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He's got me down on both knees, tells me that I'm holy, @REBEKAH MIKAELSON
PERMALINK // POSTED ON: Oct 4 2016, 10:13 PM
There were a great, great many things about her family that Camille had struggled to agree with such as her parents sending she and her twin brother Sean to live with their uncle Kieran simply because they hadn't wanted to be parents. She also had a hard time agreeing with the way that her uncle chose to live his life; Camille had never believed in religion like her parents, her uncle and her brother had which was one of the many reasons why they - save for Sean - hadn't always agreed with her.
Regardless of their difference in opinion on things like religion, Camille had supported both her uncle and her brother in their choosing to dedicate their lives to God, and they - somewhat - supported her decision to abstain from religion altogether. That didn't necessarily mean that Camille had been walking the streets, drinking and snorting anything that was handed to her while simultaneously spreading her legs for anyone that dared ask; she hadn't been a virtuous creature, that much was certain, but Camille did have morals and virtues of her own that she clung to, regardless of what a great many others had chosen to think.
When her brother had taken the lives of those studying in God's name alongside him before taking his own life, Camille had been distraught, to say the very least. Her brother - her twin brother - had been ripped out of her world in a way that made absolutely no sense to her whatsoever. Sean had never been an angry or a violent being; he had lived his life the exact opposite, choosing to love and accept those around them and trying to better the lives of those that were on the brink of giving up altogether.
For the longest time after, the blonde had been plagued by nightmares and insomnia, something she had made a great secret of, as she viewed both as signs of her own mental weaknesses. The world had enough to use against her as it was, they didn't need more fuel for that fire, so she battled in silence and in secret, hoping there would come a time when she was able to get one night's rest, even if wishing was a waste of time.
She had needed to take some time off from University after that, though no one expected anything less. 'Some time' turned into 'a lot of time'; the year passed and Camille had not returned to school nor to anything else in her life that she had put on hold. She hadn't been waiting for the grief to end, but rather the people to stop whispering about her as she crossed the street; she waited for new faces to populate the city of New Orleans. Faces that had absolutely no idea of the horrors she had endured at the hand of the horrors that her brother had allegedly inflicted on those he had murdered before onto himself. It was easier that way; she could move on with her life without anyone knowing what she had lived through and lost; she wouldn't have to tell anybody.
It was a selfish and cowardly thing to do; with a great many believing Sean to have been mentally ill, Camille could have easily taken a stand and used this awful happening to speak out about mental illness and find ways to get those suffering from similar mental illnesses the help that they truly needed, but how the hell could she have done that when she didn't believe with a single fibre of her being that her twin brother had suffered from any form of mental illness?
There was no immediate history of mental illness in their family. Neither her parents nor her grandparents had ever been diagnosed with so much as depression. She, her brother and their uncle Kieran, too, had never had a single mental demon to battle which was why it struck Camille as odd that mental illness was the fall-back for what had happened to her brother, especially when he hadn't shown so much as a single sign or symptom of any mental illness leading up to the murders and his suicide.
Maybe it was foolish for her to have devoted her course of study - Psychology - and her entire life to finding the guilty party responsible for what happened to her brother. She knew now of vampires - though her uncle didn't know that his niece had been exposed to that secret - so she couldn't help but wonder... what if a vampire had compelled her brother to commit those murders before taking his own life? She was willing to sacrifice everything to find out the truth.
The more she dug, the more questions without answers the blonde was left with. The knowledge constantly eating away at her while the quest for the truth was, piece by piece, putting her in danger. She didn't care about the danger, though. She didn't care about the people that wrote 'murderer' on her brother's gravestone despite her scrubbing it off every morning. She didn't care about her bar's broken windows every weekend from angry locals wanting to shame her family for their dark, hidden secrets. What Camille cared about was finding out the truth, because she knew that her brother - her twin brother whom she had bonded with her entire life - didn't just snap one day.
That gut feeling had been correct; when Camille had learned that her uncle Kieran had saved Sean's life and had ushered him into hiding behind her back, she had felt as though she had been murdered at the hands of her family. The hole she had in her chest after her brother's death had only seemed to expand, ache and throb more than it ever had before. The betrayal had been the most violent slap in the face she had ever received and truth be told? She struggled to see reason and find forgiveness. Was she happy that her brother was alive? Absolutely! But she had learned very quickly just how impossible it was to forgive and forget.
There were moments - small, brief moments - where she let her guard down just enough for her brother to glimpse into what her life was like now. He knew of the bar windows being shattered on weekends and had helped clean that wreckage up every now and again. It made for awkward silences and uncomfortable small talk; Camille still wasn't sure how she felt about that. It seemed even those delicate moments were giving him too much of what she felt he and her uncle - whom she no longer spoke to at all - no longer deserved.
Other times - after hours when Camille was allowed to drink more than two drinks and once her blood was laced with alcohol - she could engage in conversation - small, somewhat playful conversation - so long as it wasn't face-to-face. Typically online or via text; nine times out of ten she forgot it even took place. Well, no, that was a lie. She knew it had taken place but preferred to lie to herself and pretend otherwise; she refused to cave where she felt it mattered and neither deserved forgiveness for what she had gone through. At least not completely.
With him back and living in New Orleans once again? There were whispers. Camille knew people were talking about how her family had known all this time that Sean hadn't committed suicide. That they had played the mental illness card and had somehow struck a private deal with the State to have Sean institutionalized out of the country due to whatever mental illness the city thought he suffered from. They were gossiping about how her family had faked his death in hopes of gaining him a new life outside and away from prison... Which was the furthest thing from the truth, even if Camille still didn't know what the truth consisted of.
She could take their anger. She could take fathers and brothers of the murdered victims shattering her bar's windows with bricks every weekend. She could take anything this damn city had to throw at her because it wasn't anything that she hadn't already had to battle alone. Still, the truth was what had kept her going all this time; she wasn't about to give up on getting it from her uncle regardless of how long it took. That was precisely why she had been at the church that night, hoping to catch him before he could make an excuse to disappear into the crowd. He might not want to openly face her, but with no other souls in the church that evening? He didn't exactly have a choice.
The men that had been shouting obscenities at her from a parked pick-up truck outside the church had gone ignored up until she had felt the coolness of a gun pressing into the middle of her back from behind. They had been waiting for her uncle, that much she believed to be true, and they had been drinking, that much she knew to be true based on the scent of whiskey on their breaths. They were angry, she understood, but Camille didn't understand what the families of the victims expected from her of all people.
She was careful to remind them of the fact that she and her uncle weren't as close as they likely believed. That she held no place in his church... That he was part of the city's council - much as the city's Sheriff was - and that abduction was as more of a crime than vandalism ever would be. One that often merited jail time which she very much doubted any of the three men were longing for.
Camille was also careful as far as obeying their commands was concerned; she exited the vehicle as it pulled up beside her closed bar and let the four of them inside without triggering the alarm, as was asked of her, before locking the door behind them. They were drunk, angry and in desperate need of a place to direct that darkness. It was hard not to assume that had she not been on a mission that evening, that this very well could have been the situation her uncle - the city's priest - would have found himself in, and while sometimes Camille felt her uncle deserved to pay for his crimes in blood... she also found herself thankful that that was not the case; her uncle wouldn't fall victim to the families of his nephew's victims, even if perhaps he deserved to.
She fought back as angry words, accusations and assumptions turned physical, regardless of how seemingly useless it ended up being. Just as useless as it had been for them to request she lock the door behind them only for them to end up throwing chairs through the same windows they launched bricks at every weekend they drove by her business. They had wanted her to fight back after every slap or after every time she was thrown against a wall or into a table; it fuelled their anger all the more and they were craving that point of no return. Even long after she struggled to get back on her feet, she found herself being dragged away from the broken tables by her legs and lifted by her throat just to be beaten right back down again; this was practice, as far as they were concerned. A message to her uncle and her brother of what was to come. Of what they could expect for themselves.
The less she could stand on her own, the more the attack came to her. Steel-toed boots were taking turns holding her down with a firm step on her chest and kicking her abdomen enough to knock the breath out of her time and time again until the blonde could be heard both gasping for air and choking on the blood that was trying to force its way up her throat. There was next to no way of keeping a full state of consciousness; she was in and out enough to feel the weight of someone straddling her slender body, to hear the sound of a shattered wine bottle trying to cut its way through her clothing, to see a set of dirty, blood-stained hands unbuttoning her jeans before the vibration of sirens ripping down the street had those same steel-toed boots scrambling through the shattered glass and broken fixtures so they could high-tail themselves out of the once-again vandalized bar.
The sirens, however, didn't stop at her bar. Another call, another area... There was worry that the moment the three of them realized it had been a false alarm, they would come back to finish what they had started which was the thought that had Camille trying so damn hard to roll over onto her stomach so that she could pull herself across the shard-covered floor if only to conceal herself beneath the bar. There was some success with that plan; a trail of blood coating itself from the middle of the bar to the area just behind the counter was evidence of that, but anything beyond that - like concealing herself under it - had to be abandoned as the blonde lost consciousness.
PERMALINK // POSTED ON: Jun 8 2017, 11:11 PM
There was very little about Rebekah and Marcel's history that Camille had been subjected to; she still didn't know all that much about Marcel's history. She did know that there was a lot of it; she hadn't really known that Marcel was a vampire until she had been lured (well, compelled) to Italy by Klaus Mikaelson, being forced to attempt to gain some insight into Marcel's life on his behalf.
She wouldn't lie and say that knowing about the supernatural didn't frighten her; it did... more than she cared to admit sometimes, and it hurt to know that others - like her uncle - had known about it all this time and had never trusted Camille enough to know about it for herself... As much as she could have shut herself down and shut Marcel out, he was quite the smooth-talker, vampire or not and Camille was nothing short of a lost cause.
Not that any of that would matter now. She had made him endure three years of her teasing; constantly refusing him and perhaps tossing him the odd 'maybe' when he pursued her relentlessly. It hadn't been until recently that she had caved the slightest bit. Just enough to finally let him in a step further than he had been for the last three years.
The blonde had at least thought she would have had time to explore whatever was budding between the two of them; obviously Marcel had seen something in her that he couldn't turn himself away from. She had hoped she'd be able to find something similar in him. Something that maybe completed the gaping hole in her life... but maybe life just didn't want either of them to go down that path. Maybe that had never been meant to happen.
Camille was slightly aware of the fact that Rebekah Mikaelson - Klaus' sister - was with her. Her voice was sickeningly sweet, almost like it were meant to be a weapon to lure others in. It was surely one of the many things that Marcel had once loved about her, as Camille knew at least that much about his past. He and Rebekah had had a brief romance; she didn't know the ins and the outs of it - she was somewhat grateful for that - but it had been there and it had been real, at least from the stories she had heard.
A small thought flickered through her mind that perhaps Rebekah would find it easier to end Camille's life right then and there and reclaim the love she had once felt for Marcel. It wasn't something she could put past the Mikaelson family, knowing what they were capable of...
It was a touch bit peculiar that Camille found herself not caring... Maybe it would be easier this way; she wouldn't have to suffer more than she had. Was it really that awful to have a small piece of herself hoping to be put out of its misery?
There was a brief silence, almost as if she had only imagined the sickeningly sweet voice of the female Mikaelson. Maybe she had; maybe her mind was playing tricks on her as the blood that left her body failed to circulate oxygen to her brain. If it hadn't been for the slow drip of something warm against her lips, Camille would have thought that perhaps it had been her body dying...
Then again, why the hell would she think about Rebekah of all beings to help ease her into the afterlife?
The metallic taste of blood had the blonde coughing and gagging ever so slightly. It wasn't her own; her blood was cold, as it had been sitting against the cold air of the bar a few seconds too long. Warm blood, she could only assume, belonging to the Original vampire above her.
The blonde human felt weightless as Rebekah lift her; she tried to cough up as much as the other woman's blood as she could, though it was impossible to do as it coated the inside of her mouth and throat given she wasn't able to sit up. Even as the blonde vampire laid her back down in an empty booth, Camille knew she didn't have the energy to fight off whatever this woman was going to do to her.
There was no way for Camille to relate her slight bit of strength that she was able to feel returning to her body to the woman that had bled into her mouth; Marcel hadn't been that open when it came to his vampire side, after all...
She could hear Rebekah's voice saying her name a bit more clearly this time around; her eyes finding the Original vampire's blue ones as she felt the warmth of Rebekah's jacket covering her own small frame. As grateful as she was that this woman wasn't trying to end her life quicker than it had been progressing before the vampire's blood had begun to heal her, Camille still had a hard time wrapping her mind around iwhy[/i] Rebekah had shown up at all and why she cared enough to help spare Camille's life.
"How did you get in?" Well, that was an idiotic question given the shattered glass around the bar from the smashed windows and the fact that the men likely hadn't locked the door up behind them... "I mean, why are you here..." Because it sure as hell wouldn't be as a favour to Marcel...
PERMALINK // POSTED ON: Mar 30 2018, 04:08 PM
Having Marcel's long lost lover, ex-girlfriend, first love (or whatever it was that you wanted to call her) rushing to Camille's side was definitely a blow to her pride. Not one that she would ever admit to, as Camille tried not to come off as the jealous, insecure type, but when someone was as beautiful and strong as Rebekah Mikaelson was? It was a little hard not to compare her fragile self to the goddess-like blonde.
She could hear the sarcasm in Rebekah's voice, even if the other blonde's somewhat playful smirk was somewhat blurry to Camille in her still-hazed state. There was little the two had in common outside of their hair colour and their feelings for the same man; there was little reason for Rebekah to want to help Camille, as there was very little in it for her aside from perhaps Marcel's gratitude.
Maybe that was why she cared.
Maybe this was all some elaborate scheme to try and earn back Marcel's favour.
Maybe Camille had lost a little too much blood.
Rebekah was right in saying that her blood would work quickly. Already Camille was feeling more conscious and far less light-headed. That wasn't to say that her body was about to magically create the exact amount of blood she had lost - she doubted that was how it worked- but she was feeling better. At least well enough to be able to pick herself up and walk the hell out of here if she chose that route.
She was silent. Blue eyes watching the blonde vampire as she began sweeping up some of the broken glass from the floor. Perhaps there was a small, nagging thought in the back of Camille's mind that asked if Rebekah perhaps had more malicious intentions. It wouldn't be a far stretch for she or her family; hadn't it been Klaus that had compelled Camille and mercilessly used her to gain information on Marcel back in Italy?
Camille very much doubted that Rebekah was masterminding anything against Marcel as Klaus might have been given her feelings for the man, but love did crazy things to a woman's mind and a woman's heart. Rebekah could have easily let Camille bleed out alone in her bar; maybe she wanted to give her a far less gradual end.
The blonde was slow in using her elbows to push herself up just enough to help her ease into a sitting position. The world spun, but only a little this time around which Camille wanted to take as a good sign. Everything still hurt, though not as badly as it had.
"A little..." But a little was better than nothing at all. A little was going one hell of a long way. "Why do you care?" Why did Rebekah Mikaelson of all people care enough to still be sticking around after saving Camille's life? Why was she still there, sweeping up Camille's mess like the two of them were friends? "What even brought you down this way?"
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