𝔴𝔢 𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔳𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰 𝔲𝔰𝔲𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔲𝔭 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔡𝔯𝔶 𝔠𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 ♚ contact

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@klaus.mikaelson | ■ ▲ ◌ ▼

Comments

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Please share

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Bob.

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Just Bob?

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I used it the once. It was more a ruse than anything. I could give him more though. A last name. Dead wife. Give his story local color.

And how is the expedition coming along? I trust you're finding everything? I won't have to turn my kitchen into the Chopped kitchen, will I?

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It's cool, I'm almost done
Far more interested to discover you at least know about Chopped

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Did you think me a dilettante, Timothy?

I'll send you the coordinates to where I currently reside. Leaving the gallery now.

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OK on my way too
I have no idea what a dilettante is btw but probably

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Someone who appears to have an area of interest but in truth, they know nothing of it. I believe in the 1990's, one would be deemed a poseur?

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OK definitely not that
I just expected you were into more high brow entertainment
Like opera

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I do enjoy the opera, and the theatre. But, one doesn't move through life unaware of the cultural zeitgeist. Especially one unflinching, undying piece of entertainment as Chopped.

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True
I watch a lot of HGTV too, I'm no dilettante when it comes to reality TV

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That would be the Home and Garden Television Network?

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Yep
I also like this show Doomsday Preppers on Nat Geo
If I was on a reality TV show it'd be that one

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Worried about the world coming to an end, are you? Or, were you, I should say. Tenses really are a bitch, aren't they?

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I used to be a lot more paranoid about it
I think it was more of a hobby though

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I see. Ah. I do remember a rather delicious table flipping. "Stripper. WHORE."

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You really know your shit, I see

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When I wish to. I was more a fair-weather watcher. But, some things stick. Are you a wine person?

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I'll drink it
I'm not the type to appreciate it though

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To drink is to appreciate. Let me procure something to your liking then.

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As long as there's alcohol in it I guess I'll appreciate it fine

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Red it is then. I do wish there were such a thing as 'vintage' in this time. But, I suppose they'd just call it ancient.

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Of course you're upset about the lack of old ass wine
Does it really taste better when it's older

[ Tim's not really a connoisseur of anything, except maybe fantasy novels. Then again, he doesn't really discriminate on those either, provided they're engaging enough to catch his attention. Alcohol is alcohol is alcohol; he'd drink isopropanol if someone put it in front of him in a shot glass. It's not about enjoying the taste, it's about getting drunk as hell as quickly as possible. ]

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It does. But, it isn't simply about being 'old ass.' Region matters, as well as the amount of sunlight involved. And of course, grapes used.

( He leaves his front door ajar, setting down the bottle he'd purchased for him and Timothy. He divests himself of his jacket but not his leather gloves. No, tonight is not about the empathy bond. It's still not something he seeks out. That kind of bond. )

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Of course

[ Can you hear the doubt, Klaus. ]

See you in a bit

[ This as he's sourcing a quick route to Klaus' address. He misses being able to drive, because driving always distracts him enough that he doesn't have to think; going places by foot and on public transport leaves him with a lot of shit rattling around in his brain that he can't just put aside to fish through the highway code or something. Other than a couple sporadic dinners with Rachel, he's never actually been invited to anyone's house for anything, and hanging out with Rachel at her house only got halfway close to bearable after she left her husband. He can't work out what game Klaus is playing here, and 'game' is a negative way to put it, he knows, but he can't think of any other. It feels like a game. Maybe he just wants a friend. Tim finds himself worrying a little about that, because he's never been much of a good friend to anyone as far as he's aware, although maybe that's not the kind of thing you can judge for yourself.

Anyway. It takes less time than he expected to find his way to his destination, and pretty soon he's standing at the door, some of that southern boy politeness rearing its head and preventing him from just walking into someone else's home without knocking. So he knocks, on the doorjamb so he doesn't accidentally send the door swinging open. ]