Convergence [KLONNIE] ✓

chapter thirty-two

Chapter 32

Marcel Gerard, King of New Orleans, huffed as he downed his fourth bottle of scotch of the day. He nodded at one of his vampires, signaling for someone, anyone, to bring him another bottle before he lost his mind. The bar was quite empty, speaking that he had a couple of his own men run the place.

The werewolves had been banished from the quarter and witches didn't trust vampires enough to not kill them on the spot. He shrugged. Neither of those issues was his problem and he couldn't say he gave two fucks. As soon as he looked up, a clear bottle of scotch was sitting where his last one was.

Except, it wasn't one of his vampires who brought it.

Marcel groaned. "Elijah fucking Mikaelson. What do I owe the pleasure?"

The noble original took a seat in front of the vampire king, sending every vampire in the building propelling forward and standing in attention. Marcel shook his head and waved his hand, instructing them not to do anything. As much as he would like to be alone, he knew that they wouldn't win in a fight against Elijah.

"If I didn't know any better, Marcellus, I would say you were intoxicated," Elijah began, pouring himself a glass of the alcohol he had placed on the table.

Marcel shrugged. "It's five o'clock somewhere."

However, when the younger vampire reached for the bottle, Elijah grabbed it, pulling it towards him, almost daring Marcel to reach over him to get it. "I do believe it's about time someone cut you off, Marcellus."

"My name is Marcel," The younger vampire growled in response.

"I'm sure I know what you were named, Marcellus," Elijah teased. "I do believe I was there."

"Well," Marcel shrugged, eyeing the bottle of scotch he so desperately wanted to pour him a glass of. "I'm no longer Klaus's pup, so I think you should call me what I want."

"You will always be Niklaus' 'pup'."

Niklaus Mikaelson stood at attention, peering over the balcony of the city he ruled. He watched as the people danced, waving their hands in the air and moving their bodies along with the rhythm of the music below him. While he knew he had people in place all over the city to ensure this night, like every night, remained peaceful, he couldn't help but spectate himself.

His ears twitched as he heard the floorboard in his bedroom, which was behind him, crack. "Marcellus," He called out without turning around for a couple of seconds. "Why aren't you in bed?" Once he didn't receive an answer for a couple of seconds, he turned, speeding to his son and appearing at his side. Kneeling, he met the boy's height.

"Poppa..." Marcellus started. "I had a night scare."

Klaus's eyebrows furrowed in confusion before slipping his hands underneath the boy's armpits, effectively picking him up. In return, little Marcellus, wrapped his arms around his poppa's neck and his legs around his waist."Shall we retire to my studio? Before nightfall arose, I began quite the painting."

"Can I see it?" Marcellus pleaded while laying his head down on the hybrid's shoulder. "What is it of?"

Klaus smiled as he used one of his hands to slide the door to his art room open. Setting the boy down, he urged him to go farther. Marcellus didn't dally, almost flying to the partially painted canvas. "It is of I? Why, Poppa?"

"So that the memory of you, my son, my heir, stays with me forever."

Marcellus tilts his head to the side, his right eyebrow raising as his brain tries to fathom what was just said. "You're my poppa... forever?"