Plurk paste

ramble

Klaus likes nail polish, and listening to music, and breakfast food. He looks out for his family in, well, the capacity he can.

He paints his nails and wears what he wants, and you can't tell me if his walls looked like that he didn't have some kind of journal. That he didn't write even if parts of it didn't make sense to anyone sometimes including him.

He would probably love to zone out and color, and likes to be included. I fully believe he could wake up one day and decide he's going to garden, or get elbowed in the direction as some occupational distraction.

He'd watch stupid reality shows and remain amazed at what assholes everyone appears to be, and pick favorites to root for and get massively bummed if they get sent home. (Ben tsks him when he looks up the winners of each season, pointing out how not the point that was, and Klaus waves him off every time.)

(he's snuck into opening night of Allison's movies before, and found an empty seat or just sat on the stairs. When Ben gives him shit about not paying he rolls his eyes and tells him neither did *he*.)



--in a world where he's moderately more functional, I am dead of the idea of him playing psychic. ...honestly, I feel like we got robbed , which I know I've said before, but like, seriously...

On third reflection, Klaus really does seem to be more about not having that nightmare than caring about the dead people. Like, they seem like they annoy him a little, but... They don't really freak him out the way being in the small dark place and having the nightmares do.

And like, yeah, the dead people thing would absolutely fuck with your head. No question. But if the drugs didn't give an easy out for getting rid of the ghosts, just helped him deal with shit/kept the nightmares at bay... I've just got this like.. mental image of him lounging in some freaking crack house and offering like, a hit of something to some dude sitting next to him he's been talking to, who gives him this sort of shrug and 'what can you do?' look, and nods his head down towards like, whatever obvious cause of death he's got.

Getting his ass kicked because he's tired of listening to this ghost scream at someone nearby to get their act together and not-so-nicely passed the message along.

Probably taking the odd stash or two of people who were trying to get it to their (asshole) living loved ones, because what are they gonna do, haunt him? Lets see how many shits he gives once he spends it. If they don't haunt him someone else will be anyway *duh*.

The drag queen telephone psychic + occaisonal phone sex operator with the cramped ass shop under his apartment that makes your average take-out only chinese place look like walmart, whose couch he crashes on sometimes in exchange for adding him to the advertising for the former and talking to the odd customer.