"Well it's too long, living in the same old lines. I feel too cold to live, too young to die. Will you walk the line, like it's there to choose? Just forget the wits, it's the best to use."
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It had been a long day in the streets of the French Quarter, dull for the most part. A New Orleans funeral wasn't Clara Labelle's idea of fun, in fact she found it a monumental bore. The funeral had been for a distant niece of hers, one she didn't even like. The girl was a loner and a witch, Clara didn't like witches. She had only attended for the party, which wasn't what she had expected, so instead of spending her time getting wasted in a scrappy Bourbon Street bar she decided to walk around.
Unfortunately she had chosen a time to walk around the same time a particular Mikaelson was looking for someone to feed on. He was a predator in the night, and she had become his prey. Clara didn't notice him at first, but instead noticed the pretty lights of the city, a city she hadn't been in a long time. The lights were captivating, calming, full of life. She would deny it to anybody who asked, but she smiled.
The Mikaelson watched from a bit behind, curious in why a woman (especially one with her looks) would mill around the New Orleans streets alone at night. She appeared so calm, unaware of the world around her, so familiar. He noticed that when he saw her at the funeral earlier that day, before the irritating lunch with his mother and brother. She had been walking behind the large crowd, a bit of a scowl on her lips. He wondered what was so familiar about her. Was it the way she walked? The way she stood? Her face? He didn't know, and that bugged him. He needed to know, and he was going to find out.
Deep in his thoughts, he didn't realize that the woman had disappeared from his sight, so he stopped walking and furrowed his eyebrows. Suddenly he found himself pinned to the wall of a building, by the woman to his surprise. Her arm was at his neck, and her hand was firmly pushing his shoulder into the brick. He couldn't help but to smirk.
Clara, however, wasn't amused. Her smiled had disappeared without a trace, and it was replaced with an emotionless expression. "Why are you following me?" She inquired with a stern tone.
The Mikaelson let out an amused laugh. "I wasn't following, you were merely in my way."
The woman applied more pressure to his throat. "I'm not in the mood for your games, Klaus." She growled, applying just a bit more pressure before releasing him, stepping back.
"You know who I am." Klaus fixed his suit jacket. "Which means you're not human."
Clara raised an eyebrow. "Good job, Sherlock. I'm proud of you, really." She said sarcastically before rolling her eyes and turning around. She began to walk again, away from the Mikaelson.
Klaus scowled, walking after her. "How do I know you?" He asked, now beside her. He forgot what he had initially went out of the compound for and focused on her.
