#* klaus.

[anarcalina]

         // @dissolvedshadows​​ sent,  “ what is she to you anyway ? ” 

          He stills, body rigid, poised for an action he has not yet resolved upon. How easy it would be, as he would with most, to lash out. A neck snapped, a heart torn from between ribs, a thousand and one ways to kill swiftly and in doing so avoid so much hassle. His expression contorts, safely concealed from Caleb’s view, as he wrestles with his temper and reminds himself that he dare not. Not for fear of retribution, for fear of starting a war, for fear that killing one such as he may not actually be so easy — Klaus has yet to put it to the test. Yet for reasons yet obscured to him, Caleb matters to her. Lips curl in distaste at the thought. 

          When he turns to face Caleb, Klaus has his temper mastered, expression smooth and unconcerned, lip half-quirked in the merest hint of amusement.    ❛ Nothing. Absolutely nothing. ❜    How easily, how calmly, lies fall from his lips. If anything, he relishes the words, the security they offer.    ❛ Well, save an ally. One whose company aggravates me less than yours — not that that’s saying much. ❜    Perhaps ally is the wrong word, too formal for what is scarcely more than an understanding, save that that understanding helps preserve the balance, the peace, in the city. Yet in the moment he can find no other.

          ❛ But tell me, Caleb, ❜   — he speaks the name with a sneer, disdain weighty upon his tongue —    ❛ what concern is it of yours? ❜

[anarcalina]

         // @dissolvedshadows​​ sent,  “ I look at you and it is like my throat being cut. ”

          The street below bustles, thronging with too many people. The clamor presses in upon him, a disorienting cacophony. At times, he finds it reassuring, a distraction from the introspection that accompanies true quiet, true solitude. Klaus turns from the window at her words, just far enough to give her a long look over his shoulder.    ❛ Very flattering, I’m sure, love. ❜    The wry, abrasive words come instinctively, thoughtlessly, a natural reflex to defend. 

          He knows, though he’ll fight the knowledge, that he ought to take them more seriously, to consider the ramifications. To concede, even just to himself, that the implication that his mere presence is painful alarms him, that he would not have her feel that way. But how much easier it is to hide behind the persona he’s cultivated for a thousand years, to take pride in the pain his mere being inflicts upon those around him. But no grin accompanies his words, no subtle mockery. They’re hollow husks of his usual demeanor, and he finds himself taking two steps across the room towards her before continuing,    ❛ Very poetic. But what is your point? ❜

[anarcalina]

           // @stubbornstrumpet​ sent    🎄   /   decorate  and  help  my  muse  with  a  christmas  tree  .   ( come be cute with your lil sister, Nik )

          It might, Klaus considered, be another thing entirely if there was anything of tradition in the gesture. If old ornaments collected through the centuries lay in the boxes around them. Instead, it’s a garish assortment of newfangled things, as far as he’s concerned, and the fact that dear Elijah’s not involved in the decorating tells Klaus plenty about the man’s opinions. If Klaus lounges in a chair with a glass of wine while turning over a particularly offensive ornament — surely a character from some animated film, though he certainly can’t place it — instead of truly helping, well… at least he’s here. If Rebekah truly needs assistance in the effort, there’s half a dozen servants with a pair of arms on the premises.    ❛ I think whoever you sent to the store to fetch these, dear sister, could have used a little more instruction. You’re not really planning to put this on the tree, are you? ❜

          He considers the practicality of convincing her to delay the whole endeavor by a day or two, wonders where ornaments from years past might be stored in their too-many abodes from past centuries. There’s a minimal chance of finding what he sought, and an even smaller chance of dissuading his sister from the warpath for even an hour.    ❛ Elijah will be appalled. ❜    Klaus is appalled himself, but perhaps their brother’s sentiments might carry more weight. They so often do.

[anarcalina]

        // @dissolvedshadows​  ( ana )  sent,  ❝ you’d rather shut your eyes than feel any pain. ❞

          The anger flares, hot and bright, and words leap to the tip of his tongue, scathing words designed to hurt. An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. He’s giving in to such impulses so many times that he cannot say what compels him to rein in the instinct now.    ❛ Do you think I don’t feel pain? ❜    he asks instead, voice falling somewhere short of flat, despite his best efforts. Steps carry him forward, closer, though some part of him, firmly ignored, signals a retreat.     ❛ Because I have forgotten, if I ever knew, what it is to go a day without pain, Ana. You of all people I would expect to understand that — you’ve lived long enough. ❜

          Another step, and he stays himself, stopping far short of looming as is his wont.    ❛ What would you have me do? Embrace more with open arms? ❜    There are days, days when the facade he has constructed relentlessly, the persona that hides him even from himself, wavers, a mere mirage in the desert. On those days, he doubts he can endure what already he must face, what already he must feel, and more threatens to drown him. If he’s not drowned already.

[anarcalina]

        // @dissolvedshadows​​  ( ana )  sent,  ❝ maybe i would’ve stayed. ❞

          ❛ And regretted it come morning, yes? That is how it goes, I believe. The heartfelt request, the foolish concession — no matter that you already know it to be a bad idea — the subsequent regret. Did I miss anything? ❜    He slams walls up too easily, deflecting the conversation they ought to have. Deflecting the suggestion, the reminder, that he continues to undermine this. Whatever this is, at this point. Klaus has gone out of his way to defy labels, to refuse to be anything save himself, and somehow too he drags those around him — siblings, friends, acquaintances, enemies — into similar patterns. 

          ❛ That’s a tale as old as time, love. I’m not sure either of us has the temperament for a television drama. Besides, I rather think giving you yet more cause to despise me might not work in my favor. ❜

[anarcalina]

          // @dissolvedshadows​ sent,  ❝  you’re  more  miserable  than  usual .  ❞

          With hands coated in blood that still drips from the brush held with a care that contrasts sharply with the chaos he’s wrecked and the blood smeared across the floor, he turns slowly from the canvas before him. The blood will darken over time, shifting the color scheme and caking upon the surface. A poor substitute for paint, too thin not to run and too unwilling to hold its color. And it mixes poorly with paints. Yet this semblance of artwork is not about the artistry, the craftsmanship and display of skill. Self-indulgent, Elijah would be all too delighted to declare it little more than self-indulgence, a display of macabre whimsy ill suited to the family name.

          Not that any of them use a family name ruined for them through the centuries by their father. The family reputation, then.

          ❛ Actually, I think I’m beginning to feel better, ❜    Klaus remarks with a twisted smile that fails to concede his ongoing ill-humor.    ❛ If you’re here to criticize, spare us both. ❜    Fingers flicker in a gesture of dismissal, and he returns his attention to the canvas before him, paying no need to the corpse at his feet. 

          One would think that by now people would have learned not to disappoint him. One would think by now he would have found those he could trust to display even the faintest semblance of competency. And yet... well, here they were.