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Familial Bonds

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Mark----

 

He hated this day.. This day could go fuck itself, the anniversary of mom's death. He'd bolted from the Stilinski house before anyone had roused. He couldn't bear to be swallowed up in Dad and Stiles melancholy, he needed today alone. He was never able to do the Stiles thing, to sit and talk to mom's headstone… it never felt right. It felt meaningless and empty, she was gone and he couldn't change that. Mark dropped off a bundle of flowers on her grave, placed his hand on the cold headstone and left. He wasn't like Stiles, he didn't cry on this day, he wasn't like dad he didn't sit and wallow. He expressed himself in another way.

 

He pulled his electric guitar from his trunk and made his way into his secret base, as he called it. It was actually an old abandoned cabin at the edge of the Hale's property. He'd bought it from the county, he kept it as a place to retreat and seek solitude. He dug his keys out of his pocket and opened the door trying not to choke on the stale air. The place wasn't much four walls, three rooms, no furniture except a folding metal chair. But what it did have was electricity and Marshall amps stacked wall to wall.

 

He flung open the windows to air the place out a bit, leaning his guitar against the door as he made his way around checking all his equipment. He had more amps than an indie band festival it was ridiculous. If Talia Hale was still alive he'd have her banging at his door in a few minutes complaining about his private concert. Seriously he was miles from the hale house but he was sure an alpha wolf would've heard his set up from that distance. The gods made heavy metal, they saw that it was good, they said to play it louder than hell and we promised that we would! He hummed long to the lyrics playing in his brain as he got set up. Finally all the equipment ready he sat in the chair placing a set of earplugs in, he'd still hear his music just fine. He plugged in his guitar worrying at his lip as he decided what to play. He decided to be cliche, he strummed out a few chords getting his guitar tuned where he needed it. He threw himself easily into the short but fitting Farewell Ballad by Zakk Wylde. His fingers danced elegantly across the strings with practiced ease as he played the somber guitar licke. He'd done this so many times before, he started with sad somber songs and slowly built his mood back upwards with music. It worked every time he was numb to everything but the sound of his guitar, the feeling of its strings beneath his fingers. He had just finished He'd just finished wizards in winter when he happened to look up to see a stranger totally creeping on him from the open door. Uhhh hi? What the hell was anyone doing out here in BFE? He slowly sat down his guitar and removed his earplugs.

 

“Umm Hi? Can I help you?” The guy smiled or was that a smirk? Whatever it was he looked incredibly confident, he also smelled odd like a werewolf but, more… He had to admit the guy was one handsome devil, in fact if he were hiring an actor to play Lucifer he may have a candidate. Focus on the stalker Markus!

 

I was simply admiring your talent,” He replied simply, the guy was well spoken. Almost old fashioned and aristocratic, it fit his demeanor and his looks. If that makes any sense. Mark eyed him cautiously. He was just standing there, right on the threshold. Watching him with his hands clasped behind his back.

 

“I kinda came out here to avoid just that.” he sassed back leaning back in the chair and striking a cigarette. The man quirked a brow watching him curiously like he was the most interesting thing in existence.

 

“I too have been know to seek solitude in my art. For me it is painting, the way you played it was quite emotional very moving.” What was this guy a critic? An art connoisseur? That didn't explain what the hell he was doing out here in bum fuck Egypt. Though he did appreciate the praise, it was rare to hear an affinity for the electric guitar called art.

 

“Glad you enjoyed it.” Mark paused taking a long drag from his cigarette and puzzling over his unexpected visitor. “What're you doing way out here?” He asked crossing his arms and watching the strange bit hot guy.

 

“I was just on the way to meet an old friend when I heard you playing. I came to investigate.” Okay that would've been a plausible story if this place was on the way to anything. You really had to go out of the way to get here. So either he was lying or he was blessed with excellent hearing.

 

“Who's your friend? I probably know him,” it was true he knew most of the people in town or knew of them. The intruder’s smirk grew, just a fraction as if he were pleased by that answer.

 

“You may have met him, handsome Austrian fellow? Likes to bang loads of frat boys and jocks.” Terrific. A friend of Frederick, that didn't bode well the guy was different he smelt of wolf bit also of? Vampire? Was that even possible?

 

“We've met, he's got a loft downtown, across from the old Mormon mission.” Heck if this guy was looking for Frederick he wouldn't get in his way it wasn't his packs business.

 

“Thank you for the Information.” He turned to walk away but paused glancing over his shoulder. “I do hope I'll get to hear you play again before I leave.” And with that he was gone. Well Derek should probably hear about this odd encounter.

 

---Stiles

 

He was glad he had Scott and Jackson to help him through this day of moping. He was currently pressed between both wolves staring in contemplation at his mother's tombstone. He was crying, tears streaming down his cheeks but…. It wasn't as bad when he wasn't alone, Dad and Mark preferred to grieve alone, but he needed comfort. Jackson and Scott both stiffened simultaneously turning toward a man approaching with a bouquet of flowers. He was tall impeccably dressed and incredibly handsome. He looked like the no nonsense kind of guy. He pauses a few paces away his sharp eyes assessing them.

 

“I'm terribly sorry to intrue, I simply came to pay my respects to Claudia.” This man knew his mother? Stiles couldn't recall seeing him before but his voice… It was familiar somehow like he'd heard it before.

 

“You knew my mom?” Stiles asked turning so he was leaned more against Jackson’s side. The wolf’s arm tightened around him instinctively something about the stranger clearly had both wolves on alert.

 

“Ah, young Genim. I haven't seen you since you were a small boy. I should have guessed you were Claudia’s son you have her demeanor. Her, energetic presence.” Was this guy an old family friend or something? He'd never seen him before, well not that he could remember. And he knew his real name so he'd have to have been somewhat close to her.

 

“How did you know my mom?” Stiles asked cautiously, now that he was a bit more focused he could feel powerful magic emanating from him. He wasn't human at least he was a supernatural being of  description. Of that he was certain. The well dressed man laid his bouquet reversely atop the tombstone before answering.

 

“We were business associates of a sort. She was quite knowledgeable in her field. She was a great source of information for me, for many years.” It was clear he wasn't going to elaborate, he was being intentionally vague. But he was being very polite about it. “Pardon me I forgot my manners I haven't introduced myself. I'm Elijah, Elijah Mikaelson.”

 

Stiles jaw dropped. Mikaelson, Elijah Mikaelson! The eldest of the original vampires! He knew his mother! “Your one of the Originals what are you doing here?” He blurted the question before his brain had caught up but the vampire didn't seem surprised or hostile.

 

“I see you inherited Claudia's perceptiveness. My brother Niklaus and I are here on a personal matter. I simply came to pay my respects to an old friend.” Vague again. Big surprise. The original was totally adept at polite deflection and he had feeling they wouldn't get much out of him. “However you needn't worry we have no quarrel with your family, or your wolf pack.” He turned to leave but paused briefly. “It was a pleasure to meet you Genim. You look so much like your mother.” With that he seemed to vanish with a quiet whoosh.

 

“What just happened!” Scott and Jackson inquired in unison. For whatever reason the Originals were in Beacon Hills.