She trudged through the hordes of drunk people, every once in a while a spatter of beer or other liquor stained her white shirt. New Orleans came to life at night, but Odette came to life during the day, when she worked and studied and did everything else outside of her tiny house. Coming home was always a bit of a mess, she'd have to traverse long streets and wear mace on her keychain, she would hold the individual keys between her finger as makeshift brass knuckles.

But the music, she lived for the music. That feeling of a city being an actual being was more true here than anywhere. The jazz coming from the doors of bars collided in the streets and into Odette's ears, creating a chaotic symphony that she loved more than anything. It made the dark and forsaken corners of Bourbon street seem a little bit less forsaken, more approachable. Alive.

"I'm putting the keys into my door right now, I promise." She turned the key as she spoke to Camille on the other side, her worrisome friend who tried her best to keep her safe.

"Don't make fun of me for worrying!" Odette laughed as she stepped over the threshold and dumped her keys on the cabinet in the hall.

"Why do you think I'm making fun?" her accent was so horrifically British, especially against Cami's New Orleans one. She stepped through the door and into the chaos of her tiny living room, there were vinyl's all over the floor and walls, a small second hand piano had been shoved into the only unoccupied corner available. The couches were ratty and old, Odette had never felt like replacing them. And books, study books and reading books and coffee table books, they were all there. Shoved into the space between the couch cushions, on every single shelf, on the kitchen counters. Really, a fire hazard.

"Because living in Bourbon street is all fun and games, until the drunks come out to play. Which is, always." Odette laughed at this and hung her coat over a large arm chair.

"I'm fine, the door is reinforced." Odette confirmed this by closing the multiple locks on her blue door, hearing the satisfying clicks of the locks closing. This house had been in the family since forever, it was small but prime real estate, right in Bourbon street. Odette stepped up the tiny, steep stairs and onto the second and last floor. There were two bedrooms there, but one of them was being used as storage since there was no attic to put away her things. The bathroom was big enough to fit in a shower, sink and toilet, but wouldn't fit anything more.

"Well then, see you tomorrow?" Odette nodded as she looked into the cracked mirror, she only worked the day shift at Rousseau's and would often only see Camille as they switched shifts.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow." She hung up the phone and let her finger follow the cracks in the mirror, watching her face change as she stared into her own eyes.  It was a ritual of sorts.

She splashed water into her face and counted the bruises on her skin, only three today, not as bad as expected.

The balcony was the best part of the house, just outside Odette's 'master' bedroom were two large doors that opened onto it. She had decorated it with plants and little lights that shone so brightly in the store that she knew she needed them. A small table with a parasol and matching chair. And next to those, her pride and joy, a vintage record player that she had inherited from her grandparents. She would sit here for hours in the summer, when she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, just staring into the night, listening to the ever lasting music. But she hadn't been there much lately, so busy with the rest of her life that there was no time left to count the stars.  She sat down on the chair and heard it creak beneath her, just a confirmation that she had sat down on its bones. The lights on the other side of the street were still on, most of the time they were already dimmed at this hour, but Odette didn't mind peeking into another's life.

Then, the doors to the balcony opened and someone she didn't expect emerged from them. She had seen the man who lived there before, with his dark skin, head without hair and broad shoulders, they would play music for each other, loud enough so the other side could hear it on their own little balcony. They never really spoke however, it was Camille who grabbed his attention.

This man was pale, his hair a dirty blonde and he was scrawnier than Marcel. He leaned over the balustrade, his hand tightly curled around the wood, a frown on his face that Odette could only just read from over here.  He looked ancient and young at the same time, an enigma of a man, that he was.  She changed her position in the chair and immediately the man's eyes were on hers. Never again would she be unaware of what it felt like to have his eyes on hers, the intensity of it all, the feeling that you truly were the only two people in the universe.

"Hi there," she said, not knowing what else to do. She was certain he could hear her just fine, their balconies weren't far apart at all.  But, he didn't respond, only made his grip on the wood he was holding tighter.

"Are you Marcel's friend?" that might get him to answer, a solid question, yes or no.

He just laughed instead of answering and turned towards her, so she could really see his face as he did hers.

"The opinions might differ on that one, love."

"You're English!" excitement shot through the air like a lightning bolt.

"Opinions don't differ on that one." He grimaced as he looked at her, her face almost covered by the many lights spun across her balcony.

"Are you staying with Marcel?"

"No love, Marcel is staying with me."

She frowned, "I haven't seen you here before, I think I would have noticed."

"I was.. away. Marcel was housesitting for all it matters. I only moved back in today."

Odette sat forward in her chair, "so, what is your name, stranger on the balcony?"

"Klaus Mikaelson."

"That's quite a Scandinavian name for a Brit."

"Ancestors," he said as he checked and twirled with his watch.

"Mikaelson. It means son of Mikael, does it not?"

Klaus cringed on the other side and turned around to face the doors, he could look inside of the compound this way, past the ragged curtains.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

He shrugged and turned back around to look her way again, "You didn't."

"Family troubles?"

"You could say so."

She laughed, "you're not a man of many answers."

"Maybe, you're just a woman of many questions."

"Or, both ring true." Her voice was silky smooth, and he could just see the bright of her hair past the many lights in front of her face.

"I'm Odette. Odette Williamson."

She watched him smirk as she said her last name, "son of William, is it?"

In return, she laughed at his comment, "Hardly a son."

"Odette. Like the swan princess."

"The one and only." This was the perfect moment to light a cigarette, but she had promised herself to quit. So instead, she messed with the hair tie on her wrist, snapping against the sensitive skin and protruding veins. The sound echoed through bourbon street.

"Would you like to hear a song, Klaus Mikaelson?" her hand reached for the record player and the vinyl she had prepared the night before, chosen especially for Marcel. Klaus could hear it too.

"A good offer." He responded, he could now see the side of her face as she bent over the player on the small table next to her, he could see the beginnings of a smile and the length of her hair.

"It's not for nothing."

"What would you like in return, Odette Williamson?"

"A song. It's an exchange of sorts, business as usual." Her face turned and Klaus could feel her crawl inside of his heart. Her short brown hair, her button nose, her hazel eyes.

"What kind of song?" he asked her as he looked around the balcony. And indeed, in the corner stood a record player, next to it an old cardboard box filled with the things.

"It hardly matters, does it? Any song will do." He nodded as he looked through the album covers.

He heard the sound of a needle hitting the record, that scratchy sound that anyone would recognize. Then, a melody that was old and melancholic. A voice so sad and raw that it cut through Klaus's defenses.

He watched her as he listened, the sound of that voice mixed with the people walking around Bourbon Street and he realized, that he hadn't even noticed there were people there while he spoke to her.

In return, he gave her happiness in the form of song, 'someday my prince will come' by Miles Davis. She smiles as she heard the familiar first tones and kept smiling throughout the entire nine minutes it played. When it ended, she looked at him as she turned her lights off.

"Send my best to Marcel."

"I might."

"Well, either way. Goodnight, Klaus."

"Goodnight, Odette."