<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #80BFBF">Klaus Mikaelson | The King</span></span><br/><br/><a class="postlink" href="https://33.media.tumblr.com/5fcfb4e20851a56c89d173688c32ed05/tumblr_inline_mjn1b6RSCu1qz4rgp.gif">[ img ]</a><br/><br/>It was a troubling time for the hybrid and his temper, already unstable and foul, had been worsened since moving here. His list of woes had been growing longer by the day, Marcel's insolence and mutiny, Rebekah's foolery in following the vampire she'd yearned for since Marcellus had become a man all those years ago. It was always Rebekah that seemed to betray him, whether it be plans to upsurp his power, or plot his death- she always seemed to have a hand in it. His baby sister, that of whom he'd held a weak spot for. The one sibling he hadn't ever come to truly mistrust. She and Elijah- though Klaus had his bones to pick with the elder brother as it was. Sure he had<span style="font-style: italic">stayed</span>but not for Klaus. No, never for Klaus. He had stayed for the jade-eyed wolf that Klaus had bedded a few months back- the mother of his unborn child. Hayley. She herself seemed to get herself into heaps of trouble, and what irked him most was she was all to happy to let him bed her- but now that she was pregnant had often treated with him with an air of disdain.<span style="font-style: italic">Him!</span>Who would do anything to protect that unborn life in her stomach.<br/><br/>She had been the one to try to get rid of it, tried to take away the only thing that was beginning to make him feel for another in a long time. Then had the gall to turn around and accuse him of being a monster. A beast who only wanted to use<span style="font-style: italic">his</span>daughter to further his hybrid species. Which, the last time Klaus had created a hybrid army, had backfired spectacularly in his face. And of course his noble brother Elijah had taken her side, had warned Klaus he would protect Hayley and that child against him! When he was the one with the power to actually protect his child. Ungrateful, treacherous siblings as always. But there was a twisted love and loyalty he had to all of them. Each of them in some unacknowledged place held a spot in his heart. A heart that even Klaus wondered if it was still there. Then of course there was Mirabelle. The woman of which he'd so longed for, had desperately protected and coveted for his own since the beginning of his own days. The days of which he was filled with a vivacity and kindness, that hurt and weak little human. Mirabelle had been the one to reach him, to try to protect Klaus from Mikael's wrath.<br/><br/>She had been the one to tend to his hurts, his pride and ego. It was she who could soothe Klaus' restless soul. And gods he had loved her. Back when Klaus knew what actual love was. But the longer time wore on, the long Klaus became possessive of his redheaded charge. He had a tendency to engage in push-pull behavior with her. The mixed signals of not wanting her, but not wanting anyone else to have Mirabelle. Before the paranoia ravaged his mind and Klaus' goodness seemed to have been snuffed out by centuries of Mikael's hatred and his siblings seemingly constant betrayals. But then Mirabelle had been reckless, taking Mikael on all on her own. Summoning him to her, and Klaus hadn't been able to save her. That had been one of his darkest times. He'd been on the warpath, murdering, destroying, and leaving a permanent dark scar on history. Those were the times his deathtoll had been higher than most other periods. The beast inside him was out, untamed and insatiable without his Belle. Even his siblings had been weary of Klaus when he'd lost Mirabelle. They had all grieved, but none like he did. No one could hold a candle to his suffering.<br/><br/>And then, as if the universe loved pulling bad cosmic jokes in his life- Mirabelle had come back to him. Though, it wasn't truly her. It was a doppelganger, someone who even shared his dear Mirabelle's name. But it was not the Mirabelle he remembered. The one he protected and cherished- no she<span style="font-style: italic">was</span>gone. And he didn't know what was worse, having her to be completely gone, or having Mirabelle's face around; with no recollection of the years they had spent together. With no flicker of that old soul that he'd so dearly treasured. And it had angered him, it had led Klaus to act unfairly against this new Mirabelle, the one that seemed to mock his loss in the way she laughed, and talked; watching them all with her large eyes of which Klaus used to swear he could drown himself in. No, all that was left of his beloved Mirabelle was a husk. A different soul wearing her skin. And Klaus, teetering between control, fatherhood, and dealing with the doppelganger, often lashed out at Mirabelle as he simply didn't know what else to do.<br/><br/>He couldn't stand her, couldn't stand to be without her. Wanted nothing to do with her, but dreamt of coveting her for his own selfish desires. Tried to remind himself that this Mirabelle was just an echo of his, but found that though to flee his mind every time he happened to run into her. At first Klaus had pushed her away almost violently- kicking her out of the Original's apartment much to his siblings displeasure who had taken a shining to Mirabelle as they had with her predecessor. Marcellus had taken Mirabelle in, and when Klaus had take back what was rightfully his- he hadn't the heart to kick out Mirabelle a second time. Today he was in a particularly broody mood, Cami and Marcel were out on a date Rebekah was out no doubt swooning over the first guy that made eyes at her and his ever noble brother Elijah was probably wooing the mother of Klaus' child. That left his home eerily quiet. Normally there was a crowd of rowdy vampires, but tonight just silence. The morale had decreased since Klaus slaughtered a good many of Marcel's followers. There hadn't been much to do, so Klaus had drabbled in painting something though hadn't gotten very far when his delicate hearing picked up a familiar footfall near the laundry room. His signiture devil-may-care grin touched down on angelic lips turning them distorted and twisted.<span style="font-style: italic">"No harm in bothering the little doppel."</span>He thought to himself, throwing the brush stained with blues and greens onto the table next to his easel. With a breakneck speed which came to Hybrid's and other supes' of his ilk, the wavy haired man found himself approaching the laundry room where sure enough the little redhead was bent down, ruffling through heaps of clothing and muttering beneath her breath.<span style="font-weight: bold">"Looking for something"</span>With a voice as gelid as his heart, a somewhat predatory amusement had crept into the beast's husky tones as he stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.<br/><br/><br/>________________________________________________________________________________________<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #40BF40">Sage Collins | The Invisible</span></span><br/><br/><a class="postlink" href="http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/37900000/Cara-cara-delevingne-37941719-500-250.gif">[ img ]</a><br/><br/>It was tricky business, staying in New Orleans. Half of her had no idea<span style="font-style: italic">why</span>she was so adament to remain. It ceratainly wasn't for the congested, polluted sidewalks which ran with blood and betrayal. No, it wasn't the vampires which loomed over the witches' head like a sempiternal black cloud. Always angry, demanding- never letting the witches to their own devices to practice. No, when it wasn't laws banning the practice of magic, it was the vampires running to them, asking for favors and getting good people killed. Sage hated them. God it was a black sort of hatred that burned in her chest, but she was no fool. No, under these Aegean skies of blue, and the soul that thrived in this town- there was only one king. Klaus Mikaelson. Since his arrival back, things had gone from bad to worse and the entire Quarter lived like slaves, under his reign of terror. There had been the drama of the power shift in the Quarter, the wolves which had been forced to live like animals making their bid to return to their human selves.<br/><br/>Then there was the matter of the baby which Klaus'... Lover was to give birth to. Supposedly the next Antichrist according to a few of her fellow witches. A few of her friends had tried to put a stop to that; had even recruited Sage's help though she was no fool. The witch had declined and tried to talk them down. The Mikaelson's hadn't failed to slaughter her friends that<span style="font-style: italic">dared</span>oppose the mighty Hybrid. It had been loyalty that had tied the wayward druid to New Orleans. In these streets she had lost friends, mentors, lovers, all to the vampires. It was the<span style="font-style: italic">witches'</span>blood that stained these streets. It was their pain that colored the buildings, and their bonds that had been made to break with their ancestors. In this town, a concoction of murder, heat, betrayal and lust- Sage had just as much as a stake in seeing her adoptive Coven's safety as the next witch. Sure, she wasn't the most powerful, but she was fierce and had an indomitable spirit which refused to be silence. Sage was one of the ones who was determined to see her peopled freed- from the bustling French Quarters, to the rustic Bayou.<br/><br/>However, her lofty goals were far from being realized. As of now Sage had a small shop to boast of, her flat right above it. She sold herbs, and for witches potions and brews for any sort of ail. See, Sage wasn't the strongest, nor the most fearsome- but no one could quite heal ailments like her. Her sweet, soft aura seemed to be embedded in all things she made, and of course tourists loved her shop thinking perhaps sensing it's authenticity with magic. The night currently found her, door cracked open for any last minute wayward customer, music leaking softly from the speakers near the door. Scents of herbs, bitter, spicy, and sharp floated about her small near ramshackle shop as Sage hummed quietly under her breath; hazel gaze roaming the shelves for nothing in particular. The air was humid, hot and heavy with the promise of rainfall later. Quietness, save for Lana Del Rey in the background, had settled over her store ending a surprisingly uneventful day. No one had come for her, asking for petty alliances, in fact she pretty much just had tourists browsing about.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"Can't complain. Peace is afterall, a rare commodity in this town."</span>She thought, a small smile blooming on pale, pastel pink lips. Of course, if one should comment on their luck- it changes. Sage was no exception. It had struck closing time, though that didn't signal the end of the workday for the druid. She had to go around the shop, throw out things that were no good, or use them for her own devices. It was quick work as she was smart and normally did most of this in the morning before the store opened. However, she still had a small handful of things that needed to be tossed- and tonight was trash night. It wasn't glorious work, but Sage wouldn't trade it for the world. She had managed to tie the sheer black garbage back up, and hoist it over her shoulder- making her way out the back door. Now her shop was in a popular, high traffic area of the French Quarter. Making her way out into the night air the mugginess hit her like a palm, once again Sage found herself wish for the cooler climates of her Homeland. The sleek garbage was heavy in her hands as she stumbled towards the dumpster, lifting the top to throw the discard in there wincing as the top slammed down after she was done clattering and echoing about the small back-lane alley.<br/><br/>Hardly had she finished then did Sage hear a scream rip through the air, making the hands on the back of her neck stand up. There was something about hearing a scream, completely devoid of hope and filled with terror and the resignation that one's life was about to end that always made the altruistic druid feel sick. Perhaps it was her own stupid recklessness that pushed Sage to follow the sound, jogging as her feet hit the stone sidewalk, scuffling beneath the sounds of the city that surged about her. She could delude herself into thinking that it was a mugging- but this time of night, around here? It was more likely a vampire. The sidewalk was eerily empty and for a moment Sage's nerves were shaken. She wasn't the best at offensive magic, but Sage could defend herself against any vampire just as well as the next witch. Davina, the harvest girl who'd stopped by her shop a couple times for herbs, had taught her to boil blood. It was that reaffirmation of her prowess did Sage break into a bolt, and all too soon stumbled upon a nefarious scene. A male, brown haired from what she could tell beneath the New Orleans gloom of night had his face burrowed in a blonde's neck, a throaty moan bursting past his lips. The girl was still screaming, and Sage ever the brave-hearted fool wasted no time in coming to the human's aid. She said nothing as she advanced, but instead closed her mind and focused on inducing popping blood vessels and aneurysms in this vampire's head for one hell of a headache. His moans of self-satisfaction had turned to grunts and cries of pain.<span style="font-weight: bold">"Run!"</span>Sage hissed, to the girl hoping she could wrench herself from this vampire's grasp, the serenity of her day dispelled.