A man in the Salvatore Stallion's uniform appears to be laying down proper pitch markings on the neatly mowed grass for — what looked like the upcoming game. A motley group of teenagers in red varsity jackets had been spray-painting the boarding schools' vehicles, crossing out the Salvatore school's logo, and writing down Mystic Falls Timberwolves instead.
"Ah!" Matt sighed agreeably, "Sweet memories."
"And do those memories include the brief warning our principal gave after finding out you are the mastermind behind that particular handiwork," Caroline inquired in her oh-so-sweet voice. "And almost made up his decision to sit you in the stands for the coming game?"
"Not trying to be humble or anything... but I was not the only one," Matt quips. "I've got a lot of helpful hands on my side."
Bonnie snorts, swatting his arm, "You boys are all the same no matter the time and age."
"Hey, I haven't done anything like that... ever," Jeremy defended himself vehemently.
"That's because you were too busy smoking weed under the bleachers to have any interest in football," Caroline snarks, her gaze still cast on the screen, making the teen huff with a roll of his eyes.
From afar, Henrik Mikaelson was watching the whole thing from the window of his room with a straight face. His hands are rested against the glass of his window, a Mikaelson crest on his fingers fashioned like a ring, noticeably visible in the morning light.
"Isn't that the crest I got made for myself," Rebekah cried out in surprise. "Ha! Suck it, Kol. My nephew carries something of mine always on his person, unlike your bloody outdated music player that can be given away for everyone to use."
"Who's to say he always carries it with him, sister," Kol snarks, "I definitely didn't hear him saying it."
"No legacy is so rich as honesty," the youngest Mikaelson's pleasant voice carried to their ears. "When Shakespeare wrote that, he obviously didn't know what I know about teenage boys." Outside, the Mystic Falls students snickered at their work and ran down the road, not before declaring rather loudly that Stallions suck. "I mean, I know there might be guys with integrity —who lead with truth and all that jazz. But, honestly, I've just never met any of them."
"Ah, see! That's what I was talking about — Mikaelson Cynicism," Marcel pointed out loudly, waving his finger at the screen in a grand fashion. "Now he feels more like you," he breathed a sigh of relief as he said that, feeling revealed to find some shadow of symbolism in the boy's words after all this time.
