The Wildest Mikaelson...
The Happy Homicidal Maniac...
The Willy Fox...
The Worst of the Worst...
All names used to describe the youngest Mikaelson brother. Throughout his long life, Kol fancied himself the black sheep of the family, believing that...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
New Orleans, Louisiana, 16 January 2011
It took Anastasia a bit longer than originally planned to get out of bed that morning. Not until she pointed out to Kol that she was still a human – sort of – and therefore required food to function did he stop trying to convince her to spend the rest of the day in bed with him. Escaping his clutches, Anastasia took a quick and needed shower; Kol did make a comment about joining her but she decided to save that from another day so that they could get the grimoires.
After finishing her shower, Anastasia dried her hair and applied some light makeup to make her look less like a zombie. For the day she wore a black skirt and a knitted burgundy turtleneck. Emerging from the bathroom, ready for the day, Anastasia was delighted to see food on the table in the living room of their suite.
The sight of toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, fruit salad and yoghurt made her mouth water. "Should I take it to heart that you seem much more excited by breakfast than me?"
Looking up from the table, Anastasia realised that Kol was seated on the couch with his phone. For the day he'd chosen a pair of black jeans and a grey long-sleeved shirt. "Oh, I didn't see you there," Anastasia told him.
"You know exactly what every man wants to hear," Kol snorted as she sat down on the couch next to him. Taking the collar of her turtleneck between two fingers, he said, "It's not that cold outside."
Anastasia merely rolled her eyes. He knew exactly why she wore a shirt with a high collar and wouldn't give him the satisfaction of pointing it out again. Picking up a toast she spread some butter over it, "The grimoires are hidden in the Lafayette Cemetery, right?"
"Yes, at least according to Nik," Kol said, not bothering to touch any of the food. He had done it yesterday to keep up the appearance of a normal date — and sometimes he could enjoy a snack — but he didn't fancy eating human food just for the fun of it.
"Why there?" Anastasia questioned.
"Magic is strong there," Kol shrugged. "It's where the witch covens of New Orleans bury their dead — and therefore where they have the strongest connection to their ancestors."
"Great — let's hope we don't encounter any witches there then," Anastasia said, assuming that the witches in the French Quarter would be just as prejudiced against her kind as most witches she'd encountered.
"Why? Frightened that the New Orleans witches will try to bury you?" Kol teased.
"A little," Anastasia said. "I'm confident in my own abilities— most of the time — but unless I have physical contact, they have an advantage in an area where they easily can connect with their ancestors."
"Don't worry about it, darling," Kol said assuringly. "We will be in and out before anyone knows we are there."
"Do you think anyone will recognise you?" Anastasia wondered. "I mean — you are an Original. Won't you have a target on your back the minute you step into the French Quarter?"
