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"Not everyone will appreciate what you do for them. You have to figure out who's worth your kindness and who's just taking advantage of you."
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Arabella sat at the Mikaelson's study room writing down Klaus' ramble with a typewriter. She wore a scarf around her neck, to cover the bruises. She obviously could use a concealer, but the scarf and the outfit looks pretty good. When the brunette saw Klaus, he asked her what happens to her neck, and she told him that she fell. Klaus only nods his head, as the memories from yesterday began to suppress in his memories and he brushes it off eventually. Poor Arabella, if only she knew.
"They have all forsaken me. My siblings are as deceitful in disease just as my parents ever were. Accusing me of using my baby for my own gain, trusting others before their own blood." Klaus rants. It's been an hour since she got here at the plantation listening and typing his memoir.
"Would a laptop kill you?" Arabella mutters, looking at him.
He shrug his shoulder, sipping his whiskey. "That typewriter was good enough for Hemingway."
"I see the resemblance. Booze and random acts of violence."
"Elijah and Rebekah have cut to the quick with their vicious lies about me. And all I've done is tried to win this battle of wills over Marcel's control of the quarter in order to reclaim our home." Klaus paused, he notices the brunette sat still looking at him with a frown drawn in her face. "Type, please! "
"What's the point? You just repeat the same thing over and over again. Rebekah's out to get you. Elijah's out to get you. Is there anyone who isn't plotting your downfall? I doubt you trust your own reflection." She responds him, she studied his face closely; nailing his never ending rambles.
"You know if the daggers weren't missing I would put one in each of their hearts. Rid myself of the burden of my siblings for a couple of centuries."
"Look at you, Klaus! Repeating the same destructive cycles over and over again. You are the architect of your own unhappiness." She retorted.
Klaus began to get irritated unhappy how she responds. "I don't remember asking for your advice."
"Oh, really?" She let out a bitter laugh, "So of all the people in New Orleans you choose someone with a masters in psychology to record your life story. You're over a thousand years old. Pretty damn sure you know how to type. The truth is: You compelled me to come here because you have no one else to talk to, and you want to be understood. Then you compel me to forget everything as soon as I leave your presence because you are too scared to trust." She tilt her head to the side, her neck strains and she felt a tingly sensation jams in. "Ow!" She winced, and relaxes her neck. Klaus approaches her, "Are you okay?" A worried tone laced in, and she nods her head.
