Chapter Text
Drugs is what he must be on. Maybe something was slipped into that tea after all. Unless he unwittingly and unknowingly consumed some type of recreational garbage, which wouldn’t be his first time. Klavier has smoked weed a handful of times (not enjoying the way it made the room smell), consumed shrooms twice (once in tea, another after his roommate neglected to mention the exact kind of mushrooms were in his pot pie. He had a bad trip both times), and one exceedingly rare case of ecstasy. He was 19. He had two panic attacks.
Even still, this place can’t be the product of some silly drugging, because he feels at peace.. for whatever reason. Like laying in your mother’s lap while she braids your hair for the night.
Finding solace in the way the soft indigo grass crunches under his bare feet, Klavier finds himself wandering. Looking for the rabbit, of course, is his main mission. But still wandering. Looking at things like a bizarre, multicolor modern art exhibit. He begins to list the things he sees.
A crow and a small brown dog being chased by a stormy-grey cat.
Water seeping out from the ground and seemingly raining in reverse. This is only in a specific spot, however, where there are also multiple stone statues holding their umbrellas opened and upside-down.
A group of cakes having.. what looks to be a people party.
A bed making itself.
Frogs playing checkers.
What seemed to be a regular dog, but ran away when Klavier approached it. He found this peculiar since dogs usually love Klavier. He’s never had one so blatantly disregard him before.
A sign that points every which way, even ways that seem beyond the third dimension. It makes the man’s brain hurt a little. However, one of the woobly-looking arrows sounds interesting enough to follow. Pflaume Karmesinrot.
“Come on Daryan, before it gets cold!”
Klavier remembers that time; a thirteen-year-old him and Daryan. In the hot summer months, Kristoph would take the two of them to a lake- man-made and regulated, of course- to play in. Kristoph got to sit in a fancy fold-up chair and eat Fischbrötchen and read a big book, while the two kids tried to see who could hold their breath the longest. Klavier loved opening his eyes in the water and seeing Daryan’s scrunched up face. It would make him giggle so much, he would come up first, so Daryan always won.
“I don’t know how much fuckin’ faster you want me to go! This bag is heavy.”
“Aren’t boys supposed to be--“
Klavier returns from the recesses of his mind. It isn’t that his memories of his childhood are oddly vivid enough that he can hear them, but simply that he’s hearing other people.
Behind him stands a younger, much filthier-mouthed and immature looking Daryan, and-
“Woah. Kar, c’mere,”
Daryan hissed, pulling the blonde girl’s hand so that she stood behind him..
Right. This totally makes sense. Shrinking, getting big as a house, a little magic door, and his best friend holding her(?) hand while guarding her(?) from… himself(?) like a ferocious chihuahua, back when they were thirteen.
Karolina stares at... Klavier.. like a deer in headlights. He notices her gripping a stuffed doll that oddly resembles Kristoph, had the man been a poorly-made, glitter-covered plushie.
“Hold on, can I talk to the two of you for a-“ Klavier starts, but Little Daryan cuts him off.
“No, why don’t YOU hold on, you- you COCKSUCKER!”
Karolina and Klavier gasp simultaneously. “Daryan, don’t be mean!” She pulled her hand out of his, which left Daryan looking more betrayed than Klavier has ever seen him, past and present.
“Well- you- I- Whatever! It’s not like I care if you wanna hang out with this Freddy Mercury lookalike!” He points an accusing finger at Klavier. All Klavier can do is laugh. Still as obnoxious as ever. “I’m gonna go to the lake. You can catch up once you’re done doing your stupid flirting with this stupid- person.” He huffs, stalking off on the path the sign pointed to.
Karolina is still staring, twirling a lock of her brown hair between her thumb and pointer finger.
“You know,” She starts, voice hushed, “Sorry Daryan is so mean. I think he’s just insecure or something.”
“I understand.” Klavier muses, crouching down until they’re at face level with each other. “My best friend was like that too.”
“Was?” She asked. Klavier was never very good at hiding his curiosity about things as a child. “What happened?”
“He, ah...” Klavier pauses. Obviously he can’t tell Karolina what has happened. It would just be.. wrong. In so many ways. So he does what he does best; skirts around it. “Well, he was the type to really shoot for the stars, no matter what it cost other people, you know?” Karolina nods. “He simply overestimated his... shooting power, and got into trouble. Now we cannot see each other anymore.”
“Hm. So are you guys not friends anymore?”
That gives Klavier pause. He’s purposefully never exactly considered what he and Daryan have become. Not since he was arrested. It felt like, had he pondered those events past the bare-bones facts of the case, he would break. His best friend since childhood, the one who he smoked and drank with for the first time, his first boyfriend and ex-boyfriend, the one who held back his hair when he vomited and tied it up into a bun when he ate. Reduced to nothing more than a number in a system, a man who gets one fifteen-minute phone call a day, a person rotting away in a cell. What could possibly be left for either of them now?
“We...” Klavier feels a lump forming in his throat. He has to say something, right? What are they now? All those years together, what did it really mean if Daryan was willing to throw it all away for- what? Money? They all had enough money. Fame as well. He was a detective, for Christ's sake! What else could he have wanted so bad, he would let a kid be put to death for it?
“I.. know that I loved him. Before we got all tied up. We were close. We have been for years. I am not.. entirely sure what we are now, but I think it is good to be able to look back on good things. Even if you are not friends anymore.”
Karolina stares again, squeezing her doll.
“...I don’t get it.”
Klavier laughed loudly, the sound coming from his gut. “Yeah, I wouldn’t either if I was your age.” He stood up, patting Karolina on her head. “Just.. enjoy your time with your friends, Ja? And always be yourself, no matter how odd people look at you, or what they say, or whatever. Do what makes you happy.”
She nods enthusiastically. “Okay!” She dashes past him to reconcile with Dayran, before pausing. She makes a direct U-turn all the way back to Klavier.
“Um.. by the way...” She mutters, hiding her face in her Kristoph doll’s stuffed hair, “I think you look really cool. And I’m still really sorry about what Daryan said. He's der Dummkopf . I hope I look like you when I get older!”
The advice-giving-rockstar-older-brother smile on Klavier’s face fades, replaced with something more genuine.
“ Ein , not der . He is ein Dummkopf . And I appreciate it greatly, Karolina.”
She waves again before running off. In the distance, he can hear Daryan yell “FINALLY!”
Klavier finds a smile seeping into his expression, missing those times of.. simple happiness. But it ultimately is no good to dwell on the past, is it? So he keeps walking, getting about ten steps in before a hot cloud of- smoke?- God knows what- hits him in the face like hot ass. He practically keels over coughing. “Scheiße-!“
“Hey. No cursing,” A lazy, almost criminally nonchalant voice nags at him. “There are kids about.”
Klavier’s eyes shoot up- around, because where the hell did it come from- and then settles on a scary-looking bug’s face stuck among a bush. His eyes look tired, near dead, and his whole vibe is simply.... Ominous Unshaven Man.
“How.. long have you been there?” Klavier asks, surprised. But all it does is shrug (Klavier assumes, anyway. He can’t see anything but its face,) “I’m always there . In one way or another. Part of the allure, yeah? Anywho, it’s inappropriate to chat at the door. You should come in.”
“In the.. shrub. Right?” He attempts to confirm, but to little avail. The freaky fucking thing just seeps back into its shrub-house, and Klavier is left standing there confused. Well... it could be worse, right? Like falling down more holes, or touching the gross leftover soggy food from the bottom of the sink. So bushes it is. One well-tanned arm sticks itself out and into the large bush until his hand no longer feels the delicate itching of twigs and leaves. About 30 cm thick, then. Not bad, but definitely hell for his hair. There should be a mirror somewhere around this hellhole... hopefully. Klavier, ever one for the dramatics, holds his breath and takes one large step through the brush.
When the self-proclaimed rockstar opens his eyes, he finds himself... fairly surprised? Sure, he had no underlying expectations for someone supposedly relaxing within a bush , but he was still fairly caught off guard for the umpteenth time today. It’s not ugly, per se... just... tacky? Yes. Ugly in the tacky way. Like a one-room apartment or a cramped office. A worn, red sofa in the corner, what seems to be magic trick paraphernalia scattered across the place, intertwined in sticks and vines and leaves, and one man standing in the corner above a flame, heating up a kettle. Seems like his unshaven feeling extends to the way he dresses as well. Unkempt in every manner possible.
“I’d appreciate it,” he drawls, “if you would refrain from judging my quaint little home. Not all of us can afford those big castles you’re used to.” His voice is light, almost teasing, but Klavier still feels tense as all hell, despite the fact that he was invited in.
“Sorry.” He murmurs. “I was unaware I said anything.”
The man chuckles dryly. “That’s true.” And leaves it at that, reaching for a handle poking out of the shrubbery and pulling it open, revealing a cabinet filled with mismatched mugs. He takes two- a chipped one, reading BEST DAD-BUG EVER, and another, newer one with a cat and dog design.
“...Oh.” Is all Klavier can do to cut the silence. The man laughs again. “Sit down. I made drinks.”
“Sit-“ Klavier lets out an utterly embarrassing noise as something pokes at the bottom of his foot, nearly causing him to trip over. Three thick stalks bloom out of the ground and open like umbrellas. Giant mushrooms. The man sits on one, the cups hitting the squishy top of the mushroom-table with a dull thud. “Sit.” He repeats.
Klavier sits.
“So.” The blue man starts. “A spy, huh?”
“A- what?”
“You’re a spy. For the queen.” He follows up lazily, taking a sip of his mug.
“I don’t- What are you talking about?” Klavier sputters. He’s just met this guy. And is suddenly being accused of being some sort of sleeper agent-
“No, I said spy. Sleeper agent insinuates you don’t know what you’re doing. Which you do.”
The blonde sighs, combing his golden locks over one shoulder. Time to turn the charm up, it seems. “Listen, Herr Raupe , I am not sure who you have mistaken me for, but I am simply a visitor in this... awful place.” He laughs sparsely. “I am here purely by accident, you see? I have nothing to do with anyone or anything here. I would like to be on my way, if possible. Ja?”
“...So you really think this has nothing to do with you. How naive.”
Klavier turns.
“...Excuse me?”
“No, no.” The man hums, finishing off his drink. “Just speaking to myself. Don’t worry about it. We have other things to focus on anyway.” He stands up, cracking his neck and back as Klavier stares incredulously. “By the way... care to try that tea I so painstakingly slaved over for you, Alice?”
“Yeah, sure, what- fucking -ever.” Once again, Klavier couldn’t really tell why he felt inclined to listen to the caterpillar man, nor why he decided to down the entire hot mug, the liquid burning his throat. It was as if his pure frustration at this situation- this everything - made him as impulsive as he once was. He slams the shitty mug on the mushroom cap, glaring at the man. The man who looks weirdly confident right now.
“Thanks for that. Makes it a lot easier to move you around when you’re, y’know, unconscious. And stuff.” He shrugs.
And Klavier can’t feel his fingers.
“...You poisoned me?!” He can feel himself begin to hyperventilate, his blood thrumming under his skin. It attacks the nervous system first, right? Traveling through the blood, spreading to his fingers and toes, seeping through the pores, his eyes -
The man at the table sips from his mug again, quite unbothered, despite it all . “Hey, are you... good? I’m not a trained professional, but-“
“Yeah, because no trained professional gives a guy a panic attack after drugging them. You weren’t supposed to say anything!” From behind Klavier, a brush of something striped, the tone of a displeased-yet-entertained woman, and the trace scent of something sweet. “Just let my concoctions do the job next time, how about that?”
“Hopefully, there won’t be a next time, yeah?”
The plasticky friction of a zip tie is the final thing Klavier’s body is able to process before his surroundings fade.