umbrellajackassery | tact from me is like blood from a stone

Isaac's birthday had been registered as the 17th of September, two weeks to the day before those children were born from mothers who weren't pregnant, the miracle children who were forgotten again until the unveiling of the Umbrella Academy.

Isaac had never learned much about it all. He'd lived somewhat sheltered from that part of the world and by the time he was old enough to explore on his own, the Umbrella Academy had come and gone and he was more interested in his own life and future.

But the blackouts became more frequent and the medication didn't help. He stopped taking the medication and it got more out of control, but he had found other ways to control it and by the time he was thirty, he was out of rehab (again) and didn't know what to do or where to go to learn about what he was.

So he used the last of his money to make his way to the old address of the Umbrella Academy and hoped someone there might be able to help.

He was raising his hand to knock on the door when he saw the flicker, a momentary glimpse and he stepped back enough that whoever was coming to the door wouldn't barrel into him...

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"Not... really." His English is softly accented. "Not tourism. My birth certificate says I was born in September, that I was premature and that's why my mother didn't show her pregnancy."

He steps up and in, shifting the weight of his bag and the document tube. "My name is Isaac. Isaac Mendez. And I'm clairvoyant. I think my birth certificate was faked, my parents just lied to hide me."

When the guy explains that he's not here for tourism, Klaus actually steps aside, gestures for him to come in, leaning curiously to look him up and down. A new sibling. A new sibling! One that he's never met. One who sees the future.

It's about time one of the others had a fucked up occult power.

"Yay, spooky shit, now I'm not alone anymore. Come in come in. It's lovely to meet you Isaac Mendez. I'm Klaus."

He holds out a hand, offering to shake.

"Yay?" Isaac sounds about as enthusiastic as expected to be in the barrel of 'powers that drive you crazy'. "You're the medium." he shakes Klaus, hand, gaze flicking to his arm and back to his face. "Looks like we share more than just mind breaking abilities."

He holds Klaus' gaze for a moment and then considers. "Actually... can I draw you? You have lovely bone structure."

"The medium. I like it. Makes me sound very mysterious and all."

When Isaac looks at his arm and then his face, Klaus recoils, just a little. It's a small movement but his whole body sways a little and he glances down at Isaac's arm.

"Something tells me the mind-breaking abilities and the track marks go hand in hand."

It's said with a droll tone, a little sing-song, and then the guy is asking him if he can draw him. Blinking, he turns and looks at Isaac.

"Uh. Sure? Me?"

Isaac laughs. "Yeah, I think so. I got into the junk to try and stop the flashes of other places and times and instead-" He started having full blown visions and blackouts. "Eh, never mind. I'm nearly three months clean. And yes, you. You've got great bone structure and your eyes..."

Isaac shrugs and smiles again. "You're beautiful, in a hollowed out way that's familiar."

One corner of Klaus' mouth perks up and he exhales a snort of a laugh through his nose, "Yeah. Got into it to try to stop seeing the ghosts. I'm so tired of dead people."

Klaus looks exhausted, he pushes his fingers through his hair, and he sighs, closing his eyes. He's still tired of dead people.

"Mm. Nice. Three days for me. Whoo."

He lifts both hands in a sarcastic celebratory gesture and raises his brows at Isaac.

"Well, that's the first time I've been called beautiful in any kind of a way for just...years. So. Sure, why not."

Isaac nods sympathetically. He gets it. It really gets it. It's not dead people for him, but it's still horror and disconcerting flashes out of reality and back.

"I did ninety in a rehab facility, it's not that amazing. I've only been out for four days." Enforced sobriety doesn't' feel like an achievement in the same way. "And I find that hard to believe? Like, you're seriously beautiful. I suspect I could draw you a thousand times and never quite catch your features the same way twice."

"Huh. I went cold turkey all on my own a couple days ago. Before that it was a 30 day. Mandated by the state, of course, after my latest OD defib."

A shrug, and he raises his brows, then laughs, "Aw shucks, you're gonna make me blush. If you're that serious about it though, where do you want me?"

A beat, and then, "Oh wait, you don't know what the whole house looks like. Tour?"

"Oh. Yuck. That's... either brave or insane or maybe both. Mama said there was a thin line between brave and stupid and most boys don't know where it is."

Especially her boys.

"I know what some of this place looks like. There's a room with model planes and more vinyl records than I've ever seen outside of an audio shop. A woman in a hooped underskirt and pink dress lounges like the woman in the painting she loves and her eyes glow." He refocuses. "But a proper tour would be good."

"Mostly insane."

Klaus shrugs, turns on a heel and almost topples before he gets a hand against the wall beside him. Balance is still off, he still feels like shit, but at least he can move. That's something.

Then he listens to Isaac while he talks about how some of this place looks, and chuckles softly.

"Huh. Sounds like Luther's super-dorky room, and mom's recharging area. Mom's great. Luther's okay, I guess. But here, this way this way, come on."

Turning a bit more, he holds a hand out, smiling at Isaac warmly.

And Isaac smiles back, open. He takes Klaus' hand with his own, his nails stained with ink and paint and battered from years of handling nails and hammers and cleaning chemicals.

Much more cheekily, he then laces their fingers to get a firm grip. "Lay on, MacDuff."

It isn't a long tour, because honestly Klaus can't be too bothered with explaining the history of most of the rooms. Lots of bad memories.

But the whole thing ends up back at Klaus' room, and he gestures vaguely inside.

"And now the piece de resistance, my room. Note the stunning plaid curtains and wall decorations, done by yours truly."

A little wink, and he leans against the doorframe, his hand still lightly connected to Isaac's.

"See anywhere you want to draw?"

And Isaac doesn't care that much about the history anyway. He's mostly interested in knowing where things are. The kitchen, the bathroom, nothing much more needed.

The drawings and scrawling do actually draw Isaac's interest. He keeps hold of Klaus' fingers, moving to look at the burst of patterns. "Plenty of places, frankly. I suspect your back would be a lovely canvas, but I think the light in here wouldn't be great for portraiture."

It's a little flattering that Isaac seems to be interested in his stupid scribbling, and he makes a little noise in his throat.

"Wait, what, my back?"

That's a bit confusing, and if Klaus isn't reading things wrong, maybe a little kinky? Just a little. Smirking, he turns to look at Isaac.

"Not sure how I feel about a portrait of me on my own back. Seems a little uh, narcissistic, right?"

Isaac's genuinely interested in what Klaus has done. Maybe not his own stye, but he can appreciate the emotions that seem to have gone into it.

And then he laughs. "Well, I was more thinking it might be nice to just draw on your back in general, but wherever you're comfortable works for sketching you. Though, have to say, I know people who have tattoos of themselves on them and yeah, it's narcissistic."

Klaus laughs when Isaac does, raising a brow at the other man.

"Yeah no thanks. No drawings of myself on my back, thanks." A pause, and then, "I have a tiger on my back already. You wanna see?"

It's curious, idle. If Isaac appreciates art, he might appreciate that.

"And uh, you're the artist. Draw what you want?"

"Yeah, sure," Isaac agrees. He's always interested in other people's art and tattoos. "Let me see your tattoos first, then I'll get around to drawing something. On something."

No promises to what. Maybe a wall. Paper. Klaus. Something.

tact from me is like blood from a stone

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