#kiry;literally notorious for happy endings: he's a client nothing more teehee

[kirythestitchwitch]

assassin!Klaus/fence!Caroline au - Girl, buy a clue: he is flirting!

He was taking too long. Caroline did her best not to fidget, a bad tell at the best of times, but he brought it out in her. His careful hands–hands that could have belonged to a musician or maybe a sculptor–kept touching things and despite the gloves he wore, she would have to take a Lysol wipe to the knives after he left. 

That was hardly a logical response but Klaus Mikaelson brought that out in her.

Sliding a knife from the velvet cloth they were kept rolled in when tucked out of sight, Klaus tested the weight of it in his hand. “You always have such an eye for a well-crafted blade.” The blue of his eyes was warm as he looked at her sidelong across the knife. “I appreciate you opening your private stock to me on such short notice.”

Caroline crossed her arms. “Well, you did promise to make it worth my while. Where’s this chip?” She made her voice sound skeptical out of habit. Annoyingly, Klaus had always come through on a promise, and he wasn’t likely to start being flaky now.

A sly little smile lingered around his mouth as he slid two fingers into an inner pocket of his casual yet stylish coat and pulled on the ends of a loop of bright blue ribbon. Soon a necklace slipped free and Klaus held it out towards her, like a temptation. Caroline hesitated a moment, then put out her hand for him to drop the necklace into. It pooled in her hand, slightly warm from being next to his skin, ribbon a satin tease against her fingers.

It was a locket, blue and white enamel forget-me-nots on the lid studded with tiny diamonds. The ribbon ended in a necklace clasp. Victorian, excellently cared for, and worth a pretty penny all on its own, the necklace shown in the lights of her cozy outer showroom. She could think of several buyers in the jewelry market who would coo over this, despite the lack of original chain.

“It’s very pretty,” she allowed, prying it open to reveal a Micro SD card inside where a picture probably once resided. Gingerly, she plucked it out of the necklace. “Are you looking to sell it?” Snapping it closed, Caroline wiggled it in her hand, yes or no.

“Sell? No. It’s a bit of a momento, you see.” Klaus set the knife back down on the velvet.

“Pity.” With an underhand throw, she tossed the locket back to him, and he predictably snatched it out of the air. From behind the counter she stood behind, she pulled out a tablet and pressed the SD card into a slot in the side. Tapping her finger on the screen, she opened up the password prompt from the predictably encrypted chip.

“Don’t suppose you’ll give me the password?” She joked, starting to turn the tablet towards him.

“Caroline,” he said simply, and she paused, waiting. After a moment, he clarified. “That’s the password. ‘Caroline.’”

She stared at him for a moment, face turning inexplicably rosey. “That’s a terrible password. Someone could brute-force hack that in like five minutes.” 

Klaus looked extremely amused at this. “They’d have to take it off my person first, and after you kill the first dozen professional pickpockets, the rest tend to get the message. Still, there is the occasional stupid young one.”

Caroline shot him an appalled look as she turned the tablet back around to face her. “Please tell me you aren’t killing every teenager that tries to pickpocket you on the subway?” The mayor would have to declare another Son of Sam.

He shrugged unconcernedly. “A broken wrist seems to suffice as a deterrent,” he replied, as if he and that Ducati he had parked in the alleyway outside her showroom had any passing acquaintance with the subway. You probably couldn’t open her up in the city–although something told her that Klaus didn’t give much of a damn about speed limits–but maybe he got out of the city and let her go on the highways out of New York. She absolutely, positively, did not wish he would take her with him and let her feel that wind in her hair, nope.

Having those types of thoughts–or any others about Klaus–were off-limits. He was a client, nothing more.