Video attached to side/top is Black Out Days by Phantogram
I hold the dress up to my pajamas, grimacing and throwing it aside, grabbing another and holding it up to my chest, feeling the Royal blue material and lace touch. The floor length mirror showed me how it looked.
The open doorway to my new room in the apartment in New Orleans suddenly becomes not so empty. I hold up the blue dress again, the corset top stopping at the waist where the mesh poofed up and then blew out as it went down. "What do you think? Is blue my color?" I ask my brother in the doorway.
"Depends, what is the occasion?" Francis asks, raising an eyebrow at me.
"Come now, brother. Be a good lad and tell me if this color works for me." I disregard his question altogether.
"Come now, sister. You know I can't be compelled." He replies equally as sarcastic and witty. I give him a look and finally he rolls his eyes. "Every color is your color, it can either compliment your eyes or contrast with your hair beautifully."
"Or match with the spilled blood of my enemies." I mutter, looking back into the mirror. "It'd look better with a masquerade mask." I add in thought.
"Would you spar with me sister? Like we use to?" Francis asks. I flicker my gaze over to him, seeing the way his hair was pulled back and his old fashioned clothes. He holds up two gleaming swords. I crack a smile.
"The eighteenth century called and wants their clothes back." I reply simply, disinterest flicking across my features. He scoffs.
"Says the girl holding a ball dress." My little brother taps the swords together then shrugs. "Non matter. Sebastian makes a better match." He turns to leave. I gape.
"Bastian couldn't aim at you if he had eight arms and eyes." I retort. Francis turns around with a smirk. "Just give me a damn sword." I demand, throwing my dress onto the bed.
In any typical city the sight of two siblings skillfully and artfully swordfighting in the street would be cause of calls to mental institutions. However, New Orleans likes shows. And at the very sight of my done up bright red hair, fancy makeup and old fashioned dress, the tourists came running. Even the locals, in fact. And as my brother came out with his own fashion, we unsheath our swords.
I was aware of my small shoes, and made sure to make a movement to lift my dress whenever I'd take a deep step forward or backwards. I spin the sword skillfully in my palm. "Come now, you've drawn a crowd." I curtsy to Francis, who held one hand behind his back like I did. Both our right hands ready at the hilt.
"They've come to watch you fail." He answers. I smirk, circling him slowly.
"On the contrary, they've come to laugh at you, dear brother." Without letting him anticipate my movement, I swing forward, and he deflects my blow just in the nick of time. The crowd applauds and hoots, and many of them record us. Thinking it was an act.
Something to amuse the tourists. So much that the street was cleared and we spin the hilts of our swords in our hands. Making taunting moves until finally he breaks rank, swinging low at my side and throwing his body into it. I meet his blow, using my own force to toss his blade tip into the air. "Slow." I scold.
"I'm just getting started." He replies, landing a series of blows, attempting to knock my sword out of my hand but my grip was strong. Like my fist had been melted to the hilt. I catch him in an arch above our heads, then swipe right suddenly, throwing him off balance. Francis catches himself on his palms before hitting the pavement, leaping back to his ready feet. The crowd around us cheers.
"Come on, little brother." I pause, raising an eyebrow. "Not to be frank, but you fight like a girl." At that he cracks a smile and swings at me. I duck out of the way of his fury, turning and swiping his blade up, the tip of my sword snagging on his hilt so I launch it into the air. I grap it as it falls, then swing them both in my palms, kicking his leg and he falls to the cement.
I hold the tip of my sword to his chin and the other at his chest. "Have you come to plea mercy?" I ask, and he leans up my sword digging into his neck just barely.
"Never." And when I least expected it, my feet are kicked out from beneath me, and I fall onto my back, the breath being driven out of my lungs. "Truce sister?" He asks, standing over me and extending out his hand. I drop the swords, laughing, and take it.
My hair had mostly all fallen out of it's updo, and my skirts were all uneven.
I take a slight curtsy to the crowd, holding Francis' hand as I do. He bows as well. Slowly the group disperses, and he smiles cheekily at me. I roll my eyes, turning and seeing NiKlaus on the sidewalk. With a glance at Francis we both meet him there. "Nice performance." He compliments.
"Why thank you." I answer, sharing a small look with Francis.
"Elijah says you might stay for a while." Niklaus goes on.
"That's right." I agree, already making a guess that Marcel wanted to cover ground rules in his city. It's exactly how my own siblings and I addressed newcomers in Venice. Except we didn't send others to do our work for us.
"What Niklaus means to say is Marcel hopes to establish boundaries." Elijah says. My lips turn up into a smile as the older brother appears. "He's at the compound now, actually." I looked down at my old fashioned dress and polled my hair free of the tie. The Fiery red curls laying on my back and shoulders. If we went to the compound now, it'd give me a chance to meet Hope. That alone made me agree to go with Elijah. Francis follows behind me, seemingly ready to back me up If we ran into trouble.
I pick up the bottom of my dress slightly, careful to not step on it. The table we had dined at before was now picked up. Leaving a wide open space in the main room which guests were standing. Well, one guest. Marcellus Gerard. In a twisted sort of way we could very well be siblings had our adopted parents kept us. I almost chuckled at the irony.
Marcel wasted no time to lay on the rules of the city. His rules. He had a rocky peace alliance with the French Quarter witches. He also didn't want us to provoke them in any way. If I had my way, I'd take the sword from my brother and sever his head from his neck right now. However, that'd most likely begin a war with well, everyone. So instead I listened intently to his rules. Only when he was finished did I speak.
"If I were to break your rules how would you punish me exactly?" I announce, scanning my gaze around the group. My little brother tenses At my outburst and I try to send him a calming look. Francis still didn't get the memo. "I'd kill me." I turn my gaze to Marcel, I then glance back at Elijah and Niklaus. "But then you would have a war raining down upon your city, both my siblings and the Mikaelsons would want to avenge my death. The two oldest and most powerful vampire clans in the world. So until you eradicate the fault in your system I see no reason to be... what's the American term? 'Be your bitch'."
Marcel was seething at my small triumphant smirk. Francis looked at me in the 'are you bloody kidding me' way. Niklaus seemed proud and Elijah looked a bit worried.
"Before we throw threats, I can promise you my siblings and I will not draw attention to our selves." Francis speaks up suddenly. "My extremely narcissistic sister is only gently pointing out we cannot be forced into following your rules, Marcellus." It is dark eyes meet mine, and I sent him an impossible look. "We hope to live here in peace, but we do not take well treated as lesser than equals." My brother hands me the swords and I take them. Francis extends his hand out for Marcel. "We are not your enemy, but nor are we your vampires."
Marcellus looks at me with dark, sinister eyes and then back to my little brother, smiling and taking his outstretched hand. "Of course. Apologizes had it come out threatening." The leader of the New Orleans vampires says. "To keeping the peace."
Not long after, the vampire leaves the compound. A young girl reveals herself, probably seven in age, and gives an assortment of flowers to Nicklaus.
She had her father's blue eyes and light freckles. Straight auburn hair braided back, out of her face. "Who are you?" She asks Francis and I after a moment. I smile at the young girl.
"I'm Merida, and this is my brother Francis." I reply. Hope looks up at Niklaus and he gives her a tiny nod. I guess to ask if we were the good ones.
'"I'm Hope." She introduces herself. Of course, something I had already guessed. "Are you vampires?" She questions boldly. I laugh slightly, nodding to answer her question.
"As much as I'd like to get to know you, I have rules to relay to my siblings." I tell her with a slight tone of sarcasm that Francis grinned at. I look at Nicklaus and his brother. "Until next time."
---
"You're Lucky you still have your heart." Penelope scolds me. After returning to the flat, and Changing into modern clothing, Francis relayed everything that happened to our siblings. I shot her a fierce look.
"If I have a heart why do I feel such an overwhelming desire to eat yours?" I shoot back, snapping my teeth together to make a display of hunger. Sebastian rubs his temples at our sudden feud. I hummed in Glee as my sister looked away from me in bubbling anger. Just beneath the surface did she seethe with rage.
"You're missing the story." Francis complains. We all train our attention to him.
"Yes, we get it. You successfully prevented a war between us and the rest of New Orleans. Played a very noble and mature little brother in the face of our bastard sister on the road to wrecking havoc to the point where no one can even fathom what peace means." Sebastian tells him. I half smile have smirk, my gleaming teeth showing slightly beneath my peachy lips, looking up from beneath hooded eyes at my brother's row, my hands still busy filing my fingernails.
Across the room Penelope read her book, a frown on her face as she occasionally glanced upwards. Bastian was sitting in the middle of the couch, seeming annoyed that Francis was standing in the middle of the room, blocking the TV.
"You always cut off my stories." Francis throws his hands onto his hips.
"Because they are always predictable." Bastian replies, looking at him. "Seven centuries and a child hood together should prove so."
"Can you boys please take your squabble outside? Some of us are trying to spend the next hour in peace." The eldest slams her book shut to get our attention. She looks from Bastian to Francis and back again. I lean back in the recliner, filing my nails still.
"Always listen to your elders." I smirk, telling the boys. Penelope's dark gaze lands on me and she stands up, looking back and forth from the three of us.
"You all are insufferable." She leaves her book on the chair and stalks off towards her room. I watch her go.
"Whoo, we're having a real family quarrel aren't we?" I whistle, folding my arms across my chest. "Shall I make some popcorn?"
"Your sarcastic remarks and provoking rhetorical questions are not welcome." Bastian snaps at me. I lean forward, putting my elbows on my knees, and propping up my head. My red curls falling to frame my face.
"Oh Bash. What are you to do? Unless you plan to render me incapable of speaking, I'm afraid my 'sarcastic remarks' and 'rhetorical questions' aren't on their way anywhere except your eardrums." I tell him, straight faced and sincere even as I mock his deep strong accent and attitude. Bastian looked at me calmly, but I could tell he was thoroughly annoyed. It brought to me an immense amount of joy.
"Perhaps I'll join Penelope, at least she behaves her age." He stands up and goes to follow our older sister down the hall.
"What was that?" Francis yells after him. "I couldn't hear you over our sister's sarcastic remarks and rhetorical questions!" We hear him grumble some nasty words beneath his breath and then snicker to ourselves.
Only when the door shuts to Bastian's room do I stand up immediately, and Francis looks around the living room, as though standing guard. I reach underneath the fireplace, pulling free a small long bag that had been hung under it, and unzip it. Francis walks over to me.
I pull a stake free and Francis's eyes widen. "Is that it?" He asks. I nod.
"The last white oak stake. Stolen from Mikael almost nine centuries ago." I whisper.
"You're going to kill someone?" Francis immediately jumps to conclusions. I gape and punch him in the stomach. A blow that would send a human reeling backwards and hit the wall with a force that rendered them unconscious. However, Francis doesn't even flinch.
"Of course not!" I hiss, putting it back into he bag and zip it, then return it to the inside of the fireplace. "If I would use it for anything, it'd be for leverage." Francis crosses his arms and I stand up in front of him. "We are in New Orleans. Like every other city we will annex the power here from under their noses, but I'd not see a war between us and the Mikaelsons."
"You want to take over the city?" He whispers. I roll my eyes.
"I don't need to. I want to have my hands in everything." I correct him.
"No surprises." He responds. I nod.
"No surprises."
Length: 2442 words