Treme'

Down an Out on Bourbon Street

"I love those who can smile when troubled, who can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection. It's the business of little minds to shrink, but those whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves their conduct, will pursue their principles unto death."

-Leonardo Da Vinci-

Slowly, they began the procession down the rain-soaked road.

Carefully, those in the second line began to twirl their umbrellas, so as not to splash water on the grieving immortals in the front of them as they ambled behind the carted remains of their friend in true New Orleans fashion.

Heads held high, they marched, as onlookers and those behind them celebrated the life of Camille O'Connell. Though none except a sparse few knew the truth of how she died, today they remembered not her death but the way she impacted each of their lives.

None more so than Klaus.

He had very few people in this world that he could trust and even less that truly understood him, and now he would have one less. For him, this was one more reason to add to the long list of why he shouldn't strive to be loved.

It was the same tragic story every time for over 1000 years. To love him was to mark yourself for death.

It was only by sheer will, and over a thousand years of practice, was he able to school his features to not show his grief. To those that knew him, however, would only have to look into his eyes to see the truth of the depths of his despair.

He felt neither rain nor winds on his skin, just the icy grip of a love lost before it truly ever had the chance to fully bloom.

Looking ahead of him, he walked leisurely with his brother on one side and Hayley on the other, as they made their way to the burial ground. He adjusted the buttons on his expensive tailored suit as they walked past the gates of St. Louis cemetery.

There they would bury her next to her uncle Kieran, listen as prayers were said in her honor and watch as her body was placed into its final resting place and bricked shut.

Placing his hand to the casket, as the craftsman prepared his tools and mixed the cement, Klaus smiled sadly, and whispered. "Goodbye Camille." Sounding even to his own ears hollow and broken, and so unlike his downright dastardly self.

Being an immortal, he had seen more deaths than anyone, more than half of those were of people who didn't deserve the fate, that their only crime was of circumstance. If not by his hand most of those deaths had happened because of him, just like Camille's had been.

Sluggishly, he stepped away from the coffin and made his way back towards the gates of the cemetery. Yet, a firm but gentle hand placed upon his shoulder stilled his movements.

"Brother—" began Elijah, sympathetically. However, Klaus interrupted whatever profound sentiments had been about to leave the elder Mikaelson's lips.

"I'm allowing myself one day. One day—to drown my sorrows in bourbon and New Orleans' blues. Come tomorrow I'll put away my grief and focus on something more—me," he spoke quietly. Smirking slightly, he added. "I believe that Camille would encourage this outlet more so than my usual way of dealing with things. Don't you think Elijah?"

Not waiting for a response, he left the graveyard and headed straight for Bourbon Street.

Stopping at the first familiar bar that caught his eye, Rousseau's.

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