MISTAKENLY FATAL 》 N. MIKAELSON

.01; Psycho doesn't count if you're hot.

0.01; Psycho doesn't count if you're hot.

Abel had been in New Orleans all of a day and she'd already gotten herself into trouble, she'd just arrived with her closest friend, Hayley Marshal. They were glad to have wiped their hands clean of the drama Mystic Falls presented them with. Little did they know the issues that haunted the residents of Mystic Falls were nothing compared to the misfortune that was about to be cast upon them during their stay in the French Quarter.

As of right now the two brunettes were staying, temporarily, in some dingy motel in the middle of the city. "God, I need to get out of here, this place is disgusting." Abel told her friend, an obvious look of disgust washing over her facial expression. Abel was a short, being only 5'3", with hazel eyes and long, dark, ink colored hair, and an olive skin tone. Hayley, unlike her friend was taller, 5'8" and thinner, a lighter brown hair color, but the same olive toned skin. The two could have passed for sisters, they most definitely acted like it.

"With our limited funds, what did you expect, Princess?" Haley rolled her eyes as she headed towards the small and molding bathroom. "A five-star hotel? Maybe some room service? Hot towels? A mint on your pillow?" She called sarcastically, chuckling as she closed the door to the bathroom.

"Whatever, Puppy. And just so you know there is most definitely something on your pillow but I doubt its a mint!" Abel grumbled rolling her eyes, though she know Haley could no longer see her. "I'm going to explore, you coming?" Hearing the shower turn on, she shrugged, grabbing her jacket the curvy brunette left the motel and ventured out into the city.

Wandering down the surprisingly barren streets of New Orleans, Abel stopped walking, having spotted a circle of witches surrounding the body of a woman who'd had her throat slashed. Abel knew enough about witches to know that she the body on the ground was one of their own, and knowing New Orleans, she could take a very well-educated guess on who was at fault for the woman's death. As if on que, dozens of vampires flooded the street, followed by none other than Marcel Gerrard; The Vampire King Of New Orleans.

Strutting towards the witches with his hands on his hims, Marcel's features carried a wicked grin as he spoke to one of them. He was a petite woman with brown hair, and a small frame. Her make up was smeared and her eyes puffy from crying. "Oh, yeah, while I have you, quick Q&A; My old friend, the hybrid, Klaus," Abel couldn't help inwardly groan at the mention of the big bad hybrid, she'd had the misfortune of acquainting herself with in Mystic Falls. "He just happened to show up out of the blue, asking for of all people, Jane-Anne, any idea why?" Marcel asked, the information he'd shared unintentionally with Abel made her roll her eyes, face palming. Oh my god, this guy is here? is he stalking me for fucksake, someone get me a white oak stake please? The little eavesdropper thought to herself, looking up at the sky as if to scold the gods for her bad luck. All the while, Marcel, ever the blabbermouth, continued talking to the witch. "Take the body." Marcel ordered, and the vampires followed, ignoring the protest of the witches. "I'm going to hold on to your sister's body until maybe you remember why Klaus is here." Marcel explained, as he backed away, chuckling even as the witch begged.

"Her body wont be at peace." She cried.

"Not my problem." Waving a hand in the air as he walked away, Marcel shrugged.

"Well, Marcy-Marcy, it's not my problem either, but I'm still going to do something about it." Abel stepped out in front of him from where she had previously been listening quietly.