“Well, there are things like rogue Slayers. You know, Slayers who actually do criminal things, rob banks, murder people, generally use the whole super-strength package for things that are considerably less heroic than saving little old ladies from vampires in dark alleys. Which, I mean, I guess makes sense in a depressing sort of way. Give someone enough power and strength and eventually someone is going to decide they can do whatever the hell they want with it.” Mercy gave a small shrug, as though this were merely an unfortunate footnote in the already deeply unfortunate history of the Slayer line. “The problem is that rogue Slayers tend to bring a certain hint of exposure with them, and exposure is sort of the big no-no. There was this whole militant faction led by Simone Doffler, for example. She and her followers basically rebelled against Buffy’s centralized organization because they thought Slayers were superior beings who should be ruling humanity instead of protecting it. Very normal, very healthy, very much not concerning at all. So, yeah, Slayers aren’t exactly free from sin either. I would know.” That last part came with a little purse of her lips.
“Though I don’t think I’m what they’d technically consider a rogue Slayer. I’m more like…” Mercy visibly considered the distinction, eyes narrowing in thought before one shoulder lifted. “A crook? A super-crook, maybe. A super-crook with good style. Which automatically makes it better.” There were, admittedly, certain details she wasn't particularly inclined to share with Flori. The Council already had enough opinions about what Mercy did and did not tell people outside their little supernatural circle, and while Mercy generally treated those opinions with the same amount of respect she afforded parking tickets, there were some things even she knew were better left unsaid.
“Molly, though? Molly is absolutely something else. If you thought Quinn was something, prepare to be utterly gagged. Although, if you ever encounter that bird in the wild, I would personally suggest running in the opposite direction. She’s kind of very tall for a girl. She looms. I don’t like people who loom over me. Boys, girls, vampires, Slayers, basketball players, doesn’t matter. There’s something about having somebody standing over me like a bloody lamppost that gives me this weird, silent, uneasy feeling. Not that being tall necessarily means anything. Loads of dudes I know are tall and I could still break them in two if I really had to. But Molly? Absolutely not. Molly is built like she has been consuming nothing but protein powder and the souls of weaker women since birth. I’m pretty sure she’s on steroids. Well, probably not, but she is definitely a muscle mommy. I bet her DMs are always smoking like an inferno.”
And somehow, against all reasonable expectations, that became the beginning of another thought.
“I’m actually certain that if Molly started dressing goth and opened an OF page, she’d make bank. Like business-estate bank. Like never-having-to-work-another-day-in-her-life bank.” Mercy paused. Her expression changed, the unmistakable fracture of an idea she absolutely should not have been entertaining.
“Actually, now you’ve got me wondering whether there would be an audience for Slayer-and-vampire reenactments, except make them a little more…” She waved her hand vaguely, searching for an appropriately delicate word. “Exotic. Not that I would personally be volunteering for that particular limelight. Stella would beat the light out of my eyes if she found out I was doing anything like that. Only Violet gets away with those things. She had this whole era where she was an exotic dancer in some shady lounge until Stella eventually found out, marched down there and practically dragged her out by her thirty-inch Brazilian hair extensions.”
Mercy looked almost wistful about it now.
“It was a mess. They argued about it for months. People think the Mikaelsons have sibling drama, but I promise you, my sisters could put the Kardashians to shame. Although, actually, the Mikaelsons basically are the Kardashians of the vampire world, aren’t they? Rich, famous, everyone knows their business, constant family feuds, questionable romantic decisions, people keep coming back after you thought they were finally gone…” She counted the similarities against her fingers before grimacing. “Which isn’t a compliment, obviously. Me and my sisters are probably more like a girl group gone bad. Classic Destiny’s Child lore. Stella is obviously Beyoncé because she needs to have the lead vocals on whatever everyone else is doing. I don’t know who that makes me. I guess it doesn’t really matter because the only girl group I truly acknowledge is Sugababes, and that is obviously without Jade or Amelle.” Her expression suggested this was a hill upon which she was entirely prepared to die.
But none of Mercy’s extensive and apparently deeply serious knowledge of pop-girl history was going to help them survive an encounter with the Original family.
“As for the collective,” she continued, putting particular emphasis on Flori’s newly christened terminology, “I do know the Watcher’s Council is apparently going above and beyond with this entire scheme. What I don’t understand is why, because there are way easier ways to pull off a stunt like this. I might not know everything there is to know about these goofies, but I know the basics, and it’s beyond me why the Council has decided to go with some bigger-than-life grand scheme when there are much easier weaknesses to exploit. Or, rather, hopes and dreams to exploit.” Her smile sharpened slightly. “A team is only as strong as its weakest member, and what’s easier to exploit than a strong feeling of disdain?” She began counting names in her head.
“The eldest brother. Ferdinand. Francis. Flynn.” A pause. Her eyes flickered upward. “Finn. That one. Finn absolutely isn’t having a good time being a vampire. He also isn’t exactly having a blast from the past considering he spent, what, nine hundred years nappy-napping in a box? It’s also no secret that he isn’t exactly tight with his three younger brothers. And while I assume he cares about his baby sister out of some sense of familial obligation, I doubt he’d be sobbing into a pillow if the others got daggered. They certainly didn’t bother going all Evanescence over him when he was stuck in a coffin for nearly a millennium.” Mercy tilted her head, and for all the ridiculousness that usually came pouring from her mouth, there was something surprisingly calculating underneath it now.
“And where there is pain, hurt and resentment, there is opportunity. That’s the bit I don’t understand. Why doesn’t the Council just send some charming Slayer his way and have her whisper sweet little promises of revenge into his ear? It seems waaaay more logical to me. Extreme loneliness plus one pretty girl suddenly appearing and telling you she understands your pain? Please. That trick is practically ancient. I’d bet good money Finn would eventually go along with it as long as he was promised that he’d be spared. Probably his witchy elder sister too, assuming he actually likes her. Although that circles us right back around to the Freya problem, because realistically they can’t dagger her. Which makes me wonder whether the Council has actually taken that into consideration. I certainly hope they have. But if they haven’t? It’s not that deep. Worst-case scenario, I board a plane to the other side of the world and spend the next decade pretending I’ve never heard the name Mikaelson.”
The bravado was mostly sincere.
“Besides, I’m not exactly at the top of the pyramid here. There is a long, long, lovingly long list of people they’d probably want to get at before they even considered me. As far as they’re concerned, I’m probably about as threatening as an amoeba.” Mercy paused. “Which isn’t actually saying much because there are flesh-eating amoebas, and those are horrifying. But you get my point.” For all the complaining she did about them, there remained an odd amount of faith buried somewhere inside Mercy when it came to the Council. She expected them to win because, historically, they usually did. Perhaps not cleanly. Perhaps not without casualties. Perhaps not without making an absolutely catastrophic mess of everything beforehand, but somehow the world kept spinning. Then again, Mercy knew something people in the Council occasionally seemed to forget themselves: without Slayers, they were ultimately just a collection of very knowledgeable human beings with books, resources and an occasionally dangerous amount of self-importance.
Knowledge was powerful. It wasn't quite the same thing as being able to punch someone's head off.
At Flori’s offer, Mercy’s expression brightened considerably.
“I mean, I could use some intel and brains. I can’t exactly stalk their socials. That is, assuming they even have socials.” She frowned at the thought. “Do Original vampires have Instagram? Imagine Klaus having an Instagram. Absolutely not. He’d probably post one black-and-white picture of some depressing painting every six months with a caption like ‘There is beauty in the ruin of those who betray you’ and then turn the comments off. Do ancient vampires even know what Instagram is like, your sister from another mister and mistress, does she even know what a phone is? Or does she still whispers into a Phonograph? I really hope you did not inform her about this whole gig though, like, I am not really here for hearing another lecture from her. Gosh, she should meet Stella, I know they would have an absolute blast together. Best friends for ever and ever, except not that entirely forever.”
Not that she really cared for any of the latter, no, her focus was already shifting, there was another matter demanding immediate attention.
“And if I’m supposed to be a wallflower, I should probably dress down, except I don’t do dressing down, so we’re already running into logistical problems. I need something modest, but not too modest. Something that isn’t loud, but also isn’t silent. Just something that says, ‘Hi-I-am-totally-not-here-to-stand-out-and-I-am-absolutely-not-a-Slayer-I-am-friendly-but-not-that-friendly,’ if that makes sense.” It probably didn't but Mercy understood herself perfectly. “Before I do any of that, though, I might want to go on a vervain diet because I’m not entirely sure whether their level of compulsion is useless against a Slayer or not. I mean, I assume that if the Brotherhood can’t be compelled by the likes of them, a Slayer certainly shouldn’t be falling for the whole” Mercy widened her eyes theatrically and lowered her voice into an exaggerated attempt at seductive vampirism “look deeply into my eyes and crook your neck for me nonsense. But I’m not staking my life on an assumption. Especially when the people we’re talking about are literally the reason half the normal rules about vampires have an asterisk next to them.” Her hand drifted absently toward her neck. “Like I said, I’m not trying to be the starter, main course, dessert or snack.”
Then, as though the possibility of being murdered and eaten by an Original vampire naturally led into the next subject, Mercy inspected her nails.
“I do need a manicure, though. Definitely.” She stared at them for another moment before looking back at Flori.
“And thank God I’m not blonde. I mean, Klausie loves the blondes, so that is one less pair of heart-eyes I have to worry about. If it’s up to me, I’m avoiding any kind of contact with that one altogether. I’m pretty sure even Stalin blushes at the mere mention of Klaus Mikaelson. Which makes it a very good thing that the Mikaelsons have never seriously gotten into politics because, good Lord, that would be the end of life as we know it. Could you imagine giving that family an actual government? They can barely survive Thanksgiving. It’s kind of ironic, though, isn’t it? All that power, all that history, and they care so little about their own kind. Vampires practically treat them like royalty, meanwhile the Mikaelsons seem to regard ninety-nine percent of vampires as disposable background characters. From a mess to the masses, I suppose.” Mercy considered that for a second before another smile slowly crept across her face.
“On that note, I sincerely hope Klaus does a Jason Derulo at the Met Gala and goes tumbling upside down on the stairs. I know that picture wasn’t actually Jason Derulo, but I don’t care. In my heart, it will always be Jason Deruloooo falling down those stairs.” Her smile widened into something positively wicked. “And if Klaus somehow manages to recreate it, I want you hacking every security camera in the building because I need that footage in four-K. I would pay good money for that. In fact, I will fund for billboard square to replay that video.” She paused. “Actually, no. Scratch that. I want multiple angles. I need to be able to show my grandchildren that in color, sound and flavor.”
