napalm skies <<>> kol mikaelson

02

"Alright," Stefan replied with a smile and a small nod of his own, accepting Charlotte's answer. He stepped away for a second, leaving Katherine to look Charlotte over curiously, approaching the younger girl with a smirk.

"So," Katherine began, an excited smile on her face. "How's the charming businessman?" Despite what many may think, Katherine truly found a friend in the young girl before her. Charlotte was sweet, yet independent—way too independent for her status—which made Katherine love her. The dark haired vampire saw herself in the young girl, and couldn't help but think that their relationship was one of the few true friendships that Katherine has had in decades. It didn't hurt that Charlotte didn't know about the little games that Katherine was playing with the two Salvatore boys at the same time. As far as the girl knew, Stefan was the only one entranced by the Pierce girl's beauty, and she would like it to stay that way.

At Katherine's words, Charlotte's body froze, unconsciously tensing in response to the mention of John. It was like every part of her skin burned at just the thought of him, and she hated the way that he had made her feel within only a day. Yesterday, she might've scoffed and given Katherine a sarcastic response about how he continued to woo her, but now... Now, things were different.

"He's okay," Charlotte replied quietly, almost in a whisper, and Katherine frowned at the girl's change of character, noticing it right away. Her shoulders hunched forward, and her fists clenched around the corner of the napkin she was folding, crushing it immediately. She seemed angry—furious even—but most of all, she looked terrified.

Absolutely terrified.

"What's wrong?" Katherine asked, oblivious to the reason of Charlotte's sudden shift. However, before the girl could say anything to Katherine's question, footsteps approached them from behind. The two turned to see the man himself, John Silverton, entering the dining room, looking exactly as he had the day before. His suit was straight, his tie tucked into the black vest he wore. His hair was slicked back with gel, a few pieces falling over his eyes in an intentional way. His posture was relaxed and his stroll looked comfortable. He looked completely normal.

Charlotte pursed her lips, immediately turning from his eyes that made her want to throw up, finding solace in the kitchen. Katherine watched the girl leave, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she gave a small glance to the man beside her. She could smell the alcohol on him even as he tried to cover it with a bottle of cologne. She probably would be able to bodice it without her enhanced sense of smell too—that was how obvious he was.

John watched Charlotte leave with blank eyes, but Katherine could clearly see the way that his right fist clenched, the nails of his fingers digging into his palms. He looked tense, obvious in his shoulders despite the way he tried to make himself look at ease. Katherine knew that Charlotte probably didn't see the way that his jaw clenched when she walked away from him either. It was these clues that gave her an unsure feeling about the man before her when earlier in the week she only thought of him as a harmless drunk.

"Mr. Silverton," Katherine spoke cooly, causing the man beside her to turn his attention onto her. With his eyes planted on her own, the girl could tell that whatever he was thinking about was troubling him. There were slight bags under his eyes, and stress seemed to cover every inch of him, just like the cologne. However, despite his intense inner turmoil, he gave her a tight grin, nodding his head.

"Miss Pierce," he greeted, and she sent him a strained smile back, turning away as she went to find Stefan once more. Something seemed off about the Silverton man today, and it made her uncomfortable.

Charlotte, meanwhile, was trying her best to remain hidden in the kitchen. His very presence made her want to scream, remembering his hands; they had been like claws. Or it was his breath; it had smelled so strongly of the whiskey he inhaled. Or even his hair; the way it fell over his eyes so perfectly reminded her of when it had not been so perfect, when his eyes had been crazed. The brown had turned a dark black that night, and she didn't think that she would ever be able to see the brown color in the light again.