ouija-writes:
“Shit, shit, shit.” The muttered curse fell from Klaus’ lips with every footfall as he made his way down the sidewalk, retracing the steps he had taken just fifteen minutes prior –give or take a few. He had been trusted to bring Ben’s backpack from the apartment –a terrible decision, really, and something they would quickly regret as he showed up with two burritos and no bag. See, he had it when he left the apartment but had gotten distracted by a taco truck. It was there, that he placed the bag on the ground, pulling what little cash he had tucked into the front of his pants to pay for both his and Ben’s burritos. He had been so distracted by the addition of cilantro in his that he had left the bag behind, only remembering when he reached the shop and Ben asked where it was.
Turning the corner so quickly, he scarcely avoided crashing into an old woman carrying an obnoxious number of oranges and called out his apology as he passed. He wasn’t a fan of rushing, preferring to saunter through life in a drug-fueled haze, but he would never hear the end of it if he didn’t find Ben’s things. It didn’t take long before he reached where the truck had been and would have passed it by if it wasn’t for the sound of a foreign voice and the sight of some asshole rummaging through each and every damn pocket. Opening his mouth, he was about to call out as he stomped over but stopped dead in his tracks when the stranger turned to look at him.
His face was familiar –too familiar– though younger. Squinting his eyes, he raised a tattooed hand to rub one of them, smearing his already smudged liner into oblivion before assuming it was the pills. It had to have been. He shook his head, before stepping forward and pointing a finger at not only the man but the scattered books on the ground. Oh, yeah, he was never going to hear the end of this. “That’s my bag, asshole.”
nathan didn’t realize the familiarity of the other man’s face right away, not even getting a good look at him after at first dismissing him with a shrug to return to his rummaging. his attention was quickly recaptured the moment he heard his voice, though, head snapping back up to lock eyes with the stranger once more. the sound was unmistakably familiar, and he immediately recognized it as exactly how he sounded if he were putting on an american accent. then, at that moment, staring at the man with eyebrow’s furrowed in confusion, it clicked in nathan’s head that he was looking at himself-- there were differences, of course, like the ten years that separated them as well as the makeup and clothes that were very far from his usual look, but, still, nathan was narcissistic enough to recognize his own features when he saw them.
a familiar feeling washed over him as it dawned on him, the same feeling he had the day jamie showed up claiming to be his brother: one of disbelief, impossibility, but also excitement toward how this strange turn of events would play out.
“and who are you?” he asked finally, still unable to take his eyes off the other. “wait-- let me guess. this is some freak superpower shit from that storm, isn’t it?” nathan had never been one to be able to hold his tongue, always rambling on about nonsense until it got him into trouble. “oh! I got it,” he exclaimed with a snap of his fingers, “shapeshifter! that’s got to be why you look like me. y’know, I met one of those once, she was a bitch-- she even killed me.” after a moment of going off into his own world of basically talking to himself, he returned to reality to remember the bag in his hands, “right. you can have this back as soon as you tell me what’s going on here.”
