Talk Drunky to Me
Hey guys! So, I suck and the muse has been hiding for almost 4 months. I’m sorry I haven’t been writing, but now that the show is over and KLAROLINE IS ENDGAME, my muse is KICKING! Okay, I’m hella rusty and Klaus is probably totes OOC here, but why not come back to life with a little crack drabble?
From Ashleigh: One gets drunk and confesses all over the phone, unaware that said person on the other end was actually outside, ready to confess their love. Fluffy post canon Klaroline?*no babies* ;)
Coming to New Orleans in the middle of Mardi Gras was a good idea in theory, but in hindsight, Caroline cursed her less than stellar timing. The streets were brimming full with half naked people running around, tossing beads and spraying booze over the crowds while she attempted to navigate her way through the French Quarter. She dragged two heavy, gray suitcases behind her, and sidestepped a hazy college guy who embarrassingly face-planted in front of her as he attempted to flirt. Caroline wrinkled her nose and kept on walking, thankful that her taste in men had improved immensely over the decades.
Thirty years ago, Caroline would have been in the middle of the throng of people, drunk off her ass. But older, wiser, eternally a teenager but creeping into middle-age-Caroline was more interested in spectating the festival with a glass of champagne between her fingers and an Original Hybrid by her side.
She rarely spoke to anybody from Mystic Falls. Elena and the Salvatore brothers took the cure years before, turning human and living out their last lives in the suffocating small town. Matt married a quiet girl from high school Caroline’s math class that she never noticed and was about to become a grandfather for the fifth time. Bonnie traveled with Enzo, the witch using powers and herbs to keep herself from aging. She and Caroline kept in touch, meeting up whenever they were on the same continent.
It wasn’t the first time she thought this, but perhaps she seriously considered for the tenth time, turning back and having the airline ship her belongings to Klaus’ door. She blew her sweaty bangs off her forehead as she lugged her suitcases with a huff. Why did she feel the need to bring her whole shoe collection, including her ski boots? But, the dramatic person in Caroline (and to be honest, the dramatic person in Klaus too) eagerly anticipated the sure to be memorable look on his face when she showed up on his doorstep with her stuff.
She stopped by an alley, pulling out her phone to consult the address Rebekah texted her the week prior. Over the past few years, she and the blonde Original had somewhat hit it off through an accidental run-in in Barcelona. Caroline ran into a little drunken trouble with a hunter one night, and Rebekah was luckily in the same place at the same time, swooping in the save her. Surprisingly, the older vampire was a blast to travel and shop with. They had a long standing tradition of hitting all the infamous fashion weeks, and Rebekah not so subtly kept Caroline updated on her family’s hijinks.
Putting the address into Google maps, Caroline made a face when she realized how far out the Mikaelson mansion was from the French Quarter. Leave it to Klaus to find the oldest, largest mansion in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of town. She was just about to open up her Uber app for a ride when her phone vibrated in her hand, the words “Blocked Caller” flashing across her screen.
Rolling her eyes, she swiped to answer. It was a common occurrence for Enzo to lose his phone along with Bonnie’s whenever they went on a drinking binge in Vienna or Venice and they always called her from their newest number to let her know it was them.
“What country are you calling from this time?” she answered with a laugh.
There was silence on the other end, a shuffling noise coming through. Caroline narrowed her brows.
She heard another shuffle and a manly sounding groan came through the receiver. Her pulse jumped, her mind instantly going a hundred miles a minute wondering if Enzo got himself into some trouble.
“Enzo? Is that you?”
“Caroline,” a low, familiar accent sang through the receiver.