Tears of Gold | Klaus Mikaelson (3)

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        When I'd awoken this morning, something was different. I couldn't place the raw, unsure ache in the pit of my stomach, yet I knew it was a reason to be worried. What was more worrisome, however, was the electric blue color that briefly lit up my eyes as I stared into my bathroom mirror. 

And so here I was, sprinting down the stairs, dodging a number of people who gripped boxes filled to the brim with streamers, curtains, sparklers, wine glasses, and just about anything else you could imagine at some fancy play-boy party. I hadn't even noticed the purple and gold curtains lining the stairwell until I nearly tripped over one. "Klaus!" I cried over the ruckus, searching the compound for his familiar face.

"You don't have to shout, Emma. We can all hear you perfectly well," His voice replied. My head snapped up to where he was perched, overlooking the preparations from the second floor. When we met eyes, a shudder went through my body. You're just unnerved, I assured myself, nothing is wrong.

Except for the blue-eye thing, obviously. 

"My eyes are blue," I blurted up to him.

"Your eyes are green, Emma," He replied calmly, "And as much as I adore them, I'm busy. Unless you'd like to talk about any other defining physical characteristics?"

"No, moron," I crossed my arms, "I mean like they flashed blue."

His face dropped, and in a moment he was down the stairs and speaking to me face to face. "Freya said there may still be remnants of the Hallow in whoever was at the ritual. With Marcel taken care of, the images of my father have all but stopped. Perhaps you're still feeling the effects of its power. If it doesn't subside soon, speak to Freya. See that you get purified, and we'll seek more precautionary measures if that doesn't work."

"Alright..." I muttered. My hair was standing on end, and I was wildly uncomfortable being so close to him. I hadn't felt anything like it since Mystic Falls. Nerves, I tried to remind myself. "Wait-- 'Taken care of?' What did you do to Marcel?"

He grinned, "Oh, nothing he hasn't done to me."

"Don't be vague."

"He's chained up in our basement."

I pressed my lips into a line, "Kinky."

I heard the familiar sound of combat boots slamming against the concrete floor and turned to Hayley. She stormed toward us with her usual girl-on-a-mission look sprawled across her face. "One minute we're about to leave, now we're throwing a party?" 

I turned to Klaus, "She has a point. I won't come unless you order some strippers."

He raised his eyebrows at my comment, "I'll consider making amendments to your liking, however, I expect both of you to be there. It's important." 

"If no one is shaking their ass I'm not coming, end of story." 

"This party will be attended by New Orleans' most influential creatures," Klaus explained, "It gives us time to scope out our enemy."

"Doesn't everyone like... hate you?" Hayley asked. 

"That's true," I said.

"But they love Marcel, as as the invite states, he is the cohost," He said, "Tonight, we celebrate our truce."

"Fake party, fake truce, guest of honor is in a kinky dungeon, and no ass shaking to be seen," I frowned, "No offense but you aren't good at throwing parties."

"Marcel's attendance would only complicate matters," Klaus explained, "Besides, I'll have my hands full trying to weed out those in league with the Hollow. Also, enough with the strippers, Emma."

___________________

I stared at the compound in complete awe. Here, surrounded by hundreds of the city's finest, I was reminded of why I used to love the parties the Mikaelson's threw, and then I was reminded of how far we had fallen. We were running on borrowed time in New Orleans, there was no question. One of Marcel's many informants would no doubt locate him, and then we'd be forced to flee again. I could only hope we'd get the 'Hallow' situation under control before that happened.