[fingers grasping the old doorknob, he twists, strains to push— and ends up falling flat on his face when the damn door swings with more momentum than he's anticipating.] Sonuvabitch, [he's muttering into the floor, wincing and hissing as he draws himself up onto his elbows, raises his head to scan the area.
is this. a radio station? he flutters his eyelashes, inhales sharply then sneezes immediately afterward.] Shit, when's the last time someone called the maid?
[now that klaus's sitting on his knees, he raises both hands and begins wafting some of the lingering dust away, holding his breath as he does, praying it won't make him sneeze a second time. mercifully, it doesn't. while he's moving to stand, hands lowering to brush off his coat, army vest, and leather pants, he notices something particular: it's eerily quiet for a radio station. like, unnervingly so, and it has him feeling even edgier than usual.
despite his blatant hesitance, he considers his options, decides he likes the sun side a bit better, takes the chance—]
divided light;
[and ends up regretting it anyway when the disorientation hits him like a freight train. equilibrium thrown, he stumbles forward a couple steps, reaches to catch himself on the side of a dilapidated building and hopes his shaky knees don't drop him on his ass another time.
it's not unlike time-jumping with his brother or briefcase-traveling, minus the dull ache of feeling as if his head's been stuffed full of cotton. he takes a minute to gather his bearings, inhales deep and holds – one, two, three – then exhales slowly.] Keep it together, [he scolds himself quietly, forcing his eyes open as he straightens back up.
the white noise of static urges him forward; he picks up a few food items, knowing they'll come in handy at some point, even if some of them disappear before he has a chance to get them. whatever this place is, it has to be fucking with him, right? things don't just disappear for no reason.
so, he waits nearby a rusted old car, watches where stuff starts vanishing and scribbles a messy 'hello' onto the windshield.]
shadow realm;
[seeing ghosts isn't ever enough, is it? oh no, never enough, naturally. the shadows are somehow more distressing than his usual spirit floating here or there; at least he'd had narcotics to fight those off but here? it's drier than the sahara desert and he doubts pills are going to be easy to find amongst all the debris.
he finds that watching them only makes his anxiety worse, so klaus forces himself to stare at his sneakers, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. seems to work out fine, until one of them abruptly appears in front of him, sprouting tentacles and a gaping maw, some love craftian cthulu-style monster. his own mouth opens, although no sound comes out-- he's just standing there, gaping like a fish outta water, frightened tears beginning to prick the corners of his eyes.
ben momentarily flashes through his mind, an utterly panicked shriek comes tumbling out of his mouth and he puts all his energy into self-preservation, backpedaling away as fast as he can because jesus christ, that is not the horror he's familiar with.
which ends up being the smartest idea he's had since his arrival here, more than likely. he spins on his toe and sprints in the opposite direction, floundering through nonexistent resistance, muttering unintelligible nonsense while he flees toward the nearest shelter. please, god, let one of these doors open, then aloud,] Dear, Karma: whatever I did to deserve this? I'm sorry!
video killed the radio star;
[the moment the sky opens up and begins dumping down ice-cold snowflakes, klaus is suddenly a lot more grateful for his fur-lined coat, huddling down into its collar while tucking the flaps in tight against his narrow torso. he's shivering regardless of the extra warmth though, teeth chattering, hands clasped together and tucked beneath his chin against the hollow of his throat.
at least they've got the mirrors to use for protection. klaus's huddling nearby one the moment he notices this, hunkering down in preparation for waiting out the bizarre storm that's come out of nowhere. to be honest, he shouldn't be surprised by it-- whatever this place is, it's proven to be unstable the entire time so far, what would make now any different? there's a heavy sigh then he drops into a sit, arms tucked between his chest and thighs, lips pressing tight for the barest minute before he huffs again.
what the hell is that noise?]
Do you hear something?
wildcard;
[ooc: if none of these are doing it for you, hit me with your best shot! ayyy fingerguns]
klaus hargreeves ☂ the umbrella academy (sun side, also: cw for drugs)
[fingers grasping the old doorknob, he twists, strains to push— and ends up falling flat on his face when the damn door swings with more momentum than he's anticipating.] Sonuvabitch, [he's muttering into the floor, wincing and hissing as he draws himself up onto his elbows, raises his head to scan the area.
is this. a radio station? he flutters his eyelashes, inhales sharply then sneezes immediately afterward.] Shit, when's the last time someone called the maid?
[now that klaus's sitting on his knees, he raises both hands and begins wafting some of the lingering dust away, holding his breath as he does, praying it won't make him sneeze a second time. mercifully, it doesn't. while he's moving to stand, hands lowering to brush off his coat, army vest, and leather pants, he notices something particular: it's eerily quiet for a radio station. like, unnervingly so, and it has him feeling even edgier than usual.
despite his blatant hesitance, he considers his options, decides he likes the sun side a bit better, takes the chance—]
divided light;
[and ends up regretting it anyway when the disorientation hits him like a freight train. equilibrium thrown, he stumbles forward a couple steps, reaches to catch himself on the side of a dilapidated building and hopes his shaky knees don't drop him on his ass another time.
it's not unlike time-jumping with his brother or briefcase-traveling, minus the dull ache of feeling as if his head's been stuffed full of cotton. he takes a minute to gather his bearings, inhales deep and holds – one, two, three – then exhales slowly.] Keep it together, [he scolds himself quietly, forcing his eyes open as he straightens back up.
the white noise of static urges him forward; he picks up a few food items, knowing they'll come in handy at some point, even if some of them disappear before he has a chance to get them. whatever this place is, it has to be fucking with him, right? things don't just disappear for no reason.
so, he waits nearby a rusted old car, watches where stuff starts vanishing and scribbles a messy 'hello' onto the windshield.]
shadow realm;
[seeing ghosts isn't ever enough, is it? oh no, never enough, naturally. the shadows are somehow more distressing than his usual spirit floating here or there; at least he'd had narcotics to fight those off but here? it's drier than the sahara desert and he doubts pills are going to be easy to find amongst all the debris.
he finds that watching them only makes his anxiety worse, so klaus forces himself to stare at his sneakers, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. seems to work out fine, until one of them abruptly appears in front of him, sprouting tentacles and a gaping maw, some love craftian cthulu-style monster. his own mouth opens, although no sound comes out-- he's just standing there, gaping like a fish outta water, frightened tears beginning to prick the corners of his eyes.
ben momentarily flashes through his mind, an utterly panicked shriek comes tumbling out of his mouth and he puts all his energy into self-preservation, backpedaling away as fast as he can because jesus christ, that is not the horror he's familiar with.
which ends up being the smartest idea he's had since his arrival here, more than likely. he spins on his toe and sprints in the opposite direction, floundering through nonexistent resistance, muttering unintelligible nonsense while he flees toward the nearest shelter. please, god, let one of these doors open, then aloud,] Dear, Karma: whatever I did to deserve this? I'm sorry!
video killed the radio star;
[the moment the sky opens up and begins dumping down ice-cold snowflakes, klaus is suddenly a lot more grateful for his fur-lined coat, huddling down into its collar while tucking the flaps in tight against his narrow torso. he's shivering regardless of the extra warmth though, teeth chattering, hands clasped together and tucked beneath his chin against the hollow of his throat.
at least they've got the mirrors to use for protection. klaus's huddling nearby one the moment he notices this, hunkering down in preparation for waiting out the bizarre storm that's come out of nowhere. to be honest, he shouldn't be surprised by it-- whatever this place is, it's proven to be unstable the entire time so far, what would make now any different? there's a heavy sigh then he drops into a sit, arms tucked between his chest and thighs, lips pressing tight for the barest minute before he huffs again.
what the hell is that noise?]
Do you hear something?
wildcard;
[ooc: if none of these are doing it for you, hit me with your best shot! ayyy fingerguns]