( OPEN ) the devil takes care of his own

[poppycock]

Who: klaus, you! + a few closed starters
Where: mansion + grounds
When: july fifth
Rating: will warn if necessary!
Summary: klaus is in wonderhell and he's not super happy about it
The Story:

mansion + grounds.

[ klaus has settled, inasmuch as he intends to here. if nothing else, wonderland has been surprisingly accommodating. he has a room quite fitted to his taste, one of those handy and interesting closets for anything else he might need (save a few particular objects, as he's been told and proved for himself), and all the booze one could possibly hope for.

he believes it's time to find out more about his new prison. klaus stops only shortly in front of the mirrors in the hallways, wondering about their dangers. the library holds some significant attention of his, since it is the wonderland's supposed trove of information. it's certainly a curious place and one that astonishes even him in its breadth. though he does not linger to read, he does pull a few of his favorites (the art of war, hamlet...) and a few oddities off the shelf to browse. hamlet in particular seems to strike a chord in him; he tempers the grief on his face before putting it back.

later, he'll stop in one of those quaint tea rooms for lunch. a perfect opportunity to sit back, watch the residents come and go, and learn something about them from afar. of course, he's brought the hefty tome history of the peloponnesian war for a cover for his creeping some light reading.

the vendors also hold a particular interest to him. while he browses, he does not dare buy. not even when his eyes catch sight of a wooden horse, a small trinket about the size of his palm. it sits quite harmlessly at one of the tables and klaus stares at it with rounded eyes, still and stricken for a long moment.

eventually, he ends up at the bar because he could certainly use a drink after his day of exploration. he'll sit on a stool and order a whisky - only the best. ]

feel free to begin a starter literally anywhere in the mansion or on the grounds if none of these work for you and you still wanna tag! klaus will see it all. he will literally be in the boiler room to check it out. i cannot stress his paranoia-induced thoroughness enough. feel free to pm this journal or send me a plurk @ provenance if you have a question or are unsure about anything!

Comments

[therapize]

[Whereas his joy is tainted by a future Cami has yet to endure, hers is pure, her smile bright and unrestrained upon hearing her dated full name. No one in Wonderland insists on calling her that the way Klaus always has; certainly no one has made her feel the happiness that pushes her forward now, the way Klaus does. She closes the distance between them with quick steps, containing herself enough to keep from throwing herself in her arms—but that doesn't mean she's sparing him the hug.

There are reasons to dread Klaus' renewed presence here, both for his sake and the sake of others. For now, however, Cami wants to savor the simple gladness she feels at seeing him, to have this moment untainted by the world they're in.]

It's really good to see you. [Words that might not make any sense to him, given how long he's been around, what he's been told. Is there some poor resident of Wonderland left confused in the wake of his compulsion, interrogated for what they might know? Possibly.

Probably, if she's being honest with herself.

Promising to figure out who later, Cami grants herself a moment more to just feel his presence in her arms, the certainty and strength he represents for her. For so many Klaus Mikaelson represents the worst brand of evil, cruelty beyond measure, and certainly he is capable of that. But for Cami, there is safety in his presence. There is trust.

There is a quickening of her heart, the faintest sound of her swallow as she turns towards those heavy details she hasn't wanted to think about, but that are still less dangerous than other thoughts.]

When did you get here? Has anyone told you about this place yet?

[poppycock]

[ he doesn't know anyone else who might look at him like that, who might so easily and eagerly take joy from a moment with him. who might embrace him. it's foreign to him; it's miraculous. she is: alive and living, smiling as if everything is all right, as if there is none of the darkness here that he knows will enter her life, and from his, and soon.

there isn't that darkness. no matter what ordeals this place has wrought, who he sees is camille is she has been. camille with a human life of her choosing stretched out before her. it feels like a dream as she steps into him, entwines her arms around him. but he knows nothing is a dream. she is not safe. not here, not home, and yet when he raises his arms to encircle her waist, it's with the wonder and fierceness and desperation of knowing she is here, right now. of knowing with a terrible certainty he must protect her. his jaw tightens with it and against his tears. he's glad for it, that reprieve of her earnest gaze; his stays round and full, his breath shaky as he moves his hands up the slender slope of her back to hold her close. every inch of her he touches is a miracle he clings to, his fingertips against the softness of her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin, the tickle of her hair against his cheek.

he holds her as if he's only just remembering how.

inside he is trembling, not still and silent and solid as he is against her. his thoughts are a riot of disbelief and awe, a plague of troubles not yet fully coalesced (for her, for them, for her here -) but nothing else seems to matter but the sound of her voice and breath in his ear, the warm press of her body against his. he hears her heartbeat quicken and nearly shakes at the sudden loudness and presence of it; it's what he lost and the terror of it nearly tears him in two as she pulls back.

he cannot hide it: the ghost in his eyes, the reverence. but her words reminds him he must, his hands lingering at her arms. he swallows thickly, looks down to shake himself. ] An hour ago, at most. I've seen Freya.

[therapize]

[The sense of responsibility that creeps in as she pulls away brings with it observation, the keen eyes and perception that has served Cami so well as to place a burden upon her when she doesn't see. Her sense of wonder is simple enough to explain: it's been months since she'd seen Klaus last, closer to a year if one considers her time in Wonderland alone. The life she has built strictly within this world has not included him, and she has felt his absence countless times in the days and weeks that have slowly passed.

Yet in those moments before he looks down to provide his answer, Cami sees something in his eyes—or she thinks she does. It's fleeting and quick, well hidden if it had been there at all, a moment that only lasts long enough to plant a seed in thoughts barely formed before they're forgotten.

His hands linger on her arms, his touch warm, intimate for how gentle and light it is. Klaus offers his answer, and Cami smiles in relief born not from the simple hope that maybe no one's been compelled or threatened after all.]

She probably gave you a pretty good rundown then, but we should still compare notes. [She motions towards a nearby table, mentally offering Jo her apologies for shirking her duties (and for Klaus at that, considering that the last time he'd been in Wonderland, Jo had been the bartender pumped for information). She means to join him momentarily, but not before she slips away from him, moving easily behind the bar to grab a well aged scotch and two glasses.]

I don't know how much you've gone through back home, but the last thing I remember is getting arrested. [Said as she rolls her eyes; she likes Will well enough, but seriously, he thinks she's a serial killer? Never mind the crazy occult knick-knacks or her wacked out family history. The notion is just flat out crazy.]

[poppycock]

[ it's all he seems to be able to do: to drown in the shock and miracle of her presence. even after he has smoothed his features, shifted his posture, let her slip from his grasp; even after he has taken that metaphorical gasp of air and rationality and forethought, his eyes trail her movements, taken in by the simple grace of her. as if hearing the casual cadence of her voice, the way she reaches for tumblers on her toes; as if it is all proof he needs, a necessary revelation from second to second.

though it doesn't rule him, even through the constant storm inside of his heart, his clenching throat, his entire being wrecked with her: he has control. he's regained it more than enough to notice with a shrewd, discerning eye: this is her place. she knows it as well as rousseau's, if not better. she has been here, living a different life.

it's comforting and concerning all at once.

klaus slips into a seat at the table and waits. he waits for her to return, forces himself to look around the room; to not look at her. takes in the decor, the furniture, the decorations. ] Well, the network filled in many blanks as well. [ his voice is level, easy, even casual. his gaze returns to her as she comes back.

perhaps she sees it falter, just so. the time she speaks of feels so very long ago, and yet isn't. not at all. ] Ah, yes. [ s-so casual ] You made quite the fantastical suspect. [ klaus licks his lips before he goes on. he has no reason to to own up to this: he is from the future. ] It will comfort you to know you've been acquitted of all charges. I hope Freya has let you know at least that.

[therapize]

[He isn't wrong; she's spent the better part of two years here, and most of that time has been highlighted by days and evenings and nights working in the bar, drinking in the bar, being in the bar. There had been an undeniable comfort in those early days, a taste of home in a fashion, sweet sazerac coupled with the familiarity of pouring drinks, listening to people, and celebrating the things that deserved their outright joy. She has said before she only began to find her place here when she stepped behind the counter, and the words still hold true today. Even her therapy practice hasn't caused her to shirk her duties here, despite the fact that she has no bills to pay.]

That's not really surprising; people around here tend to be pretty helpful. No compulsion needed. [Including Cami herself, whenever a new face pops up on the phones. She's pretty sure Klaus hasn't made a network post just yet, which is probably for the best. There are things Freya might have warned him about, but that only Cami has seen, thanks to her longevity in Wonderland. She sets the glasses down, pours their drinks with practiced ease, then takes a moment to lift hers as she slides into the seat across from him.]

Cheers. [She tries to temper it; Wonderland remains as ever a terrible place. Klaus certainly seems off, hesitant in certain moments that Cami can't quite fully reconcile to his newness. But she is well versed in this world, and it leaves her more easily happy that he has arrived, in spite of all the dangers. Even as she sips her drink, it only momentarily covers her smile.]

Oh, thank goodness. I was not looking forward to a prison saga. [Not that she expected to get convicted or even tried, but still. Orange jumpsuits aren't exactly flattering on anyone. At the mention of Freya, however, Cami does manage to temper that grin; inadvertantly, Klaus has stumbled upon one of Wonderland's truths--perhaps the worst one, in some ways.] Sort of--not really. But it's not Freya's fault.

[No, that had been by request. She blows out a soft breath, letting her fingers toy with the rim of her glass.] The thing about Wonderland is that it steals our memories--specifically, of itself. I don't know if it's protecting itself, or if it's just part of the chaos, but...

When people go home, they don't remember anything about being here. They return to the exact moment when they left, so they don't even know they've been gone. [Cami speaks with unshakeable certainty on this; she should. She's experienced it herself.] Which means that knowing about the future doesn't really tend to help. There's nothing the people trapped here can do to change their lives back in their own worlds.

[Her mind goes then to Wirt, to Sam, to the people she's seen confronted with a future they can't change, but whose dark promises haunt them like cruel ghosts-to-be.] So I've been going by a don't ask, don't tell sort of policy.