Klaus Hargreeves (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bestfuneralever) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
unhingedchaos2025-10-23 03:24 pm
bestfuneralever) wrote in unhingedchaos2025-10-23 03:24 pm
{Chasing the sun down, so far East I’m westbound
Klaus & Travis
After getting upset with things in his failed group chat to clear the air between everyone, Klaus goes on a walk to clear his head; instead, he finds himself pulled toward something in a local cemetery…
{Call my name
Klaus eventually tears himself away from the group chat, which did explode, but not in the way he had hoped for it to. He knew better than to try, but he did anyway, and now, he's left feeling a little bitter and disappointed with no real reason for it, and only himself to blame.
He doesn't have any real destination in mind when he leaves, simply picks a direction and keeps walking until he feels like making a turn. He does mentally map the way he's gone so he can get back home, though. The weather’s been shifting, getting ready to take that sharp curve into winter sooner than he’d like, so there’s a chill in the air as he tugs the hoodie he had learned used to be Dylan’s (but which he personally had taken from Nick) closer to his body and folds his hands inside the front pocket. He has one earphone in and the other not, so he can still hear what’s happening around him. Not like he hasn’t been out at all hours of the night, in wilder places than the neighborhood he has newly moved into not too long ago, a countless number of times; he knows how this game goes and won’t play it too risky.
The night is mostly quiet, only faint whispers in the wind, some clearer than others, all calling for help. His feet carry him to a cemetery not terribly far from home, and he just… decides not to question it; it’s been a long time since he felt any significant sort of pull in the mystic quite like that. If he’s got weird psychic shit going on, he should probably listen to it.
He meanders through a sea of headstones, fingertips skittering along the tops of the ones that were tall enough to reach easily. There’s something looming near the back of the graveyard, which makes something small and childlike in him shrink away. Not even as a conscious act, Klaus folds in on himself like he’s trying to make himself smaller, or better still invisible or simply indistinguishable from the background. That pull seemed to want him over there, too, if the faint tug he feels is any indication of literally anything.
He comes to a stop where the paved walkway ends, just a small patch of grass before the mausoleum rises seemingly from the earth itself with the overgrown brush and tangled mess of vines growing up the sides of the structure. He blinks up at it, curious and confused. It looks… abandoned as all hell, quite frankly.
He takes a second to look around and get his bearings. He doesn’t immediately recognize anything, but he’s more curious about whatever had guided him here. “Gotta be somethin’ around here…” he murmurs softly.
Klaus is hardly a meticulous person, so his investigations leave a lot to be wanted. But he does try. Sort of. First, he grabs the biggest stick he could find— which turns out to be a broken shovel handle, that should probably be concerning but he isn’t thinking about these things. He uses it to sift through the brush and lift thickets of vines up.
Nothing jumped out at him (literally or figuratively) so he keeps the pole in his hand just in case. In case of what, he’s not entirely sure, but he has a feeling it won’t be good and having a weapon handy is always smart. Reginald had trained his children to be handy in a fight, even with improvised weapons. Many a training exercises dealt with ways to use ordinary objects in extraordinary ways. The memory of those earliest years in the academy makes him shudder. “Bad juju in those memories, Klaus,” he mutters to himself as he rounds the corner of the crypt. “think happy thoughts. Like candy floss and unicorns.”
Nothing jumpscares him as he comes around that corner completely, which makes his shoulders relax a little, even though his guard is still up. “Awfully quiet for the middle of the night in a graveyard with a medium in your midst, ghosties,” he practically sings into the night air, “What gives? Can’t a guy get a proper welcome around here?” All of this is said, interspersed with grunts of effort as he heaves and pulls and tugs until he manages to get that damn mausoleum door open wide enough to squeeze through.
“Well, well, well, what’ve we got here?” He murmurs, pulling his phone out of his pocket to shine the flashlight around inside the crypt.
After getting upset with things in his failed group chat to clear the air between everyone, Klaus goes on a walk to clear his head; instead, he finds himself pulled toward something in a local cemetery…
{Call my name
save me from the gallows
Klaus eventually tears himself away from the group chat, which did explode, but not in the way he had hoped for it to. He knew better than to try, but he did anyway, and now, he's left feeling a little bitter and disappointed with no real reason for it, and only himself to blame.
He doesn't have any real destination in mind when he leaves, simply picks a direction and keeps walking until he feels like making a turn. He does mentally map the way he's gone so he can get back home, though. The weather’s been shifting, getting ready to take that sharp curve into winter sooner than he’d like, so there’s a chill in the air as he tugs the hoodie he had learned used to be Dylan’s (but which he personally had taken from Nick) closer to his body and folds his hands inside the front pocket. He has one earphone in and the other not, so he can still hear what’s happening around him. Not like he hasn’t been out at all hours of the night, in wilder places than the neighborhood he has newly moved into not too long ago, a countless number of times; he knows how this game goes and won’t play it too risky.
The night is mostly quiet, only faint whispers in the wind, some clearer than others, all calling for help. His feet carry him to a cemetery not terribly far from home, and he just… decides not to question it; it’s been a long time since he felt any significant sort of pull in the mystic quite like that. If he’s got weird psychic shit going on, he should probably listen to it.
He meanders through a sea of headstones, fingertips skittering along the tops of the ones that were tall enough to reach easily. There’s something looming near the back of the graveyard, which makes something small and childlike in him shrink away. Not even as a conscious act, Klaus folds in on himself like he’s trying to make himself smaller, or better still invisible or simply indistinguishable from the background. That pull seemed to want him over there, too, if the faint tug he feels is any indication of literally anything.
He comes to a stop where the paved walkway ends, just a small patch of grass before the mausoleum rises seemingly from the earth itself with the overgrown brush and tangled mess of vines growing up the sides of the structure. He blinks up at it, curious and confused. It looks… abandoned as all hell, quite frankly.
He takes a second to look around and get his bearings. He doesn’t immediately recognize anything, but he’s more curious about whatever had guided him here. “Gotta be somethin’ around here…” he murmurs softly.
Klaus is hardly a meticulous person, so his investigations leave a lot to be wanted. But he does try. Sort of. First, he grabs the biggest stick he could find— which turns out to be a broken shovel handle, that should probably be concerning but he isn’t thinking about these things. He uses it to sift through the brush and lift thickets of vines up.
Nothing jumped out at him (literally or figuratively) so he keeps the pole in his hand just in case. In case of what, he’s not entirely sure, but he has a feeling it won’t be good and having a weapon handy is always smart. Reginald had trained his children to be handy in a fight, even with improvised weapons. Many a training exercises dealt with ways to use ordinary objects in extraordinary ways. The memory of those earliest years in the academy makes him shudder. “Bad juju in those memories, Klaus,” he mutters to himself as he rounds the corner of the crypt. “think happy thoughts. Like candy floss and unicorns.”
Nothing jumpscares him as he comes around that corner completely, which makes his shoulders relax a little, even though his guard is still up. “Awfully quiet for the middle of the night in a graveyard with a medium in your midst, ghosties,” he practically sings into the night air, “What gives? Can’t a guy get a proper welcome around here?” All of this is said, interspersed with grunts of effort as he heaves and pulls and tugs until he manages to get that damn mausoleum door open wide enough to squeeze through.
“Well, well, well, what’ve we got here?” He murmurs, pulling his phone out of his pocket to shine the flashlight around inside the crypt.