Curiosity {Kol Mikaelson}

Lunatic Asylum

New Orleans: June 23rd 1901

Eighty years.

That was how long he'd spent screaming. That was how long he'd spent weeping.

Eighty years.

That was how long he'd spent sealed in a casket with that cold metal lodged in his heart like a nightmare he couldn't shake -begging and pleading, alone in the dark. (Begging for Rebekah to be brave - to stand up for the both of them. Pleading for Klaus to see reason, to see his side - to see his brother. Promising Elijah he'd be good, that he'd follow his elder brother's rules - that he'd do anything, give anything - if Elijah would just let him out. Please. He'd be good - he'd give his word if that's what his siblings wanted. Please? He'd leave if he had to - he'd never bother them again. Please! It was so dark and it hurt, just let him out. Please, please, please! He was sorry! PLEASE! Just let him out! Let me out! Let me out! LET ME OUT!!!)

Eighty bloody years!

A thing like that was bound to drive anybody just a little bit mad... But he was getting distracted - more on that later - back to the point. (What was the point again? He was always forgetting.) The point was a lot of things, actually - most of which he didn't particularly desire to think about. (Those things were dangerous. They made him do bad things.) What all of them boiled down to, however, was revenge. Sweet, glorious, poetic revenge in the form of a gold dagger he would drive into his brother's heart.

Unfortunately, before he could get to that part, he would need a witch and a diamond; the lack of both items being the driving factor that brought him to his current dilemma. (Dilemma with a footnote of several grievances, but one thing at a time.)

His primary dilemma was the inconvenience that was mortality - i.e. he'd been asleep for 80 years and everybody he'd known was dead. He'd never admit it, but he was currently grasping at straws. The witching community of New Orleans was powerful but bafflingly reclusive - not exactly welcoming to outsiders, especially if said outsider was the same species as Kol's mad tyrant of a brother. Unlike Klaus, Kol was an ally to the witches and he intended to show them that, but in order to do so, he first needed to find a bloody witch. Hence the dilemma. A witch and an angle- that was what he needed. He used to have contacts in this city, lowlifes who knew of the supernatural but, again 80 year nap and all that and he was right back where he'd started.

Kol Mikaelson was wholly and consumingly alone in a world he could not begin to recognize. That was his angle. (Not the alone-ness - such was a given. The other thing.) Everything in this city was different and terrifying in a way that he wasn't necessarily afraid of, but rather entirely overwhelmed and sickened by.

Eighty years was the longest he'd ever been daggered. The year was 1901 in the great city of New Orleans and though it was no surprise that the world had gone on without him, there was still something inside him - something between his lungs and his stomach, because he couldn't breathe and he felt sick - that twisted and squeezed when it saw how much his reality had changed. Save for The French Quarter, however, his family's compound and the area surrounding it wasn't too bad; it was still rather nice.

But Kol wasn't in the quarter. He was in the Warehouse District, or maybe the lower garden district - he wasn't quite sure anymore - still New Orleans, but his surroundings looked to him as though he could have been in a different city altogether.