Birds Of A Feather || N. Mikaelson

⊳⊳7⊲⊲

❝You're a world away, somewhere in the crowd, in a foreign place, are you happy now?❞

-- Zedd, Elley Duhe

⊳⊳|⊲⊲

Elijah sat in his study, reading a very old looking journal. His eyes darted upwards as Roxanne sauntered into the room. She smiled widely at him and settled down in the chair across from him. He gently closed the leatherbound book, its pages were yellowed with age and crinkled as the cover settled gently onto them. 

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his long legs  at the ankles as he observed the blonde. Her gray eyes were bright, and her blonde hair was in a high ponytail. She was wearing mascara that made her long lashes appear longer. 

"Hello, Elijah." 

He tilted his head and wet his lips with his tongue, smiling curiously at her. "Hello, Ms. St. Claire." His reserved posture was a clear indication of the distrust he held towards the blonde. His fingers rested together on the desk, creating an arch above the leather journal. His silver ring was heavy on his hand.

Roxanne looked around the office, eyeing the books and shelves. "You have quite the collection, don't you?" Her head cocked and she grinned widely at him. Her cheerful disposition was intriguing to the vampire, her personality was bubbly and charismatic. So different than many others he'd met in this town. She reminded him of a giddy child, but one that held many secrets. 

Elijah nodded, peering at his books. His collection. Many of his journals over the centuries were on those shelves, alongside first editions of books that no longer existed. In languages that had been lost to time. Languages he knew very well. He sometimes considered going to a museum and sitting down with a historian, discussing how things in history actually went down. He could write a book about all the things historians got wrong. 

His dark eyes surveyed her posture, her relaxed position and big smile. Her lips were full and pink, like rose petals. She was pale, yet had hints of color in her cheeks. Her eyebrows were thin and arched, giving her a constant mischievous look. 

The character Peter Pan came to mind as he watched her. 

She was completely still, not a muscle flexed as she lounged in the chair across the desk from him. Her legs were crossed, her figure relaxed and she seemed as if she owned the place. Completely and utterly at home. 

"What can I do for you, Roxanne?" He queried, tapping his index lightly on the leather cover of his journal. Her eyes flitted to the book briefly before meeting his gaze again. She was perfectly still, obviously used to the passing of time. Like him. He didn't believe her to be mortal, not really. She was too patient and too relaxed in the presence of vampires. He suspected her immortality was a vast part of her personality. What shaped her confidence and aura.

Roxanne licked her lips and slowly brought her thumbnail to her mouth. Every movement she made was premeditated. He could tell from how precisely she acted. Every step, every breath, flinch, smile, or scowl, was all planned accordingly. She began to carefully chew on the nail, her teeth tugging on the nail plate and scraping over the pad of her thumb slightly. She was feigning nervousness and she was doing it well. 

"I'm in need of . . . advice. Someone to listen." Her eyes flitted away and then back, a look of embarrassment crossing her stunning face. He suspected that was fake as well, but could not tell. She was a wonderful actress.