September 2009

"Who's she?"

With a smile tighter than she'd normally allow to show, Caroline Forbes follows the new dreamboat boy's gaze, already well aware of what she'd find on the other end. It's the same with every other new boy, the grand total of three that they've had in the past two years. The same with every visiting academic's team, every visiting football team. It's like clockwork, eventually one will catch sight of her and then it's like moths to a flame.

God, why doesn't soft dimples new boy look at her like that?

"That's Elena Gilbert. Don't even bother; she doesn't date and she's had a pretty traumatic year, her parents died and she'd been in the car with them. I mean, she was weird before that, but now she's just..." Caroline trails off, unable to summon the correct adjective to describe how the Gilbert girl's tragic backstory intertwines with her long-standing weirdness. Oh, sure, she could probably drum up a three-thousand-word essay on Elena, but like, who would care for the socio-dynamics of the school's resident loner girl?

"She seems lonely." Apparently new boy Stefan Salvatore.

"We've all tried reaching out at one point; they're was a time when we were best friends as kids. But, you know, some people grow up and others... don't." Caroline smiles, head cocked to a side as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Stefan Salvatore is drop dead gorgeous and Caroline would very much like to have a conversation to find out more about him, rather than lecturing him about her boring classmates.

Luckily, he seems to read the underlying intentions in her conversation and asks after her plans later today.

Now that's more like it.

.

.

August 2008

It is with a bespoke sense of detachment that Niklaus Mikaelson stares down at the letter that resides upon his lap. It doesn't matter that it was dated five months prior to the present, doesn't matter that it's written on cheap quality paper and not a single person he knows would dare try to contact him in such a... half-hearted manner. It doesn't matter that the only person alive who would dare write him a letter currently hates him for the 'destruction' of their family and would sooner see him dead then offer him pleasantries.

What matters-

What matters is-

.

'Dear Niklaus,

I've been told before I have a face worthy of the portraits of old, but I never really agreed. Not until I heard tales of the exquisite beauty 'Tatia'. I heard somewhere that your tried recreating it with a Bulgarian woman, Katrina, but it was incomplete. I promise, I'll look just a good under a full moon as Tatia ever did; I'd make a stunning subject for a portrait. Some might say it'd be a perfect doppelgänger to the previous one.

If you're agreeable, we could arrange a meet-up? I'm sure with your vast array of connections you could manage an article in a magazine and slip in an address for me to contact you by; I'll send my reply in a blue envelope as soon as I see you've got my message.

Ready and willing to strike a deal,

-E

xxx'

.

The sheer audacity withheld in that single sheet of paper. And yet- and yet-

'doppelgänger'. The word echoes in his head like a thunderous bolt. Hammering and clawing away, a shrill call, a shrieking caw.

Doppelgänger.

To drop those two particular names; well, no one in the right mind would do so unless they could deliver. Not even Elijah would do that. His noble brother holds the memory of the first in too high esteem to use her as bait, to taunt him with a slice of hope.

Doppelgänger.

It must be true. If it isn't, if someone has dared send this as an act of mockery... heads shall roll.

.

I've had this sat on my computer for a while now; figured I'd share and hope I get some inspiration at some point.

Tsume
xxx