She’s afraid, and you care about her, so do it - care about her aloud, protect our girl,” she didn’t really know what she was doing, truth be told; she just needed something, any sort of reaction from him that wasn’t this barely even dead tone, this forced detachment. Harper took the glass from his hands, unceremoniously dropping it over the edge of the railing, flinching only slight in the center of her shoulderblades when it shattered against the floor.

Her fingers linked with his, only momentarily, to squeeze his hands, before running them up his arms, to his shoulders. “You can’t be a King without a heart,” she said softly, one hand curling into a fist as she pressed the base of it to his chest, against the organ in question. “And I know you have one,” she insisted, turning her hand to span it out flat against his chest. “So have it. Feel it. Feel this; our baby is dead; Adam is dead. Say it,” she gave, fingers curling in his shirt. “Be here with me, because I cannot, and will not do it alone. Not again, Marcellus,” her free hand came from his shoulder to wipe at her eyes, again, and then covered her mouth when that proved futile, dropping her forehead against his sternum as her shoulders heaved with yet another silent sob. She curled her fingers into a fist again, smacking it weakly against his chest, as though she could hit the feeling out of him, force him to be anything but silent and strong.

As Harper began to make her way up the stairs to him he wanted to turn around and walk away right then and there, but his feet had him glued to the spot. Whether it was because he was actually afraid to move or because he wanted her to be near him, he wasn't sure. Marcel wasn't a fool, he knew what she was trying to do, what she was trying to get him to do. It wasn't just a myth that a vampires feelings was heightened in a sense that humans couldn't quite understand. Everything was much more intense, and when you were hurting the pain was unbearable. Marcel knew that's why Harper had come to him in her fit of rage. She wanted... needed someone to feel what she was feeling. Marcel knew exactly what she was feeling, how much she was hurting. But he refused to let himself show it. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong, had gone wrong and standing around being sorry about it wasn't something he could afford to do. Not at a time like this.

But Harper had never been someone he could ignore, no matter how hard he tried. After all, before there was even a Thierry - there was Harper. Not many knew just how close the two of them were, mostly because they never allowed themselves to appear as anything other than friendly acquaintances. She had often been this voice of counsel and he was the ear she needed in the place of the one she had lost. There was definitely a love between them, one born out of trust and respect, and it was for that reason that he couldn't keep up his facade, try as he might. "Please." He whispered brokenly, in a voice he would only ever let her hear. "Don't."

Marcel wanted to tear his gaze away from her as she ascended the winding staircase but he couldn't. He was fixated. At the mention of Davina his expression instantly softened, then turned to one of hurt. He hadn't seen or heard from her since the time he had... crossed paths... with her and Piper. Not that he expected to hear from her at all. "Davina doesn't need me. Us. She has Piper and her witch friend. She's chosen her side. There's nothing more we can do for her." He deadpanned, both of them knowing he didn't mean any of it for a second. Marcel wanted to drown his sorrow until he actually started feeling the alcohol, but his hopes were dashed the second Harper had taken his glass from him and dropped it to the ground, neither of them flinching as the glass shattered and scattered across the courtyard floor.

At the feel of her hands linking with his Marcel glanced down, clenching his jaw as if it would help him regain his composure. It didn't. She had gotten under his skin just like she wanted.You can't be a King without a heart. Marcel took a sharp intake of breath, almost sounding like a gasp. He wanted to yell at her and push her hand away from his chest, his heart is what got him in this mess in the first place. He would've argued. His heart made him weak, if he had truly been without a heart he would've rid the Quarter of wolves and witches alike a long time ago - then they wouldn't be standing here hurting like they were. Adam and Zoey would still be alive..

Though his resolve to kill Marcel was waning some. Yes, it was Marcel’s fault, but like Ian, he hadn’t been the one wielding the stake. But Sawyer needed something. To feel anything other than the overwhelming sadness he felt now. Maybe killing Marcel would help him achieve that. Better to feel accomplished than mourn someone he loved. “I have wanted to kill you for so long,” he sniffed. “So why am I hesitating?” Sawyer wasn’t sure if he was actually talking to Marcel or just thinking out loud. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife. Could he use this? It’s not like he could carve Marcel’s heart out before he was killed. He stared at the blade in his hand before raising it above his head. Sawyer was actually crying now, and his vision was blurred with tears, but he swung anyway, purposefully missing at the last second and slamming the knife into the ground. He lost his grip on it and sent it sliding across the floor.

"Why?" he begged loudly, curling in on himself some, pushing Marcel away from him. "Why did he have to die?" Sawyer hadn’t asked that out loud since he’d found Adam in the street, and even then, he hadn’t really questioned it out loud. Sawyer looked at his hands, staring at them for a moment before turning his attention back to Marcel. "I want you to suffer before I kill you," he finally whispered. "I want to see you as broken as I feel. After that, after I’m done watching you lose everything you care about, then I’ll kill you." Sawyer wasn’t sure if he could do it or not, but he had to try. He placed his hands on back on Marcel and focused. Though tears were still running down his cheeks, he smiled while he listened to the bones pop and crack. Why had he never fought back before? Maybe because he knew that while Marcel wasn’t fighting back now, eventually, he’d probably be able to overpower Sawyer.

It didn’t matter though. Sawyer had stopped caring. What use was it? Everyone he loved was dead or running away or in danger. “This is what good gets you,” he hissed, mostly to himself, voicing his own thoughts. “There’s no point in being a good person when everyone around you sucks.”

"The man you loved was taken from you. I wouldn't blame you if you did." He rasped out, the injuries he had received were beginning to take his toll on him. Despite the speed at which vampire's healed, it would take some time for him to mend what Sawyer had broken. Marcel's shoulders fell slack, an obvious show of defeat, of submission; his head lulled back as he glanced up at the enraged witch. It shouldn't have, but seeing the tears falling down his face had taken by surprise. Of course there were tears. Beneath the angry, hated filled teenager was a boy that was simply hurting. Acting out in the only way he knew against the person he despised the most. 

Marcel's arm began to reach out to him only for him to be shoved aside when the boy's anger flared up again. That was when the questions started flowing, knowing they weren't meant for him and that they weren't things he could answer either - so he simply stayed quiet. Eventually he mustered up the strength to push himself to his feet, hating the fact that he was so weak that he almost fell over in doing so. Sawyer had definitely done a number on him, he even hated to admit that he had grossly underestimated the true strength the boy held. The fire in his eyes was only fueled by Adam's death, a fire that had been raging since the day Marcel had the boy's parents killed. Marcel would often pretend he didn't remember whose execution he ordered, but he did. He remembered everyone he sentenced to die. Whether they were good or bad. Marcel remembered them, including Sawyer's parents.

Many might believe that the guilt didn't weigh on him at all, but it did. A life was a life, and he had taken many, ruined many. All for the sake of survival. To retain what he had built. Marcel could make up a million different reasons to excuse the means he had taken to get where he was now, but outside of his vampires he knew none of them mattered. He was a thief, a liar, a murderer, a monster. All things he had become to get where he was now. And now two of his vampires, two of his own - whom he had sworn to protect so long as they were loyal to him - were dead. All for the sake of a hypothetical crown. 

Marcel swallowed back the lump that had formed in his throat, any expression of malice he might have shown towards Sawyer was non existent, only the remorseful look of someone who was beginning to despise himself as much as the people he had harmed did. Wordlessly, Marcel walked - hobbled more like - towards Sawyer, probably a risk since it was obvious the boy was one tiny push from driving a stake through his heart. And to be honest, Marcel wasn't entirely sure if he would've even stopped him. He stood before him with a vacant expression, his hand reaching up to rest on the boys shoulder. Marcel opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but no words came. What was there he could say? There was nothing, no amount of reassurances would work to comfort the boy (though he was hard pressed to figure out why exactly he wanted to comfort him in the first place), so instead Marcel did something unexpected.

She had to admit - this was a masterpiece, even for her. When Ella had originally planned on dropping off the bodies of the two vampires she’d killed for Marcel, she’d just intended to dump them on the doorstep, in full view of anyone walking through the Quarter. After one too many drinks the night before, however, she’d finally come up with her plan, which had led her here, in the courtyard of the Abattoir. It couldn’t be past nine in the morning - everyone in the compound was still sleeping, and gave her ample time to haul two bodies into the courtyard and arrange them. The boy had gone up on the wall, red paint behind him splaying out a cross. She’d thought about blood, but paint had worked just as well and had been a lot easier to come by. His arms were propped up, stakes nailed through his hands and wrists to keep him up against this mockery of a cross, his head lolling against his chest. The girl, she’d very genuinely tossed at his feet, giving the impression of a mourner. In reality, Ella just couldn’t stand to look at her long enough to do the same next to the boy. She resembled Freya too much; Ella would have been sick all over the courtyard if she’d dared try to pin this blonde body up like a beetle on a card. 

Pinned to the boy’s chest was a note on clean white card stock. "I’m at the café three blocks down. Come see me, Marcel. xoxo, E.’

With that, she’d dusted her hands off on her jeans and headed to said café, where she’d taken up a table in the corner, facing the door with an easy exit nearby. It was brightly lit, with wide windows showing the comings and goings of the Quarter, and the coffee was excellent. She ordered a chai latte and a scone and pulled out a book, pretending to peruse the thing as she waited for her guest to arrive. Holding court in the back of this coffee shop, she drank her latte and tore little pieces off of her scone and popped them in her mouth, her conscience clean and clear. She probably should have felt some sort of regret or guilt for the scene she’d left, but in reality, all Ella could really think of was that Marcel had gotten off easy. She could have just as easily dumped the bodies in the middle of the Quarter with no warning. This way, they could talk, like civilized people. Marking a place in her book with her pencil, she continued to drink her coffee and wait, checking her watch once. Ten thirty. It wouldn’t be long now before he showed up.

When Marcel had woken that morning he honestly had no clue what shit storm he would have to deal with that day. After what had happened at the masquerade he had almost expected retaliation from Ian and his coven. He had intentionally screwed them over yet again only this time he put it in pretty writing with a bow on top. Marcel didn't regret it though, Ian's witches were becoming too bold, standing up to him as if they were even on his level. Keep them down, that's what he had learnt. Keep them down and don't let them start questioning with 'what ifs'. To rule he needed a strong arm for those who would oppose him, and a gentle one for those he led. Marcel was someone who always demanded respect, though from those he didn't seem worthy - he didn't give a second thought for.

As he rose from his bed he couldn't help but feel something was off. That something was wrong. He rarely ever had those feelings, but when he did they were usually for good reason. It was still early so his daywalkers would undoubtedly still be asleep, but he had business to attend to. People to see, things to do, a city to run. A certain werewolf who had still managed to elude him. Marcel walked out onto the balcony as he had done thousands of times before, but was brought up short when he saw a scene that was clearly out of place. If he could've he would have instantly paled at the sight.

Two bodies. One boy. One girl. Both dead.

Marcel sped down to the courtyard in an instant, stopping short of the terrible and obviously well planned scene that was before him. His normally composed expression gave way to one of despair. Marcel swallowed back the lump that had formed in his throat the instant he had seen the two of them. Crouching down he recognized the figure as Zoey, the girl who had been turned the same time as Josh, dead. Clenching his jaw he fought back the tears that threatened to form. He may have trained himself to be a leader, but no amount of training could keep him from this. He may not have spent the sort of time he should have with newborns like them, but he cared for them like he would any other under his wing. Marcel straightened her body out from the position she was obviously placed in, laying her on her back and looked away, unable to keep staring at her lifeless face.

He stood slowly and turned to the body that was pinned to the wall, red paint surrounding his figure on the wall. Marcel's expression instantly fell to one of anguish, his brow knitting together as he recognized the figure. Adam. Whose expression of defiance often reminded him of Thierry when he had first met him, who Marcel had made a promise to take under his wing personally, was hanging there dead. That's when he saw the white card pinned to Adam's chest. A stark contrast to the red that surrounded him. 

Sorrow and grief passed through him as he read the note, quickly making way for vengeance-filled rage. Marcel pulled Adam's body down from the wall, the stupid scene that was left for them was something he didn't want his vampires to see. He only hoped now that he would have their killer back here and on their knees before anyone woke and saw the bodies themselves. Carefully he lay Adam's body down next to Zoey's and sped off in an instant. Appearing at the cafe that was mentioned in the note.

Not bothering to wipe the blood that stained his hands and shirt, Marcel forced open the doors, almost off their hinges, barely acknowledging the people that were smart enough to leave at his presence and instead focused on the figure that remained seated, unafraid and clearing expecting company. His hands closed into a fist, his jaw tightening as he made his way towards her, pure hatred spewing out from him as he casually took the seat opposite her. It wasn't hard to figure out who she might be, the similarities between her and Thing One and Thing Two were uncanny. The whole scene with Adam and Zoey made sense too. Fucking hunters.

"The only reason I didn't rip your throat out the second I saw you is because I want answers. Give me a reason not to do so, and considering the fact that the two you killed were only kids, you better make it a really damned good one." 

It was infuriating, how calm he was; practically painful, how angry it made her to see him walking down the stairs, drink in hand, his expression nothing but distantly tired, vaguely annoyed. She hissed through her teeth with his initial question, the tried bite of it, looking at her hand instead of him, busying herself with picking a sliver from the base of her palm before it could heal over itself. She closed her eyes at his next words, curling her fingers in over the blood pooling into her palm and digging her nails hard against the skin, cutting. “With Sawyer,” she said softly, then ran her fingers through her hair, smearing blood against her forehead as she looked up at him. “Trying to stop him from doing something stupid because he just lost the only person he’s cared about in God knows how fucking long - ” she broke off, ticking his name off on her finger, and then continuing; “With Davina, ripping a fucking strip off of her for disappearing - which, again, by the way, where the fuck were you? With Hayley, trying to figure out how to keep her and that baby as far as I possibly can from Niklaus and his delusions of sociopathic grandeur, shouting sense into Elijah, shouting sense into Oliver - ” she took a break, throwing her hands up as she tossed a shrug at him. “Trying to stop this whole goddamn city from erupting into a war that no one here asked for. Trying to force the moronic fucking idiots to swallow their pride instead of swallowing blood; trying to stop the slaughter, trying to plug the bullet holes - ” her voice cracked, sharp and painful against her throat, as tears pricked impossibly at her eyes again.

"Our girl disappeared, Marcel,” she gave, softer, trying to force words past the urge to sob. “She was gone, and our boy is dead, and this city - ” she pressed her knuckles to her lips, shaking her head. “It isn’t a Kingdom. Everyone hates each other; there’s no trust, anywhere - I’ve got three people in my house right now, Marcellus; Victoria, Josh, and Sawyer, because no one trusts anyone else enough to accept help. They are alone,” she felt the sob shatter in her chest on the last word and pressed the flat of her hand to her sternum, as though forcibly keeping her body intact. “Everyone is alone. You have no Kingdom, you no family, you have no subjects; you’re the King of broken words and broken people, Gerard, and our baby is dead,” she finished, the anger pouring from her as quickly as it had stiffened in her skin, her shoulders dropping forward, body curling around the press of her palm to her chest. “And you weren’t there,”

Marcel wanted to focus on her words, he really did. The tone of her voice, the anger and the hurt that was clearly strewn across her eyes. He wanted to yell and scream at her about everything he was going through too. It was clear as day that he was losing his grip on everything. Since everything started going to shit he even started asking himself what the point was. This town was going to swallow itself whole. He had gone so far as to entertain the idea of just leaving it all behind, let everybody in this shitty cesspool of a town to fix it up themselves. But he knew it was only something he thought in passing. He had put far too much time and himself into rebuilding the city to leave it like this now. Marcel had seen leaders fall because of their sincerity being taken advantage of, it's why he refused to let himself be seen as weak. Why he refused to let his emotions show. So instead of arguing with her, he simply listened to her, expression indifferent, as she bared herself to him. Something she had done with him before, though rarely at best.

"All I need," He started calmly, though even she would be able to see he was just saving face, "... are those that are loyal to me. They'll find who killed Adam and Zoey, and I won't let them go unpunished." His voice was even at best, only the slightest waver of his tone giving him away. The second he mentioned their names the image of their bodies - his plastered up on the wall like some sick religious cultist would, with hers at his feet - immediately returned to him. The slightest flicker in his face showing just how much their deaths had affected him. "Davina has..." His voice broke then, remembering the encounter he had with her and Piper in the attic. Marcel knew he had acted irrationally and without thought, and he didn't blame Davina for doing what she did, nor for the fact that she had chosen to leave with her. But despite all that he still hurt from her absence. "Davina made her choice. I ruled without her power before, I can do it again." While it was the truth, Marcel doubted himself, it wasn't that he needed Davina, he wanted her. He had annoyingly grown attached to her and now that she was gone... Marcel stopped his train of thought there. If he wanted to restore order to everything he knew, he needed to stop getting his feelings involved. It's why he had slipped up with the witches, with the hunters, even with Klaus.