Library

@David C. A long serie of chuckles escaped Klaus’ lips as if he was remembering an old joke when he was asked about their father’s daunting lack of care for the children’s mental healths and he drowned the unexpected laughter with some big, heavy gulps of the clear beverage from the bottle. If he only had known the reasons, beside all that gibberish about wanting them to reach their full potential, he would gladly have shared it with his brother who probably poundered more over their father’s intentions way more often than Number Four himself even bothered to. “Well, what do you expect of a sadistic prick collecting children as one would expect an old lady to be collecting those little weird porcelain figurines?” He asked, his voice as soft as ever as if he didn’t really care much for the topic of their conversation. What was the reason to dwell anyway, he thought while taking another sip from the flask. Klaus slid down on the couch to sit beside the other properly and swung an arm around his shoulders as if they were best buddies and he wasn’t crossing the personal space at all. “I do admire your patience sometime. Who else in this household would sit here and make sure that this portrait isn’t running away on it’s own. Fascinating”

@Robert S. ℬ∤ The loud, echoing voice of his brother caused him to snap out of his self loathing. He didnt bother to glance in Klaus's direction as he closed one eye and aimed the knife at the painting. "How arrogant does one have to be to refuse the very idea that they could possibly up so many lives and not be at fault for it?" He mused, lowering the knife to his lap while awaiting a truthful answer. He was so far gone in his self loathing he wasnt quite paying attention to the state his brother was in, but he knew it wasnt a good one. None of them were normal, thanks to dad. How could they have been? Yet every time he tried to reach out for answers, he was only kicked down lower than when he first started. Still, he needed something to hold on to, something for his mind to wrap around to make sense of all this. He just held his breath hoping klaus could share some words of wisdom from beyond the grave. Something he knew would be a far stretch but at least it was a start somewhere, and right now, that was good enough for him.

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@David C. The library was not the place one would go to look for the man called number four, a fact which the man himself was very well aware of. So with a flask held securely in his palm, he planned to relax on a comfy armchair until the bliss of an intoxication would embrace his mind and remove all symptoms of withdrawal. Who knew, maybe he would be able to scavenge the place in hope to find something of value that he could sell for just enough to get some more booze. He hummed softly to himself when he entered the library and it did not take him long to notice that it hadn't only been him who'd picked this escape room of the day. "Diego!" His tone were not belonging in a room meant for reading, just like his whole appearance wouldn't have fit a scholar. "Can't get your eyes of our "dear papa?"" Klaus sat down on the armrest belonging to the couch, his eyes briefing over the portrait itself before discretely they wandered for the scavenger hunt.

@Robert S. ℬ∤ He sat there for what felt like hours upon the leather sofa, staring intently at the acrylic painting of their father plastered up on the wall as if it was a personal shrine for all who passed by to look at it with admiration. But he knew better. His gaze bore into the painting as he slowly twirled one of his daggers between thick digits, letting his hatred and anger pour out in agonizing silence as his thoughts slowly began to consume him with a desire to lash out with unfaltering words deep down he knew would never come.