abraxaslogs | {Every day's another shot

Entry tags:

{Every day's another shot

Who: Klaus + Various
When: Month of May
Where: Solvunn + the Horizon
What: Various threads through the month
Warnings: Klaus' life lends itself to flippant references to child abuse/neglect/violence, mentioned and played out use of drugs/alcohol/other facets of addiction, mentions of death/the dead/ghosts, descriptions of depression/anxiety/panic attacks/suicidal ideation/PTSD; will clearly mark if-when it comes up.

I got high hopes lots of potential

But all I do is fuck it up

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Dazzling sunlight. Spring breeze. Birdsong and leaves budding upon the branch.

This magical pocket is a bright and welcoming space. Flowers bloom and their scent draws guests towards a hall: a gothic and ornamental manor whose windows are surrounded by flourishing ivy.

Columns and arches line the interior corridors and grant pockets of space. Voices murmur indistinctly behind dark mahogany doors, locked from the inside. Small reliefs are nestled in the walls while mosaic tiles pattern the floor.

Upstairs? A small study. Its shelves are filled with journals and classic literature. Journals about psychology. Novels of classical literature. Psychiatric publications and periodicals.

Crane gently closes the door and says nothing. Today, his study entertains someone who shouldn't be there. Or is that something? He coughs to announce his presence. He isn't sure if this man's even human.]

[The thing is... the Horizon is weird.
The thing is... the Horizon is a little bit like whatever weird limbo space he went that time.
The thing is... Klaus is a nosy bastard.

Stumbling across the giant estate just felt like some kind of funny little twist of fate. It wasn't The Academy, but it wasn't not The Academy, either. Everything was extravagant, giant staircases, arching hallways, locked doors everywhere he seemed to look. It really was just like being home.

The interruption in his digging through the desk is greeted with a yelp of surprise. A quickly slammed shut desk drawer and another yelp, this time in pain, because he just slammed his thumb in the drawer.

A grin practically materializes on his face as he steps around the front of the desk, hands raised.]

This probably looks bad... it's not what you think... [his features falter slightly- ] depending on what you think... [this time it's a full-on facial shrug happening.]

[The discomfort - the little cries of pain and embarrassment - barely raise a response. Crane has all the impassivety of a man used to hiding his emotions from criminals. Not that his heart isn't in a flutter about the suffering. It should teach the man a lesson.

Not that he expects it that lesson to lodge in the fool's brain.]

What I think is that you're a curious little man. All too eager to dig your fingers into secrets.

[His voice is equally calm and impassive. But he knows exactly what this looks like.]

Well, in that case… I guess it is what it looks like.

[Still, his hands go up in surrender.]

I didn’t take anything, swearsies! You can search me if you want— [Yes, that is exactly as suggestive as it sounds, thanks for noticing.]

[Crane shuts the door: the heavy frame barely makes a sound as it clicks onto its latch.]

That won't be necessary.

[He strides towards the desk and immediately begins shuffling every note and journal back into place.]

Why are you here?

If you're sure– [He almost sing-songs the words, but shrugs at the question.]

It looked interesting? Aaaand maybe a little bit of nostalgia.

[He glances around the room, taking in a little more of the accents and actual architecture.]

Kinda looks like where I grew up. [He could have said 'reminds me of home', but... had the Academy ever really been more than a place to sleep?]

[Childhood nostalgia - or the lack of - pricks his mind. There are thirty interesting ways to describe a loving home. Thirty less ways of dividing one's past from the present.

He walks over to his chair and rests a hand upon it.]

Then would you like a seat? If you haven't already done so...

[This brat probably doesn't have manners. Probably had his slobby feet up on all the upholstery.]

If you insist… [His tone is sing-song, but there’s a note of caution threaded through it, too.

Still, no amount of uncertainty has ever stopped Klaus and he sashays over to take a seat in the indicated chair.]

Pretty fancy mind palace you got here, by the way.

[Crane takes his seat. His eyes close momentarly, hands resting and folding in his lap before he looks at his guest.]

Thank you. I do believe comfort is warranted when deserved.

[You know who doesn't deserve it? You.]

[He barks a single, quick laugh at that.]

You sound like my dad.

[He lifts a brow.

Daddy issues? How common.]

Was he a man who took himself too seriously?

And then some— [He says with another snort.] real militant kinda guy, I guess you could say. Not because he was in the military or anything but I guess he was trying to make all of us kids soldiers…

[Crane straightens his posture and crosses his ankles. He gestures to his guest - client? - with one hand.]

Illegally, I imagine? People tend to frown on forcing children to serve in the military.

Dad didn’t worry much about silly things like legality. And you’d think that, but— [Theres a brittle laugh.] people are it up, man. Kid superheroes? We had interviews and magazine articles everywhere. People loved us, and we loved the attention.

[There is no gasp of surprise. The only surprise is how his lips press together before twisting in laughter. Not that he is laughing.]

Now there's a fact I find hard to imagine.

[It's true, right? This man is an extravagently flamboyant exhibitionist.]

Which part? [He squints at him.] Because I promise you, it's all true. [Reginald Hargreeves may have adopted them, but that's where the "legal" part of his raising of his children ended.]

[Does this man have no concept of sarcasm? No, he doubts that. Better he suspect everything else.]

Of course it is.

[Superheroes? Klaus, you're fucking crazy.]

We're sitting in a room in a mental dreamscape in a world we were magically transported to by mages but my story isn't plausible?

[He snorts at that and rolls his eyes.] Oh-kay. You tell me what you think it is, then. A trauma-induced fantasy? Drug-induced psychosis? Ooohh, schizophrenia. They like that one for me a lot...

[He has, perhaps, been in and out of a number of shrink's offices and court-mandated in-patient services through the years. It's just kind of what happens when you're on the streets and screaming about ghosts, because you're too broke to get the next fix that might quell the horde of spirits clamoring for your attention.]

[He leans back in his chair, taking it in his stride.]

Well, my initial thoughts are addiction: kleptomania to be precise. Your general behaviour suggests no underlying medical condition and your personality is wonderful. But do you expect me to diagnose you after five minutes? Please, credit me more than that.

[What can he say? Game knows game.]

Ehh- [He see-saws his hands a bit.] I guess, maybe a dash of it. [Although petty theft has hit his record a number of times, he'd argue he doesn't steal because he's compelled to, so much as he's always looking for the next opportunity to score.

Addiction isn't wrong. He's just targeted the wrong one. A fair mistake given, as he pointed out, the very short interaction so far.]

But you are a shrink. [He sounds pretty pleased to have pegged that little fact.]

Congratulations. You've uncovered what the network already knows.

[His voice is flattered, amused, barely seething or boiling with anger.]

Maybe a dash more than expected, apparently.

[He glances over at his desk, towards those draws he caught Klaus rifling through.]

It’s not like the sparkly magic words in front of our faces come with pictures attached, you know.

[A downside to the brain texts, if you ask him.

At the- is an assessment or accusation?- he simply shrugs as much with his face as he does with the wide spread of his hands to tag along with his indifference.]

Only our titles and names.

[He offers an idle roll of his shoulders and returns his gaze. He might be reserved but he also feels confident - and hardly regards himself as a pushover. Do people see "Doctor" before his name? Perhaps he'll ask someone to check out of curiosity.]

It's a fact most forget.

I guess titles are pretty important when you go into all that debt for a degree… [Which is to say, yeah, in one ear and out the other for someone like him. Oops?]

Tell me about it. Medical school must have an attraction to the insane.

[Is this how one projects empathy? Who knows!]

{Every day's another shot

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