I love it when they run!

Klaus wasn't much of a sleeper--didn't need a whole lot of it, had far too much to do and was far too paranoid to let himself be that vulnerable for long. Still, even he had to sleep at some point, so after going over strategy with Elijah and Marcel for a strike back at the witches, he settled down in his room for a few hours.

When he woke, he knew something was wrong, even before he opened his eyes. His hearing seemed muffled--he could hear others moving about, catch snatches of conversations, but not with the clarity he was used to and even when he focused as hard as he could, he couldn't pick up on more than a couple of heartbeats of those closest to him...one of which was very rapid. The baby, of course, and he'd gotten in the habit of checking in on her, but the sound was ridiculously close, like Hayley was snuggled up next to him.

...Odd idea, but not really objectionable. Still, he'd have thought she'd wake him rather than just settle in.

When he opened his eyes, though, he realized he wasn't in his room, but hers. Given he didn't remember coming in...even odder. Most peculiar still was the twisting sensation in his stomach. It growled, something he hadn't really heard it do in a thousand years, but even when that passed there was a twisting, a tickling, like a flock of butterflies had taken root in there, followed by something that felt suspiciously like a tiny kick...at a bladder that was far, far too full for a vampire.

"What the..." Not. His. Voice. He sat up, fast, or tried to, only it wasn't nearly as fast as he was used to. His body was all wrong, awkward and slow (comparatively) and both smaller and bulkier than he was used to...He looked down and caught a view he was, admittedly, used to admiring, but not from this vantage point. He scrambled (so undignified) to the mirror and saw his little wolf staring back at him. "...You have got to be kidding me..."

Storming out of Hayley's room, he shouted loud enough for any of the vampires in the building to hear, even as he headed for his own room. "Elijah! Hayley! Rebekah! Get out here now!"

All right--his voice was seriously not as commanding like this. Someone was going to fucking pay--starting with Elijah's highly problematic ex-pet who he obviously killed far too quickly last time. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

It was a strange sensation for Klaus, finding himself uncertain of things he didn't want to be uncertain about. He'd always known who he was. Instead of asking, he told people where he stood. Fine, a lot of it was bravado, but it was self-deluding bravado. Anything that entered his orbit that defied the story he told about himself, he got rid of, or neutralized, tucked away somewhere out of sight. He loved best from a distance, without the messy emotions of other people demanding different things from him than he wanted to give.

Some of that, at least, he'd begun to realize before they put him in that box. Some. Elena's words had lingered, and his need for her blood had mocked him, and now, maybe, he was just trying to prove someone wrong.

Except...he didn't really know how he fit. His siblings had grieved. They seemed glad to have him back, after a while of shouting at him. Elijah, of course, hadn't shouted. Elijah rarely shouted. And by the time Elijah was over the worst of the poisoning, Rebekah and Kol had stopped shouting, too.

Jack...made things messy, though. Made Klaus's place uncertain, almost. They liked Jack. Elijah probably did more than that, but while occasionally Elijah wore his heart on his sleeve, other times he was impossible to read. Now was such a time. Klaus wanted things to be like they'd always said they were (whether they were or not). Family above all.

He wasn't sure that was the case anymore, and if it wasn't--where did he fit?

Of course, it would be far easier if he, too, didn't like Jack. But he did, which was annoying in its own way. He didn't want to like him. He wanted to fuck him and get it over with, and leave him in no doubt of where he fell in the pecking order of Elijah's affections, but Klaus was in doubt (and had been for a century or two, so, really, that was nothing new), and while he suspected so, too, was Jack...he didn't see a way to resolve it.

Jack calling him out hadn't much helped.

Rebekah had petted and soothed to the best of her ability, but Klaus had mostly spent the time since painting in the attic room he'd converted to a studio years ago because of the fantastic light from the skylights and the glass doors that led out to a rooftop terrace. He was there, now, frowning at a canvas with paint on it that had, as of yet, failed to form itself into anything recognizable. The bottle of vodka sitting on the table with his paints, half empty, was its own sort of testament to his mood, but. One could only expect so much.

Klaus knew he should be in New York. Rebekah and Elijah were there and from what he'd been able to gather they had been at least a little upset at his supposed demise. He should have known he could count on Rebekah, but honestly, one of them should have finished what he'd started before Alaric got to him. But, no. Elijah had been in charge of the plan, and the gods knew he was incapable of walking away from a doppelganger in distress.

Still, the little witch had saved him in her own way, much as it pained her, and now that he'd gotten his own body back--not that living in Tyler's for a while hadn't had its own perks--well. There wasn't much point in staying in Mystic Falls when his doppelganger was now useless and Bekah and Elijah had gone.

He knew Elijah had been in New York, so that was the obvious place, and sure enough, there they were. Just walking up to them and knocking on the door had its appeal, but a sort of nervousness he didn't fully recognize had stilled his move toward the door. He'd though things were getting back to how they should be before Mother started her plan. Then Elijah had gone and had his crisis of conscience (and making up for that was probably why he'd gotten a bloody stake through his heart) and then Rebekah had gotten fed up with his hybrid obsession and left and now...well, now he'd had his realization that he didn't need (and couldn't have anymore anyway, fine) his hybrids anymore. He had his family.

If they'd have him back. And there was the sticking point that kept him from just letting himself into the house. So, he watched instead. Noted the man Elijah was with, which was strange enough to be notable. That threw another sort of wrench into things he needed to figure out, and the City was too small for the three of them. So he'd gone to London, opening up the townhouse and swearing the staff to secrecy that he was there--no phone calls back to Elijah, not yet.

Now he was out, hunting. Well, and drawing, but he did that when unsettled, and it made a very good ploy to draw people in. He stretched his hand, working out the cramp, and was caught by his bare fingers. He still had his family ring--identical to the ones his siblings wore--but he hadn't worn it since breaking his curse. Didn't need it now. Still, his fingers looked odd without it, after a thousand years, and he half wondered if he should wear it again, as some sort sign of solidarity. It was on a chain around his throat, and he brushed his fingertips over it, before shrugging. He'd consider it, for them, but not right now.

Still frowning a little bit to himself, he went back to his sketchpad.

Hello, my lovelies.

This should be interesting.

Elijah tried to convince me to use the theme with bats on it in an "ironic" way. Sad when you can't trust your own brother to give reasonable advice, isn't it?