Klaus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wholeworldoutthere) wrote2013-03-16 02:55 am
wholeworldoutthere) wrote2013-03-16 02:55 am
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The Night After Jurassic Park (March 5th, 2am)
It's not like Caroline not to be there late at night, and at first, Klaus thinks it might be that the lift's refusing to take her up to their floor. It wouldn't be the first time. Sometimes, they also get locked in their room, or out of it. But he lets her be, anyway, and he paints, instead. He's been thinking about his time in Narnia again, since he first drank from Regina, and he needs something to occupy his brain.
The brushes have taken a little used to, but he likes the new style it's created, in his hand. Something he's never done before, but something he still meant to do. And painting calms him down; it's always calmed him down. He's taken the biggest canvas he has, and he's painted something in dark colours, glowing eyes in the night, shapes of almost beings, and yet it's nowhere near as eerie as he'd set out for it to be, and he likes it that way. It's not actually threatening, and it was a pleasant realisation, halfway through, when he could still have taken it in another direction. It's not threatening, it's family.
By the time he's done, he heads towards his communicator to check the time, right when it beeps. A text, from Caroline, asking him to meet her in the holodeck. No, not asking him. Telling him she needs him. It's enough that he's out of their room in a heartbeat, leaving a puzzled wolf there on his own, as he heads towards the holodeck at full speed (such as it now is), the door sliding open for him. There's small smudges of paint on his face and arms - a little dark blue over his right brow and on his left forearm, an ochre near his jaw, some white by his right wrist - but he clearly could care less. Caroline needs him, that's all he knows.
The brushes have taken a little used to, but he likes the new style it's created, in his hand. Something he's never done before, but something he still meant to do. And painting calms him down; it's always calmed him down. He's taken the biggest canvas he has, and he's painted something in dark colours, glowing eyes in the night, shapes of almost beings, and yet it's nowhere near as eerie as he'd set out for it to be, and he likes it that way. It's not actually threatening, and it was a pleasant realisation, halfway through, when he could still have taken it in another direction. It's not threatening, it's family.
By the time he's done, he heads towards his communicator to check the time, right when it beeps. A text, from Caroline, asking him to meet her in the holodeck. No, not asking him. Telling him she needs him. It's enough that he's out of their room in a heartbeat, leaving a puzzled wolf there on his own, as he heads towards the holodeck at full speed (such as it now is), the door sliding open for him. There's small smudges of paint on his face and arms - a little dark blue over his right brow and on his left forearm, an ochre near his jaw, some white by his right wrist - but he clearly could care less. Caroline needs him, that's all he knows.
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Because it would be so easy to push her away, make sure she couldn't hurt him any more by doing it first, but he doesn't want to, not while there's still hope. He's always thought that hope was one of the most cruel of feelings.
"Five minutes ago, you said I was in love you," he answers her last question, and she might not think it's an answer again, but it's his, and he's not going to play her game of having two conversations at once, but really neither, so he's sticking to just one question at a time. "Now you think I might be done with you?"
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"You love me, and I know it makes you human. I'm asking if you have enough faith in me to-" And she revises what she was saying, then. "If you thought I'd blame you. If you thought that's the kind of person I am. I asked you here. I needed you here, with me, and that may have been the wrong choice."
"I don't blame. I don't hate what you've done, mostly. Honestly, what I want? What I want is to figure out how to fix what's wrong with me. But it's not about blaming you. I have never blamed you for something I've done."
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He strides towards her, Original-on-nanites-fast. "What is it you think is wrong with you, exactly?"
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She pauses. "I can't- Every time I feed on somebody - I mean, except the last time, until after-- My dad-" And that's when it falters, when her eyes are shiny. "He tortured me. My father strapped me to a chair and showed me blood and when my face would change, he'd open the window so I would fry. Bonnie told me that if I ate anyone, anyone ever, she would just make my ring not work. Just like that, she'd kill me. I- I know they're wrong. I know they are, I just- I am so-" And she doesn't know the world for it; afraid maybe, or something else, but she's nearly crying.
"It's wrong. It's something that's wrong with me, there's no difference what I did and feeding, but it's not the same."
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Bennett witches. Can't live with them, can't perform a lot of specific rituals without them.
"You just have to break free of what they've taught you, love," he tells her, but that 'just' doesn't mean he thinks it's easy. "Find out who you really are. That'll take time. And I'll be here every step of the way." As long as she let him, anyway. But maybe even if she didn't.
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"Tell me you're okay with this. That I don't know how to do this, that it's not... easy. That it's-" She finally pulled back enough to look up at him. "That the part of it is wrong with me, and that it's not-" And she's not going to cry, she's not going to let herself. "It's going to be messed up for a while?"
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