for she is penelope as she waits for odysseus, she is achilles as he weeps over the body of patroclus, she is the blood that runs through every greek mythology
“To run with the wolf was to run in the shadows, the dark ray of life, survival and instinct. A fierceness that was both proud and lonely, a tearing, a howling, a hunger and thirst. Blessed are they who hunger and thirst. A strength that would die fighting, kicking, screaming, that wouldn’t stop until the last breath had been wrung from its body. The will to take one’s place in the world. To say ‘I am here.’ To say ‘I am.”
Donovan watched with low eyes as Jackson saw himself out. Every big brother in the world never wanted their sister to end up with a dog; and yet, they didn’t even know the half of it. Try a dumb wolf. “Yes. Don’t sass me when you’re injured.”
His eyes followed hers as she reached out for him. His hand squeezed hers slightly as they connected and Donovan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding since Jackson had walked into the museum. “I made sure they were out of town before your boyfriend’s… finer wolves came to escort me. Didn’t tell them what was happening, partially because sharing isn’t caring around here, but told them enough to get them out. They’re fine.”
"But then I wouldn't ever get to sass you at all," Juliet protested, patting the seat near her and smiling at her brother. She nodded, taking a deep breath in relief that her parents were alright. "Good, good, that's...that's good. I haven't had a chance to call them yet...I'm not sure what to say to them without lying," she confided softly, shifting into a more comfortable position and resting her head on the back of the couch. "I'm not even sure what to say to anyone anymore," she said suddenly, staring at the ceiling and squeezing her brother's hand. "I called in to work and requested some time off, but I'll have to go back eventually. Back to school, too, and..." she trailed off, shrugging a shoulder. "I don't know."
"I’ll come sit with you if you make him go away. He can guard the door all he likes, but I don’t have to earn a few moments alone with my sister."
"What makes you say the Quarter is nice? It’s dingy, if less dirty than here. It wasn’t a question of whether I’d be here or not, anyhow. They wouldn’t have found you without me and I’ve yet to raise a hand against them to deny safe haven while they exploded the city. Besides that glass I just broke."
"Jackson's fine," she started to argue, and then thought better of it. Laying a hand on Jackson's head, Juliet nodded once and waited for him to - reluctantly - trot out the door. "Better?"
"It's just how I assumed you would have described it. Personally I kinda prefer it here. It's not as nice as mom and dad's place but...I don't know. It's homey." Juliet paused, reaching for her brother's hand. "Still, Donovan, I appreciate it. Let me thank my brother for sticking by me, okay? Have you heard from mom or dad? Do you know if they were in the Quarter when-- when they went off?"
"They're pretty simple rules. Wear a lot of plaid, don't disrespect the alpha, don't be mean to Vivian, drink beer, don't break anything...come on, Donovan, sit with me before you break another thing and one of my friends rears up and bites you. They may be wolves during the day but they're still aware."
"Thank you for agreeing to come out here. I know it's not as nice as the Quarter, but it means a lot to me that you're here, Don."
W H O: Jackson Latour, Oliver Latour & Juliet Leonhart
W H E N: Tuesday, March 3rd at apx. 8 PM
W H E R E: St. Anne’s Church
W H A T: Jackson and Oliver rescue Juliet.
W H O: Juliet Leonhart & Marcel Gerard
W H E N: Sunday March 1st, approx. 10pm
W H E R E: St. Anne's Church
W H A T: Marcel finally gets some information out of Juliet.
Marcel was growing increasingly tired of the little witch he had locked in St. Anne's Church and her lack of cooperation. By now, the vervain she was taking should've been long gone from her system, leaving her susceptible to compulsion, thank God. Shoving the door open, he motioned for his nightwalkers to stop the torturing for now. There would be plenty of time for that later. "Lift her up," He told them, emotionlessly. He didn't have time for games right now. He wanted answers and he would get them, if it was the last thing he did. With Juliet now standing upright with her arms in the chains again, mostly for show as the little witch didn't have the energy to fight off vampires right now, he glared down at her, a satisfied smirk on his lips as he noted how exhausted she seemed. "You tired?" He asked, rhetorically, grinning down at her. He didn't wait for an answer before he leaned forward and bit into her neck, tasting her delicious vervain-free blood. "Mmm," He mumbled as he pulled away after a few seconds, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He shook his head as one of the nightwalkers took a step forward, wanting a taste of her as well. "Not yet, Logan. Not yet." He said as he stared at the blonde, the smirk on his lips again. "I need some answers first." Marcel noted as he cupped her cheeks, staring down at her for a few seconds before compelling her. "Tell me everything you know about the Crescent wolves and their involvment with Klaus Mikaelson, specifically one Hayley Marshall, and your coven's involvement too. Tell me everything." He repeated the last part for good measure, his pupils dilating as he looked into her eyes before letting her face go and watching it fall limp. Her energy was clearly decreasing but it wouldn't matter in a few minutes, once he got the answers he so desperately wanted.
Juliet was starting to forget what it was like not to be in pain. She hadn't slept more than five hours since she'd been taken by Marcel, and mostly in increments of ten to twenty minutes at a time. She'd had some water, when it wasn't being dumped over her head with a rag over her nose and mouth. She hadn't eaten in ages, and between the lack of nourishment and the regular beatings and psychological torture, Juliet was fading fast. She barely registered when Marcel came into the annex they'd been keeping her in, and let out the softest, dimmest moan of pain when they hauled her back up into a standing position by her wrists. Juliet was fairly certain her shoulder was about to pop out of its socket, and she was just as certain that she didn't have the necessary energy to roll her shoulders back and put more weight on her feet. The pain she felt when he bit into her neck was minimal - her pain tolerance had spiked considerably in the past week - and she merely rolled her head to the side, staring at Marcel with glassy eyes, hatred lurking in the depths of them. And then he was compelling her, and it all faded away. The pain radiating from every pore in her body suddenly dulled, as if she was feeling it from a long ways off, in a fog. All that mattered was the questions she was being asked, and unbidden, she started to speak. "The Crescent Wolves have no involvement with Klaus," Juliet rasped, her voice far away and dreamy to her own ears. "None that I know about. Jackson doesn't talk to me - not about that, anyway. But Hayley," she started, her voice still rasping and flat, "Hayley has a lot of involvement with Klaus. The baby, she's Klaus's baby. The witches all know, I think. He's been to some of her appointments with me - she's my patient, you know, it's so hard to find a nurse who understands a werewolf pregnancy - and when he's not there, Elijah always is. She's involved with all of the Mikaelsons one way or the other. I don't know what their plans are. Just that the baby is Klaus's daughter." Juliet paused, some internal part of her fighting the compulsion, fighting the secrets she'd just spilled, and then kept going, losing the battle. "I don't have a Coven."
Juliet was timed out 44 hours ago
Marcel watched the blonde witch closely as she began to talk, listening to her every word. The Crescent wolves weren't involved with Klaus. Ha, like he believed that considering how things played out the night he was supposed to kill Jackson. He took a step closer when she mentioned Hayley. His eyes widened in disbelief when she admitted Hayley's baby was Klaus'. That was impossible... Wasn't it? "Excuse me?" He asked, taking another step forward to listen closely. It was almost impossible to imagine Klaus going to Hayley's doctors appointments with her. Klaus -- a father? He couldn't put those two things together. He could imagine Elijah though. That righteous son of a bitch seemed to have a thing for his brother's baby mama. "Shut up." He muttered angrily as the nightwalkers began to talk amongst themselves, Thierry already standing up and nearing her side. "How is that even possible?" He asked suddenly, feeling the nightwalkers' eyes on them, and completely ignored that she said she didn't have a coven. That was a question for later. He figured the baby had to do with Klaus' werewolf side. Being the first hybrid and all, there wasn't much lore to go on. If it was Klaus' baby, everything added up-- his obsession with the little wolf, Hayley, and her protection and his association with the Crescent wolves. Just when he thought things couldn't get anymore interesting...
Juliet joined the chat
Juliet nodded, though the gesture was a bit more like lolling her head to the side. "It's possible. One of the loopholes of being a supernatural being. He's half werewolf, which means he can procreate, unlike other vampires. We don't know if it's possible with Klaus and humans, though - it could easily be because Hayley is a werewolf, she's resilient enough to bear his child. Whatever she is, though, she's a miracle - that much is for sure."
Marcel simply nodded at her words, connecting everything in his mind. Hayley's baby belonged to Klaus and so his allegiance, whether he liked it or not, lay with the Crescent wolves for the sake of his baby mama and the baby. Everything made sense now. "Do what you want with her," He ordered his men, not particularly caring what harm came to her as he got the information he wanted. They had specific orders not to kill her though in case she was useful in negotiating with the wolves later, specifically one Jackson Latour. Walking out of the room, Marcel's head was spinning with this newfound information and he simply couldn't wait for the next time he ran into the father-to-be.
W H O: Marcel Gerard & Juliet Leonhart
W H E N: February 21st 2015, approx. 11 pm
W H E R E: St. Anne's Church
W H A T: Marcel demands answers that Juliet doesn't have.
C O N T E N T W A R N I N G: Drowning; torture.
Marcel was furious over the events that had transpired in the last 24 hours. Somehow, the night that was supposed to bring back the status quo -- with the death of Jackson Latour as an example and warning to those who dare oppose him -- turned into a bloodbath with a handful of his best nightwalkers dead on the floor of the Abattoir and Jackson walking a free man. Luckily, he was able to snag the blonde witch, whom he figured out was named Juliet, before the night was over. Said blonde was then moved shortly after to St. Anne's Church to ensure that when her people came back for her, she would no longer be there.
The young witch was currently being held and guarded by five nightwalkers, all of whom were taking turns beating her regularly to ensure that she didn't regain enough energy to use her power, the power he'd already been exposed to last night. It was also a great way to remind her that she was no longer in control here. Marcel was.
It wasn't until twenty-four hours later that Marcel decided to pay her a visit, figuring she'd suffer enough for the time being. It was time to get some answers. That is, if she wanted to provide him with them. Something told him she wasn't exactly the talking type. "So we could this one of two ways," He started as he walked into the room, not bothering with any pleasantries as they were far past it at this point. "The easy way," He paused, for dramatic effect really. "Or the Marcel way," He smirked, grabbing the blonde's hair to force her to look up at him. "So which is it gonna be?" Looking down at her, he felt an empowering rush of adrenaline hit him as he was in control of the witch who'd brought him to the knees the night before.
Juliet had spent the last twenty four hours taking stock of her injuries regularly; it was the easiest way to keep hold of her mental capacity, keep her from retreating in on herself, keep her from going mad in less than two day’s time. As a medical professional, too, it was helpful. The first injury had been a bruise that was still forming on her cheekbone, and then what was very likely a fractured rib. She didn’t think it was broken - she could still breathe relatively easily, and though she couldn’t touch her side, she was reasonable certain there were no shards of bone stabbing at the inside of her side. The second injury had been a definitely broken rib on the other side; Juliet had heard the audible crack from the moment the nightwalker’s foot had collided with her right side. There was no helping it at this point, but she kept her breathing shallow anyway, not wanting to make the damage worse. The third injury had been the chafing on her wrists from the manacles holding her up. They’d rigged a very helpful pulley system that kept Juliet’s arms above her head and her feet from fully supporting her entire weight. The nightwalkers could lower it or yank it higher at will, controlling how much relief her wrists got. For the past twenty four hours, it hadn’t been much. She was sure they were raw, and there was a trickling itch on her left wrist that was more than a little worrisome - she couldn’t crane her neck far enough back to see if she was bleeding, but it sure as hell felt like it. The fourth: a very broken nose, though, in hindsight, she’d definitely earned that one. She’d figured out the schedule very early on into the beatings. An hour and a half in between each, just enough time to give her rest enough to lull her into a false sense of security, and then they’d attack her again, one nightwalker behind her to hold her still while three took turns treating her like a punching bag, with one always standing guard in the hallway.
Of course, it only took three of these rotations before Juliet decided to try her hand at incapacitating more than one vampire. She managed two. The third proved more difficult, and then broke her nose to remind her why that was a stupid idea. From there, the beatings became a bit more random, and she lost count of taking stock of her injuries as they occurred, and instead started taking inventory of her body during the resting times. So far, in addition to the various bruises littering her body, she had a broken rib, at least one other - possibly two - fractured one(s), a broken nose, what would very likely become a black eye, at least five fractured bones in one foot, a bent leg that was very close to threatening to snap at the femur, raw and potentially bloody wrists, and a very large and worrisome gash across her stomach that wasn’t deep but had the potential to get very, very infected if this kept up for much longer.
She was almost relieved when Marcel walked in, knowing this meant it was likely she’d die sooner rather than later. Juliet wasn’t an idiot. She knew magic was punishable by death in the Quarter, but she had to admit the torture was a little shocking. Still, if Marcel was there, it had to mean he was planning on ending things soon. A full twenty four hours without food, water, or rest had taken its toll on her - and the constant beatings and subsequent screaming had taken a toll on her vocal chords. So when she answered, her voice was hoarse and entirely unlike anything recognizable as her own. “Do what? Have a tea party with your lackeys? We’ve gotten pretty familiar, after all,” Juliet remarked, hissing as he yanked on her hair, but meeting his gaze anyway. “Did you know James over there plays jazz flute? Super rad. Do you guys ever do talent shows in the Abattoir, or anything? He’d kill it.”
Marcel chuckled dryly, licking his hips as he glanced around to his men. “Girl’s got jokes,” He nodded his head, rolling his eyes at her. “Has she been this entertaining all day, fellas?” He asked as if he cared about the answer and tugged her hair back harsher, reminding her yet again that he was in control her. “Jazz flute, huh?” He rolled his eyes, looking down at her as he tugged her head back. “Looks like you’re choosing the Marcel way then. I had a feeling you would,” He grinned with a gleam in his eye, letting go of her head abruptly and stepping around her as if he was a predator scoping out his prey-- which, in a way, he was.
“Something told me the little spunky blonde bitch-- I mean, witch,” The vampire smirked, clearly not sorry for his Freudian slip. “Wouldn’t be giving up her intel that easy. And, something tells me you’re on vervain, am I right?” He glanced over to his men to see them nod in agreement. They’d already tested her for vervain earlier when they tried to feed off of her, that was one torture method that was off the table. But luckily, there were many, many more to choose from.
“That’s a shame, really,” He shrugged, running his hand through her hair to tug it back again. “You smell so good,” His eyes lingered on her face, studying her as he planned out his next move. “Tell me,” Marcel started after a few seconds pause. “What’s got you working with Klaus? And the wolves too-- Jackson, your boyfriend?” He chuckled, recalling how desperate she was to cut him loose the night before. “C’mon now, blondie, even I know you can do better than him.”
Juliet grimaced back at him, the motion barely (not at all) passing for a smile. “Yeah, I’m a real riot,” she answered back, her breathing still shallow and a soft cry escaping her lips as he pulled harder on her hair, muffled by her lips pressed together. She didn’t want to give him that much satisfaction, especially not when he was apparently about to drag this out. She listened in silence, thankful that he’d let go of her hair, but less thankful that he’d started walking around her. Having him behind her was nothing short of terrifying - at least when he rounded back to stand in front of her, she had him in her line of sight. The vervain comment was nothing less than she’d expected; they’d tried to feed on her less than five minutes into moving her to the damned church, and her bites had long since scabbed over. It had been one of her few moments of satisfaction, watching them choke on her blood.
So she stood silently, waiting for Marcel to get to the damned point. She stared at him, hoping she looked bored at his comment about how she smelled. “Thanks, it’s Philosophy,” she quipped, smirking for all of two seconds before he brought up Klaus, and then -- Jackson. She was sure all the blood drained from her face at the mention of the alpha, her mind immediately rushing back to the night before, to seeing him bloody and broken on the floor of the Abattoir. Juliet had been doing a damned good job so far of not thinking about the condition he was likely still in, or the fact that he’d had to turn in such a broken condition. She had no idea how he was doing, and it was killing her. She swallowed around a sudden lump in her throat, taking a deep breath and wincing at the strain it put her ribs under. “I don’t work with Klaus,” she said hoarsely, looking up at him flatly. “Barely know the guy. Hayley’s my patient, Jackson’s a...a good friend,” Juliet deflected, debating making another snarky comment and then thinking better of it. “And you were really close to killing him.”
“You don’t work with Klaus?” Marcel almost laughed at that, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, you raided my party last night with him as your quarterback. Sorry to burst your bubble -- actually, who am I kidding? I love it. -- but you’re working with him now and after last night, he probably plans to get you working for him soon.” He shrugged, nodding down at her as he crossed his arms. “Hayley’s your patient? What’d you know about her? About her pregnancy?” He questioned, his eyebrows furrowing. He didn’t understand much about Hayley, a werewolf Klaus would do anything to protect, it seemed. “What’s her relationship with Klaus like?” He added, curious to know what their dynamic was like. He couldn’t understand much of their relationship the night before, it was very vague.
“Jacksons a… a good friend,” The vampire mocked her tone, laughing at her as he shook her head. “Seriously?” He paused, tilting his head at her. “Those desperate cries of yours were anything but platonic, Blondie.” He nodded as she reminded him that he was close to killing him. “And I would have, had I not been so rudely interrupted. Jackson deserved death and then some. That’s the price he has to pay for biting one of my men. You were there, weren’t you?” He asked, not waiting to hear her answer before he continued. “Much like the price you have to pay for using magic in the Quarter,” He shrugged innocently, as if he wasn’t the one who made said rule.
“You seem to be awfully close to the wolves. You reek of them.” Marcel continued, scrunching his nose in disgust. “May I ask why?” He was circling her again at this point, noting how her heart rate had sped up last time he did that. It terrified her to be unable to see him and he took the opportunity to scare her suddenly, shoving her forward without any warning. The chains that were holding her up didn’t let her move too much and it only caused strain on her wrists but it surely earned a laugh out of him and his men.
Juliet sighed, rolling her eyes at him. “I don’t,” she insisted, quite honestly. “Sorry to burst your bubble,” Juliet taunted back, “but I’m telling the truth here. I don’t know Klaus beyond a few words we’ve exchanged. I know what he is, and who he is, every witch does, but we’re barely even strangers. He was there for Hayley. That’s all.” She raised an eyebrow at him, feeling the motion split open a cut on her forehead she’d forgotten about once it scabbed over. A thin, itchy trickle of blood snaked its way down her temple, but Juliet ignored it. “I’m a nurse at Ochsner Medical Center, the really big hospital? Maybe you’ve heard of it? Hayley’s pregnant, she’s one of my patients. Anything I know about her falls under the protection of doctor/patient confidentiality laws. Sorry,” she said, clearly not even a trace sorry.
If Marcel couldn’t figure it out, that was entirely on him. She wasn’t going to make it easier on him. She was too busy trying to survive for another five minutes, if at all. Juliet kept her mouth shut as he spoke about Jackson, clenching her jaw and trying desperately to ignore the painful twisting of her heart and stomach into knots at the mention of the New Years party, of what Jackson had done to save his brother’s life. She was there. She’d let Jackson go, knowing full well what he was capable of doing, all because she was too scared to use her own power to try and save Oliver, too scared to let Jackson lose his brother, too scared that she’d end up...well...here. And here she was all the same.
“So kill me,” she finally croaked out, her mouth dry at the prospect. She’d spent twenty four hours coming to terms with her own mortality, but the thought still terrified her. “I spend time in the Bayou,” Juliet sighed, a shudder passing down her spine as Marcel started to move, making her unable to anticipate any movement. “Good place to find herbs,” she snarked, yelping suddenly when he pushed her forward, more out of shock than pain. Sure, it hurt her arms quite a bit, but more than anything it was startling, and she shuddered again, gritting her teeth.
“That much is obvious,” Marcel nodded regarding the fact that Klaus was there for Hayley. “He sure does seem to care a lot for the pregnant wolf girl.” He trailed off, clenching his jaw as he searched his mind for a reason why. She didn’t seem to be of particular use to him. After all, what use is a pregnant wolf? She seemed like a burden to him but if she was valuable to Klaus, then she was valuable to Marcel. He just had to figure out why. Judging by the look on Juliet’s face, he could tell that she was telling the truth about Klaus. She wasn’t working for or with him, at least not officially. Perhaps it really was just for her boyfriend, Jackson, but all the same, she was a powerful witch and he was smart to have taken her. It wasn’t safe to have that kind of power roaming free around the Quarter.
“Kill you? Oh, sweetie, no,” He shook his head, his smirk only growing as she yelped when he scared her. His men’s laughed echoed in the church and he laughed himself as well, nodding at them to begin filling the buckets with water. She wasn’t cooperating with him and it was time she did. “That would be too easy.” He started again, walking around her again only to stop directly in front of her. “We’re going to make you feel it, just like we made Jackson feel it.” Marcel told her, bending down slightly to look her in the eye. “I wonder which one of you can take more,” He smirked, knowing very well that Jackson could take more seeing as he was a wolf. “I wonder how long it’ll take you to crack.”
At this point, his nightwalkers already had a handful of buckets filled and beside Marcel’s feet, waiting for the green light. “You thirsty, Juliet?” He chuckled, reaching for the black burlap sack in James’ hands. He didn’t wait for an answer before he slipped the sack over her head easily, holding it so that Logan could tie it securely around her neck. Seeing as he was so close to her body, Marcel took this opportunity to knee her suddenly, his knee colliding with her stomach at full force.
Juliet hated him. Hated Marcel with every fiber of her being, with every bone in her body. She hated him. Her ears were ringing with taunts and laughter and she. Hated. Him. She hated the mention of Jackson, hated that her memory immediately took her back to hearing his bones snap and seeing him beaten within an inch of his life, rather than the gentle way he’d touched her in the bayou or the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled at her. She tried to latch onto that, clutching desperately at the cadence of his laugh in her memory, shutting down and blocking out Marcel’s mocking laughter. She wouldn’t make it easy to crack her mind. She’d spent years blocking out her own gift, years and years of her life ignoring and negating an actual gene in her nervous system. She could handle this. She could, or she’d die trying.
Unfortunately, with buckets of water being filled up as ominously as possible in front of her, the latter was looking more and more likely.
She did her best to regulate her breathing, her chest burning where her ribs were cracked, and focused again on Jackson’s freckles, on her brother’s grin, on the way Vivian’s nose would wrinkle when she said something shocking, on her father’s laugh and the way her mother cried when she was happy. Juliet did her best to remember the good in her life, the good things she’d been blessed with and lucky to have. Then her vision went dark, her breathing picking up painfully as she started to panic, the sack on her head getting tied around her neck and leaving her blind to whatever happened next. Marcel’s knee came as a shock, and she would have screamed, had the force not knocked all her air out. Instead, she grunted loudly, gasping for air and feeling her shoulders strain and nearly pop as she bent forward from the impact. Juliet was almost grateful when the chains holding her up suddenly went slack, sending her sprawling onto the ground.
“Guess not,” Marcel chuckled when Juliet didn’t answer her question and simply shrugged, watching her hit the ground. It was perfect timing, really; the way his knee met her stomach just as his men were loosening the chains. It couldn’t have worked out better if he’d planned it. “Sorry,” He mumbled, not an ounce of genuinity in his voice as he motioned for his men to pick her up and place her on the table just a few feet away-- a table that had already been inclined at a fifteen degree angle for the sake of his torture methods. The vampire let them have some space to do so and he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms as he watched them. Hopefully this would give Juliet more of an incentive to share what information she knew but even if it didn’t, he knew Davina would be able to extract whatever information she had.
It didn’t take his men too long to have her laying on her back on the table, her hands and legs tied in place so she was hardly able to move. “You ready, Juliet?” Marcel asked as if he was concerned for her well-being but before she could answer, he was already pouring a bucket of ice, cold water over the burlap sack. As soon as his bucket was empty, James was grabbing the other one and pouring it over her face as well, an evil grin on all of the vampires’ faces. This went on for about five minutes, pouring buckets of water on her face over and over again until Marcel finally put a stop to it. “That’s enough,” was all he had to say for his men to halt their actions immediately, looking to him for more guidance. “Let’s see if our little bitch wants to talk now.”
With that, Marcel reached for the sack that was over her face and pulled it off quickly. “G’morning, sunshine,” He grinned down at her, using his other hand to move some of her blonde hair that was now sticking to her face. “You alright?” He asked her in a mocking tone, stroking her cheek softly as he did. “Just say the word and this can all stop-- let us know when you’re ready to start talking,” The vampire motioned to himself and his men as if waterboarding was out of their control.
Juliet wished she could say she struggled more when they dragged her onto the table and held her down, but with her senses dulled through the bag over her head and her body weak from the beatings, it was all she could do to keep her head up. She cried out as her body hit the table, a painful lurch shooting through her ribs, and she was dimly aware that the cut on her stomach had opened up again. She could feel the blood seeping out onto her stomach, soaking her shirt, and Juliet opened her mouth to tell Marcel to go straight to hell. That, it turned out, was a mistake. Water was flooding her face without warning, and her scream was quite literally drowned out by the flood. She choked, gasping for air and coming up with nothing but water, her body convulsing from the lack of oxygen, and tears leaking painfully out the sides of her eyes. Her lungs were burning, her eyes were burning, her nose and her throat, it was all on fire as she continued to choke on water and fight to keep a level head, fight to keep panic from taking over. She lost the battle after the third bucket, and instead decided to try not to vomit, knowing that if she lost that battle she’d die.
It was terrifying, being so suddenly confronted with a very violent reminder of the fact that she would die here. Maybe not right that second, or that minute, but she would die in the annex of this church, at Marcel’s hand. And she hadn’t even said goodbye to her brother, or to Jackson. Juliet was choking in earnest now, her hands clenching and unclenching in a futile effort to grab on to something, when suddenly, it stopped, and the bag was being ripped off her head and she was forced into a sitting position.
The gulp of oxygen was painful and sweet all at once, and she gasped desperately for air, her lungs making disgusting and scary noises as she did so. Shock, she realized dimly, I’m going into shock. Pull yourself together, Leonhart. She took another deep breath, forcing herself to hold it and then release it in a more controlled manner, and looked back at Marcel, shuddering at the touch of his fingers on her skin. “I don’t have anything to tell you,” she all but sobbed, her eyes wide and pleading and honest, not a trace of sarcasm in her scratchy voice. She took another gasp, and another, filling her lungs with oxygen and causing her ribs to expand painfully, but knowing her might be in need of the air soon. The prospect of getting back on the table was quite honestly the most terrifying thing she’d thought of in her life up to that point, but whatever it was Marcel was looking for, she was pretty certain she didn’t know it.
For a five-foot-five girl in her predicament, Juliet had balls. Here she was, clearly losing to a handful of vampires, and she was still refusing to give up the information she had-- information that was apparently more valuable than her own life. She wasn’t an idiot, that much he knew. She knew that magic in the Quarter was punishable by death, much like hurting one of his own men was. Juliet was crying now, tears streaming down her cheeks as she breathed in all the oxygen she could. “I beg to differ, Juliet,” Marcel shook his head, circling around the table now. “I find it hard to believe that you have zero information on the coven,” He started, motioning with his hands. “Or the wolves. Or your patient, Hayley. Doctor-patient confidentiality, aside. Don’t you think we’re past that point?” He asked, turning to look at her from the opposite side of the table.
“Don’t make me sack you again, Juliet,” Marcel warned her, narrowing his eyes at her. “I’d hate to cover up that pretty face of yours,” He added, leaning a little. It was then that he noticed just how deep her injuries ran, her blood soaking her through her shirt. “But first, let’s take care of those injuries, yeah? Wouldn’t want you to die on me before we can get anything out of you,” He said, more to himself than to her. In a split second, he was right beside her, biting into his wrist, before forcefully feeding his blood to her. Something told him that Juliet would rather die than see herself become a vampire so, in feeding her his blood, that gave her another reason to stay alive.
“Again,” He nodded to his men, stepping away from her and wiping his blood on his pants, as they placed the sack over her head again. His blood should be taking effect shortly and they didn’t have any time to waste. Marcel was becoming more and more frustrating with this witch and he wanted answers right this second. James tied the sack around her neck and pushed her back onto the table, already grabbing a bucket of water.
“I left the coven years ago!” She all but exploded, tears still coursing down her face and her throat raw. “I haven’t been part of what they do since I was a teenager, Marcel, there’s nothing for me to tell!” Her chest heaved, blood still seeping out onto her shirt. “The wolves aren’t doing anything that I know about, and I’m not going to tell you anything about Hayley’s child,” she finished, her fingers curling into fists. “So you can go straight to hell,” she hissed, trying to turn her head from him. Marcel caught her off guard, however, and before Juliet knew it she was being force fed his blood. It was thick and disgusting, sliding down her throat like molasses. She coughed, sputtered, but swallowed, knowing it would heal her - and knowing that if she died in the next twenty four hours, give or take, she’d become one of them. Panic clutched at her heart again, making her breathing shallow, and somewhere in the back of her mind, Juliet wondered whether a person could die of sheer fear.
She didn’t have long to think about it, though - she was being forced back onto her back within seconds, and she screamed in spite of herself, thrashing against the hands gripping her until she was being held down, blind again with water filling her throat and her nose and lungs. It felt like it went on for ages, but that could easily have been the vampire blood, healing her even as she was being injured all over again. It could have also been the knowledge that this time she couldn’t die. Becoming a vampire wasn’t an option for her; she’d rather die. So she bore the torture a second time, coughing and choking and gasping and finally, finally coming up for air a hundred years later. When one of the nightwalkers - or maybe it was Marcel, Juliet couldn’t tell - righted her again and pulled the sack off her head, she promptly threw up over the side of the table. The contents of her stomach - mainly water, at this point - spilled over the floor, mixing with blood from her now healed nose and salty tears from her eyes. Gasping at the acrid burning sensation in her nose and throat, she took a few deep breaths and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Silence stretched between her and Marcel for a full sixty seconds before she looked back up at him, shaking and struggling for air, but still glaring at him with pure hatred. “How much longer are you going to keep this up?” Juliet asked, sounding exhausted and half dead, and resigned to her fate.
Juliet left the coven years ago, a truth (judging by the hoarseness in her voice and the sudden confession) that he did not expect considering how much power she had, power he’d felt just last night. Quite honestly, Juliet was probably still a teenager, perhaps just a few years older than nineteen so she couldn’t have been on her own for that long. There was definitely something to tell, maybe just not something he didn’t already know. “The wolves aren’t doing anything? Really?” Marcel narrowed his eyes at her, not believing that for a second. “How stupid do you think I am, Juliet?” He asked but then held his finger up as if to quiet her. “Actually, don’t answer that.” He rolled his eyes, chuckling as his own met James’. His jaw clenched when Juliet insisted that she wasn’t going to give up any information about Hayley’s baby, specifically-- noting that maybe it wasn’t the wolf Klaus was so protective of but perhaps it was the baby. The blonde had said enough without really saying anything at all. Davina would confirm all of this for him soon.
“Sweetheart,” Marcel shook his head, bending down to look at her once more. “I’m immortal. I won’t be going to hell, but you? You definitely can.” The vampire smirked just as his men covered her face to begin the process all over again. He could already see that the vampire blood was taking effect on her body and he was thankful for that, maybe a slightly stronger Juliet would be slightly smarter, slightly more worried about how close she was to dying now that she had vampire blood in her system. He watched his men throw buckets and buckets of water on Juliet’s covered face for a couple of more minutes, listening to her coughing and choking as the sensation of drowning overwhelmed her body.
Suddenly, Marcel stopped them and wordlessly motioned for one of them to remove the sack from her head. He wanted to see her face again. When he did, he didn’t even flinch when she threw up beside herself, watching her closely as she spilled the contents of her stomach mixed with blood and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. He watched her closely for a full minute, his arms crossed, studying her every move just as she was no doubt studying her predicament, looking for a way out of here. Her blue eyes met his dark ones and he shrugged at her question. “Until I get the answers I need.” He said simply, Juliet was clearly not giving up any information yet. “While I’m thoroughly enjoying the show you’re putting on for us here, I’m afraid I’m going to have to bow out for the night. I trust my men here will be gracious hosts in my absence,” Marcel smirked down at her and motioned for Logan to put the sack over her head again. “Goodnight, Juliet,” He called out to her in a sing-song voice as he approached the door, nodding his head for James to follow him. Outside the door and out of Juliet’s earshot, he gave James specific orders to continue what he’d started but to keep her alive, feeding her vampire blood every couple of hours to keep her conscious. She was no use to them dead and while she wasn’t proving to be of much use alive right now anyway, he was sure that was all to change soon. Davina would be able to extract the information he couldn’t, all in due time.
Her underwear had stuck to her leggings - comfortable though they were, they were tight, and getting them off without her underwear ending up as a casualty was damn near impossible. She couldn't blame Jackson for it; on the contrary, she wanted to praise him. Juliet let the offending articles of her clothing pool at her ankles before kicking them off with her shoes, and then promptly moaned, long and low, as Jackson's hand found her ass. His nails were short and blunt, but she shivered all the same as they scratched gently at her skin, and with that, she'd had enough. Juliet used the leverage she had when he'd pulled her leg up and pushed him onto his back, rolling on top of him. Her hair fell on either side of their faces, curtaining the expressions on their faces, as if to offer them a modicum of privacy from the bayou. Juliet grinned down at him breathlessly, her hands on either side of his head, fisting in the shirt below him, and settled her knees on either side of his hips and promptly dropped her own to rock against his. She should say something, she knew, but damn it if she was going to ruin the moment, especially not when she could very clearly feel his heart beating in tandem with hers.
leave all your love and your longing b e h i n d ;;
W H O: Marcel Gerard, Jackson Latour, Klaus Mikaelson, Oliver Latour, Hayley Marshall, and Juliet Leonhart.
W H E N: February 20th, approx. 11 pm.
W H E R E: The Abattoir
W H A T: Marcel makes an example of Jackson.
W H O: Davina Claire, Rebekah Mikaelson, Jackson Latour, Oliver Latour, Hayley Marshall, Sawyer Henrikson, Donovan Leonhart, Juliet Leonhart, Klaus Mikaelson, Archer Steele, Sophie Deveraux, Nightwalker #1, Nightwalker #2, Nightwalker #3
W H E N: February 20th 2015, approximatively 9PM.
W H E R E: The Cemetery
W H A T: The aftermath of Piper Warren’s funeral.
"Death usually is. I-- sorry, I swear I'm not normally this much of a downer. I knew her, is all. We used to be friends, a hundred years ago. She was always nice to me, even after - everything. It's caught me off guard."
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