Klaus Mikaelson → The Battle of New Orleans
i. Klaus was never my first choice as a muse. He happened on a whim but has, by far, been my favorite to play.
ii. I love scary movies, especially anything revolving around the paranormal. I find it all very deeply fascinating.
iii. I’m really bad at these mun meme things because I never know what to write. Even now I’m struggling to come up with facts? Does this count as a fact? Well, it’s gonna.
iv. I’m currently obsessed with the show: Witches of East End.
v. If it were healthy and possible, I would eat chipotle every single day.
Tagging: Anyone I can think of to tag has already been tagged. Therefore, I’m gonna tag the last 10 people who recently followed me to say thank you but anyone is welcome to fill this out. Maybe you’ll have better luck coming up with stuff than I did? ILY ALL. Onto tagging.. depravedpetrova, nonelovedhermore, unamoosedsam, thenoblekiller, thecrescentwerewolfqueen, notthesmartbrother, slayernoir, crimsonxcruelty, littlewolfhayley, oh and fxguresitout, and klefansblowjob because that’s my twitter bitch.
+ nefarious-hybrid [season three verse]
When freed of compulsion, he’d been given a choice: Which Stefan would claim free will? The taste for destruction devoured him whole, the way it had when first turning. All that haunted the ripper became him, thus pledging to ensure Klaus suffered the way he had. Destroying Klaus was all that his mind could answer to. His actions were entirely his own. The man who returned to Mystic Falls on a quest of revenge now abandoned all moral boundaries. A formidable villain-Stefan had claimed his freedom, guaranteeing disappointment to those with held expectations.
Being that he were determined to top Klaus at every little match, Stefan mentally possessed a growing list of chaotic plans. Simply holding the stolen coffins captive had only sustained his thrill for a short period. Testing the Original’s limits energized him, kept him alive.
After successfully breaking-and-entering unseen, Stefan appeared at end of the open room. By the time Klaus addressed the Salvatore’s known presence, he’d stood posed along the door frame; crossed arms and a leaning shoulder. The intruder greeted his old friend with absolute confidence.
Rage betided him. For centuries, Klaus awaited the day he could finally free his siblings from their cavernous slumber after Mikael had been forever taken care of. And Stefan, of all people, had to interpose, preventing such coming together from ever happening. At first, Klaus was beside himself with choler but in time talked himself out of ripping Stefan apart or so, those he loved dearly. The Original couldn’t explain it, but he had to believe Stefan would come around. That the two would reconcile and be free to pick up where they left off in Chicago.
“You know, I don’t like your hybrid friends. They’re everywhere. Kinda like fleas. I want them gone.” — Then, just like that, the way Stefan emerged, spewing demands as if he were entitled to that sort of thing, took a stab at his quiet, but otherwise, hopeful expectancy. And immediately, Klaus posed at variance with that. Refusing to bow down or be manipulated and outdone by someone he genuinely considered a friend.
“I’m afraid, that’s not going to happen.” Drifting closer, Klaus sported a sinister smirk, and matched Stefan’s confident stride as he poured himself a drink. “I’ve grown to fancy having them around.” Now, taking a swig of the freshly poured brew, Klaus averted his gaze; soon aligning it with the Ripper’s stiff, cold stare.
The other vampire was obviously stronger than him. Damon had felt his grip when he was picked up. He had to be much older. But it wasn’t until the other vampire attempted to compel that he figured out who he was exactly. Since visiting his dear Katherine in the dungeon, Damon had been on the prowl for her nameless captor. And knowing that he could be compelled, he began the painful process of intaking vervain whenever he had the chance. As hard as it was to believe a vampire capable of compelling other vampires, Damon knew it was absolutely true and it both intrigued and frightened him. For now, he decided to play along and play the compelled part. It was the best strategy until he could gain the upper hand.
“Damon, Damon Salvatore.” He retorted in a monotone voice as his victims had before him.
Though, Klaus sensed the other’s quiet reluctance, he failed to speak of it; momentarily ignoring the inviting suspicions which had then fostered throughout his mind. The name Damon, and moreover Salvatore sounded awfully familiar. Granted, Klaus could not piece together why in a trice or from where, until his gaze ultimately caught sight of the gaudy ring wrapped around his target’s left- middle finger. From there it didn’t take the Original much longer to amount out where else he’d seen it’s identical crest. The only difference was the letter branded in the middle. The current one’s was labeled “D” — quite obviously standing for the bloke’s first name. Whatever this one’s relation was to Stefan — Klaus now felt all too eager to learn.
“Salvatore,” Klaus reiterated, drawing his focus onto the return of the stooge’s face. “Tell me Damon…. from where have you come? The last name ‘Salvatore’ is Italian, is it not?”