Bloom || HOPE MIKAELSON x RYAN CLARKE

4] EVERY JUNGLE HAS A SNAKE

The streets were quiet, in opposition to the idle chit-chat that animated the Mikaelson compound.

In the middle of this agitation, or rather tucked away in a dark corner, the being known as Ryan Clarke released another desperate sigh.
Moving on to another drawer to resume his search, he busied his thoughts with Hope and her family so as to keep his mind off the obvious issue.

His incoming death.

He hadn't dared look at his wrist or any other parcel of skin again since he'd found the evidence of his father's wrath, days ago. Sticking to turtlenecks and tight collar was a hardship in itself, but keeping anyone else from finding out his predicament was worth the struggle.

So far, he hadn't encountered too many people who'd been suspicious of him, but he sensed witches had a habit of indulging into their paranoia, and they would have, had the circumstances been different.

But Hayley was still missing, and the whole of New Orleans was knees deep into her search.

He doubted any witches would help either way. He'd met enough in his lifetime to know they would, likewise forgo such things, especially if it came to him. What could they do with magic they didn't understand? A rotting mud man, as it were.

He'd still have to treat lightly around Hayley once they found her, knowing full well her heightened senses were able to catch the smell of death lingering on his skin.

It was a miracle Klaus had not come for him yet.

Speaking of his approaching inevitable predicament, he had woken up tired yet again, and nearly collapsed back into bed.

In his weakened state, he'd missed Hope's departure for the Salvatore School, but a part of him still relished in the knowledge that she was away and safe. He wasn't sure he trusted himself around her.

Freya was restless, various guys had come and gone, barging in like they owned the place and Hope had called three times already.
Her mother was still missing, but he had no doubt it would be settled soon. After all, her father was none other than The Great Evil.

''I swear there's a whole precinct in your living room.'' he chuckled, pushing open another drawer. He'd roamed the compound in its entirety -never mind the baby-faced redhead that slept wrapped in a sheet in the other room- but what he needed was definitely not there. It would have probably helped if he knew what he was looking for to begin with.

''I know. My dad's extra like that.''

''What about you?'' he asked, securing the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he held up a book. Golem lore wasn't easy to find, especially since he wasn't part of the protected species, but he persevered. He just needed hope. ''How is it back there anyway? Make any new friends?''

Before his stay in New Orleans, he would have never pegged Hope Mikaelson for a lone wolf. The term, however fitting, was the opposite of the way he'd known her. It had seemed to him that she had plenty of super friends back in 2030. Willing to do anything for her, and her for them.
Granted, Lizzie Saltzman struck him as... peculiar, to say the least, but he knew that even her would be heartbroken over her disappearance.
Until Malivore mingled and then she wouldn't.

Once again, he wondered how she was doing, freshly out of Malivore and into the real world, alone and too afraid to admit it.

As of now though, she was alone all the same.

Her lack of enthusiasm about going back to school confirmed she and the Saltzman twins had a long, rocky road to becoming friends.

''Everybody's running away as if I'm the plague.'' she confirmed again, no touch of bitterness in her tone whatsoever.