dust in the wind―n.mikaelson

red holiday.

―――

"WHO ARE YOU?"

Cassandre was leaning against the wide doorway to Marcel's loft which he had so graciously given her the address of. He had (not-so-graciously) just told her he'd be there, which he wasn't. Another vampire greeted her, looking somehow perturbed, confused, and shit-his-pants terrified at the same time. He was holding a crystal glass filled with blood and he didn't seem as if he could swat at a fly. 

"A friend," she replied evasively. "Where is Marcellus?" 

"Why d'you want to know where Marcel is?" 

"Because I'm late to take her on a shopping trip." A hand grazed over her shoulders and she tilted her head back, offering a quick smile at her friend. He grinned back. "She's fine, Josh. And she's free to come and go. A friend. Like you. And about that going part..." He trailed off and Josh shrugged, downing the blood in one shot and leaving. 

As soon as they were alone Cassandre pulled Marcel into a tight hug. He laughed, embracing her back, and then held her out. "I see you've completed your Hunter's Mark," he said, almost proudly. "So how do you feel about backless dresses?" 

"I have to wear a dress?" she asked disbelievingly. The Winchester despised anything with a skirt, although they certainly flattered her figure―they weren't conducive to fighting and she always needed help on that last inch of zipper. It was another negative ten points when it had people looking at her like she was a piece of meat. 

"The Strix are old-fashioned," he said apologetically, leading her out of the loft. "It's masquerade, too, so you'll need a mask." 

"I want a black dress," Cassandre said. Her nose wrinkled at the thought. She had liked dresses, once. And Tessa, Tessa had loved them. Tessa had loved seeing her in them, had told her she was beautiful in them.

"Okay, Miss Hunter, undo those fists. I don't really feel like getting punched." She shook her head, laying her palms flat against the sides of her thighs. She hadn't even realized she had made fists until Marcel told her to get rid of them. "Try not to antagonize the Strix too much. And I don't want you to feel like I'm using you. You can back out if you want." 

"Oh, Marcellus, are you always so kind for a woman's feelings?" the huntress teased. He half-shrugged. "Don't worry about me. I owe you more favors than I count and it's time I start paying you back for all you did for me. So, lay down the rules." The vampire walked with her down the street to a small boutique labeled MONIQUE'S, dresses peeking out of one window display and suits on the other. He walked in ahead of her, holding the door open and greeting the shopowner with one of his pleasant, charming smiles. 

"Hi, Monique. My friend Cassandre here needs a dress on very short notice." Monique was a tiny woman, barely reaching above Cass's waist―although Cass herself was tall―with what was practically a helmet of hair turning more gray and white than the brown it had so obviously once been. She began taking measurements instantly, speaking to Cass with a thick French accent. Her English, however, was still clear. And also very fast.