Her Majesty // Mikaelson

1 Merida

Attached to the top/side is similar to how I see Merida, except she has lighter, brighter eyes and her hair is more curly. (not my image)

I fold my hands together and lean over the bar, smiling at the witch on the other side. "I'll take a Tequila and information on Davina Claire." I smile, flashing my signature mischievous look that had men and even some women dropping their knickers for me.

"Here's the tequila, but your out of luck with Davina." The witch informs me, slidding me a glass. I run my fingers through my long curly hair. The bartender witch wiped her hands on her apron. She was very pretty, actually. But she's a means to an end.

I take the shot glass and tip the liquid past my lips. "Why's that?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at her.

"She's dead." The bartender says, then leaves me in stunned silence. She gives me a sideways glance and then turns to tend to other customers. I sigh at this news.

Well, I guess I'll just have to figure out if the extremely dangerous and sarcastic Original Vampire family is in this city for myself.

I look around the bar, narrowing my eyes at the blonde who had textbooks and a laptop open. She sat at the end of the bar, seeming out of place studying in such an environment. With a closer look I see the college textbooks for psych. A smirk grows on my lips. I drop my shot glass onto the counter, sliding off my chair and slinking in her direction.

I sit beside her, and her light pretty eyes look up at me as I move closer. "Can I help you?" She asks. Slight curiosity and almost annoyance in her voice. Anyone else wouldn't have picked it up but I have sensitive hearing.

"Yes. See you're bringing down the atmosphere in here with your studious inclination." I tell her, my very Scottish accent protruding from the rest of the tourists.

"My... I'm actually waiting for my shift to start." She gestures to the bar. My smirk grows wider, and I look pointedly at the textbooks.

"A bartender with a psychiatric interest." I observe, chuckling lightly. "How ironic." The blonde looked slightly unnerved now and stood up, gathering her books together. That's when I notice the name tag. "Are you French Camille?" I ask her. She looks up now in alarm. I laugh, holding my hands up innocently. "Your name tag."

"Oh, of course." Her voice fills with relief. "Please, just call me Cami." I nod.

"Say Cami, would you have any idea where I could find a bloke name Marcellus?" I ask. She looks at me, and immediately I detect a guard being thrown up. So I touched a nerve, have I?

"Even if I could, I don't know you." She shrugs innocently, packing up her laptop and then going through the bar door that swung open as she pushed through. I scratch my neck. Clearly I was in the right place. She knew Marcel. Might even be friends with him.

I watch as she disappears into the back door. Probably to begin her shift. So I did get the place right. It was New Orleans. Not New Zealand or New Mexico or any other place beginning with New that was hardly new.

I stand up, taking a looksy around the bar again. My blue eyes carefully scanning the area calculatingly. I had not gone unnoticed. My naturally curly red hair that seemed unruly and wild had brought several people's attention towards me.

However my physical appearance may look, my regular skinny jeans, heels, and jacket were casual American wear. Under the attention I didn't particularly​ like, I held my chin high and stalked out of the bar, promising internally I'd come back tonight if I had no luck at the festivities.

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I walk down the sidewalk, although the stars shone above in a blatant display of night, the city's streets revolted. The shop's lights and venues protested against the dark and it was full of life and people. My eyes sparkled in the lights as I walked, weaving through people.