self_inflictedexhile | tvd / nysm } { the salvatore school for the young and gifted

tvd / nysm } { the salvatore school for the young and gifted

Nestled just on the outskirts of the tiny town of Mystic Falls, Virginia is the Salvatore School for the Young and Gifted. As far as most of the town is concerned, the school is exactly how it's marketed - a boarding school for rich and gifted students - but a few are aware of it's real origins.

A school for young supernatural students, so that they can grow up somewhere where they didn't have to hide.

The headmaster is actually much older than she looks, having not aged a day since she was seventeen, but she's learned to dress herself up to fit the part. Her long hair is swept up into an elegant twist, her pant suit is perfect and polished, and her makeup is appropriately adult. Still, there's not a lot that can hide the youthfulness of her features no matter how hard she tries.

She's standing at the front of the school, watching as the car pulls up in front before flashing the man who arrives a bright smile and wave. Once he emerges from the car, she waves and makes her way closer to shake his hand.

"Mr. Rhodes. Welcome to the Salvatore School."

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She tries to think back and see if that name had come up in any of her textbooks, but unfortunately she comes up empty. She's really hoping he isn't one of her father's old enemies, because she's had enough of those to last a lifetime.

"No, I haven't."

"Alright, uh," he starts, raking his tongue over his teeth, "how about a coven that calls themselves the Eye of Horus?" That might be more her speed, he thinks. The Eye's not likely to have come up in any books -- or at least not any the school is teaching out of -- but still.

Her eyes light up at the other name. Fortunately for her, school isn't the only thing she has to work with - she also has a really old aunt who's been bouncing up against magic societies on and off for a thousand years.

"Wait, I've heard of them. My aunt says they expose hypocrites? Or people who take advantage of those in need?"

"Little of both," he answers, making a so-so gesture. There's more to the Eye and what they do, but that's close enough. That she knows a little of their mission statement is more than most people, and honestly, all he needs is to know that she knows of them, period. The finer details are largely unimportant.

"But uh," he continues after a beat, "Lionel Shrike was a witch, who was part of the Eye." Also a werewolf, but like hell he's supplying that, if she doesn't know that the Eye's reclaimed their magic through the curse. Let her think his mother was the one he inherited his werewolf genes from. "He was a good man, a competent witch, and he made his living working as a stage magician. Most of his tricks were more than just illusion."

He brought magic, brought wonder to people outside the supernatural.

He'll also take a moment to let her absorb that before he continues. He wonders if she can figure out where this is going before he states it explicitly.

Her eyebrow raises because it's not unfamiliar to her. Some witches are bigger showmen than others. Especially when you grow up in a place like New Orleans, where the tourists eat it up like candy.

"I've known witches like that. I grew up in the French Quarter." She smiles. "He must have put on a pretty good show."

"He did," Dylan confirms, nodding. Another pause follows, as he tries to find the most direct route through the next part of this summary of his father's life and death, and then he tries, "It was his life, too. And then some human magic debunker named Thaddeus Bradley went and fucked it all up.

"He exposed Lionel's tricks -- or though he did, anyway. Bradley gave away what he thought were the secrets behind what he did, and while it was bullshit, Lionel couldn't exactly defend himself." Not without giving away the fact that real magic's was a thing, if people even believed that in the first place. He knows how easy it is for humans to just write things off, albeit probably if only so their heads don't explode. He really doesn't blame them.

"It took Shrike a couple years, but finally, he thought he figured it out," he continues, once he gets a handle on the wash of feelings tied to -- all of this, really. "He planned a big comeback, came up with a big trick that would put him back in the spotlight -- something that Bradley couldn't disprove or whatever.

"It would've been great, if it hadn't gone south. He drown in a safe at the bottom of the East River."

Her face softens, because if there's anything that hits home for Hope Mikaelson, it's losing a parent. Her parents are dead, but they died trying to save her life. She can't imagine what it would be like to lose a parent to hubris the way Dylan did.

"I'm sorry. That must have been awful."

"It was a long time ago," Dylan tells her, deflecting. It was awful, a trauma that consumed most of his adult life and still does, even if it's been taken care of. That's not the point, though; he's not trying to dick measure pain with her. It's more, "I just -- kids talked a lot of shit about my dad, growing up."

It's more than he understands. He can sympathize. That's what he's getting at.

She nods, and she appreciates the understanding. She's not sure it's the same, a failed magic trick versus the biggest bogeyman of the last thousand years, but she appreciates that he relates, if nothing else.

"It's just hard, sometimes. For them to not see him the way you saw him." And rightfully so, because Klaus did terrible things, but he's still her father. He died for her. She can't ignore that any more than she can ignore his flaws.

It's not exactly the same, no, but still. Still. Would anyone else even be able to empathize, even remotely? Would anyone else even try, all things considered?

"He was your dad," he says, understanding. "You got to see a -- a softer side of him, than most people did."

She nods because she did. But she also saw the violence too. She saw the monster. She has no delusions about who her father was, she was just glad that she got to see the whole picture.

"He died for me. So did my mom. I try to make that worth it, but I'm not sure they would agree with the way I'm going about it."

Fighting monsters, trying to be the hero. Not just wasting it away on useless things like prom or dates or being the teenager that she's supposed to be.

"I don't know what you're supposed to be doing -- " He doesn't know what her parents would consider 'worth it.' " -- but if you're doing the best you can, I think they'd be proud, either way."

He would be. He hopes his father's proud of him, where ever he ended up when he died.

Her parents would consider just existing and living her life worth it. Hope is the one who's the overachiever here. In fact, her father only wants her to find peace, but she's not really sure that's ever going to be possible.

She nods with a small smile. "That's what Ms. Tig says too. The guidance counselor."

Dylan snorts, not sure how he feels about being compared to a guidance counselor, of all people. Despite that, though, after a beat, he shrugs. "She's not wrong. Most people -- most parents just wanna see their kids happy and healthy."

She's amused at his response, to say the least, but she nods in acknowledgement because he's not wrong. "Yeah, I know. My mom especially wouldn't want me taking all of this on my shoulders. But I guess part of me still feels like I have something to prove."

Don't all teenagers? Turns out they both get to be amused by the other. He, too, nods in response, however, before he promises, "You'll get there."

He takes a moment following to study her, that said, and then, after a surreptitious glance towards the door and at length, offers, "Keep another secret?" A real secret, not just some story about his father.

She raises an eyebrow because she can sense a different tenor to this secret. Something that makes it real, and not just him telling her stuff that's easy to find.

"Sure. I'm like a vault."

For all that he wasn't sure he was going to give this one away so easily, a few minutes ago, something's made him rethink that -- maybe it's the fact that he wants Hope to really understand that he's not just blowing smoke up her ass. Maybe it because he needs her to know she's really not alone, that he's not that out of touch, trying to match their experiences up when they're nothing alike. He understands better than she thinks, and that in mind, after a second more of hesitation, he holds a hand out in front of him, palm up, dramatically.

Nodding to his fingers, the gesture largely for show -- nothing up his sleeve -- he curls his hand into a fist. He holds there for a beat, the feel of magic wrapping around him, at odds with the fact that he's supposedly just a werewolf, not a witch, and when he opens his hand again, there's a fireball sitting in his palm. He smiles at it, her, the expression soft.

"You're not the only one who gets what it's like to kinda -- kinda be a child of two worlds or whatever." He may not be vampire, too, on top of witch and werewolf, but still.

Technically Hope's not a vampire yet either. She has to die for that to happen, and she's not looking to do that anytime soon. There are some fringe benefits, like healing, but none of the downsides, like having to feed on human blood and being dead.

That being said, her eyes still widen when she sees him do magic. It's hard not to feel that kind of kinship, even without them being family.

"How? Were one of your parents a witch or something?"

Dylan shakes his head, albeit faintly. "My dad was like me. Like this."

A werewolf who could do magic. He nods to the fireball, still in hand, before closing his fingers around it, dousing it. As he leans back into the desk again, he continues, "The pack we both belonged to? We, uh -- we might've figured out how to reclaim our magic."

"Huh."

In some ways it makes sense. The original seven werewolf bloodlines were witches too. The stripping of their magic was part of their curse. But there's something about seeing him do it that makes her feel a little less alone.

"Honestly, I'm not sure any of the wolves here would want magic on top of everything else, but ... that's kind of cool. That there were packs out there that managed to figure it out."

"Probably not, but -- " But there are plenty of adult werewolves who might just be power hungry enough to start kidnapping people from the Eye, if and when they found out they'd reclaimed their magic. But there are plenty of witches or vampires who would see them as threats, having their magic back, and start putting them down, one by one. But " -- but you can see why we keep it a secret."

He hopes.

She nods. If anyone understands secrets it's Hope Mikaelson. "I'll keep it to myself." She rubs one arm gently, before tipping her head to the side. "But do you think it would be okay if I met them sometime?"

Dylan's quick to pop one shoulder in a shrug.

He might have to sell them on the fact that she's a Mikaelson, considering her father is the literal bogeyman, but it'll be worth it, he thinks. She could use a whole group of people, who understand what it's like to be the children of two worlds. They could use the chance to get to know her, who's as much supernatural royalty as he is, if not more so -- they could use the chance to get to know the future of the community.

"I don't see why not," he tells her, that in mind. "We'll have to work something out, with school and everything, but." But he can introduce her to the Horsemen or take her by the Archives or both.

She knows the fact that she's a Mikaelson could have been an issue, but she's hoping that making friends in these places might help indicate that she's not her father. She may share his rage and some of his darkness, but she's doing her best to control it and do better.

To be the hero, not the villain.

"I don't always go home for breaks. Christmas is out because Aunt Freya will kill me if I miss the Christmas bonfire, but spring break or summer I can do."

tvd / nysm } { the salvatore school for the young and gifted

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