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channellings) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
umbrellajackassery2019-03-19 02:55 pm
channellings) wrote in umbrellajackassery2019-03-19 02:55 pm
if i could dream long enough, you'd tell me i'd be just fine (ota)
cw: drug and alcohol use, harsh language, nudity, possible traumatic flashbacks, etc.
i; drown it out like i always do (cw: getting...sick...? ew)
[wherever he is, it's dark. he can't see anything through the blackness and for a split second, klaus thinks that's a good thing, but where there's shadows, they always linger-- and they'll show up at the most inconvenient times. rather rude, actually, when the seance stops to think about it. there is one way he knows of how to silence them though, and it's usually right at his fingertips. he can roll over, reach into his nightstand and—
he rises up with a shout, breaking the water's surface, sputtering and flailing about until his hand catches the edge of the bathtub. klaus drags himself over, hits the floor on his hands and knees then scrabbles toward the toilet as quickly as he can, throws back the lid and lets go.
once his stomach has been emptied of all its contents, number four stumbles to his feet, brushes his teeth to remove any leftover nastiness, then (after courteously covering himself up) makes a beeline straight for his room where he — none too gently — elbows the door shut behind him.
the first thing he goes for is the end table.]
ii; and i'll chase it down with this shot of truth
[some days (on better ones), klaus can be found traipsing through the house, surprisingly sober while he searches for things to do. what this entails:
him fumbling around in the kitchen, trying to distract himself by... attempting a new recipe of some sort, possibly doing something as simple as cleaning dishes or going through the fridge to rotate things. there's also the possibility that he's simply sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee with the carafe nearby.] Help yourself, [he murmurs to whoever comes in, motioning toward the pot with his free hand as he takes a long pull from his own mug.
and catching him in the living area, legs crossed lotus style, palms upturned, forefingers and thumbs pressed together while he ommms quietly to himself. meditation seems like the worst thing to use as a diversion, but the deep breathing does help and the rain noises coming from the phone at his side are rather calming.
or possibly stumbling across him in the study, rummaging about for another book to read or maybe pens and paper to doodle. (don't judge him, he's desperate at this point)]
iii; my feet don't dance like they did with you
[they'd all done it once before; luther had turned something on and they lost themselves in it. this time is a bit different, though.
klaus is in the foyer, swaying back and forth to the music filtering throughout the room, fingers clasped around the dog-tags hanging against his chest while he moves. ordinarily, he's too high to make his motions look like anything good, but as the music increases, as does his rhythm. he glides his feet over the hardwood, spinning in full, wide circles with blind disregard—
so, perhaps that's when someone comes in and gets cracked by a hand he lifts or something? but if they stick back and watch, klaus is completely oblivious, entranced with the piano and his daydream. once it stops, he does too, eyes blinking open as he takes in the (what he believes to be) empty room around him. his heart aches, throbbing dully against his ribs, reminding him that he's still here, but dave...
his hands lower, fingers flexing in an out while he studies the tattoos on his palms-- then he brings them up and abruptly buries his face, body going rigid when the tell-tale burning sensation starts at the corners of his eyes. he sniffles and wipes them away, but they just keep coming.]
iv; wildcard
[ooc: kinda placed between the middle-ish and end of the first season? open to all things and everyone!! i'm also good with everyone picking their own prompt as well (thus wildcard!), since klaus can be found... all over the house lbr lmao and i'll match whatever format you decide to use, whether action or prose! (also: sorry, not sorry for the feels, y'all. ;;)]
i; drown it out like i always do (cw: getting...sick...? ew)
[wherever he is, it's dark. he can't see anything through the blackness and for a split second, klaus thinks that's a good thing, but where there's shadows, they always linger-- and they'll show up at the most inconvenient times. rather rude, actually, when the seance stops to think about it. there is one way he knows of how to silence them though, and it's usually right at his fingertips. he can roll over, reach into his nightstand and—
he rises up with a shout, breaking the water's surface, sputtering and flailing about until his hand catches the edge of the bathtub. klaus drags himself over, hits the floor on his hands and knees then scrabbles toward the toilet as quickly as he can, throws back the lid and lets go.
once his stomach has been emptied of all its contents, number four stumbles to his feet, brushes his teeth to remove any leftover nastiness, then (after courteously covering himself up) makes a beeline straight for his room where he — none too gently — elbows the door shut behind him.
the first thing he goes for is the end table.]
ii; and i'll chase it down with this shot of truth
[some days (on better ones), klaus can be found traipsing through the house, surprisingly sober while he searches for things to do. what this entails:
him fumbling around in the kitchen, trying to distract himself by... attempting a new recipe of some sort, possibly doing something as simple as cleaning dishes or going through the fridge to rotate things. there's also the possibility that he's simply sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee with the carafe nearby.] Help yourself, [he murmurs to whoever comes in, motioning toward the pot with his free hand as he takes a long pull from his own mug.
and catching him in the living area, legs crossed lotus style, palms upturned, forefingers and thumbs pressed together while he ommms quietly to himself. meditation seems like the worst thing to use as a diversion, but the deep breathing does help and the rain noises coming from the phone at his side are rather calming.
or possibly stumbling across him in the study, rummaging about for another book to read or maybe pens and paper to doodle. (don't judge him, he's desperate at this point)]
iii; my feet don't dance like they did with you
[they'd all done it once before; luther had turned something on and they lost themselves in it. this time is a bit different, though.
klaus is in the foyer, swaying back and forth to the music filtering throughout the room, fingers clasped around the dog-tags hanging against his chest while he moves. ordinarily, he's too high to make his motions look like anything good, but as the music increases, as does his rhythm. he glides his feet over the hardwood, spinning in full, wide circles with blind disregard—
so, perhaps that's when someone comes in and gets cracked by a hand he lifts or something? but if they stick back and watch, klaus is completely oblivious, entranced with the piano and his daydream. once it stops, he does too, eyes blinking open as he takes in the (what he believes to be) empty room around him. his heart aches, throbbing dully against his ribs, reminding him that he's still here, but dave...
his hands lower, fingers flexing in an out while he studies the tattoos on his palms-- then he brings them up and abruptly buries his face, body going rigid when the tell-tale burning sensation starts at the corners of his eyes. he sniffles and wipes them away, but they just keep coming.]
iv; wildcard
[ooc: kinda placed between the middle-ish and end of the first season? open to all things and everyone!! i'm also good with everyone picking their own prompt as well (thus wildcard!), since klaus can be found... all over the house lbr lmao and i'll match whatever format you decide to use, whether action or prose! (also: sorry, not sorry for the feels, y'all. ;;)]