[ he's almost got it, almost--almost--but there's something gripping at him. Quentin doesn't want to stop but the force is going to be destructive, powerful, and his next groan is slightly pained in between the whispering. He needs to get home--
--the lights flicker more and more rapidly before the droning sound turns more into a piercing screech and they shatter, showering sparks, but Quentin isn't reacting. His facial expression is calm, serene despite the whispering and chanting, despite the continued hand motions, like he's in some sort of strange trance with his eyes closed.
His hand reaches one final string of movements before it happens. The moment Quentin's eyes snap open fear is written all over his face, ashey and pale before there's a loud banging noise. Windows shatter, showering the two of them and Quentin goes flying straight into the middle of the wall, motionless. Unconscious. ]
[klaus responds with the manliest sounding squeak he can let out when the lightbulbs burst all of a sudden. he flinches, draws his other hand off the rung, wrapping it around his face to protect himself from the sparks while he continues straining forward, the pads of his fingers brushing the curve of quentin's neck—
except he hesitates at the downright tranquility of the other's expression, eyebrows knitting together with confusion, mouth hanging open. jesus christ, something is off, although he hasn't got a single clue as to what could've gone wrong here-- and that's about when quentin's eyes open, all the color drains from his face and there's a bang.]
Quentin! [he shouts again, regardless of the fact he selfishly curls into himself in an attempt to protect anything important from the spray of glass, but certainly won't come out unscathed. the moment everything stops, klaus leaps off the bed, scrambles across the floor on hands and knees (like a dumbass), forgoing the pinpricks of pain where he's being cut to clasp quentin's arms.] Jesus Christ, Q? [pause, then again with extra emphasis,] Quentin?
[not having an automatic response makes him panic further, tighten his grip and give an insistent shake.] Fuck, fuck, come on, man.
[ Quentin doesn't answer. His breathing is shallow, barely there, and once Klaus shakes him he coughs up blood, thick and crimson, but there's no other response. Quentin lays limp.
That's the same time the orderlies burst in, and immediately set to work. They separate Klaus and Quentin, drag them both to separate parts of the infirmary. They seem to go with whatever it is Klaus says happened, if only because no one's actually sure what could cause it. They even thank Klaus for helping Quentin.
When Quentin wakes up it's the same bed as when he first arrived here, and his vision is spotty but he swears he sees a moth. He's extremely drugged up, though, barely coherent, and actually needs help walking. The nurse explains that whatever had happened they don't know, but are waiting for tests to get back, but even through the haze Quentin knows it's bullshit. He knows exactly what happened.
His normally naturally tanned skin is still pale as he leans against the doorway. ]
Klaus.
[ He frowns, and starts slowly and carefully making his way to the bunk, words thick with painkillers he probably doesn't need. ]
[which prompts him to stop shaking as soon as that happens, his hands withdrawing, immediately moving to cup around his mouth.] No, [comes out, harsh and breathless, something comparable to a pathetic whimper, but far more pained.] Nonono—
[everything else tumbling from his mouth is either incoherent babble or some unintelligible bullshit about magic while he's kicking things under the bed after hearing the footsteps, hoping to scatter enough of it so nothing looks too skeptical-- and although he struggles the entire time the orderlies separate them (panic attack and all), he doesn't fight their aid. they're thanking him, telling he's done fine with what he could, taking him off to get his own wounds checked.
waiting in his infirmary bed is the hardest part. they won't let him see quentin because he "needs to be monitored because of hitting his head" and "klaus, you should be resting, too," but he can't sleep, not after... not after the catastrophe that'd just happened in their room. thank whatever higher powers out there, they give him pain pills when he puts up too much of a fuss during the removal of any leftover glass shards.
he sits curled on the bed, running through the list of things he'd been asked to get over and over again because obviously, it was something he'd done wrong. one of his contacts had gotten sabotaged-- or sabotaged him? either way, shit's gone sideways in the worst way.
hearing quentin's voice draws klaus's attention, makes him lift his head from his hands then instantly spring to his feet, bridging the slight distance between them from the bed to where quentin's only a couple steps away.] Q, you shouldn't— [he stops there, shakes his head and reaches to clasp quentin's shoulders, wincing slightly at the ache in his hands, although it doesn't stop him from carefully leading them to sit. damn, they're both high as kites, aren't they?]
Of course, I didn't run! There's no way I was going to leave you there by yourself.
[ In his haze, he can remember a few people talking about the rehab kids. How they're always unreliable. How they don't give a shit. How some of them will steal their meds. Not once did Klaus think to back off, to move, to do anything but stay with him.
He's a true friend. At least, after all of this, he'll be able to spend more time with Klaus.
The wave of sadness hasn't quite crushed him yet--thank you, meds--so he does wind up offering the tiniest of smiles. ]
Thank you.
[ And, to mimic what the other did before the whole mess, he reaches out to touch his knee. ]
[being unreliable, not giving a shit and stealing meds might have been how he'd have gone through this before, possibly dragging quentin down with him, except that it's quentin who'd made him want to change. at first, he might've thought the guy was nuts, but after the first trick, his continued use of magic and the belief he had.
how could he not have helped him? it'd benefitted them both in the end, although now it feels like he's failed his end of the bargain.
and yet, quentin's thanking him anyway.
maybe it's the drugs? maybe his emotions have gotten the better of him like they do sometimes? regardless of the reasoning, klaus clasps the hand on his knee, abruptly leans in, too fast and all at once, then he remembers: quentin's got a girlfriend. fuck, he thinks, but his movements are effortless-- a smooth adjustment he somehow manages through his intoxication, and their foreheads meet in an affectionate bump.]
S-Sorry, [he stammers, lifting his other hand to rub the back of his neck.] I just thought I— I might not get to see you again? [a pause. god, he feels extra stupid now.] ...you're welcome.
[ Klaus leans in and it's like heaven, having someone that close, someone you can trust. Quentin finds himself leaning in as well, and there's a fleeting moment where the heat rises up in the back of his neck because he swears they're going to kiss--and sure it's wrong, but it feels so right--and Quentin lifts his lips and--
--and they touch foreheads, and Quentin is left feeling strange and biting through shame and disappointment at the same damn time.
He's got Alice. Klaus, while probably at least gay, is also smart enough to realize that Qeentin's too much of a hot mess, anyway. He offers a smile instead, hazy, out of it until he spots the other's arm. He grabs it, gently, and pulls him closer. ]
[amidst the split second before his diversion, they're only inches apart, breath mingling between them, warm and intimate-- then he has to go and second-guess himself when it seems like quentin might be okay with being kissed, which makes him feel even more foolish to assume.
why would he want it while being with someone already? someone who's surely less of a dumpster fire than klaus, too.
both of these fools are hot messes in their own ways; it could have something to do with the attraction he has? not because he has some savior complex and wants to fix quentin or anything silly like that, but because they've been helping each other be better.
klaus blinks down at his bandaged arm, lets out a soft gasp (not a pained one) as he's tugged closer, eyebrows arching in slight astonishment.] Yeah, the windows, they... kind of exploded? My dumb ass crawled through the glass to get to you. [he giggles, soft, still blatantly high off his ass, thumbs rubbing over the bandages on his fingers as he directs his attention to his knees.] Battle scars, baby.
Oh. [ There's a dim part his foggy brain that knows he got a little messed up, too, but he's still honing on the fact that Klaus hurt. Klaus hurt for him, and he feels more than weird about it, he feels strangely touched.
He wonders if that's just because he's sick right now. Recovering from whatever had happened. A spell gone wrong. ]
I'm sorry, it was supposed to work.
[ he's not even sure why he's apologizing. Or not letting go of the other's arm. ]
How's your head? [even before he gets an answer, klaus is withdrawing partially, reaching his idle hand up to ghost his fingertips across quentin's temple, smooth and light as he works back through his hair, over his scalp. while his friend's fixated on his wounds, the taller man's drawing attention away from them, hoping it won't be such a big deal that he'd hurt and bled and felt something he shouldn't.
fuck, and then quentin's apologizing again, making him shake his head-- a little too vigorously, considering it causes a brief moment of dizziness.]
No, you don't have to apologize, just— [don't blame yourself? don't let go? what?] It must've been something with the ingredients. One of my people fucked us...
[for reasons unknown right now, but hand to god, he'll find out why or die trying. his attention lowers to where quentin's still holding his arm, eyebrows knitting, lips pressing into a thin line, then he lifts his gaze back up.] I'll fix it, okay? I don't know how yet, but I will.
[ Except for the part where it didn't, and Quentin is already trying to fight through the haze of painkillers and general sedatives. They haven't ruled out some form of weird suicide, which...
...Well. It makes sense. ]
Except for the part where it didn't. Uh--something stopped me. I think it's the same thing that sent me here.
Wait, what? You're telling me that was supposed to happen?
[doesn't make much sense to klaus, unfortunately, who's head is still swimming, eyelashes fluttering and expression creasing as he attempts to work through the confusion. in spite of the fact he's no magic user, he is pretty sure that's not how it was supposed to work.]
The Beast, yeah. [he lowers his hand, moves it to circle quentin's wrist, squeezes tight.] That guy fucked it up, huh? Messed with your magic like a raging dickhead.
[another shake of the head.] Wow, he really doesn't want you to go back. [a beat, his lips upturning somewhat.] Sucks to be him, I guess, because we're going to get you home.
Most of it was. Except for the part at the end, where, uh... [ He motions his head over to the wall and--oh, damn, they're in a new room. Makes sense. They had to clean up. He squints, trying to focus on something other than Klaus' hand, which he carefully sets down, and then draws his knees up to his chest to hug them. ]
I'll figure out some way.
[ Because there has to be a way, there absolutely has to be, and Klaus--God bless Klaus the junkie, Klaus the no one, Klaus the weirdo. He's none of those things, really. Even if he thinks he is, Quentin knows he's not.
but, fuck, even with the drunks there's a sinking feeling in his chest. ]
[klaus turns to look as well, sinks his teeth into the side of his cheek then returns his gaze to quentin.] Where everything blew up? [and just like that, quentin's putting his arm down, moving to curl in on himself. something white-hot pierces his chest, sharp, almost knocking the breath straight out of his lungs.]
Hey, it— it's okay. You don't have to do it alone, you know?
[considering he'd helped before, why wouldn't he this time as well? as a matter of fact:] Q, listen. [he shuffles up next to the shorter male, loops an arm around his shoulders and gingerly squeezes.]
We just gotta ride out the rest of the week, [he continues, gripping a bit firmer, his head tilting with consideration.] Then we can check out and you'll come home with me. We'll be able to work better from there.
[ The rest of the week? Yeah, if he'll get let out. Quentin has the sneaking suspicion, dread-like and in waves, that something's going to happen. That he's not going to be able to get out. He knows he can't think like that, but even through the medication, it's difficult not to.
How long has he been here? It's sort of blurred together. Or maybe it's blurring together now? He can't quite tell, and he slumps down in his position, no longer hugging his knees but sort of slumped, half on the ground half not.
It takes him a while to actually hear Klaus. He's physically heard him just fine, but: ]
Check me out? To your place?
[ Oh, God, Quentin had assumed Klaus was homeless and--hold on-- ] Do we get released the same day?
[so long as klaus lives and breathes, there's no fucking way he's letting quentin stay here by himself. who knows when they'd let him out (if they would)? all the magic talk might land him in more hot water, particularly after what'd happened an hour or two ago.
no, he can't leave his friend in the hands of these people who don't (and refuse to) understand. quentin slumps onto the floor and klaus shifts, watches him go down, eyebrows raising with consideration.] You comfy down there? [inquires the older male, bending so he's leaning over quentin, arms around his shoulders, looking at him from upside-down.]
Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. [pause] I mean if you'd want to come with me anyway? We have plenty of room.
[okay, well, to be fair: he's not totally wrong, but.] Close to it, I think. Maybe you're a few days behind me, but I'll wait if I have to.
[ Someone would wait for him. Quentin looks up at Klaus, squinting before he breaks into a smile. It's a genuine one despite the drugs--warm, bright, dimples and all--and he feels more and more like Klaus and Eliot would get along. Klaus, he's selfless, tougher than he thinks. Scrambling to get things just because some floppy-haired asshole wanted them. Quentin's never been more thankful.
It's not like he has anywhere else to go. It's not like he's not going to feel the walls closing in in a few hours and break down with how helpless he feels. Now, though, he's got Klaus. ]
[the sudden flutter of his heart, fast as a hummingbird's wings, makes the breath catch in his chest, his eyes widening at the sight of quentin's sincere smile. goddamn, just when he didn't think the guy could get more attractive, he goes and does something like that. people have called him some awful shit for befriending quentin, but in the end, it's been so worth it.
if they're lucky, they'll come down around the same time and klaus can do everything in his power to make certain quentin won't feel so helpless or lost once he realizes it's going to take more time to get him home.]
Whataya want from me, a blood pact or something? 'Course I would, you nerd.
[ There are a select few people in the world that call him nerd and he's not offended. Klaus, it seems, has somehow slid his way into that category, and he reaches over to grab at his arm again, right back to examining the bandages, even though they're upside down now. Different angle. ]
No, it's just.. It's nice to hear. I owe you a lot.
[ He's going to pay it back too, somehow. Find some sort of spells. Klaus, after all, is basically the magical equivalent of a battery, so-- ]
Klaus, can you do anything else? Asides from see the dead? Read thoughts, that sort of thing?
[which is good because klaus's tone of voice suggests the tease is completely harmless; it's how one would use an affectionate nickname, like when he calls him 'q.' absentmindedly tipping his head, he averts his attention to where quentin's holding his arm again, eyelashes fluttering heavily.]
Better get used to it, then. We both kinda owe each other.
[shit, speaking of: here's hoping the orderlies don't find the slip he'd tucked away in his pillowcase right away. maybe he'll be able to sneak in and get it before they toss the room.]
Anything else...? Uh, no, can't do telepathy. [he hums, thoughtful, shifting the arm quentin isn't holding so he can drum his fingers along the magician's shoulder.] Evocation? Daddy Dearest says I've got plenty of potential to live up to if I'd just [a long, drawn-out sigh] stop pumping myself full of poison.
[ Oh, there's something there, the way he's said Dearest, and Quentin can hazard a vague guess. They both know each other but don't at the same time, Quentin keeping a lot of his things quiet, Klaus doing the same. Not out of fear but just because they'd been so focused on everything else.
Daddy dearest, with that much spite and malice, like Penny borrowed a sarcastic quip from Eliot. ]
If you're like a conduit for me, that means you have something inherent in you. Obviously, you can see the dead, but what if it's more than that? What if you can do more? We're resonating with the same energy if I'm piggybacking off of you...
[ Oh, hey, those drugs are starting to wear off. ]
[his waspish tone is unmistakable, frankly, and he doesn't even try to cover that up. hell, if it were anymore acidic, klaus's tongue might burn out of his mouth, but he bites down, to the point he's thinking he might taste blood—
then quentin continues going on about how it's possible he possesses (haha, séance pun) other powers, momentarily furthering his confusion.] What, like, some unknown power I have to discover? I don't know, Quentin... [shit, he's beginning to comprehend things at a higher capacity as well. at least he can still make awful jokes to downplay his abilities though, and that's a bizarre relief.]
Are you saying I have Big Magician Energy? [followed by a hyena-like cackle.] Okay, fine, let's say I've got it: what do you think I'd be able to do? Anything helpful at all?
[ Quentin can't help but laugh at that, dimples and all, looking up at Klaus.
Big Magician Energy. Sure, yeah--that's just a lot of trauma wrapped up in bad coping mechanisms. If that's the definition, then Klaus has it in spades. ]
I don't know. It'd be trial and error--there's the fundamentals we can start with. Hand positions and the like. I'm still going to school for this, but-- [ He shrugs. ]
[klaus's eyebrows raise when quentin looks up at him, the slightest smirk curving his lips once more. oh, good, his ridiculousness just continues to make his friend laugh and he can definitely handle that.
although, that's a decent way to describe it if they were using less serious terms-- which is exactly how klaus handles situations like these, so yes, he does have a whole helluva lot of it. possibly more than he lets on most times, even.]
The blind leading the blind, [he chuckles between them, drawing away after a moment, but not without drifting his lips across quentin's head in what he's hoping is an absentminded (hopefully a hardly noticeable one) kiss while he straightens.] Then I know exactly what we can practice during our last week.
[ 'Our last week' sounds infinitely better than 'you're stuck here so lets make the best of it.' The fact that there's even a 'lets' in that sentence alone is enough to boost him a little. ]
Thanks.
[ He means it, too, even though it's one syllable it's filled with as much emotion as he can muster. ]
You know, it's not my first time in a place like this, but.. It is my first time with a bunkmate who gave a shit.
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volunteertomatoes) wrote2019-04-16 01:33 pm
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[ he's almost got it, almost--almost--but there's something gripping at him. Quentin doesn't want to stop but the force is going to be destructive, powerful, and his next groan is slightly pained in between the whispering. He needs to get home--
--the lights flicker more and more rapidly before the droning sound turns more into a piercing screech and they shatter, showering sparks, but Quentin isn't reacting. His facial expression is calm, serene despite the whispering and chanting, despite the continued hand motions, like he's in some sort of strange trance with his eyes closed.
His hand reaches one final string of movements before it happens. The moment Quentin's eyes snap open fear is written all over his face, ashey and pale before there's a loud banging noise. Windows shatter, showering the two of them and Quentin goes flying straight into the middle of the wall, motionless. Unconscious. ]
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except he hesitates at the downright tranquility of the other's expression, eyebrows knitting together with confusion, mouth hanging open. jesus christ, something is off, although he hasn't got a single clue as to what could've gone wrong here-- and that's about when quentin's eyes open, all the color drains from his face and there's a bang.]
Quentin! [he shouts again, regardless of the fact he selfishly curls into himself in an attempt to protect anything important from the spray of glass, but certainly won't come out unscathed. the moment everything stops, klaus leaps off the bed, scrambles across the floor on hands and knees (like a dumbass), forgoing the pinpricks of pain where he's being cut to clasp quentin's arms.] Jesus Christ, Q? [pause, then again with extra emphasis,] Quentin?
[not having an automatic response makes him panic further, tighten his grip and give an insistent shake.] Fuck, fuck, come on, man.
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That's the same time the orderlies burst in, and immediately set to work. They separate Klaus and Quentin, drag them both to separate parts of the infirmary. They seem to go with whatever it is Klaus says happened, if only because no one's actually sure what could cause it. They even thank Klaus for helping Quentin.
When Quentin wakes up it's the same bed as when he first arrived here, and his vision is spotty but he swears he sees a moth. He's extremely drugged up, though, barely coherent, and actually needs help walking. The nurse explains that whatever had happened they don't know, but are waiting for tests to get back, but even through the haze Quentin knows it's bullshit. He knows exactly what happened.
His normally naturally tanned skin is still pale as he leans against the doorway. ]
Klaus.
[ He frowns, and starts slowly and carefully making his way to the bunk, words thick with painkillers he probably doesn't need. ]
You didn't run.
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[everything else tumbling from his mouth is either incoherent babble or some unintelligible bullshit about magic while he's kicking things under the bed after hearing the footsteps, hoping to scatter enough of it so nothing looks too skeptical-- and although he struggles the entire time the orderlies separate them (panic attack and all), he doesn't fight their aid. they're thanking him, telling he's done fine with what he could, taking him off to get his own wounds checked.
waiting in his infirmary bed is the hardest part. they won't let him see quentin because he "needs to be monitored because of hitting his head" and "klaus, you should be resting, too," but he can't sleep, not after... not after the catastrophe that'd just happened in their room. thank whatever higher powers out there, they give him pain pills when he puts up too much of a fuss during the removal of any leftover glass shards.
he sits curled on the bed, running through the list of things he'd been asked to get over and over again because obviously, it was something he'd done wrong. one of his contacts had gotten sabotaged-- or sabotaged him? either way, shit's gone sideways in the worst way.
hearing quentin's voice draws klaus's attention, makes him lift his head from his hands then instantly spring to his feet, bridging the slight distance between them from the bed to where quentin's only a couple steps away.] Q, you shouldn't— [he stops there, shakes his head and reaches to clasp quentin's shoulders, wincing slightly at the ache in his hands, although it doesn't stop him from carefully leading them to sit. damn, they're both high as kites, aren't they?]
Of course, I didn't run! There's no way I was going to leave you there by yourself.
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He's a true friend. At least, after all of this, he'll be able to spend more time with Klaus.
The wave of sadness hasn't quite crushed him yet--thank you, meds--so he does wind up offering the tiniest of smiles. ]
Thank you.
[ And, to mimic what the other did before the whole mess, he reaches out to touch his knee. ]
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how could he not have helped him? it'd benefitted them both in the end, although now it feels like he's failed his end of the bargain.
and yet, quentin's thanking him anyway.
maybe it's the drugs? maybe his emotions have gotten the better of him like they do sometimes? regardless of the reasoning, klaus clasps the hand on his knee, abruptly leans in, too fast and all at once, then he remembers: quentin's got a girlfriend. fuck, he thinks, but his movements are effortless-- a smooth adjustment he somehow manages through his intoxication, and their foreheads meet in an affectionate bump.]
S-Sorry, [he stammers, lifting his other hand to rub the back of his neck.] I just thought I— I might not get to see you again? [a pause. god, he feels extra stupid now.] ...you're welcome.
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--and they touch foreheads, and Quentin is left feeling strange and biting through shame and disappointment at the same damn time.
He's got Alice. Klaus, while probably at least gay, is also smart enough to realize that Qeentin's too much of a hot mess, anyway. He offers a smile instead, hazy, out of it until he spots the other's arm. He grabs it, gently, and pulls him closer. ]
You're hurt.
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why would he want it while being with someone already? someone who's surely less of a dumpster fire than klaus, too.
both of these fools are hot messes in their own ways; it could have something to do with the attraction he has? not because he has some savior complex and wants to fix quentin or anything silly like that, but because they've been helping each other be better.
klaus blinks down at his bandaged arm, lets out a soft gasp (not a pained one) as he's tugged closer, eyebrows arching in slight astonishment.] Yeah, the windows, they... kind of exploded? My dumb ass crawled through the glass to get to you. [he giggles, soft, still blatantly high off his ass, thumbs rubbing over the bandages on his fingers as he directs his attention to his knees.] Battle scars, baby.
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He wonders if that's just because he's sick right now. Recovering from whatever had happened. A spell gone wrong. ]
I'm sorry, it was supposed to work.
[ he's not even sure why he's apologizing. Or not letting go of the other's arm. ]
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fuck, and then quentin's apologizing again, making him shake his head-- a little too vigorously, considering it causes a brief moment of dizziness.]
No, you don't have to apologize, just— [don't blame yourself? don't let go? what?] It must've been something with the ingredients. One of my people fucked us...
[for reasons unknown right now, but hand to god, he'll find out why or die trying. his attention lowers to where quentin's still holding his arm, eyebrows knitting, lips pressing into a thin line, then he lifts his gaze back up.] I'll fix it, okay? I don't know how yet, but I will.
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[ Except for the part where it didn't, and Quentin is already trying to fight through the haze of painkillers and general sedatives. They haven't ruled out some form of weird suicide, which...
...Well. It makes sense. ]
Except for the part where it didn't. Uh--something stopped me. I think it's the same thing that sent me here.
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[doesn't make much sense to klaus, unfortunately, who's head is still swimming, eyelashes fluttering and expression creasing as he attempts to work through the confusion. in spite of the fact he's no magic user, he is pretty sure that's not how it was supposed to work.]
The Beast, yeah. [he lowers his hand, moves it to circle quentin's wrist, squeezes tight.] That guy fucked it up, huh? Messed with your magic like a raging dickhead.
[another shake of the head.] Wow, he really doesn't want you to go back. [a beat, his lips upturning somewhat.] Sucks to be him, I guess, because we're going to get you home.
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I'll figure out some way.
[ Because there has to be a way, there absolutely has to be, and Klaus--God bless Klaus the junkie, Klaus the no one, Klaus the weirdo. He's none of those things, really. Even if he thinks he is, Quentin knows he's not.
but, fuck, even with the drunks there's a sinking feeling in his chest. ]
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Hey, it— it's okay. You don't have to do it alone, you know?
[considering he'd helped before, why wouldn't he this time as well? as a matter of fact:] Q, listen. [he shuffles up next to the shorter male, loops an arm around his shoulders and gingerly squeezes.]
We just gotta ride out the rest of the week, [he continues, gripping a bit firmer, his head tilting with consideration.] Then we can check out and you'll come home with me. We'll be able to work better from there.
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How long has he been here? It's sort of blurred together. Or maybe it's blurring together now? He can't quite tell, and he slumps down in his position, no longer hugging his knees but sort of slumped, half on the ground half not.
It takes him a while to actually hear Klaus. He's physically heard him just fine, but: ]
Check me out? To your place?
[ Oh, God, Quentin had assumed Klaus was homeless and--hold on-- ] Do we get released the same day?
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no, he can't leave his friend in the hands of these people who don't (and refuse to) understand. quentin slumps onto the floor and klaus shifts, watches him go down, eyebrows raising with consideration.] You comfy down there? [inquires the older male, bending so he's leaning over quentin, arms around his shoulders, looking at him from upside-down.]
Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. [pause] I mean if you'd want to come with me anyway? We have plenty of room.
[okay, well, to be fair: he's not totally wrong, but.] Close to it, I think. Maybe you're a few days behind me, but I'll wait if I have to.
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It's not like he has anywhere else to go. It's not like he's not going to feel the walls closing in in a few hours and break down with how helpless he feels. Now, though, he's got Klaus. ]
You'd really wait for me?
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if they're lucky, they'll come down around the same time and klaus can do everything in his power to make certain quentin won't feel so helpless or lost once he realizes it's going to take more time to get him home.]
Whataya want from me, a blood pact or something? 'Course I would, you nerd.
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No, it's just.. It's nice to hear. I owe you a lot.
[ He's going to pay it back too, somehow. Find some sort of spells. Klaus, after all, is basically the magical equivalent of a battery, so-- ]
Klaus, can you do anything else? Asides from see the dead? Read thoughts, that sort of thing?
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Better get used to it, then. We both kinda owe each other.
[shit, speaking of: here's hoping the orderlies don't find the slip he'd tucked away in his pillowcase right away. maybe he'll be able to sneak in and get it before they toss the room.]
Anything else...? Uh, no, can't do telepathy. [he hums, thoughtful, shifting the arm quentin isn't holding so he can drum his fingers along the magician's shoulder.] Evocation? Daddy Dearest says I've got plenty of potential to live up to if I'd just [a long, drawn-out sigh] stop pumping myself full of poison.
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Daddy dearest, with that much spite and malice, like Penny borrowed a sarcastic quip from Eliot. ]
If you're like a conduit for me, that means you have something inherent in you. Obviously, you can see the dead, but what if it's more than that? What if you can do more? We're resonating with the same energy if I'm piggybacking off of you...
[ Oh, hey, those drugs are starting to wear off. ]
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then quentin continues going on about how it's possible he possesses (haha, séance pun) other powers, momentarily furthering his confusion.] What, like, some unknown power I have to discover? I don't know, Quentin... [shit, he's beginning to comprehend things at a higher capacity as well. at least he can still make awful jokes to downplay his abilities though, and that's a bizarre relief.]
Are you saying I have Big Magician Energy? [followed by a hyena-like cackle.] Okay, fine, let's say I've got it: what do you think I'd be able to do? Anything helpful at all?
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Big Magician Energy. Sure, yeah--that's just a lot of trauma wrapped up in bad coping mechanisms. If that's the definition, then Klaus has it in spades. ]
I don't know. It'd be trial and error--there's the fundamentals we can start with. Hand positions and the like. I'm still going to school for this, but-- [ He shrugs. ]
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although, that's a decent way to describe it if they were using less serious terms-- which is exactly how klaus handles situations like these, so yes, he does have a whole helluva lot of it. possibly more than he lets on most times, even.]
The blind leading the blind, [he chuckles between them, drawing away after a moment, but not without drifting his lips across quentin's head in what he's hoping is an absentminded (hopefully a hardly noticeable one) kiss while he straightens.] Then I know exactly what we can practice during our last week.
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Thanks.
[ He means it, too, even though it's one syllable it's filled with as much emotion as he can muster. ]
You know, it's not my first time in a place like this, but.. It is my first time with a bunkmate who gave a shit.
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