klaus hargreeves (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
substances) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2019-03-24 10:08 pm
substances) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2019-03-24 10:08 pm
[open] i want to live where soul meets body
WHO: Klaus Hargreeves
WHERE: Bunker, North Village Inn, Hot Springs; wherever else/wildcard
WHEN: Late March
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Possibly mentions of substance abuse and violence; nudity in the hot springs thread. Spoilers for The Umbrella Academy. Warning for pretentious lyrics-header usage.
WHERE: Bunker, North Village Inn, Hot Springs; wherever else/wildcard
WHEN: Late March
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Possibly mentions of substance abuse and violence; nudity in the hot springs thread. Spoilers for The Umbrella Academy. Warning for pretentious lyrics-header usage.
👻 let the sun wrap its arms around me (bunker; closed to Diego Hargreeves)
Klaus wakes up all at once, in a rush, his eyes snapping open and his lips parting as he sucks in a deep gasp of breath.
"No no no no nonononono...."
He's not screaming, just moaning over and over again, head swiveling in a sort of panic, trying to move his arms and legs, groggy and disoriented. All he's aware of is that he's in some kind of tube, standing up, the walls closing in around him, the darkness like a physical thing that's trying to claw its way down his throat and around his eyeballs and into his ears until he's blind and deaf and mute and nothing exists but the pressure and the screaming of the dead. He remembers this from the crypt, closed in the dark, the smell of death and the whispers, the voices saying his name, calling him, a perpetual reminder of mortality. Gut clenching, lungs seizing, he squirms until he can get his arms up, hands closing into fists, and he starts pounding at the walls around him, kicking with his feet.
"Let me out! Help, someone help!"
It claws its way out his throat, and the dullness of the echo makes him think that no one can hear him, no one can hear him and he's going to suffocate alone in the dark surrounded by dead people. He stops speaking for a moment, and the only sounds in the tube are his own breathing - short, shallow breaths pulled through a partly open mouth - and a series of small whimpers that he recognizes intimately as his own. It's only a flash of a moment before he can't bear it anymore and starts shouting and crying, and he can feel the tears running down his cheeks as he pounds at the unforgiving metal in front of him, slamming fists against it until he feels stings of pain on his knuckles. Keeps going anyway, because he's never been afraid to bleed a little.
The panic is too thick in his throat and his brain for him to notice that he can't hear or see the dead around him.
"No no no no nonononono...."
He's not screaming, just moaning over and over again, head swiveling in a sort of panic, trying to move his arms and legs, groggy and disoriented. All he's aware of is that he's in some kind of tube, standing up, the walls closing in around him, the darkness like a physical thing that's trying to claw its way down his throat and around his eyeballs and into his ears until he's blind and deaf and mute and nothing exists but the pressure and the screaming of the dead. He remembers this from the crypt, closed in the dark, the smell of death and the whispers, the voices saying his name, calling him, a perpetual reminder of mortality. Gut clenching, lungs seizing, he squirms until he can get his arms up, hands closing into fists, and he starts pounding at the walls around him, kicking with his feet.
"Let me out! Help, someone help!"
It claws its way out his throat, and the dullness of the echo makes him think that no one can hear him, no one can hear him and he's going to suffocate alone in the dark surrounded by dead people. He stops speaking for a moment, and the only sounds in the tube are his own breathing - short, shallow breaths pulled through a partly open mouth - and a series of small whimpers that he recognizes intimately as his own. It's only a flash of a moment before he can't bear it anymore and starts shouting and crying, and he can feel the tears running down his cheeks as he pounds at the unforgiving metal in front of him, slamming fists against it until he feels stings of pain on his knuckles. Keeps going anyway, because he's never been afraid to bleed a little.
The panic is too thick in his throat and his brain for him to notice that he can't hear or see the dead around him.
👻 where i send my thoughts to far-off destinations (north village inn; ota)
A day to recuperate and fight off his demons - figuratively, of course, because ever since he arrived, he hasn't seen a single member of the dead - and Klaus is back in fighting form, or at least as close to fighting form as he ever is. Sharing a house with Diego is all well and good, but sticking around and socializing only with his siblings has never been Klaus' style. Other people, that's what he thinks might breathe a bit of energy into his life, especially now that he's not worried about seeing the terrifying, painful last moments of strangers' lives, put on loop with a soundtrack of screaming and shouting and jabbering and endless endless explaining. It may sound overly optimistic, but the living are much more tolerable than the dead.
And so Klaus has dragged a chair into the front room at the inn, which seems one of the more likely places to meet new and interesting people, and is lying on his back in front of the fireplace, dressed in his violet scrubs, legs propped up on the seat of the chair in front of him. Alternating between looking at the fire, the ceiling, and towards any sound resembling other people coming in, he rests, eating a piece of fruit as slowly as he can. Funny how good things taste when you're sober.
The moment he hears someone coming in, he'll be looking over toward the noise with his brows raised, head turning lazily, mouth curving into a crooked smile.
"Well, hello there. Why don't you join me? I've been saving a seat for you."
With that, he pulls his legs off the chair and sits up to greet his company, legs crossed, grinning.
And so Klaus has dragged a chair into the front room at the inn, which seems one of the more likely places to meet new and interesting people, and is lying on his back in front of the fireplace, dressed in his violet scrubs, legs propped up on the seat of the chair in front of him. Alternating between looking at the fire, the ceiling, and towards any sound resembling other people coming in, he rests, eating a piece of fruit as slowly as he can. Funny how good things taste when you're sober.
The moment he hears someone coming in, he'll be looking over toward the noise with his brows raised, head turning lazily, mouth curving into a crooked smile.
"Well, hello there. Why don't you join me? I've been saving a seat for you."
With that, he pulls his legs off the chair and sits up to greet his company, legs crossed, grinning.
👻 a melody softly soaring through my atmosphere (hot springs; ota; nudity)
It had taken a few days to find the hot springs, but once he'd found them, he'd decided that this is where he wants to exist for as long as possible. Back home it had been a rough week (plus 10 months), he'd been beaten and bruised and battered, had a multitude of injuries from his time in Vietnam, and every muscle in his body had been sore, aching. The bathtub at the Academy hadn't done him much good, he hadn't had much time to use it and most of it had been interrupted by painful memories, grief and tears, flashbacks and the sounds of helicopters, gunshots, the screams of the dead...
Not really relaxing.
These hot springs, though, they're on a whole other level. The bruises are gone, the scrapes have healed, the soreness is melting out of every muscle, and Klaus is lying on his back in the spring, with his eyes closed and every part of his body except his face blissfully submerged. At the edge of the spring, on a dry rock, sits a wad of his clothing - violet scrubs, socks, hiking boots, and notably a pair of white briefs draped over the top. If you're going to bathe, why wear clothes, after all?
If his head comes far enough out of the water to actually hear someone approaching, the only response will be a half-mumbled, half-moaned question:
"Five more minutes? Please?"
Not really relaxing.
These hot springs, though, they're on a whole other level. The bruises are gone, the scrapes have healed, the soreness is melting out of every muscle, and Klaus is lying on his back in the spring, with his eyes closed and every part of his body except his face blissfully submerged. At the edge of the spring, on a dry rock, sits a wad of his clothing - violet scrubs, socks, hiking boots, and notably a pair of white briefs draped over the top. If you're going to bathe, why wear clothes, after all?
If his head comes far enough out of the water to actually hear someone approaching, the only response will be a half-mumbled, half-moaned question:
"Five more minutes? Please?"
👻 in my head there's a greyhound station (wildcard; ota)
Klaus is going to be out and about at various places, if you have an idea for one, hit me up on plurk at ![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
caffemisto, discord at coffee #6251, or by PM to this journal and I'll write you something up! Alternately, fling me a surprise starter and I'll roll with the punches.
hot springs
He notices the clothes on the rock before the bather's head emerges enough to speak. Fresh clothes, violet scrubs, boots that are barely scuffed by the exertions of this place, unlike Finnick's which are dirtied and damaged by so many months of hiking. A newcomer, then, or very close to one.
Finnick bends down to tug at his bootlaces and grins at Klaus' plea.
"I'm not here to kick you out," he promises. "I can share."
sorry so late, a migraine destroyed me
He ducks his head back under the water as his new companion undresses, eyes closed, enjoying just floating in the heat. This has always been his tradition, when he's hurt and afraid and feeling awful, he soaks in the bath. Preferably with headphones, but what can you do?
Sitting up, he exits the water, lifts his hands to push them over his face, back through his hair, smudging his face with leftover dirt and eyeliner, squeezing the hot water out of his damp curls. The guy on the shore is good-looking, in that strapping blond way that Klaus is a particular fan of. A moment after thinking it, he realizes he's ruined, that when he thinks about strapping blonds his mind goes to Dave and the pain comes back like a railroad spike through the chest.
So he makes his way to the edge of the spring, folds his arms on the stone and rests his chin against them.
"You better be planning to skinny dip."
I'm so sorry school ate me alive but I'm back now
"Why, you want the show?"
He says it with a tease in his voice, because a tease is all anyone but Annie will ever get from him now, but it's a friendly tease, none of the sharp edges on it that he used to use when he wielded his beauty as a weapon in the Capitol.
He sets the shirt aside and slips out of his pants, standing naked for a moment before wading into the water a little way away from the other man.
"Skinny dipping is the best way to do it."