Lay Me Down ||
@runawayagent
For the first time since Klaus’ arrival in New Orleans, there was peace.
Tenuous and fleeting at best, but it was still peace. Niklaus had found both his salvation and his purpose in his daughter’s eyes, and he had vowed to find a way to keep her safe and by his side.
It was only through months of agonizing talks and the occasional beheading that he had finally settled the French Quarter, and Klaus was invested in keeping it so. Hope was a target, and as a defenseless six month old, it remained in her best interest that Klaus sue for peace.
It was for this reason that he now found himself standing in the entryway of Rouseeau’s, contemplating his next move. Had this been a mere six months earlier, he would have had no qualms about eradicating any threat against him-- imagined or otherwise. Niklaus had not lived a thousand years by being careless, but his efforts towards alternate methods of persuasion had yielded fruit-- Hope was safe for now, and he had no desire to change the status quo.
Lips thinning, he contemplated the woman perched at the bar. Charlotte Finch had not changed in the decades since they had last seen each other, not since the mess that was Chicago, when Rebekah had had her fun with Stefan and Niklaus had found other amusements. Undoubtedly the very best of those amusements had been Charlotte, a particular gem hiding in the smoke-filled establishments that he had once frequented.
They had been lovers for a time, something with which to occupy his time as his sister gorged herself on her ludicrous search for love, and Klaus had eventually turned her because it amused him to do so. Eventually he tired of the girl, abandoning Charlotte even as he forced Rebekah to depart with him, daggering his sister and effectively fleeing Chicago.
He hadn’t looked back.
A thousand years worth of lovers and he was used to this, of taking whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it, and dealing with the aftermath of his behavior usually ended in spilled blood. Cleanup for a mistake he’d made almost a century ago was something he had no desire to carry out, and Klaus slid into the stool next to the redhead, motioning to the bartender for a drink.
“I would ask what you were doing in my city,” Niklaus said, inclining his head at Charlotte as he sipped from his drink. “But somehow I doubt you’re here for a social call.”