Luther is the blunt edge compared to Sir Reginald's knife; an indelicate instrument, often, but he's also the softer face of the academy's leadership. Tough-but-fair. A relatable face to catch the kids' insecurities, their weak moments; someone to buoy them after Reginald cuts them down to size.
But at Klaus' question, Luther's first thought comes quick and fleeting, like a deer running panicked through the woods: He'll get rid of you. Like putting down a prized racehorse that can't run anymore. Once he's not of any use anymore, the man might just dispose of him.
And just as that terrified thought skids through his head, hot on its heels comes the followup: Klaus needs to master his powers.
And, Dad wouldn't.
And, ...Would he?
Luther wants to believe he wouldn't, their father wouldn't, but in this moment he can't accurately say either way. Their patriarch is distant, aloof and inscrutable. So Luther grasps onto that shred of desperate hope, wraps himself in it: "He'll train you as far as you can, and that'll just have to be good enough. It'll be okay. And besides, you will figure it out. We're all still getting used to our abilities. It takes as long as it takes."
Even this half-embrace is testament to it: once upon a time, Luther had accidentally broken Klaus' arm, just a twist of the wrist delivered too strongly, unthinkingly. Today, he's careful in how he holds him, like he's handling brittle glass.
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But at Klaus' question, Luther's first thought comes quick and fleeting, like a deer running panicked through the woods: He'll get rid of you. Like putting down a prized racehorse that can't run anymore. Once he's not of any use anymore, the man might just dispose of him.
And just as that terrified thought skids through his head, hot on its heels comes the followup: Klaus needs to master his powers.
And, Dad wouldn't.
And, ...Would he?
Luther wants to believe he wouldn't, their father wouldn't, but in this moment he can't accurately say either way. Their patriarch is distant, aloof and inscrutable. So Luther grasps onto that shred of desperate hope, wraps himself in it: "He'll train you as far as you can, and that'll just have to be good enough. It'll be okay. And besides, you will figure it out. We're all still getting used to our abilities. It takes as long as it takes."
Even this half-embrace is testament to it: once upon a time, Luther had accidentally broken Klaus' arm, just a twist of the wrist delivered too strongly, unthinkingly. Today, he's careful in how he holds him, like he's handling brittle glass.