Her Majesty // Mikaelson

7 Family

Found the image on side/top that sorta resembles the image I have in my mind for Merida's rose tattoos and such. (Not my image)

I found myself at the bar the next morning. No particular reason except I wanted a drink. My entire body felt twitchy and I was beginning to suspect it was from lack of murder. I smiled flirtatiously as the bartender passed. He was Italian and spoke Italian. As well as Latin. He was a warlock of the French Quarter. A stunningly beautiful one at that. His beard was short on the brink of scruff and his messy dark hair reminded me vividly of an old friend. Except his was short and modern.

As he passes again I tapped my glass. He paused and rose his eyebrows. "This is your sixth bourbon in the last hour." He says. I smile, he had one of those faces that made you smile. That made everyone smile. It was a contagious energy. So I bite my peachy lip and lean close to him.

"I can hold my liquor, Alba." I taste his name slowly and he chuckles, pouring me the drink.

"If I didn't know you were a vampire I'd card you." He replies in a lower voice so only I could hear. I smirk at him, pulling the glass up to my lips.

"Watch your threats lass, you're in the company of Scottish Royalty." I flirt, glancing not so obscurely at his light pink lips. Alba smiles at my forward gesture, sending me a wink of his dark hazel eyes before walking further down the bar. Immediately my smile drops, and I look at the glass before me. I happen to be the only one in this bar aside from a couple further down the bar who had a thing for PDA. And the bartender, of course.

My slow crawl to death of consumption would have to wait. I had a coven of witches to ally with. I then message my temples and clasp the small medal pendant hanging from a long old chain around my neck. One that, like my ring, has been with me for centuries. Holding magical properties protecting me from all sorts of magic.

A gift from an immortal friend so many years ago. I look around as a group of trigger happy fellows come into the restaurant. The whites of my eyes turn to red, overall darkening. I turn away quickly, finishing my bourbon. I pull a twenty from my pocket and leave it on the counter, rubbing my eyes briskly before leaving.

New Orleans doesn't waste time in waking up. The streets filled with happy vacationing people and smiling faces all around. I couldn't help the yearning desire to claw the glee from their faces and tear the esophagus from their throats. Perhaps I was just hungry.

I walk home, entering the apartment and shutting it. Turning to see a man in a suit. I roll my eyes. "Again Bastian? Compelling yourself a butler?" I call into the apartment.

"His name is Joseph and he's been compelled to carry out his duties without question, despite what he sees." Elijah replies, coming from the hallway and wiping the blood from his lips with a disposable napkin. I watch him unamused, unfased. He tosses the napkin in a perfect arch into the trash can. "Now Joseph, take the body from my room and drive over the Mississippi to bury it somewhere that will take weeks to find. Hurry back swiftly, the fireplace needs cleaning."

I watch as Joseph nods, seeming to shake with fear, but he walks down the hall as he's told. "Well. Old habits die hard I see." I remark salty at my older brother. He merely smiles. "Bash, Francis did tell Marcel we'd try to keep to his rules." I remind him. My brother shrugs, and to my surprise and pride, I take notice he didn't spill a drop of blood on his white shirt. "But I'll let you off the hook as you finally realized blood stains." I pat his chest, rolling my ice blue eyes as I pass by him, raking my eyes across the dining table.

"I've bought most of the industrial residence in New Orleans." Bastian explains the assortment of papers. I rose an eyebrow at him. "If we are staying here this is my way of contributing to your hidden agenda."