NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA β PRESENT DAY. The French Quarter glistened with life, tourists walking about in a sort of carelessness not afforded to those belonging to a particular nightly species. Humans walked with the ease of ignorance, laughing and drinking merrily in long, plastic cups polluted with makeshift margaritas packed densely with sugar and other chemicals to make them forget their bodies were being rotted. Still, it added to the setting, decorating the atmosphere in warm guffaws and rambunctious dancing. Street performers lined up, contorting their bodies for money, while others sold trinkets and feigned psychic prowess in exchange for the drunken fool's coin.
Niklaus reveled in it. Though he preferred urban territories like New York City, or even the homely architecture of Europe in contrast to Bourbon Street, he appreciated the chaotic and distinct city that was New Orleans. Granted, Niklaus was not here as a tourist. He was here with purpose. Whispers in the supernatural community grew of ancient artifacts that resided in the heart of one of the very shops decorating Bourbon Street. He knew not of its precise origins, but he had enough instincts to let himself wander about until he would identify it.
Alongside Soren, Niklaus side-stepped a belligerently inebriated male and turned the corner, cursing mentally at the stranger's idiocy, his mood soured. He and Soren tripped against each other's feet when Niklaus hissed at him in annoyance. ββ Will you watch it? ββ Niklaus said angrily. Soren rolled his eyes, refusing to coalesce to Niklaus's misplaced irritation (a trait the hybrid would never admit to appreciating).
ββ Fuck off. ββ Soren spat back, in an accent that one could not distinguish between Scottish and Irish. ββ We're not going to accomplish anythin' with you barking at me because some drunk soiled your mood. Sabina's met with a witch. I'll join her and see if there's a lead worth chasing, while you can bask in one of your moods. Not interested in its fallout. ββ He said matter-of-factly, shaking his head with a bit of contempt at Niklaus as he walked away. They always acted a little out of sorts after traveling, particularly with a mission in a mind. Granted, every day began to feel like an impossible quest, Kol briefly looming in the back of Niklaus's mind as a witch's prophecy of many centuries ago rang in his head. He cursed silently as he recalled their last meeting in Tribeca. Who could blame his coven for tensions being so high?
He let out a breath of exasperation, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as another stranger bumped into him, jolting him out of his melodramatics. In the mood to relish in his anger, he followed the individual, walking inside a vaguely familiar store named The Hidden Hollow. Immediately, the hairs on the back of his neck stood, and his demeanor changed, knowing something felt different. He refused to let his guard down.
He watched the stranger walk up to a woman, object in hand as the person smiled affectionately at the all-too-familiar woman ready to complete the transaction. His eyebrows scrunched together in frustration as he tried to recall why this woman looked so familiar. Flashes of memories bounced in his mind, but the absurdity that this person could even so much as be the person from centuries past made Niklaus pause dead in his tracks. They made eye contact and Nik stood there, jaw clenched, anger threatening to rise, but he stifled it quickly, staring at the woman in cursed fascination. He did not walk over to her; he did not move a muscle. He simply, stared. / @dopplgaenger
