Whatever It Takes | Klaus Mikaelson (Discontinued)

three

New Orleans, 1834

"Niklaus. Who is this?" I asked as he entered the home with a brown-skinned boy.

"Marcellus. He is now my son and this family will welcome him."

I smiled at the scared little boy in front of me. He carefully watched me as I approached him, holding my hand out.

"I'm Mia. It's nice to meet you.. Marcel." I quickly thought of.

"Where did you come from?" I asked.

He stared at me, staying quiet.

"His father was the governor, and what an awful man he was."

"Was, Niklaus? Did you kill him?"

"No. However, now I wish I had." He laughed.

I looked at Marcel, watching as he examined every inch of the room.

"What's your favorite ice cream?"

He continued to stare at me before finally responding.

"Chocolate.."

"Come on. I'll take you for some chocolate ice cream."

I could tell he was holding back a smile as he followed me out of the house. Klaus grabbed my arm, stopping me to whisper in my ear.

"Your limit is five, love."

I smiled at the love of my life, kissing him before driving down the road with Marcel. We stopped at a local ice cream parlor; Marcel hesitated, staring at the parlor in fear.

"Everything will be okay."

"What about the whites? I'm not allowed in here and they hate me." His voice trembled.

"Everything will be fine, honey." I reassured him.

We walked inside, greeting the woman at the counter. She glared at Marcel, not responding while three more white men stopped their conversation and stared at the chocolate boy next to me.

"Get out of here, boy!"
She yelled at him.

"I'd like a chocolate cone and a strawberry cone." I said, pointing to the flavors.

"We got a problem here?" One of the three men asked as they approached us.

"Yeah. I'm ordering ice cream for my son and she's being rude." I told them receiving loud laughter in response.

"That ain't your son. Get that black boy out of here!"

"Sir. Take your little ugly friends back to your seat, sit down and eat your food." I calmly told him.

He dropped his smile, glancing to the other men then angrily walking towards me. Marcel hid behind me, gripping the back of my shirt.

"I said, get that nigga out of here, damn it!" He yelled in my face.

"That's rude." I scoffed, spinning around to face Marcel.

"Go wash your hands, sweetheart. We don't want dirt in our dessert." I smiled at him.

He looked at the others then nodded, quickly walking away. As soon as he was out of sight, I turned back to the man in front of me, ripping his heart out then dropping it.

The others gasped as I giggled, licking the blood off my finger. They stood in utter fear watching his body hit the ground. I did the same with the other men, speeding over to stand behind the frightened woman.

"What was it you said to my son?" I whispered, dragging my bloody finger across her cheek.

"Please.. don't kill me." She cried, physically shaking.

"Wrong answer!" I gripped her throat before ripping her head off her body.

Wiping my hands off, I fixed our cones, walking down the long hall to the bathroom. The door swung open, revealing a smiling Marcel once he saw the ice cream.

After putting the racists' phones in the microwave and disconnecting the gas pipe, I let Marcel out the door first.

He happily licked the soft dessert, admiring nice sights whilst I looked in the rearview mirror smirking at the blazing parlor that had exploded.

"Are they dead?" He suddenly asked.

I glanced to him, smiling.

"Welcome to the family, Marcel."

~

New Orleans, 1835

Klaus and I were walking along the sidewalk. I loved peaceful walks, and even though he hated it, he came along for me.

I looked at the slow-paced businesses before we rounded the corner. A hand slipped down my shirt, giving my boob a quick squeeze.

The Mikaelson laughed, moving away from me before I could hit him, his smiled suddenly dropping.

I followed his line of sight to see Marcel on a neighbor's front porch, bleeding from his wounds.

"What happened? Who did this?" I frantically asked, examining the boy.

"You're supposed to be in school, Marcellus. Let me heal you." Klaus said, biting his wrist and offering it to Marcel.

Marcel let out sharp breaths, shaking his head.

"No. You always said we choose our family. So, what am I to you, Klaus? You made me a promise when you daggered your sister. It's finally time to make a choice. Turn me now, or let me die." Marcel declined, causing a panicked Klaus.

"You do not know what you ask of me! Becoming like me, it would rob you of all that makes you good."

Marcel shrugged as tears dropped from his face.

"I know what you are. Who you are. This is what I want! Please!" He begged.

Klaus looked at me, contemplating his decision. I nodded, seeing this as this as the only way our son could live. He took a deep breath before biting his wrist again, this time Marcel drinking his blood before Klaus snapped his neck.