Josie had just finished her first day at Old Algiers High School. It was exhausting to say the least. The weight of recent events was still weighing on her shoulders. She had just finished a salad and coffee at the coffee shop, now she decidedly explore the city a bit. It was quite different from the small town of mystic falls, but it was also beautiful. She stopped to watch a guy who was performing a song on a Saxophone.

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it  was  strange  to  think.  faces  changed,  technology  was  so  advanced  it  practically  scared  him -- but  standing  here,  watching  the  man  play  a  song  with  his  saxophone?  it  reminded  him  of  every  single  reason  new  orleans  was  home  to  him.  of  why  he  wanted  to  unite  the  packs  and  make  treaties  with  vampires.  (there  were  other  species  but  vampires  were  the  main  one,  being  polar  opposites  enough  that  𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦  𝑎𝑏𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦  𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑  𝑎  𝑤𝑎𝑦  𝑡𝑜  𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘  𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟.  not  just  that  but  exist  side  by  side.  to  be  able  to  walk  down  the  street  and  see  this  kind  of  thing?  that  was  rarer  than  you’d  think  back  in  the  nineties.  “i’m  glad  to  see  it  hasn’t  changed,”  changed  in  this  sense  anyway.  why  he  had  to  even  speak?  because  for  a  moment  he  wondered  what  andrea  would’ve  been  like  at  her  age.  “the  music  anyway.”  it’s  a  special  sense  of  home  he  hopes  could  be  instilled  in  others. 

(He’s playing Gone, Gone, Gone- Philip Philips )

Classes has ended a few hours ago and the auditorium was devoid of life. The students and facility had gone off somewhere. Honestly, the vampire felt like a freeloader. If he was going to remain in the city, he would need his own place. He couldn’t life off the hospitality of others. 

It was rare that he pulled out the old Gibson he had purchased just before the war. His classroom has the best acoustics. Giving one final glance and listening quietly. The halls seemed silent. Enough time for him to strum a few songs before retiring for the evening.

Eyes closed as Tobias moved his fingers, strumming along the old strings. The old girl still sounded good, even after years of unuse. Closing dark eyes, the man allowed himself to get lost in the song.

For several measures, only hums slipped from his lips until light hums became soft words.

I surrender honestly.

You’ve always done the same for me.

So I would do it for you, for you.

Baby, I’m not moving on,

I’ll love you long after you’re gone.

For you, for you.

You will never sleep alone.

I’ll love you long after you’re gone

And long after you’re gone, gone, gone.

After the song wrapped up, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, alerted the instructor that he had not been alone. “Okay, cats out of the bag. How long have you been standing there?” A sheepish expression moved over his face.

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he  knew  things  were  different.  new  orleans  had  always  beckoned  people  in  after  all;  even  if  the  faces  were  the  same,  technologies  had  advanced.  there  were  new  fears,  new  wars,  new  stories . . .  but  quenton’s  head  and  heart  struggled  with  making  sense  of  it  all.  his  life  belonged  in  the  nineties,  not  now,  and  quenton  knew  that.  while  he  tried  to  get  species  to  work  together,  he  never  saw  himself  living  past  a  certain  point.  everyone  should  die  sooner  or  later;  which  is  the  problem.  HE  KNOWS  HE  WAS  MURDERED.  quenton  can’t  shake  that.  everything  he  knew  is  gone  but  the  belief  of  this  being  unnatural  was  still  there.  far  more  unnatural  than  even  the  curse  of  being  a  werewolf.

the  music  is  what  lured  him  in.  it  sang  to  him,  rather  than  the  man’s  voice.  the  lyrics  were  something  he’d  said  once.  maybe  not  in  the  exact  order  per  say  but  they  had  been  said  nevertheless.   𝐇𝐄  𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒  𝐇𝐄  𝐖𝐀𝐒  𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃.   it  made  him  miss  his  wife  even  more  than  before. quenton  was  going  to  leave  but  his  feet  remained  there  in  the  door.

quenton  figured  senses  were  better  depending  on  what  you  were.  hearing,  sight,  strength . . .  but  the  man  hadn’t  been  alerted  until?  something  really.  no  real  example  flashed  in  his  mind.  ❝just  a  few  seconds.❞   it  hadn’t  just  been  the  words  that  reminded  him  of  his  wife,  but  of  the  guitar  reminding  him  of  the  fact  that  he  and  his  family  would  do  the  same  out  in  the  bayou  every  other  night  or  so.  it  was  their  way  of  truly  coming  together.  chatting,  eating,  playing  music . . .  and  that  was  a  heaven  he’s  not  sure  if  he  even  had  when  he  had  the  chance  to.  a  few  seconds  is  a  lie,  however,  though  the  way  he  had  said  it  was  soft  and  𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡  truthful.  ❝sorry  for  being  a  nosy  body  but  did  you  write  that  song?❞