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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years

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Helping Hand

Fandom: The Originals / The Vampire Diaries

Characters: Reader, Elijah,

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 4,171

Request: Hi! Can I get an imagine where the reader is a teenager (about 16) who has powers and she learns that Elijah Mikaelson has a necklace that belonged to her ancestor that will allow her to keep her powers under control and asking him for help?

hey ,can u write something with elijah???? love your blog

Summary: The reader moves to New Orleans with her family after her grandmother dies, leaving them with a large property and inheritance. But the reader also starts to develop powers, powers she cannot control, not without the help of Elijah Mikaelson.

Note: I’ve had this first request buried in my drafts for a very long time, I don’t even still have the actual request anymore so idk who sent it but here it is

Your magic was... volatile, to say the least. They’d started to show themselves last year, around the time your family had moved to New Orleans, but despite your best efforts, you were still unable to keep them under much control. It felt like there was a well of power deep inside of you, but no matter how far you reached, you’d yet to find the end.

You longed to reach the end of your power, to finally know your limits. By understanding what you were capable of, maybe you could begin to learn to control barely contained power within. It was a miracle your family hadn’t found out yet, especially given the whole you’d accidentally made in the back wall of the house, but as much as you wanted to tell them, you didn’t know how they would react.

The timing of your powers couldn’t have been a coincidence, at first you’d thought it was related to your age maybe, did 15 mean something magical? You obviously had no idea, but the longer you were in New Orleans, you started to realise that that wasn’t the case. Your estranged grandmother had died last year, you’d only met her once as a baby and your mother never talked about her, but she’d left behind a massive estate and inheritance in New Orleans, and following the divorce from your father, your mother had decided maybe it was a good chance for a fresh start. So she’d packed you and your younger twin brothers up, ripping you away from your lives, friends, everything you’d ever known, and taken you to the Crescent City.

It had been an adjustment, especially with the added problems of your powers. Needless-to-say, discovering you had magic was a shock, a big one. At first you thought you were dreaming, or seeing things, but eventually you’d accepted that this was real... and you should really plant a few trees to make up for the damage you’d accidentally done to the ones on the edge of your property line.

That’s where you were now, headphones on, beads of sweat on your brow as you tried to concentrate your magic at a single tree stump about ten metres away from you. Taking slow breaths you listened to the beat of the music pumping in your ears, letting all else slip away as you felt that familiar opening inside of you, leading to the well of magic you could feel stirring in anticipation. It always gave you a bit of a rush when you started, but you had to be careful you didn’t dive in too quickly.

Too much too fast was your problem, and you’d spent many, many... many, frustrating days trying to master it. You were sure there was a better way, maybe an instruction manual? But who could you ask, New Orleans may have been full of stores and stalls promising knowledge of the occult and the supernatural, but nothing had seemed to do you any good. Parlour tricks mostly, so you were alone.

Feeling that familiar build up of power, you yet again tried to steady it, tried to send a concentrated blast only. You felt your hands tingle, then warm, focusing intently as you felt sweat drip down the side of your face. Almost there...

A bird landed on the tree stump, catching you off guard as it cawed, stretching its wings but refusing to move. At the last second you threw your hands to the side, a blast of power flying into a nearby tree as you tried to reign it back in.

“Damn it!” You swore, clenching your hands into fists and pulling them to your sides as you stared wide eyes at the giant smouldering hole in the tall tree, the creaking and groaning sound it was making as it began to splinter at the break.

You took a slight step back, casting a dirty look at the black bird still perched on the stump as it watched you, regarding you with a more curious look than you were comfortable with. A loud snapping sound caused you to look back to the tree, now unable to support the weight on top as it began to topple.

“Crap...” you mumbled, pulling your headphones down to your neck as you watched it start to fall slowly. Not again, you thought as it fell, crashing into another tree before falling back and slamming into the ground.

You stared at it in stunned silence for a minute, glad you were too far out for anyone to have heard. The bird let out a small noise, still watching you, seemingly unaffected by the sound of the toppling tree. “What are you looking at?” You demanded, the bird cocking its head like it was listening, “this is your fault,” you told it, pointing to the mess behind it.

The black bird actually turned its head, looking to the tree before turning back to you, cawing and flying off over your head. You ducked as it flew past you, wind blowing your hair. Well... that was weird, but honestly, talking to a bird was probably the least strange thing that had happened to you recently.

So with a shrug you turned on your heels, grabbing your school bag and heading back down the overgrown path you always followed back to your house, checking your watch to make sure you wouldn’t miss the bus. Your 16th birthday had been a few days ago, and the balloons your mother had insisted on putting up on the railings of your front porch were still flying as you appeared out of the clearing in the woods.

Your brother’s were waiting by the road as you picked up your pace, noticing the school bus turning down the end of your road and heading to where the boys were stood. “Cutting it close,” one of your brothers, JJ, commented as you rolled your eyes, ignoring him and Nick as you rifled in your bag for your pass, finding it just as the bus pulled up and the doors opened.

You sat away from your brothers once you got on, headphones back on as you thought about how you were ever going to get a hang of your powers.

The rest of your school day when like it usually did, you went to class, did your work, ate lunch alone, and researched magic whenever you had some free time. You’d had losts of friends back home, but being the new girl struggling to control dangerous powers didn’t leave you with much opportunity to be anything other than the loner who talked to the librarian more than any of the other kids.

Your brothers fit in just fine, and the party your mother had been expecting to throw you over the weekend had been embarrassingly empty, so now she was worried about you. Great, another thing you had to worry about.

Thankfully, your magic hadn’t really ever acted up at school, expect in gym once or twice, but nothing too noticeable. Heightened emotions seemed to make it worse, and the boredom you felt at school seemed to subdue it the most.

After school you debated getting the bus home with JJ and Nick, but your mom was working until late so you decided to walk into the city instead, trying your luck again at one of the supposedly magic stores or stalls, you never knew, maybe someone might actually be able to help you.

It was a warm day, even into the afternoon as you strolled along the crowded streets. Okay, you actually liked New Orleans, the people, the buildings, the atmosphere, you felt like you could disappear here. If you hadn’t come into uncontrollable powers when you’d moved here... well, things would be very different.

You ended up walking through the French Quarter, definitely lost but not caring too much, you’d just use your phone to find the best way home when it got a little later. You were so lost in your music and surroundings that it took you a while to realise you were being followed.

It felt like a cold breeze on the back of your neck, like your magic warning you of danger. But there was so many people arround that you wouldn’t have been able to tell who was following you even if you saw them, so you picked up your pace.

That feeling didn’t leave, cold going down your spine as you weaved your way through the crowds of people milling about the square. You probably would have thought you were paranoid, but you’d learned enough to not doubt your magic right now.

Spotting a side street you slipped down it, only realising once you were half way down that it was a dead end. You quickly tried to double back, heart pounding as you turned to see a man at the end of the way, blocking your exit.

He was a sharp dressed man, black suit crisp as he leaned against the cool shaded bricks on the wall, hands in his pockets, regarding you with a cool but intrigued gaze. There was something... off about him, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on as your magic buzzed in you with warning.

“Hello there,” he said casually, pushing himself up off the wall and strolling towards you, hands still in his pockets. He didn’t look threatening, but there was something in his eyes that made you want to run, but where?

“H-Hello,” you got out, not doing well to pretend you weren’t scared as the man smirked at you. There was a lot of times over the past year where you wished you didn’t have magic, this however, wasn’t one of them. You’d never used your power on another person before, but the more scared you got, the more you could feel it burning in your core, ready to burst out to defend you if needed.

“I’m Elijah,” he introduced himself, British accent clear as he slowly spoke the words. Was he expecting you to introduce yourself? Stranger Danger 101, you were not giving this man your name. He seemed to realise that when you didn’t respond, but he didn’t seem offended. “Very well, I apologise for startling you, but you looked like somebody I knew once.”

“We’ve never met,” you replied, you were sure you would have remembered this well dressed individual.

“No...” Elijah mused outloud, “no I suppose we haven’t, a relative maybe?” The only relative you knew in the city was your late grandmother, you supposed your mother had lived here, but not for the better part of 20 years.

“I don’t think so,” you answered, itching to get away. He seemed to register this, but he still seemed curious about you. What was this guys deal? You scrunched your fists at your side, palms warm with power, your fight or flight response sounding alarm bells in your head as your power threatened to spill out.

He took another step towards you, glancing down at your hands like he knew what was going on inside of you. Was that possible? You knew that you couldn’t be the only one in the world with power like this, but still...

“I have to go now,” you told him quickly, trying to simply quickly walk past him back to the crowded street, determined to get home as you regretted not just getting the bus with your siblings.

“On second,” he said, just as you passed him, hand reaching out to grab your arm. As you as he touched you, you exploded.

It happened so fast, one second you were trying to twist out of his grasp, the next a blast of energy had sent him down the street. Breathing heavily, your heart pounding in chest, you didn’t look back to see what you had just done, instead all but running out on the street and making your way back home.

What had you just done?

You made it home before your mom, ignoring your brothers questions about where you had been as you ran up the stairs two at a time and into your bedroom, slamming your door shut and locking it. Only when you heard your lock click into place did you let out a shaky breath and try to relax, leaning against the back of the door and sinking to the floor. Your mind was racing as you tried to process what had just happened.

Had you killed him? You didn’t think so, you hoped not, but he had provoked you, scared you, it had been out of your control the second he’d put his hand on your arm. What were you going to do now?

You groaned and wiped your hands over your face, exhausted and drained. You just needed to think. Reluctantly pulling yourself up you went into your bathroom to take a shower. Every bedroom in this house seemed to have it’s own bathroom, what your grandmother did alone in this place was beyond you.

The water was scolding as you slipped in, but you didn’t care, standing there for a long time as it poured down your face and body, eyes glued to your hands as you thought about the power they contained, the power you possessed.

Your eyes drifted to the pale blue wall tiles, you grandmother had had most of the house redecorated before she died, she’d been sick for a while apparently, but your mom had never told you any of that. This was the room she’d decorated for you, the one she’d instructed you to take in the will, and you had to admit, she’d done a damn good job of decorating it to your taste. Eerily good, considering you weren’t exactly doing much talking the one time you’d met her.

She’d left you a note too, on the bed when you’d entered. Old people rambling about how you had more potential than you realised, you were special and important and she wished she was there with you... You hadn’t thought much about it at first, but a part of you kept going back to those words in your mind, had she meant this? Had she known?

It seemed crazy, but there had been something not right about that man, Elijah, something cold and... not human? If he had known your grandmother, maybe he would have had more answers about what was going on with you?

With a sigh you finally turned off the water, drying yourself off as you thought about your grandmother alone in this big old house. As you did you walked over the creaky floorboard outside the bathroom door and paused, leaning back on your heel and making it squeek again. You shook your head, thinking you must be reading too much into everything that had happened to you. But as you stepped off of it and listened to it creak again you let out a defeated breath, what the hell, why not? You thought, kneeling down and prying at the sides of the board.

To your slight surprise it budged, were you really looking for hidden compartments in your room? But your grandmother had left it to you, if your suspicions about her were correct, maybe she’d left you more than you realised. She did, you realised as you got the board free, a dusty box beneath it. This was crazy.

Taking it out you set it on your dresser and got dressed, eyes barely leaving to box until you tentatively tried the latch, it didn’t have a lock on it so you carefully lifted up the old lid, revealing a leather bound book within. It looked like an old-timey journal as you slowly pulled it out, your magic buzzing at the touch. What was this?

You went to sit on your bed, book on your lap as you opened the first page, careful not to tear the pages as you did, it felt fragile but it was definitely well worn, the spine was basically coming apart. The language inside looked like it was mostly... Latin? Maybe, you hadn’t exactly studied it in school, but there were annotations in the margins in English, fresher than the original text, the handwriting appearing to match the writing in your grandmother’s letter.

The more you flipped through the pages, skimming passages and trying to understand illustrations, the more you thought this was a spellbook of some kind. You assumed that was a thing anyway, especially with your grandmother’s notes.

“Y/N!” A knock on your door had you slamming the book shut probably a little too hard and rushing to put it away, your mother calling you from the otherside.

“Yeah?” You called back, frantically trying to replace the floor board, barely managing to as she entered, uniform on as she look at you, on your knees n the floor. “Dropped by earring,” you lied with ease and she believed you, it’s not like she’d have believed the truth anyway.

“I’ll have dinner ready in 20, okay?” She smiled and you nodded, standing back up, “how was school?”

“Eh same old,” you told her, deliberately not mentioning your strange encounter with Elijah, she’d freak out if she knew, and you didn’t want her involved in any of this.

“Okay, could you set the table when you come down?” She asked and you nodded again, more than eager for her to leave your room.

She did after that and you breathed a sigh of relief, you couldn’t be doing any of this in the house, you’d go out into the woods again with the book tomorrow, maybe it was time for a new approach to your magical problem. You just hoped the answers you were looking for had been right under your nose, or feet, the entire time.

It was a quiet morning as you made your way down the familiar walkway into the woods, switching into autopilot as you stepped over the roots and stones you had been avoiding nearly everyday for the better part of a year.

You’d tried to sleep last night, but your mind was wide awake, thoughts of that book swirling around in your mind until you finally caved and switched on your lamp, reading through the pages until you’d eventually fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, book in hand.

It had been eye opening. Vampires, werewolves, witches... well, you were a witch then, but the fact that the others existed too was nearly too much, your brain becoming so overloaded with new information you barely thought was possible. You’d fallen asleep at a chapter on New Orleans, the different factions there and information on the ‘Original Family’ that had once ruled, the name Elijah Mikaelson had caught your eye, was it the same Elijah you’d met yesterday? It would explain a few things, but it didn’t exactly make you feel any better.

You made it to the area you had been the previous morning, the fallen tree a reminder that you really needed to get your powers under control. You sat on the stump you’d been trying to blast yesterday and pulled the book out of your bag, a torn piece of homework bookmarking a page with a spell you’d decided to test out. It seemed simple enough, and this far into the woods you only had to worry about the damage to the trees, which was nothing new when it came to your magic.

Leaving the book open on the correct page you stood back up, focusing your breathing as you held out your hands, facing the fallen tree as you reached down into that familiar well of power. But instead of firing blindly like you usually did, you now had a spell that you hoped would at least concentrate the energy.

“Motus,” you said when you were ready, feeling your power blast out of your hands, absolutely shattering the tree you had previously felled... along with a handfull of others in the vacinity.

“No, no, no,” you muttered. It hadn’t worked, you’d just wanted to hit the one tree, now what were you supposed to do?

You were so lost in your thoughts you hadn’t noticed that you weren’t alone, jumping and whirling around when you heard a twig snap behind you. Suddenly you found yourself face to face with Elijah.

“Impressive, uncontrolled and reckless, but impressive nonetheless,” he commented, standing there in a suit as crisp as he had worn yesterday, seemingly unaffected by the blast you’d sent into his chest at your previous encounter.

“How...?” You stammered, looking around to see where he had come from all of a sudden, what your grandmother’s book had said about Elijah the Original ringing in your mind as you faced him.

“I’m a vampire,” he told you, waiting for your reaction, “so you know what I am then?” He asked when you didn’t flinch.

“I did some reading last night,” you said honestly and he glanced down at where you’d left the book open on the tree stump, recognition flashing in his eyes.

“I can see that,” he noted, wandering over to the book. You wanted to stop him as he reached it, but your feet were firmly planted. What did he want now? “My apologies for yesterday by the way, you just looked so much like your grandmother that I let my curiosity get the better of me, I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“How did you know her?” You asked and he smiled, like he was thinking of fond memories.

“She was one of the oldest witches in New Orleans, most went to her for guidance, she had a gift of sight you see, I went to her from time to time as well, her passing was tragic,” he explained, “how long have you known?”

“Well I found the book yesterday so since then really,” you admitted.

He looked at you in confusion, “but you powers...?”

“Yeah I’ve had those since I moved here, but I never really knew what they were, or how to use them,” you elaborated.

“I can see that,” he said with a nod to the destruction behind you. You looked down sheepishly, embarrassed by your lack of control after so long.

“You know, your grandmother had the same problem,” he began, your head shooting back up to face him, finding that very hard to believe after what he’d just told you about her. “It’s true,” he insisted, noting your hesitation to believe him, “the witches in your family are born with an immense amount of power, more than most could handle, which is why she wore this, to channel that energy and take control,” as he finished he held out his hand, an amulet dropping from it.

“What is that?” You asked him, drawn closer by the power radiating from the small half moon hanging from his index finger. It looked old, but it also felt oddly familiar in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“It belonged to your ancestors, passed down from generation to generation since before my family even reached these shores in the early 18th century, your grandmother gave it to me for safe keeping, so it could be given to you,” he told you and you shelved the comment about the 18th century away for another time, your eyes unable to leave the amulet as Elijah held out his hand, offering it to you.

“Can I?” You reached out for it slowly and he nodded, letting you take it. It felt cold in your palm, so different from the heat you always felt when you were using your power. Elijah offered to fasten it for you and he did, a sense of calm and clarity washing over you as soon as he fastened the clasp and stepped back.

“Try it now,” he suggested and it took you a second to realise he meant the spell. You swallowed, here went nothing.

Turning until you found a target you held out your hand, your well of magic seemingly contained by the amulet, a smaller opening available to you now as you whispered, “motus,” and sent a beam of energy into a nearby tree branch.

Usually, the whole tree would have been blown apart at least, but you your surprise and delight, only the branch was sent flying off. You’d done it.

Smiling you turned back to Elijah, “thank you,” you breathed, hand going to the amulet around your throat.

“Of course, I gave your grandmother my word that I’d help you when the time came, but I’ll admit, family matters kept me from even checking to see if you’d arrived in the city,” he admitted, “for that I’m sorry, but if you’d let me, I’d like to help you now, it’s the least I could do for your grandmother.”

Although you barely knew this strange man, this vampire, he seemed genuine and it’s not like you really had many other options. So you straighten up and nodded. “Where do we begin?”

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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[UR] Slavo the Insatiable Hunter (by The Bratislava Intruder)

Slavo was on a mission. Slavo was on a quest. Slavo had plans, and plans demanded action.

Slavo worked hard, though almost everyone who knew him by sight would readily disagree. Slavo was a creature of habit, a man of routine, regular as clockwork and dependable as the rising of the sun. Well, almost. For Slavo’s putting in his appearance at his places of employment each day was in itself every bit the miracle the dawn is to both the religiously devout and the unshakably atheistic alike. You could set your watch by Slavo, not to mention count your lucky stars.

Slavo’s day began at the Apollo Business Centre, bright and early, and despite his carriage there being his feet, he arrived before a great many of the polished chrome alloy-wheeled cum deskbound had turned up for their morning coffee and tentative first glance at their awaiting e-mails galore.

From Apollo, his next appointment was at Karadzicova and the towering edifices of the CBC and VUB. Banks were important to Slavo and many a time he had acted as an adviser and mentor to those employed at such an establishment, often helping them arrive at the most agreeable decisions of their professional lives.

The shopping centres were high priority too, especially Eurovea, and his engagements took him to the finer hotels in addition to many business establishments before his work was finally over for the day. And then, of course, there were bus stops, so many bus stops, and even the new laws surrounding them did not stop them being the bounty they so often were. Even then, Slavo was an opportunist investor, a man with a nose for fortune and opportunity, and a tireless devotee to making each day pay. He was ever on the lookout for the next chance to come his way.

He was well-recognised as he went about his daily business. Sometimes this recognition even earned him a bonus. A few regulars with a similar habit as him – in one sense, at least – would donate to his cache, others would be so disturbed by what they saw that they would immediately be forthcoming with examples of what he was after, though it never succeeded in stopping him going though all the motions that bought their disgust in the first place. Time to time people might even say something to him like ‘Have you any idea what you could catch from doing that?’ But Slavo reasoned that if he was doing what he was doing then the kind of thing they were warning him about was dwarfed by other dangers and risks.

As he sidled up to the Crowne Plaza, he saw a golden opportunity suddenly present itself and he homed in quick to take full advantage before anyone could thwart his plans. A suited important-looking businessman of one sorry kind or another (Slavo had never noticed a happy-looking one) was engaged in a conversation on his cell phone that was clearly raising his temperature and further spoiling his mood.

Impatiently spitting vexations into the mouthpiece, along with smoke he no longer noticed he was inhaling or exhaling, he exhibited an impatience which all so often served Slavo well. Almost literally stamping his feet, the suit cast his final staccato aspersions, terminated the call, threw the still smouldering half-smoked tab into the free-standing ashtray outside the hotel’s entrance, and stormed into the lobby ready to punch the free market world on the nose.

He did not even catch a peripheral glimpse of Slavo, who might as well have not existed as far as the suit was concerned, but Slavo picked up his spat-spittle-wet half-spent black lung from where it landed and immediately took a long firm drag, checking the brand as he did so. Unbelievable. Gitanes. Strong, French and expensive. This was a real find. Slavo held the smoke in his lungs, its relative strength causing him to hack, and involuntarily coughed the grey-white plumes out into the air.

Managing to regain enough composure to finish the cigarette, he did so in as savouring a manner as he could manage, tasting, inhaling deeply, holding the smoke in his ravaged lungs. But all too soon, as it always was with even the full virginal unstarted offerings he too seldomly came across, the lung dart had burned down to the filter, to become something that actually truly belonged in an ashtray and no good whatsoever to the likes of Slavo anymore. He tossed it onto the ashtray’s holed lid where it disappeared through one of the openings. Then he lifted the lid off the ashtray’s bowl, seeing what it had to offer forth in its fertile environment beneath.

Disappointingly, after a good sift through the lipstick-stained and crumpled remnants of gaspers sitting in clumps of ash, he managed to salvage only two butts with enough meat left on them to be turned into refries. Cursing under his breath, he slid the holed lid back into place just at the moment a managerial looking employee came shambling toward him intimidatingly.

‘Clear off, you’ve been told! I warned you I didn’t want to see you back here again!’

Slavo looked at the pressed-trousered and tailored jacket wrapped cloud of thunder quickly closing the distance between them. Yet he did not flinch or take a step away from the oncoming wannabe evictor. Slavo had not bathed in what must have been a year. The clothes he wore, which were filthy when he found them, had never been washed. His grime-encrusted features and aggressive hum acted as protection, as they often did for the homeless, ensuring the hotelier pulled up short and kept a prudent distance out of fear of contamination, not to mention disgust. ‘Can’t say I ever want to see your face again either,’ he responded, and pocketed his findings as he slouched off under his own steam.

His next port of call was the bus stop at the technicka univerzita. Students were invariably smokers, at least at some point in their academic lives. And students were rebellious enough and determined to impress their peers enough that they disregarded the smoking ban now imposed at bus stops. And when the student’s bus came and he was not done with his cancer stick, what was he supposed to do but toss it onto the ground by where he waited?

After a good rooting around like a sniffer dog picking up scent, Slavo struck gold with a halfie, as well as three butts with long enough stubs to render them worthy of collection.

People might wonder why Slavo did not just ask for cigarettes or beg and scrimp his takings enough to buy a pouch of the cheapest rolling weed he could find. But, although he had been known to err as far as the first method was concerned, begging or buying his smokes were not really his style. For one, plenty refused to give up one of their stogies and this did not make him feel any better about his situation. He preferred the non human engagement method of mining smokers’ oases and feeling the sense of satisfaction and achievement the times he did come up with the goods. Also, Slavo’s history and future prospects were such that he chose to spend as little time as possible thinking about either.

He was a man who lived in the moment in a world obsessed by anything but the present, unless it was fleeting vacuous fads. Slavo needed to keep busy, to focus, to occupy himself as the hunter he was, this was his way of being in the zone, keeping the demons that had been and would come at bay.

As the day wound its way though its cycle, and the workers and shoppers of Bratislava treadmilled their repetitive way through theirs, Slavo’s path took him across the Danube to Aupark, where he took it upon himself to help the staff of McDonalds pick up around the outdoor seating what their diners had left behind. Sitting at one of the tables there, wiping the ketchup smears from their faces and wanting a nicotine fix to destroy what scant vitamins their meal had contained as they washed it down with plastic cups of arabica, Matej and Lenka discovered they only had but one cigarette between them. ‘I’ll go inside to the tabak and buy some fresh ones,’ announced Matej.

As he was doing that, leaving Lenka to sip her coffee and wait in the sunshine, she spotted Slavo with a small handful of part-smoked cigarette ends in one grimy hand. As she continued her morbid appraisal, she saw him spy another, smile to himself, then deposit the saliva-dampened, semi-smoked fag ends he had picked up off the ground in his filthy jacket pocket. She half expected him to come over and ask her for a whole smoke or some spare coins, but he disappeared in the direction of the park, possibly to smoke the bounty he had just found.

Matej returned, fresh from having handed over his money to Philip Morris, a regular sponsor of the tobacco giant and the untold death and suffering they caused every day. As he reclaimed his seat, he noticed a shiver pass down Lenka’s spine.

‘You are cold?’ he asked, incredulously.

‘No, no. It’s just that I saw this guy.’

‘What guy?’ asked Matej, as he handed Lenka a Marlboro which she promptly put in her mouth.

‘A guy picking up cigarette ends off the ground,’ she spoke around the cigarette.

Matej leaned forward and gave her a light.

’And then he put them in his pocket.’

Matej lit his own Marlboro. ‘In his pocket?’ he asked. He took a swallow of coffee, leaned his head back, and exhaled a white lingering cloud. ‘Man,’ he said, ‘some people are disgusting.’

If you liked the story, enjoy all my The Bratislava Intruder stories at https://royaldirties.com/author/dale/

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