Cousin, Dearest.

New Friends

The Mikaelson Compound, once Marcel's castle in the historic town of New Orleans, slowly decaying beneath the overgrown greenery. It was a nothing but a ghost of what it once was, caked in pounds of dust. Paintings were destroyed, the stone a crumbling mess, thanks to Marcel's little army. The sound of Clara's heels clicking on the dirty floor reverberated off the empty walls. She tilted her head and studied the place she once called home. Disgust plagued her face. "So you keep him in the place that should haunt him the most." She noted aloud, "His own home. Whilst you live it up in the apartment that is technically mine."

"Don't push me." Marcel warned, he didn't look back at her. "You're lucky I'm even letting you come with me."

"Oh? So you were already going to visit him?" She remembered the sight of Alistair, "Let me guess. You need help with a specific out-of-town vampire... by the name of Alistair."

He stopped short and turned around, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What do you know about him?"

"No, by all means, ask Niklaus. Then, I get my turn."

They entered the underground crypt-like room and Clara felt herself pause. Niklaus' voice startled her.

"Have you come to taunt me, Marcellus?"

"No. I came to have a nice, civilized conversation. I think we're overdue. I brought Clara." Marcel tugged her into his view and smiled. Klaus seemed stunned at first, not uttering a single word. His wide eyes gazed into hers. "Not much to say? And here I thought you'd enjoy the company."

Klaus glared back at Marcel, "What I would most enjoy is for you to rot in hell."

"Look, there's two ways this can go." He held up a large vial of blood, then papa Tunde's blade. "The nice, easy way or the other way. You know, once I figured you suffered enough, I pulled this out. And on that day you said a word that I've never heard you say. "Mercy"."

"Why not just kill me?"

"Because I'm not like you. I'm stronger than you. My life is no longer linked to you, and the city that you like to say you built... it's mine." Marcel glanced at Clara for a moment before settling his gaze back on his creator. "But I could hurt Clara, if that's what it takes, but I won't."

A small, smug, smirk formed on his face. As if he knew something no one else did. "Did you come here seeking my approval?"

"I came for a little information. See, an old friend of yours just arrived into town. Alistair Duquesne. Word is might even cause me some trouble. Now, I could kill him. But who knows what kind of war that might start. I would rather convince him to get into line. You're gonna tell me how. So, how do you want this to go?"

Clara thought back to Alistair. The last time she'd crossed paths with him she was with Vladis. And Serafina. Alistair was newly turned, by a good 50 years, and held a lot of anger towards Klaus and his family. She hadn't associated herself with the Mikaelson clan back then so she was out of his revenge sights.

She suddenly wandered if Vladis was among those out-of-townies.

"Pride was always Alistair's weakness." She heard Klaus say, before turning her attention back to him. "Even before I turned him he was a vain aristocrat, throwing feasts in his own honor. Just show him more of the sameness. You'll find him quite malleable."

That wasn't at all how she remembered him.

"May I have my visit now, warden Gerard?" Clara teased.

Marcel rolled his eyes and glanced at Klaus as he walked away. "She's your burden now. But remember, Clara. If you even try to breath him out, you die."