ꀘ꒒ꋬ꒤ꇙ ꂵ꒐ꀘꋬꏂ꒒ꇙꄲꋊ (
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snowblindrpg2015-08-16 11:25 am
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[network] @klausmikaelson; DAY 026: NIGHT [open] [warning: hallucinations, blood, self-injury]
[ he has no intention of dying here again, lost in the cold, every inch of him freezing in submission to this perpetual winter. klaus has not lived for over a thousand years to be bested by whatever has taken him from his home, from his daughter, and stranded him in this nightmare.
he will not relent nor fold, out of the necessity to slaughter his captives, out of necessity to keep himself whole; to keep the one other person he cares about here whole.
if that means he will go mad staying inside this night, caught in a storm the likes of which he hasn't seen in centuries, then so be it. the hallucinations are off-putting, but certainly manageable, and during the day he has the wherewithal to understand that. he experienced over fifty-two years of hallucinations and torture once, courtesy of the fledgling hunters he massacred, and so he will persevere through whatever this place has to deal until he can leave this room, intact.
so he can leave, find cami, and be done with this.
that is until he sees the walls morphing into the mangled wooden crib of his daughter's, constantly at the corner of his eye. the movement of her settled and trapped in it beckons him, but the walls are moving and swallowing her up whenever he turns his head. until he sees the blood dripping from the boards and wallpaper where it eats her up. visions of his treacherous family come next, telling him of their hatred, their disgust and disappointment and abandonment of him; family who should be dead and gone, and others that should have left him long ago. until he hears the screams of his baby girl, the plaintive, frightened cries echoing through the small, desolate home in which he is cooped up.
that beam of light, the increased paranoia, the starvation and dehydration and cold, making him human and helpless -- these are all inconveniences he can weather.
this, however.
he has punched, pried, and torn up a good portion of the walls and bookcase after the first several hours, trapped as he is during the night. he has thrown furniture and attempted to break the windows. if he meant to try to find the disembodied source, leave, or simply to quell and distract himself with the violence and agony, it's hard to tell. his hands are bloodied, knuckles sheared, staining the screen of his tablet as he broadcasts the video.
his face is smeared with red that is nearly black in the shadows. he is on his hands and knees. the ceiling, his tense, shaking shoulders and bowed head fill the screen. his eyes burn with tears and rage, directed off to the side. if he were in any right mind, klaus wouldn't broadcast this at all.
his voice is angry and promising, though strained and thick with tears, and his chest heaves. ]
I will find you, and I will kill you. [ he's lowered his head by the last, weighted down as if too heavy to keep up. the fear and uncertainty entering in his eyes is unmistakeable, for he has little power to protect himself or anyone. ] I swear I will kill all of you.
he will not relent nor fold, out of the necessity to slaughter his captives, out of necessity to keep himself whole; to keep the one other person he cares about here whole.
if that means he will go mad staying inside this night, caught in a storm the likes of which he hasn't seen in centuries, then so be it. the hallucinations are off-putting, but certainly manageable, and during the day he has the wherewithal to understand that. he experienced over fifty-two years of hallucinations and torture once, courtesy of the fledgling hunters he massacred, and so he will persevere through whatever this place has to deal until he can leave this room, intact.
so he can leave, find cami, and be done with this.
that is until he sees the walls morphing into the mangled wooden crib of his daughter's, constantly at the corner of his eye. the movement of her settled and trapped in it beckons him, but the walls are moving and swallowing her up whenever he turns his head. until he sees the blood dripping from the boards and wallpaper where it eats her up. visions of his treacherous family come next, telling him of their hatred, their disgust and disappointment and abandonment of him; family who should be dead and gone, and others that should have left him long ago. until he hears the screams of his baby girl, the plaintive, frightened cries echoing through the small, desolate home in which he is cooped up.
that beam of light, the increased paranoia, the starvation and dehydration and cold, making him human and helpless -- these are all inconveniences he can weather.
this, however.
he has punched, pried, and torn up a good portion of the walls and bookcase after the first several hours, trapped as he is during the night. he has thrown furniture and attempted to break the windows. if he meant to try to find the disembodied source, leave, or simply to quell and distract himself with the violence and agony, it's hard to tell. his hands are bloodied, knuckles sheared, staining the screen of his tablet as he broadcasts the video.
his face is smeared with red that is nearly black in the shadows. he is on his hands and knees. the ceiling, his tense, shaking shoulders and bowed head fill the screen. his eyes burn with tears and rage, directed off to the side. if he were in any right mind, klaus wouldn't broadcast this at all.
his voice is angry and promising, though strained and thick with tears, and his chest heaves. ]
I will find you, and I will kill you. [ he's lowered his head by the last, weighted down as if too heavy to keep up. the fear and uncertainty entering in his eyes is unmistakeable, for he has little power to protect himself or anyone. ] I swear I will kill all of you.
...haha oh shit she wouldn't be either lmao RETCON PLS
[ she's sane, okay?!?! if she hallucinates, that means tim did infect her. and if tim did infect her, then alex is going to want to kill her. ]
Everything that's happening to me is real.
ALL THE RETCON
and it only seems to be worsening, the rabbit hole deepening. ]
no subject
[ ahahahahaha if only you knew how funny that actually is klaus :') ]
no subject
So us both, despite your protests, suffer from those who are be gone. [ like his father, and his real father; both. like esther and henrik, kol and finn. she must see fault in her logic. ]
no subject
[ it's taken her long enough to accept that; now she has a whole new kind of denial. ]
How do you know they're not real?
no subject
What are your nightmares, Clarke?
no subject
Bloody.
no subject
he's quiet for a beat, and then responds with like confession, one designed to weave them both together in mutual suffering, in twisted camaraderie. that is what he needs. if he doesn't have it, surely there will be worse around the corner, be it by his hand or their kidnapper's. ] As are mine. [ spoken again with rare honesty. there is an earnestness in his voice that suggests concern, suggests care. ] What has happened to you?
private from here on;
It's more like I happened to people.
priiiivate
he can't say he doesn't relate. (he thinks of all that has happened to him, his eyes dropping to study the space before him; what useless wretchedness he brought into the world with existence, and the horrors he's wrought on it in vengeance.) ]
You've hurt others. [ it comes quiet, more truth than question. ]
WAIT i already permaprivated it lol disregard my stupidity
when it came to tim, she'd prefaced it with excuses, swearing that she'd never hurt anyone here. she'd wanted him to like her. or, at least, not despise her. there isn't that sense of need with klaus, that desire for acceptance. she can see that there's something dark in him too, swarming beneath the surface; at least, if his announcing his intent to kill everyone is anything to go by. their relationship is less of a friendship and more of an understanding, she thinks. she doesn't need him to like her, she just needs him to understand. ]
Yes.