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(no subject)
Klaus sleepily leans forward to press his helmeted head between Dave's shoulder blades. He's pretty sure no matter how long he has to go on in this war, he will never be a morning person. He can hear Dave laughing at him, but it doesn't inspire him to do more than whine at his fate. The 173rd Airborne Division is to head out from the base at Khe Sanh, off on some supposedly uber-important recon mission thing. Or at least they were told it's uber-important, odds are against it actually coming to anything. For some damn reason that means getting up at the asscrack of dawn and waiting for a chopper at the flattened top of Hill 689.
Klaus is unamused. Turns out the army doesn't care.
Rude.
Klaus closes his eyes and listens to the soft conversation of his brothers around him, including the wise-cracking and gorgeously tasteless commentary from Sean Morrisey, newly dead at eighteen and incredibly salty about it. The kid isn't part of 173rd, but had figured out real quick that Klaus could see him, and pretty much refused to leave. Klaus was as okay with it as he could be - the kid was funny, and he chased off the worst of the dead Charlies.
As long as Klaus didn't look at him, everything was fine. Sean couldn't help how he was mangled. Probably. Whatever.
Jefferies is talking big about his many conquests while on leave. Klaus smirks - he heard otherwise, but since he can't actually cite his sources without looking like a lunatic (or, you know, more of a lunatic), he settles for just feeling smug. O'Leery is debating barbeque techniques with one of the newer guys, while polishing his Most Favorite Knife. It's decidedly unsettling and homelike all at the same time. Hopefully no one gets stabbed over sauce preferences. Chavez is showing anyone who will stand still long enough the picture he got of his little sister's newest kid. No one has yet had the balls to tell him that the kid looks a lot like a squashed tomato.
The early-morning fog makes everything damp, and has long-since made a mockery of his sartorial choices - turns out while a t-shirt and cut-off vest work well when the jungle is actually hot, it's decidedly unpleasant at the moment. Maybe the chopper ride will be more pleasant - at least then he can cuddle up to Dave under the excuse of tight quarters.
Speak of the devil - the low thump of chopper blades breaks through the underlying drone of insect life, and they all sharpen up a bit. There won't be much time for dallying once they're actually told to move. He can't actually see the chopper yet, but he's caught enough rides at this point that he can pretty accurately gauge from the sound where it is coming from.
That means he has eyes on when the glare of a rocket cuts through the fog, and is nearly blinded when it connects with the shopper, the resulting explosion deafeningly loud. He's already dragging Dave back, like it'd do something if there was a rocket aimed at them, before he can even think. There wasn't supposed to be Viet Cong anywhere near here, but isn't that just the way it is?
They don't go on patrol.
They do get orders to start digging trenches.
Turns out they're in for a siege.
Klaus is unamused. Turns out the army doesn't care.
Rude.
Klaus closes his eyes and listens to the soft conversation of his brothers around him, including the wise-cracking and gorgeously tasteless commentary from Sean Morrisey, newly dead at eighteen and incredibly salty about it. The kid isn't part of 173rd, but had figured out real quick that Klaus could see him, and pretty much refused to leave. Klaus was as okay with it as he could be - the kid was funny, and he chased off the worst of the dead Charlies.
As long as Klaus didn't look at him, everything was fine. Sean couldn't help how he was mangled. Probably. Whatever.
Jefferies is talking big about his many conquests while on leave. Klaus smirks - he heard otherwise, but since he can't actually cite his sources without looking like a lunatic (or, you know, more of a lunatic), he settles for just feeling smug. O'Leery is debating barbeque techniques with one of the newer guys, while polishing his Most Favorite Knife. It's decidedly unsettling and homelike all at the same time. Hopefully no one gets stabbed over sauce preferences. Chavez is showing anyone who will stand still long enough the picture he got of his little sister's newest kid. No one has yet had the balls to tell him that the kid looks a lot like a squashed tomato.
The early-morning fog makes everything damp, and has long-since made a mockery of his sartorial choices - turns out while a t-shirt and cut-off vest work well when the jungle is actually hot, it's decidedly unpleasant at the moment. Maybe the chopper ride will be more pleasant - at least then he can cuddle up to Dave under the excuse of tight quarters.
Speak of the devil - the low thump of chopper blades breaks through the underlying drone of insect life, and they all sharpen up a bit. There won't be much time for dallying once they're actually told to move. He can't actually see the chopper yet, but he's caught enough rides at this point that he can pretty accurately gauge from the sound where it is coming from.
That means he has eyes on when the glare of a rocket cuts through the fog, and is nearly blinded when it connects with the shopper, the resulting explosion deafeningly loud. He's already dragging Dave back, like it'd do something if there was a rocket aimed at them, before he can even think. There wasn't supposed to be Viet Cong anywhere near here, but isn't that just the way it is?
They don't go on patrol.
They do get orders to start digging trenches.
Turns out they're in for a siege.
(no subject)
The sound of the town waking up beneath them beats the sunrise. Klaus blinks awake, sprawled in the humid warmth in a shameless starfish. Warmer even then the air is the man sprawled beside (and kind of on top) of him. Turns out he can be devoted morning person, if mornings are like this.
He supposes that the odds of someone figuring out what he and Dave are up to on their little bouts of freedom is higher when they almost always disappear off together whenever the chance presents, but... right now he can't bring himself to care.
He's happy. Not the giddy euphoria that comes with drugs, or the grim satisfaction of knowing he managed to survive Daddy Hargreeves. No, this is just... simple. Steady.
He didn't think it could be like that.
Klaus carefully, slowly, hitches himself up on the bed. He knows Dave sleeps hard, and probably wouldn't rouse even if Klaus decided to bounce around like a jackrabbit, but... well. So he wants to be soft, so shoot him. Yes, they're in the middle of a war. Yes, they literally met while under attack. Yes, he's seen Dave fight, brutal and bloody and fierce.
But he wants to be soft, with this man. He wants to watch him sleep and feed him breakfast and give him long, lazy days full of little kindnesses. And Dave seems to want the same for him, which is still entirely mind-blowing. They've talked through long sleepless nights about the future they may not get to have - moving to the West Coast, buying some land with whatever pay they manage to dredge out of this, someplace that can just be the two of them without anyone else to question or judge.
Neither of them plan on going back to their previous lives. Klaus doesn't even hesitate. What is waiting for him back at the mansion? Judgement, scorn, unhappy ghosts, and according to Five the end of the world. Not exactly enticing. Sure, he might have a chance of escaping to Milliways, but as he's learned, that's not guaranteed.
Nah, he's staying. He's going to live here, in this time, with this man, and finally have a life worth living. Sorry not sorry, Five.
Dave stretches like a sleepy cat in his arms, and Klaus grins. He can't help himself. He boops Dave's nose, enjoying the half-awake scrunched nose that earns.
"Hey, handsome." Klaus coos, watching awareness creep across Dave's face.
"Hey yourself. Happy ten month anniversary, babe."
He supposes that the odds of someone figuring out what he and Dave are up to on their little bouts of freedom is higher when they almost always disappear off together whenever the chance presents, but... right now he can't bring himself to care.
He's happy. Not the giddy euphoria that comes with drugs, or the grim satisfaction of knowing he managed to survive Daddy Hargreeves. No, this is just... simple. Steady.
He didn't think it could be like that.
Klaus carefully, slowly, hitches himself up on the bed. He knows Dave sleeps hard, and probably wouldn't rouse even if Klaus decided to bounce around like a jackrabbit, but... well. So he wants to be soft, so shoot him. Yes, they're in the middle of a war. Yes, they literally met while under attack. Yes, he's seen Dave fight, brutal and bloody and fierce.
But he wants to be soft, with this man. He wants to watch him sleep and feed him breakfast and give him long, lazy days full of little kindnesses. And Dave seems to want the same for him, which is still entirely mind-blowing. They've talked through long sleepless nights about the future they may not get to have - moving to the West Coast, buying some land with whatever pay they manage to dredge out of this, someplace that can just be the two of them without anyone else to question or judge.
Neither of them plan on going back to their previous lives. Klaus doesn't even hesitate. What is waiting for him back at the mansion? Judgement, scorn, unhappy ghosts, and according to Five the end of the world. Not exactly enticing. Sure, he might have a chance of escaping to Milliways, but as he's learned, that's not guaranteed.
Nah, he's staying. He's going to live here, in this time, with this man, and finally have a life worth living. Sorry not sorry, Five.
Dave stretches like a sleepy cat in his arms, and Klaus grins. He can't help himself. He boops Dave's nose, enjoying the half-awake scrunched nose that earns.
"Hey, handsome." Klaus coos, watching awareness creep across Dave's face.
"Hey yourself. Happy ten month anniversary, babe."
(no subject)
The tent reeked of unwashed socks.
Not that camp odors were often wonderful, given they were in the middle of a jungle and there were weeks the rain just never let up, but this?
This was uncalled for.
They hadn't been under attack for a week, they had fresh water (wonder of wonders), they had soap, they had higher-ups who would be just pleased as punch to have something new to yell about, and yet. And Yet.
"Oh my God, Jefferies, that'd better not be you." Klaus calls out as he's nasally assaulted after a long hard day of being sober and running barbed wire and not getting any limbs blasted off (he's found, shocker, that being sober does wonders for his general odds of 'not stepping on a land mind and getting blown to bits'. Look, he doesn't trust that little girl upstairs not to send him back to go on existing as bits, okay?
His protests are echoed by those in his squad (though he took point, of course he did, you can't dramatically fling the tent flaps back when you're following, and goddamn did he earn a little dramatic flap flinging).
"Shut up, Hargreeves." The man of the hour retorts, a pudding-faced jerk who has only been in-country for a few weeks now, and who hasn't quite come to terms with the whole thing. That's fair, Klaus would agree, but he's pretty sure this guy has never had to fend for himself before, like, ever. It's tragic. The smell of his socks is extra tragic. Jefferies is just laying there on his cot, his socks a crusty nasty-ass mess, making the jungle air just that much more ripe. Ass.
"Man, I'm going to ball those up and make you eat them." Klaus threatens with a manic sort of grin, one that he's found works well both for getting people to suddenly become less curious about why he's so lucky sometimes in the field, and to completely throw Jefferies for a loop. Jefferies splutters in the most satisfying way, especially when no one speaks up for him to counter the threat. Look, they were all thinking the same thing, Klaus just gives zero shits and says these things.
"Like you could." Jefferies sniffs, ignoring the way the tent goes quiet. "Little pole-bean like you, what are you gonna do, huh?"
And look, of course they all take the mickey out of each other. They've all been shoved together a little too long, a bunch of disparate personalities all smushed together in this jungle hell. But here's the thing: They've been here together, for way too long. Sure, laugh as much as you want at the 'band of brothers' trope, but Klaus knows most of these guys better than his brothers. Certainly knows how they fight better than he'd know Luther or Diego, at this point.
Over there is Chavez, who is even more chatty than Klaus in the middle of a fight - the lunatic never shuts up, ever, they literally gagged the man once on a march and he'd still mumbled away to himself. Adrenaline's a hell of a drug.
And two cots down is Weber, the surest dead-eye shot Klaus has ever seen outside of Diego... and honestly, he's not sure he'd put his money on Diego in a fair competition. Having that guy in sniper position is one of the most reassuring things ever. He could probably even shoot mosquitos out of the air, if the Army would cover the ammunition cost.
Across the way is O'Leery, a compact little man who punches like a pile-driver, and has a disturbing fondness for knives. Like, he thought Diego was obsessed, but nah, this guy's got a thing. Klaus would dig for details, but he's a little afraid the man would dig back, with the pointy end first.
Klaus?
Klaus is known for fighting mean - ugly and vicious and giggling all the way down - both because it still cracks him up that he's the Hargreeves kid that ended up as a soldier, and it freaks out the VCs. Every little bit counts, right Daddio? Oh that's right, you're not dead yet. Whatever. It helps he learned his hand-to-hand skills almost before he could walk - they're ingrained enough to not require thought, and he learned to fight fearlessly before he could learn to be afraid of dying.
So when Jefferies, who hasn't yet exhibited much fighting skill beyond 'hasn't shot himself in the foot' and 'points his gun in the vaguely correct direction' gets mouthy, no one really wants to get in the way of that.
And Klaus knows that. Now, there's plenty of guys here Klaus has no interest in fighting. He tried O'Leery once, when they were both drunk and everything had seemed hilarious, but it turned out to be an epic amount of not worth it and a glorious black eye he'd worn for ages.
Those socks smell wretched. Klaus lets his grin slide a little wider, a little more unhinged, an stares, pointedly.
Jefferies, hearing a distinct lack of support from the rest of the tent, faced with a bare-chested, wild-haired man who won't stop grinning and who is edging closer, suddenly grows one (1) brain cell.
"Fine, Christ, I gotta do the wash anyway." He huffs, stuffing his feet into his boots (without checking them first, Klaus notes, stupid) and storming off. The tent erupts into jeers and hooting, the tension broken and the smell somewhat alleviated with the retreat. Klaus slouches to his cot and flops down, joined by Dave, who elbows him.
"Sarge would have had you digging latrines again." Dave notes, no longer trying to hide his laughter.
"Yeah, yeah, but that dip stick doesn't know it. Charlie won't have to hear us with that guy around, they can smell us from miles away. Anyway. HEY!" Klaus pitches his voice up, having learned how to be heard above a racket (having learned that people here want to hear him above a racket, sometimes). "Who's got the cards, anyway? I sweet-talked the kitchen staff out of some chocolate, and I wanna rob you all blind."
Klaus really isn't that good at cards when he isn't cheating, and the ghosts that hang around the tent wouldn't help him cheat on fellow soldiers anyway. Mostly he doesn't want to end up with a stash of slowly-melting chocolate that he has to deal with on his own, and this is the most expedient way of dishing it out.
And the most fun. Well. Second-most fun, but he's pretty sure he and Dave are the only ones into the most-fun option.
Their loss.
Not that camp odors were often wonderful, given they were in the middle of a jungle and there were weeks the rain just never let up, but this?
This was uncalled for.
They hadn't been under attack for a week, they had fresh water (wonder of wonders), they had soap, they had higher-ups who would be just pleased as punch to have something new to yell about, and yet. And Yet.
"Oh my God, Jefferies, that'd better not be you." Klaus calls out as he's nasally assaulted after a long hard day of being sober and running barbed wire and not getting any limbs blasted off (he's found, shocker, that being sober does wonders for his general odds of 'not stepping on a land mind and getting blown to bits'. Look, he doesn't trust that little girl upstairs not to send him back to go on existing as bits, okay?
His protests are echoed by those in his squad (though he took point, of course he did, you can't dramatically fling the tent flaps back when you're following, and goddamn did he earn a little dramatic flap flinging).
"Shut up, Hargreeves." The man of the hour retorts, a pudding-faced jerk who has only been in-country for a few weeks now, and who hasn't quite come to terms with the whole thing. That's fair, Klaus would agree, but he's pretty sure this guy has never had to fend for himself before, like, ever. It's tragic. The smell of his socks is extra tragic. Jefferies is just laying there on his cot, his socks a crusty nasty-ass mess, making the jungle air just that much more ripe. Ass.
"Man, I'm going to ball those up and make you eat them." Klaus threatens with a manic sort of grin, one that he's found works well both for getting people to suddenly become less curious about why he's so lucky sometimes in the field, and to completely throw Jefferies for a loop. Jefferies splutters in the most satisfying way, especially when no one speaks up for him to counter the threat. Look, they were all thinking the same thing, Klaus just gives zero shits and says these things.
"Like you could." Jefferies sniffs, ignoring the way the tent goes quiet. "Little pole-bean like you, what are you gonna do, huh?"
And look, of course they all take the mickey out of each other. They've all been shoved together a little too long, a bunch of disparate personalities all smushed together in this jungle hell. But here's the thing: They've been here together, for way too long. Sure, laugh as much as you want at the 'band of brothers' trope, but Klaus knows most of these guys better than his brothers. Certainly knows how they fight better than he'd know Luther or Diego, at this point.
Over there is Chavez, who is even more chatty than Klaus in the middle of a fight - the lunatic never shuts up, ever, they literally gagged the man once on a march and he'd still mumbled away to himself. Adrenaline's a hell of a drug.
And two cots down is Weber, the surest dead-eye shot Klaus has ever seen outside of Diego... and honestly, he's not sure he'd put his money on Diego in a fair competition. Having that guy in sniper position is one of the most reassuring things ever. He could probably even shoot mosquitos out of the air, if the Army would cover the ammunition cost.
Across the way is O'Leery, a compact little man who punches like a pile-driver, and has a disturbing fondness for knives. Like, he thought Diego was obsessed, but nah, this guy's got a thing. Klaus would dig for details, but he's a little afraid the man would dig back, with the pointy end first.
Klaus?
Klaus is known for fighting mean - ugly and vicious and giggling all the way down - both because it still cracks him up that he's the Hargreeves kid that ended up as a soldier, and it freaks out the VCs. Every little bit counts, right Daddio? Oh that's right, you're not dead yet. Whatever. It helps he learned his hand-to-hand skills almost before he could walk - they're ingrained enough to not require thought, and he learned to fight fearlessly before he could learn to be afraid of dying.
So when Jefferies, who hasn't yet exhibited much fighting skill beyond 'hasn't shot himself in the foot' and 'points his gun in the vaguely correct direction' gets mouthy, no one really wants to get in the way of that.
And Klaus knows that. Now, there's plenty of guys here Klaus has no interest in fighting. He tried O'Leery once, when they were both drunk and everything had seemed hilarious, but it turned out to be an epic amount of not worth it and a glorious black eye he'd worn for ages.
Those socks smell wretched. Klaus lets his grin slide a little wider, a little more unhinged, an stares, pointedly.
Jefferies, hearing a distinct lack of support from the rest of the tent, faced with a bare-chested, wild-haired man who won't stop grinning and who is edging closer, suddenly grows one (1) brain cell.
"Fine, Christ, I gotta do the wash anyway." He huffs, stuffing his feet into his boots (without checking them first, Klaus notes, stupid) and storming off. The tent erupts into jeers and hooting, the tension broken and the smell somewhat alleviated with the retreat. Klaus slouches to his cot and flops down, joined by Dave, who elbows him.
"Sarge would have had you digging latrines again." Dave notes, no longer trying to hide his laughter.
"Yeah, yeah, but that dip stick doesn't know it. Charlie won't have to hear us with that guy around, they can smell us from miles away. Anyway. HEY!" Klaus pitches his voice up, having learned how to be heard above a racket (having learned that people here want to hear him above a racket, sometimes). "Who's got the cards, anyway? I sweet-talked the kitchen staff out of some chocolate, and I wanna rob you all blind."
Klaus really isn't that good at cards when he isn't cheating, and the ghosts that hang around the tent wouldn't help him cheat on fellow soldiers anyway. Mostly he doesn't want to end up with a stash of slowly-melting chocolate that he has to deal with on his own, and this is the most expedient way of dishing it out.
And the most fun. Well. Second-most fun, but he's pretty sure he and Dave are the only ones into the most-fun option.
Their loss.
Career Change
The suitcase did not contain money. Or jewels.
It contained a whole different life.
Months of war pass in fractured fragments of time. Some bits seem to stretch on unto forever, moments dripping like treacle, slowed like they too are slogging through the thick jungle mud, boots in perpetual danger of being permanently sucked into the mire.
There's the endless afternoon spent hunkered down behind a transport that won't be running now or ever again, black cloying smoke spewing from what's left of the engine compartment. They're slowly being eaten alive by mosquitos, and the joke that they're the advance forces for the V-C has already made the rounds twice and was old before he first round was done. There are enemy soldiers out there in the surrounding greenery... somewhere. Poor Andrews found that out hours ago, while he was trying to figure out why the engine had gone up in flames. Just a quick bark of a rifle, and he'd collapsed like a rag doll. Klaus is still waiting for Andrews to show up, confused and angry and, you know, dead. Klaus wasn't sure how that would go, if this whole time-travel thing would mess with the whole ghost-seeing thing, but nope. Now he's treated to the rage of Viet-Cong soldiers and the confusion of allies and it's just great guys, absolutely fantastic. So he sits, waiting for a new ghost, waiting for the V-C to finally get tired of taking pot-shots and either go away again or fully engage, time dragging slow enough that he has time to count each bead of sweat on Dave's brow.
There's a week he's not sure he will ever remember fully, when a sudden shock of rain turned the hill near their camp that they'd set the snipers up on into so much muddy soup, the whole hillside sloshing down into the camp with an abruptness that felt unnatural. The entire week is a mess of yelling and mud and hunger and exhaustion. The V-C were evidently sleeping on the job that week - they would have had a ridiculously easy time picking them off, but they never showed. Klaus isn't sure he's thankful.
Not everything is bad. He gets some R&R (an is once again both horrified and amused at how easily the 'missing paperwork' story worked, it shouldn't have worked) while within spitting range of Saigon, and spends a glorious day updating his wardrobe in the best his pocketbook can manage - it's not as much as he'd hope, but considering he currently has more money at his disposal than he's ever had (somewhat) legally in his adult life, it's impressive, for him. He keeps enough back for a good night at the bar, and runs into Dave there.
He has a wonderful night, that night. And for a few nights afterward too. Dave is everything he shouldn't be allowed to have - he's a sweet kid, an all-American hunk of beef, and, shocker for the time, into Klaus Hargreeves. He has a momentary regret for Zenigata, but... well. He's tried every door he could find, for weeks, and has come to the grim realization that the Bar isn't coming for him, seemingly just as happy to leave him out here in the jungle. Besides. Zenigata already has a someone - he doesn't have to share Dave at all. Here Klaus isn't a stand-in for someone else - he's just himself, and that's enough. It's so weird, but Klaus isn't complaining.
Weeks turn into a month, then two, and somewhere around the three month mark Klaus stops thinking about going back. He also hasn't been outrageously high since the night he was abducted. Not from lack of opportunity, mind, no one would blink an eye if he was, and the drugs are both plentiful and cheap. And of course he's had some of the milder stuff, now and then - some nights you just want the world to be a little more quiet, right? Get some privacy. Not stare at dead VCs when you're trying to make out with the boyfriend, you know?
(He has a boyfriend, it's great)
But whatever these guys are being taught before being shipped out here, it's nothing on what old Daddy Hargreeves put them through as kids, which makes him the resident expert at guerrilla tactics. He also needs to be somewhat sober to cheat like hell. Once he's out here long enough, he starts to know some of his fellow soldiers (hey dad, he's a soldier now, a real one, though the armor hasn't exactly improved). Since he doesn't get completely smashed anymore (how can he, Dave is a baby at this shit, Dave might die if he medicates too hard, he can't bear to see Dave as a ghost), his collection of friendly-ish ghosts is growing by the day.
Turns out they're great spies.
Turns out Klaus can be a great soldier.
It contained a whole different life.
Months of war pass in fractured fragments of time. Some bits seem to stretch on unto forever, moments dripping like treacle, slowed like they too are slogging through the thick jungle mud, boots in perpetual danger of being permanently sucked into the mire.
There's the endless afternoon spent hunkered down behind a transport that won't be running now or ever again, black cloying smoke spewing from what's left of the engine compartment. They're slowly being eaten alive by mosquitos, and the joke that they're the advance forces for the V-C has already made the rounds twice and was old before he first round was done. There are enemy soldiers out there in the surrounding greenery... somewhere. Poor Andrews found that out hours ago, while he was trying to figure out why the engine had gone up in flames. Just a quick bark of a rifle, and he'd collapsed like a rag doll. Klaus is still waiting for Andrews to show up, confused and angry and, you know, dead. Klaus wasn't sure how that would go, if this whole time-travel thing would mess with the whole ghost-seeing thing, but nope. Now he's treated to the rage of Viet-Cong soldiers and the confusion of allies and it's just great guys, absolutely fantastic. So he sits, waiting for a new ghost, waiting for the V-C to finally get tired of taking pot-shots and either go away again or fully engage, time dragging slow enough that he has time to count each bead of sweat on Dave's brow.
There's a week he's not sure he will ever remember fully, when a sudden shock of rain turned the hill near their camp that they'd set the snipers up on into so much muddy soup, the whole hillside sloshing down into the camp with an abruptness that felt unnatural. The entire week is a mess of yelling and mud and hunger and exhaustion. The V-C were evidently sleeping on the job that week - they would have had a ridiculously easy time picking them off, but they never showed. Klaus isn't sure he's thankful.
Not everything is bad. He gets some R&R (an is once again both horrified and amused at how easily the 'missing paperwork' story worked, it shouldn't have worked) while within spitting range of Saigon, and spends a glorious day updating his wardrobe in the best his pocketbook can manage - it's not as much as he'd hope, but considering he currently has more money at his disposal than he's ever had (somewhat) legally in his adult life, it's impressive, for him. He keeps enough back for a good night at the bar, and runs into Dave there.
He has a wonderful night, that night. And for a few nights afterward too. Dave is everything he shouldn't be allowed to have - he's a sweet kid, an all-American hunk of beef, and, shocker for the time, into Klaus Hargreeves. He has a momentary regret for Zenigata, but... well. He's tried every door he could find, for weeks, and has come to the grim realization that the Bar isn't coming for him, seemingly just as happy to leave him out here in the jungle. Besides. Zenigata already has a someone - he doesn't have to share Dave at all. Here Klaus isn't a stand-in for someone else - he's just himself, and that's enough. It's so weird, but Klaus isn't complaining.
Weeks turn into a month, then two, and somewhere around the three month mark Klaus stops thinking about going back. He also hasn't been outrageously high since the night he was abducted. Not from lack of opportunity, mind, no one would blink an eye if he was, and the drugs are both plentiful and cheap. And of course he's had some of the milder stuff, now and then - some nights you just want the world to be a little more quiet, right? Get some privacy. Not stare at dead VCs when you're trying to make out with the boyfriend, you know?
(He has a boyfriend, it's great)
But whatever these guys are being taught before being shipped out here, it's nothing on what old Daddy Hargreeves put them through as kids, which makes him the resident expert at guerrilla tactics. He also needs to be somewhat sober to cheat like hell. Once he's out here long enough, he starts to know some of his fellow soldiers (hey dad, he's a soldier now, a real one, though the armor hasn't exactly improved). Since he doesn't get completely smashed anymore (how can he, Dave is a baby at this shit, Dave might die if he medicates too hard, he can't bear to see Dave as a ghost), his collection of friendly-ish ghosts is growing by the day.
Turns out they're great spies.
Turns out Klaus can be a great soldier.
(no subject)
Klaus Hargreeves was raised to be a superhero.
Early morning runs. Daily survival training. Lectures and weapons and endless, endless cardio. There was the year Mom had to create four separate uniforms for him when he had a massive growth spurt.
He learned how to usher hostages out of danger before he grew pubic hair. He learned how to handle a gun before his voice dropped. He learned how to take a punch long before he met his first ghost.
Behind him, somewhere down this evidently endless metal chute, is an exceedingly helpful policewoman. Someone who knows Diego, someone who is now definitely in danger. His kidnappers might have picked the worst Hargreeves to kidnap if they were looking for an advantage, but he knows they are incredibly brutal. He has both first-hand knowledge, and a wealth of second-hand accounts thanks to meeting way too many tortured ghosts in the last God-knows-how-many-hours.
Maybe some of Diego's stupidly good shoot-out luck has rubbed off on the Lady Cop. Maybe she'll do the smart thing and run for the hills.
Klaus Hargreeves, once The Séance, Number Four, should go back. Save the day, all that shit.
Instead, he finally finds another opening to kick out, drags himself and his stolen briefcase to the motel office, and dials 911 from the abandoned front desk phone. He only stays on the line to report his location and that an officer is shot.
(Who knows if she is, he tells himself, maybe she was smart, maybe she got away, maybe he doesn't lie to himself nearly as well as he wishes he could.)
He then bolts for the nearest bus stop, one hand tight on the handle of the briefcase, the other just barely keeping his exceedingly nasty towel covering his skinny hips as he runs.
(After pilfering some spare change from the front desk, of course. Look, desperate times, desperate measures, he's literally on the run from a pair of sadistic assassins who seem to have it out for his brother and anyone with a connection to said brother, it's their own fault for leaving the cash drawer unattended honestly.).
There's no point being sneaky - his stupid foot is bleeding from kicking out that grate, so it's not like he'll be hard to track.
Luck is finally on his side. There's a bus just about the pull away that he manages to get on before the driver can close the door. The driver looks mightily upset about his failure to keep Klaus from boarding, which... fair. He looks like he escaped a bad BDSM/sauna setup, but whatever. He pays his fare and slumps into a seat, watching the world outside the windows worriedly until the engine blessedly revs up and they're off.
He's free.
He was trained as a superhero. But he's surviving as a normal-ass dude who has wisely decided to get the hell away.
Sorry, policewoman, whoever you are. Hope you didn't stick around.
Early morning runs. Daily survival training. Lectures and weapons and endless, endless cardio. There was the year Mom had to create four separate uniforms for him when he had a massive growth spurt.
He learned how to usher hostages out of danger before he grew pubic hair. He learned how to handle a gun before his voice dropped. He learned how to take a punch long before he met his first ghost.
Behind him, somewhere down this evidently endless metal chute, is an exceedingly helpful policewoman. Someone who knows Diego, someone who is now definitely in danger. His kidnappers might have picked the worst Hargreeves to kidnap if they were looking for an advantage, but he knows they are incredibly brutal. He has both first-hand knowledge, and a wealth of second-hand accounts thanks to meeting way too many tortured ghosts in the last God-knows-how-many-hours.
Maybe some of Diego's stupidly good shoot-out luck has rubbed off on the Lady Cop. Maybe she'll do the smart thing and run for the hills.
Klaus Hargreeves, once The Séance, Number Four, should go back. Save the day, all that shit.
Instead, he finally finds another opening to kick out, drags himself and his stolen briefcase to the motel office, and dials 911 from the abandoned front desk phone. He only stays on the line to report his location and that an officer is shot.
(Who knows if she is, he tells himself, maybe she was smart, maybe she got away, maybe he doesn't lie to himself nearly as well as he wishes he could.)
He then bolts for the nearest bus stop, one hand tight on the handle of the briefcase, the other just barely keeping his exceedingly nasty towel covering his skinny hips as he runs.
(After pilfering some spare change from the front desk, of course. Look, desperate times, desperate measures, he's literally on the run from a pair of sadistic assassins who seem to have it out for his brother and anyone with a connection to said brother, it's their own fault for leaving the cash drawer unattended honestly.).
There's no point being sneaky - his stupid foot is bleeding from kicking out that grate, so it's not like he'll be hard to track.
Luck is finally on his side. There's a bus just about the pull away that he manages to get on before the driver can close the door. The driver looks mightily upset about his failure to keep Klaus from boarding, which... fair. He looks like he escaped a bad BDSM/sauna setup, but whatever. He pays his fare and slumps into a seat, watching the world outside the windows worriedly until the engine blessedly revs up and they're off.
He's free.
He was trained as a superhero. But he's surviving as a normal-ass dude who has wisely decided to get the hell away.
Sorry, policewoman, whoever you are. Hope you didn't stick around.
In a Not-So-Lonely Hotel Room
The room stinks.
Figuratively, it stinks - the décor is from at least two decades past, there's suspicious staining on the ceiling, and the carpet has seen better years. He can't speak to how comfy the beds are, he hasn't been allowed near one, but the chair he's strapped to is leaving permanent indents on his ass. Worst of all, it seems the place looks like a shithole from the outside too - he hasn't heard anyone pass on the walkway outside the entire time he's been here, and his two captors in their stupid cartoonish masks don't seem to care if he screams his lungs out.
That's... less than great.
The place literally stinks as well. There's a vague mildew-y smell that would be worrisome if he actually thought he'd live long enough to suffer ill effects from being here. There's the collected smells of dozens of takeout boxes of various ages. There's the smell of... well. Him. Turns out even if you're kidnapped right after taking a bath, torture tends to leave you smelling fairly ripe before too long. And honestly, has burning flesh ever smelled good?
Klaus just wishes his brain would decide if he should be terrified, or resigned. These two are, in fact, legitimately terrifying. They're way more professional than most of the baddies he and his siblings went up against as kids, and very obviously uncaring about what condition he's in once this little session is over. Joke's on them, though. They seem to think that just because they caught an Umbrella Academy kid, they now have access to the deepest darkest secrets of the more dangerous members of the team. That said team might actually care what happens to him. That they'd even notice if he was gone.
These dummies didn't do their research did they?
Honestly, the scariest thing right now is he can feel the last wisps of his high melting away, leaving him painfully, brutally sober. Never mind that a nice floaty high would make all of this much more tolerable - he knows if this goes on for too long, eventually the dead will come. Someone will float by, realize he can see them, and then they'll call all their ghost buddies. He will be surrounded by the dead and he can't even get out of this chair.
It's enough to make him hyperventilate. That seems to encourage his hosts, and they hit harder, demand he spill secrets he doesn't have in voices he imagines they think are scary.
Klaus Hargreeves hasn't been afraid of the living for decades.
His world whites out in pain, a high shivery note of agony from an abused kidney, and he giggles, just this side of delirious. A few more hits like that, and it'll be lights out, at least for a while. That's a relief.
Tragically, the giggling was a bad move. They stop hitting him, looking at one another when they could be beating him to a pulp. The hell. He's been kidnapped out of his (sort of) home, dragged here bound and gagged in towel, tied to this stupid chair, and now they can't even beat him to death correctly? Klaus viciously tells them so, furious that his way out was cut off. He shouts every insult he can think of, though it's hard to get properly specific, considering all he's got is two anonymous people in masks and impeccably cut suits. Difficult to put that personal touch on it, you know?
They let him rant for a while, but when it's obvious he's not about to start pleading for his life (honestly, who would plead for this life?), they get back to work. Most of it is a bit rote, after for a childhood in the Academy, and then another decade on the streets. Some of it is downright tame, compared to the shit some of his johns wanted to get up to.
Case in point - they've decided strangling is their new fun bonding activity. He'll give the lady-thug props, the cord tightening around his throat is held firmly, with no wiggle room whatsoever. A few years ago, one of his... we'll call him a boyfriend, to be nice, okay? One of his boyfriends was into shit like this. Called it breathplay, when really he was just a sadistic little freak. But he'd been very giving when it came to the drugs and the alcohol and the place to sleep, so Klaus went along with it. Klaus chokes and twists uselessly, and hazily thinks of long nights full of airless, closed-in moments that were almost always followed by being spectacularly railed. They're not horrible memories, really, despite the numerous near-misses, fingers or belts or what have you left in place for just a moment or two (or more) too long.
"Is that...?" He hears above him, before there is a sound of disgust, and the world returning too-bright when the garotte is whipped away, his frustrated tormentor grumbling somewhere behind him.
Awww. Too bad. An orgasm would have been a nice little bonus on the day.
He runs his mouth, hoping to goad them into coming back, to finishing the job properly like good little thugs. If they aren't going to let him go, the very least they can do is off him before the ghosts come and make this a million times worse. He doesn't think they're near a cemetery, or a hospital - the dead would be here already if they were clustered that closely, but... there's no such thing as unhaunted ground. They'll be here eventually. And these assholes are being spectacularly slow at their jobs.
Clearly he's losing his touch. After an almost insulting attempt at waterboarding, and a break he was definitely not asking for, they go for the one thing that actually hurts - his drugs.
Hey, guys? Do you think assassins are more or less effective when stoned?
Anyone?
Turns out they're excellent at sticking him in a closet and abandoning him there. And they took his 'special chocolate' with them.
Assholes.
Figuratively, it stinks - the décor is from at least two decades past, there's suspicious staining on the ceiling, and the carpet has seen better years. He can't speak to how comfy the beds are, he hasn't been allowed near one, but the chair he's strapped to is leaving permanent indents on his ass. Worst of all, it seems the place looks like a shithole from the outside too - he hasn't heard anyone pass on the walkway outside the entire time he's been here, and his two captors in their stupid cartoonish masks don't seem to care if he screams his lungs out.
That's... less than great.
The place literally stinks as well. There's a vague mildew-y smell that would be worrisome if he actually thought he'd live long enough to suffer ill effects from being here. There's the collected smells of dozens of takeout boxes of various ages. There's the smell of... well. Him. Turns out even if you're kidnapped right after taking a bath, torture tends to leave you smelling fairly ripe before too long. And honestly, has burning flesh ever smelled good?
Klaus just wishes his brain would decide if he should be terrified, or resigned. These two are, in fact, legitimately terrifying. They're way more professional than most of the baddies he and his siblings went up against as kids, and very obviously uncaring about what condition he's in once this little session is over. Joke's on them, though. They seem to think that just because they caught an Umbrella Academy kid, they now have access to the deepest darkest secrets of the more dangerous members of the team. That said team might actually care what happens to him. That they'd even notice if he was gone.
These dummies didn't do their research did they?
Honestly, the scariest thing right now is he can feel the last wisps of his high melting away, leaving him painfully, brutally sober. Never mind that a nice floaty high would make all of this much more tolerable - he knows if this goes on for too long, eventually the dead will come. Someone will float by, realize he can see them, and then they'll call all their ghost buddies. He will be surrounded by the dead and he can't even get out of this chair.
It's enough to make him hyperventilate. That seems to encourage his hosts, and they hit harder, demand he spill secrets he doesn't have in voices he imagines they think are scary.
Klaus Hargreeves hasn't been afraid of the living for decades.
His world whites out in pain, a high shivery note of agony from an abused kidney, and he giggles, just this side of delirious. A few more hits like that, and it'll be lights out, at least for a while. That's a relief.
Tragically, the giggling was a bad move. They stop hitting him, looking at one another when they could be beating him to a pulp. The hell. He's been kidnapped out of his (sort of) home, dragged here bound and gagged in towel, tied to this stupid chair, and now they can't even beat him to death correctly? Klaus viciously tells them so, furious that his way out was cut off. He shouts every insult he can think of, though it's hard to get properly specific, considering all he's got is two anonymous people in masks and impeccably cut suits. Difficult to put that personal touch on it, you know?
They let him rant for a while, but when it's obvious he's not about to start pleading for his life (honestly, who would plead for this life?), they get back to work. Most of it is a bit rote, after for a childhood in the Academy, and then another decade on the streets. Some of it is downright tame, compared to the shit some of his johns wanted to get up to.
Case in point - they've decided strangling is their new fun bonding activity. He'll give the lady-thug props, the cord tightening around his throat is held firmly, with no wiggle room whatsoever. A few years ago, one of his... we'll call him a boyfriend, to be nice, okay? One of his boyfriends was into shit like this. Called it breathplay, when really he was just a sadistic little freak. But he'd been very giving when it came to the drugs and the alcohol and the place to sleep, so Klaus went along with it. Klaus chokes and twists uselessly, and hazily thinks of long nights full of airless, closed-in moments that were almost always followed by being spectacularly railed. They're not horrible memories, really, despite the numerous near-misses, fingers or belts or what have you left in place for just a moment or two (or more) too long.
"Is that...?" He hears above him, before there is a sound of disgust, and the world returning too-bright when the garotte is whipped away, his frustrated tormentor grumbling somewhere behind him.
Awww. Too bad. An orgasm would have been a nice little bonus on the day.
He runs his mouth, hoping to goad them into coming back, to finishing the job properly like good little thugs. If they aren't going to let him go, the very least they can do is off him before the ghosts come and make this a million times worse. He doesn't think they're near a cemetery, or a hospital - the dead would be here already if they were clustered that closely, but... there's no such thing as unhaunted ground. They'll be here eventually. And these assholes are being spectacularly slow at their jobs.
Clearly he's losing his touch. After an almost insulting attempt at waterboarding, and a break he was definitely not asking for, they go for the one thing that actually hurts - his drugs.
Hey, guys? Do you think assassins are more or less effective when stoned?
Anyone?
Turns out they're excellent at sticking him in a closet and abandoning him there. And they took his 'special chocolate' with them.
Assholes.
The Badass Entry
Klaus is secretly (and then not-so-secretly) badass - though if you told him at the beginning of the week he was, he would have laughed directly in your face. And then asked if you still had any of the shit you'd taken, 'cause clearly it was amazing.
- Klaus is kidnapped by two Extremely Terrifying People (even if Hazel is secretly and then not-so-secretly a giant sweetie, Klaus has no way of knowing this), and tortured, and... spends 99% of his time with them giving them straight-up hell. Just endless amounts of sass, sexual innuendos, and utter shit. And he spends 100% of the time knowing his siblings aren't coming for him. Like, at all. It would be so easy for him just to rattle off where Five is and what he's up to, because Five told him so much, but... nope.
- Klaus. Survives. Vietnam. Full stop.
- Never mind surviving being homeless for at least a solid decade, if not more, with his sense of humor (and fashion!) intact.
- Getting sober almost entirely on his own, with like... the opposite of support from his siblings. While massive trauma is going on. While he's not getting proper rest/nutrition.
- He mouths off at God. As one does. Casual-like. To her face.
- He figures out a power he didn't know he had, which was probably terrifying and draining as hell, and then without like any proper training runs, manages to manifest Ben and kick the ass of a bunch of temporal assassins. May I say I deeply enjoy the look on Luther's face in this scene? SO MUCH.
- He charges Vanya/The White Violin while knowing this is 100% a suicide mission. Oh bebe.
- Klaus is kidnapped by two Extremely Terrifying People (even if Hazel is secretly and then not-so-secretly a giant sweetie, Klaus has no way of knowing this), and tortured, and... spends 99% of his time with them giving them straight-up hell. Just endless amounts of sass, sexual innuendos, and utter shit. And he spends 100% of the time knowing his siblings aren't coming for him. Like, at all. It would be so easy for him just to rattle off where Five is and what he's up to, because Five told him so much, but... nope.
- Klaus. Survives. Vietnam. Full stop.
- Never mind surviving being homeless for at least a solid decade, if not more, with his sense of humor (and fashion!) intact.
- Getting sober almost entirely on his own, with like... the opposite of support from his siblings. While massive trauma is going on. While he's not getting proper rest/nutrition.
- He mouths off at God. As one does. Casual-like. To her face.
- He figures out a power he didn't know he had, which was probably terrifying and draining as hell, and then without like any proper training runs, manages to manifest Ben and kick the ass of a bunch of temporal assassins. May I say I deeply enjoy the look on Luther's face in this scene? SO MUCH.
- He charges Vanya/The White Violin while knowing this is 100% a suicide mission. Oh bebe.
Ask thing - for OCs but this works just as well.
Does your character have siblings or family members in their age group? Which one are they closest with?
- Why yes! Six others, not-so-coincidentally, of the exact same age. He's closest with Ben, which was true even before Ben was kinda forced to hang around him. I would rank them closest to farthest as Ben --> Five(pre-disappearance) --> Diego --> Allison --> Vanya --> Luther
What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?
- Who doesn't love Mom? If Klaus ever had something like the relationship Diego had with Mom, it was shattered once Klaus realized that she would never protect him from Dad. He loves her, but it's a wary sort of love. He doesn't blame her though, not really - she can't fight him any more than he can.
What is/was your character's relationship with their father like?
- HAHAHAHAHAHAHA omg. It's shit.
Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?
- I think up until the whole mausoleum thing Klaus didn't actively hate Reginald Hargreeves, but he feared the man. After that? After he worked through the betrayal? Straight up hatred. And honestly I don't think Klaus ever bothered to tell anyone. Ben found out, but Ben can't tell anyone else, can he?
On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?
- A lighter, maybe some pills, maybe some weed, even more rarely some money beyond spare coins.
Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams?
- Since nightmares is listed below... no. No real recurring nice dreams.
Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?
- HAHAHAHHA yes. The mausoleum. Right up until 'nam, baby. After that we get some variety.
Has your character ever fired a gun? If so, what was their first target?
- Yes, I firmly believe Reggie taught his kids how to deal with firearms, because Klaus wouldn't have lasted two minutes in Vietnam without some basic firearms ability. (And I'll admit, I'm a fan of semi fix-its where his old squad come and find their Spook and forcibly remind the family that dude's a veteran.) First target... probably something bulls-eye-ish. Unless I can find something twisted that suits better.
Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?
- It's not so much the amount of clothing, as the fashion. That said, crop-tops and mini-skirts are pretty rad.
Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way?
- HAHAHAHAHA no. Not at all. Unless, it turns out, it's the blood of someone important. Then he'll freak the fuck out.
Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?
- Yes and no - for its own sake, he doesn't give a damn about money or possessions. As a means to more drugs, he's VERY preoccupied.
Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?
- Happiness, so much. He's settling for numb right now, and... well. It sucks.
Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?
- Wisdom - he saw enough ambition in One and Three to never really want to see it again.
In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism?
- Self-criticism all the way, baby. He might claim to not care that Reggie never showed him any sort of favor, but... yeah, it hurt to be forever compared, unfavorably, to Luther.
What does your character like in other people?
- Kindness, for kindness sake. Strength - though he cares more about strength of character than actual physical strength, though he does admire a nice set of muscles. A quick wit is nice. Compassion, though he's fairly allergic to having it aimed at himself (or he thinks he is, anyway). Vulnerability, though he refuses to have any in most situations, now-a-days.
How quick is your character to trust someone else?
- Not. Quick. At. All. He'll superficially be entirely glib and uncaring, but he's wary as a fox.
How does your character behave around children?
- Oh, children are scary. As a fucked-up child he doesn't want to spread that any further. But he hasn't the first clue what to do with kids.
How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?
- Very slow - he'd rather take a punch and let the situation defuse rather than go all guns blazing. Well. At least until 'Nam. Then shit hits the fan.
What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?
- Being loved. It did come true, eventually. For a little while.
Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.
- Right now - High AF, in the apartment of someone who wants to call themselves his boyfriend/girlfriend/whatever, warm, clean... maybe in a bathtub taking a bubble bath. Oooh, bubble bath.
Describe a scenario in which your character feels most uncomfortable.
- Any time he's sober, especially if he's somewhere a lot of people have died/a lot of bodies are.
Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?
- He moves on - he moved on from straight alcoholism for a reason. I have a headcanon (stolen from a fic, this is a trend) that Klaus actually put a fair amount of research into this at the start, figuring out what drugs would work best... unfortunately those careful plans go sideways when he's already messed up.
How does your character behave around people they dislike?
- Catty. A. F. Please see 'I'll be right back just have to go kill mom' and 'Oh yes, I'd like to apologize, that some village is MISSING THEIR IDIOT.'
Is your character more likely to remove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat?
- He'll remove himself. It's much easier and neater that way.
How does your character treat people in service jobs?
- Well... I mean, he's nice to them, as people. He also might try to rob them if he needs, like, food, and has no money, 'cause... eating. But he won't be mean to them. >.>
Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?
- I guess we can count Pogo here.
Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them?
- HAHAHA NOPE.
How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?
- He wouldn't bring up love without meaning it. And he does bring it up - to Ben, most often, apologizing for one thing or another.
What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?
- Klaus hasn't the foggiest. He's not even entirely sure he can die. There's been a few too many overdoses that he's survived, and he has vague memories that suggest he's not exactly welcome on the other side. It's... terrifying.
- Why yes! Six others, not-so-coincidentally, of the exact same age. He's closest with Ben, which was true even before Ben was kinda forced to hang around him. I would rank them closest to farthest as Ben --> Five(pre-disappearance) --> Diego --> Allison --> Vanya --> Luther
What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?
- Who doesn't love Mom? If Klaus ever had something like the relationship Diego had with Mom, it was shattered once Klaus realized that she would never protect him from Dad. He loves her, but it's a wary sort of love. He doesn't blame her though, not really - she can't fight him any more than he can.
What is/was your character's relationship with their father like?
- HAHAHAHAHAHAHA omg. It's shit.
Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?
- I think up until the whole mausoleum thing Klaus didn't actively hate Reginald Hargreeves, but he feared the man. After that? After he worked through the betrayal? Straight up hatred. And honestly I don't think Klaus ever bothered to tell anyone. Ben found out, but Ben can't tell anyone else, can he?
On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?
- A lighter, maybe some pills, maybe some weed, even more rarely some money beyond spare coins.
Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams?
- Since nightmares is listed below... no. No real recurring nice dreams.
Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?
- HAHAHAHHA yes. The mausoleum. Right up until 'nam, baby. After that we get some variety.
Has your character ever fired a gun? If so, what was their first target?
- Yes, I firmly believe Reggie taught his kids how to deal with firearms, because Klaus wouldn't have lasted two minutes in Vietnam without some basic firearms ability. (And I'll admit, I'm a fan of semi fix-its where his old squad come and find their Spook and forcibly remind the family that dude's a veteran.) First target... probably something bulls-eye-ish. Unless I can find something twisted that suits better.
Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?
- It's not so much the amount of clothing, as the fashion. That said, crop-tops and mini-skirts are pretty rad.
Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way?
- HAHAHAHAHA no. Not at all. Unless, it turns out, it's the blood of someone important. Then he'll freak the fuck out.
Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?
- Yes and no - for its own sake, he doesn't give a damn about money or possessions. As a means to more drugs, he's VERY preoccupied.
Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?
- Happiness, so much. He's settling for numb right now, and... well. It sucks.
Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?
- Wisdom - he saw enough ambition in One and Three to never really want to see it again.
In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism?
- Self-criticism all the way, baby. He might claim to not care that Reggie never showed him any sort of favor, but... yeah, it hurt to be forever compared, unfavorably, to Luther.
What does your character like in other people?
- Kindness, for kindness sake. Strength - though he cares more about strength of character than actual physical strength, though he does admire a nice set of muscles. A quick wit is nice. Compassion, though he's fairly allergic to having it aimed at himself (or he thinks he is, anyway). Vulnerability, though he refuses to have any in most situations, now-a-days.
How quick is your character to trust someone else?
- Not. Quick. At. All. He'll superficially be entirely glib and uncaring, but he's wary as a fox.
How does your character behave around children?
- Oh, children are scary. As a fucked-up child he doesn't want to spread that any further. But he hasn't the first clue what to do with kids.
How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?
- Very slow - he'd rather take a punch and let the situation defuse rather than go all guns blazing. Well. At least until 'Nam. Then shit hits the fan.
What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?
- Being loved. It did come true, eventually. For a little while.
Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.
- Right now - High AF, in the apartment of someone who wants to call themselves his boyfriend/girlfriend/whatever, warm, clean... maybe in a bathtub taking a bubble bath. Oooh, bubble bath.
Describe a scenario in which your character feels most uncomfortable.
- Any time he's sober, especially if he's somewhere a lot of people have died/a lot of bodies are.
Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?
- He moves on - he moved on from straight alcoholism for a reason. I have a headcanon (stolen from a fic, this is a trend) that Klaus actually put a fair amount of research into this at the start, figuring out what drugs would work best... unfortunately those careful plans go sideways when he's already messed up.
How does your character behave around people they dislike?
- Catty. A. F. Please see 'I'll be right back just have to go kill mom' and 'Oh yes, I'd like to apologize, that some village is MISSING THEIR IDIOT.'
Is your character more likely to remove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat?
- He'll remove himself. It's much easier and neater that way.
How does your character treat people in service jobs?
- Well... I mean, he's nice to them, as people. He also might try to rob them if he needs, like, food, and has no money, 'cause... eating. But he won't be mean to them. >.>
Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?
- I guess we can count Pogo here.
Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them?
- HAHAHA NOPE.
How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?
- He wouldn't bring up love without meaning it. And he does bring it up - to Ben, most often, apologizing for one thing or another.
What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?
- Klaus hasn't the foggiest. He's not even entirely sure he can die. There's been a few too many overdoses that he's survived, and he has vague memories that suggest he's not exactly welcome on the other side. It's... terrifying.