open ; welcome to the inner workings of my mind

[persevere]

Who: Caroline Forbes + You + Closed Starters
Where: Everywhere
When: July 6th to the end of the month
Rating: This will get gory, most likely.
Summary: Caroline returns to Wonderland, but she's not quite herself these days...
The Story:

Deux Lux

[Caroline Forbes is here most nights, drinking the night away and dancing on any flat surface she can find no matter the height. She never drinks herself into oblivion because she wants to be at her best, on guard for any of her 'friends' that might feel the need to step in.

She doesn't want help. Anyone with half a brain could see she's just fine.

She's more than willing to dance with anyone who's willing, just don't let her pull you off to that dark corner or you might end up with a few puncture wounds and missing any recollection of the last couple of hours.]

Lake

[She actually carted an inflatable lounge chair out here, and anyone in her path would have seen a blonde blur as she doesn't even bother to hide the fact that she's different. The sun is out and she's in her bikini, hair tied into braided pigtails, sporting a pair of dark shades as she lazily kicks around in the water, catching some rays.

Sometimes you can catch her sunbathing on the edge of the water, too, laying casually out on a towel. Vampire or no, she still likes catching some rays.]

Mikaelson Rooms

[Those who are aware of her living arrangements or any of the others that live there as well can find her lounging in various common areas, usually with a drink in hand, and can be summoned to answer anyone who might knock at the door. She's almost always bored, biding her time with liquor and playing with her phone, stalking messages in search of juicy gossip and drama.

Or maybe she's looking for a snack. It's probably just fine, though.]

Choose Your Own Adventure

Feel free to set up anything anywhere. I'm very flexible.

Comments

[poppycock]

[ he doesn't expect the words he says to penetrate past the indifference she has married to survive, but he says them for perhaps they will linger. if nothing else, she will remember them, one day soon, and they will mean something to her.

he watches as she turns away with intent eyes, longing with an ache. he steals what he can and cannot help but decide to, lifting his hand to brush his knuckles down the cascade of her curls where she can't feel it, where she can't see. his eyes but connect with hers for a fleeting moment before he turns away, with that same dangerous ache fed and starved. klaus walks aimlessly towards the bed to flip through a sketchbook. that is what he is: aimless. lost, finding a path. ] I have neglected plenty. [ not by design, but by simple math. ] A thousand years is a long time, after all.

[ but he knows that is not what she meant: he knew about her mother. her father, before her. he knows about her children. her life, full. there is hope there, past the pain. there is light. ] So is your future.

[persevere]

How would you know? What are you doing? Stalking me from New Orleans?

[She turns her body back toward him as he flicks through his sketchbook, throws out words that don't mean anything. She knows this won't kill her. She wouldn't let it.

That's precisely why she's in this situation, so she wouldn't tear her own heart out to make the pain stop. She might have been able to survive it, but at what cost?

If she was selfish then so be it. She'd been plenty selfless since the Salvatore's rolled into town, only to get left behind, pushed away over and over again.]

[poppycock]

[ no, she wouldn't let it, but still she asks, as if to test herself. accustom herself. pull away in a dance. he knows the moves; he's dancing with her. he doesn't fault her this selfishness. it only concerns him, considering it will do her no good. he's hardly one to talk about selfishness, after all. (but he will, fight her.)

a wry smile twists his lips; he pauses in his absent perusal of the sketchbook and looks up, considering. ] 'Stalking' is such a crude word. [ in many definitions of the term. for one, he practically has it down to an art. ] I prefer the term... [ he trails off, considers, settles: ] 'watching over.'

[persevere]

To-may-to, To-mah-to.

[Made more (less?) humorous by his accent.

What she knows is this; he's still ahead of her, as is Damon Salvatore. They know where this leads, what happens after, the end result. They could tell her, if they thought it would help. Or they could keep it from her if it's only more terrible than their lives have already become.

Either way, she doesn't want to know.]

I'll just take that as a yes.

[poppycock]

[ more. empathically more. adorable, too.

klaus merely smiles, lips curling into his dimples, and turns his head to her. ] Take it however you like. You're the one calling the shots. [ oh, how bright and deceptively he says so, as if she's not. it might be something of a challenge. ]

[persevere]

No, I'm simply asking you not to actively try to ruin my life.

[She fluffs up her hair as she moves to the end of the bed, having a seat on the edge.]

It's not like I'm forcing you to shoot your dog or something.

[poppycock]

[ he would beg to differ on plenty of those details, but her glib comparison is appreciated. his eyes appraise her chosen outfit, move down her legs to her simple pumps. in a blur he disappears to the closet and returns just as it slams shut, something leagues more fitting in hand. he's at his knee in front of her — servile, non-threatening, a liar.

his eyes stay on hers, just as dangerous and flirtatious. his palm cups the back of her ankle and slides up her calf; he carefully takes her shoe off. ] Am I? [ he wonders aloud, entirely for show. he picks up a piece of her new pair to slide onto her heel. ] Seems like you're doing that to yourself. You hardly need my help.

[persevere]

[Those are...excellent shoes. But he did always have good taste.

Her chin lifts as she looks down at him, eyebrows climbing slightly toward her hairline. She doesn't know exactly what he's doing, but it sure is something.

She doesn't really want the challenge, but she'll rise to it, if she has to. (She'll lose).]

It wouldn't kill you to at least have a little faith in me. Do you really think I can't do it?

[poppycock]

[ it's not a question of his faith or belief in her; quite the contrary. he reaches for her other leg to slide her remaining heel off just as carefully, just as slowly. he feels her eyes. he feels her scrutiny. her caution. like warm pinpricks over his shoulders, he feels the weight and parry of her regard. ] I believe you can do whatever you desire, [ he says, and he means it. it's hardly a ploy: honesty. (it is, in these hands.) his fingers stroke up under her knee; his thumb brushes the seam. ] You're capable and smart; dangerous and lovely. [ his voice is low, tender, a sweet and sultry murmur. he slides on the new heel and slips his hand to curl around her ankle, his gaze steady on hers. his hands linger where they are; warm on her skin.

still he murmurs to her. he feels the weight of her sadness — his own — both, on his chest. ] I think in the wake of your grief it​ wa​s easier for you to drown in it. I think you're afraid, knowing that even when you wake from this nightmare, you will have to face it.

[persevere]

Don't.

[The word comes out, harsh and heavy on her tongue. She can already feel the ache in her chest, the way it spreads and consumes her lungs, fills them with fire. Quickly, she shoves it down, stomps on it til there's nothing but ashes beneath. Only a taste and it feels like she'll burn alive if she even thinks about letting it rage.

She lifts her foot, pulling her ankle from his grasp. She sets the outsole firmly against his chest, and pushes him away from her.]

If you're going to touch me, at least make it worth my time. But you don't get to have an opinion. You weren't even there.

[poppycock]

[ it's not a victory, knowing the words he utters make a mark: but it is a strategy, to see where they do. (it's more than a strategy, but he is not naive enough to consider it a plea. it's more than a strategy, for even if she does not listen, they are words he needs to say. ones she needs to hear, whether she likes it or not.)

he lets her foot push him. he sways back from the pressure, but for hardly the moment it takes her to warn him off. she may claim not to want the challenge, but she is playing with a fire just as dangerous as he, and he will not be quartered. he lifts his arm to brush her foot off his chest. he takes her in his hands, one curled into her hair at the root, his knee between her legs, pining her beneath him. in no time at all they are back against the bed. he pulls slowly and none-so-gently at her hair so she can feel the ache. ] I may not've been there, but I know you, Caroline. [ he knows her here. he knew her then. his lips are inches from hers. he pauses, his eyes filling with something else, something more, something he felt with her in his arms and waters pattering to the floor around them. ] And I'm here for you now.

[persevere]

Only until you don't have to be anymore.

[That's the way it always is, isn't it? Give her a few good lines about how they'll always be there, until they're not. Then it's a line of excuses, whether it's revenge or finding themselves or it's not the right time. Or they die.

Everyone leaves. What does now matter?

She's taken now into her own hands.]

We both know you'll be out of here at the first opportunity, no matter what kind of mess you're leaving behind, so you can save your bullshit for someone who might actually believe it. [She tilts her chin up, bottom lip brushing against his upper.] So if you're gonna screw me, then get on with it. Otherwise, get the hell off of me.

[poppycock]

[ he knows what she is doing. from the first word to the last: from the depthless drop of the dark in her eyes to the stirring and electric brush of her lips. the cruelty still does its service. it does its service because she is right as much as he desires her to be wrong. he's never had to doubt his devotion to her; he knows how far it extends — he knows how she has desired, longed for, agonized for better.

it's the truth (you'll be out of here at the first opportunity, no matter what kind of mess you're leaving behind) that causes his lips to part; the iron focus of his gaze to relent, hardly noticeably at all, but noticeable all the same. she doesn't need to mention his daughter, nor the understanding and intimacies they shared, over this.

(he could argue: he would choose to be here for her, with her. he always would, across time and place and universe. when he could. if he could. he wants to be and is hers, with every atom of his being. he might tell her: that he would do anything to save all who he loves from this place: to save her. he wants and would with a keenness that keeps him whole. she already knows. that's not why she says it.)

she wants to hurt him. (she could, if he'd allow it.) she is hurting herself. (he cannot stop her from that.)

he cannot pull away. he cannot afford to lose, not against her (he does not want to lose) for as selfish and as practical as his motives are, what he desires more than anything is to see her claw her way out of this darkness. to defeat it. he tilts his head down, bowing into her, nudging and sliding his nose down the length of hers. he misses her, he wants her, and he does not want to let her go, his knuckles white, her hair crushed in his grip. they all have their parts to play. the look in his eyes is undeterred; it's renewed. it's wanting.

he leaves before he can begin to tremble. ]

[persevere]

[She doesn't want him to hurt. She doesn't want anything, really, but she knows where to place her barbs, what to say that might cut the deepest, in order to get what she needs.

Safety in emptiness.

Caroline might not have gotten here if she'd known what it actually felt like. There was a gaping hole in her chest, carved out by the losses she'd survived since she'd met Damon Salvatore. She had been able to fill it with people she loved, the normalcy of day to day activities, hope for the future.

Now it was just an open wound, cauterized at the edges by her inability to feel it. She had to rip it open again if she ever wanted it to heal, but she knew how agonizing that would be. She instinctively put it off for as long as possible, in the form of hurting the people around her, so that maybe they'd stop caring and leave her be.

If only for a little while.

She holds very still as he shifts above her, waiting to see which bait he'll take. Both options give her a reprieve, so she'd be satisfied with either. Her scalp burns in his grip, but she watches him with open eyes and she can see the determination in his. There's more there, something that makes her remember-

-something that ends in her relief when she blinks one moment, and the next he's gone.

She pushes herself up to sit, drags a hand through her blonde hair, and starts to go about her day as if nothing even happened.]