napalm skies <<>> kol mikaelson

06

"the fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore."

06 | GALA

May, 1865

The time had finally come.

The house bustled with activity, servants rushing to fulfill the endless list of necessities needed before the end of the week. The gala was right around the corner, and even the most mundane of humans could feel the magic in the air surrounding such a party. There were decorations that needed to be hung, events that needed planning, and most importantly, food for their supernatural guests.

The governor's wife oversaw the servants, but the Mikaelsons also played an important role—more specifically Rebekah. Her brothers knew how much she loved party planning, and she wanted this occasion to be extra special for her and the governor's son, Emil, to enjoy in romantic bliss. She barked orders at the servants as if she were their master, but they didn't dare correct her. Wherever she walked cascaded an ominous power that they, as humans, knew to be wary of.

Klaus and Elijah were less involved in the party planning, focusing on running the quarter and making sure things were going smoothly on all fronts. They sent word to Rebekah every so often to request her back at the Abattoir, but other than that, things had been relatively quiet in the backwater colony of New Orleans.

And Kol...Well, Kol was Kol, running amuck and causing mischief wherever he went. He kept his killings to a low number, and had even gained the stamp of approval from Klaus—though the younger Mikaelson snarked back at him in response to such approval. He didn't care for his brother's opinion, and he would've killed even more just to spite him if it weren't for the threat of a dagger to his chest.

Kol stood in the Abattoir, smirking as he was tailored for his suit. The attire was sharp and cunning, just like the person wearing it, but the Mikaelson paid the tailor little attention. Oh no, his mind was on something else, or rather, someone else.

He wondered if she would arrive; surely she was as entertained by this back and forth game as he was. While he had doubts of her coming to the gala, he knew deep down that she couldn't resist attending. He could see it in the way that her eyes lit up with intrigue when he had given her the invitation.

Sighing deeply, he wondered how he could last these few days before the gala. He could barely wait to see her again, pondering what tricks she would have up her sleeve this time. He wouldn't expect anything less from her—given the few interactions between them where she had showed just how sharp and cunning she was too. For possibly the first time in his very long life, Kol felt as if he had finally found a challenge truly worth his absolute attention, and he wasn't all that hateful of it as he thought he would be.

He remembered the way she had spoken to him so calmly, without fear and without hesitation, and he liked it. She sounded like an old vampire, but Kol could tell she was still young. He pondered briefly how long it had been since she turned, seeing as she had the charisma and wit of many years.

He was abruptly ripped from his reprieve as the tailor's needle pricked the vampire's skin, and Kol glared in the wide-eyed face of the fearful man.

He dismissed the worker, and the short man scurried away quickly, fearing that he would anger the Original even more. Kol moved off of the small podium that had been set up, shrugging off the coat and vest that he wore and draping them over a nearby chair.

He found himself walking to the window overlooking the carriage-filled streets of New Orleans; the city was seemingly overcrowded with activity, as if everyone was preparing for the gala as well. The color of the sky was a clear blue, reminding him of her eyes, calculating his every move.