The Ministry formally advises that all contact with muggles and their world be kept to a minimum. Muggles are an admittedly useless creature, far inferior to our abilities and knowledge. The Ministry advises those who have made it clear they are blood traitors are not to be reckoned with or kept informed of the goings on within our world as they have made their choice.
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By Niklaus Schmidt
"I suppose I can't convince you stop stalking your imaginary friends and take over the family business, then."

The matter of fact statement, along with the voice, caught Klaus off guard. His hand still on the cold cement, Klaus turned his head to look up and over at his father. His figure was a stark contrast to the last time he had last laid eyes on the man ten years ago briefly at a function he'd only attended due to his mother's persistence. Siegfried Schmidt had always been a tall, lean man. Dark hair, piercing blue eyes that cut right through you when he gave you the look. He had always stood tall, yet now he looked anything but. Fifty...six? Seven...? Eight...? Maybe? and already stooping some, his the long, lank fingers of his right hand grasping a cane while those of his left rested over it as he stood almost tripod-like. Lean still, yes, but lank in a way that wasn't flattering. He'd lost weight. His eyes were sunken. Klaus' features softened a moment in a fleeting second of feeling sorry for the man then hardened again just as quickly. He ignored the pooled tear that chose just then to drop down his cheek and rose to his full height. He could see eye-to-eye with his father now. It would have once overjoyed him as a young man. Now, it was a mere observation accompanied with a discomforting feeling he quickly shoved aside as he crossed his arms.

"Naw, Pa," he replied. "I've come to love the furry beast."

"You never were able to be serious, were you?"

Klaus scoffed. "Not according to you, anyway. Uni disagreed."

"Mythology, psychology." A snort. Klaus almost thought he saw an eye roll, a reaction his father had always claimed to scorn. "Nothing solid, reliable. Like numbers. Shows in that dead-end job you obviously still hold."

Klaus resisted the urge to look down at his ensemble. He knew his dirty pants and the gear Ben had given him were certainly lower "class" than his father would have liked to see him in, but he was about to go for a hunt tonight, and he had left home for the long drive prepared. He didn't call this area home any longer, but he still remembered it enough he figured he would.

"And still in that piece of...American trash. The eyesore stood out on my drive up."

"I'll have you know--!" Klaus could feel his blood boil but bit back the rest of his sentence. It didn't matter. His father did not matter. Nothing and no one much mattered any longer, even the job he had held that he was about to throw out there to impress. Why did he want to impress his father? That made him angrier than anything. He was thirty-seven, not two.

"You'll have me know what,...son?" Siegfried rose a brow as though daring Klaus to continue.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," he said, a dark twinkle to his eyes.

"And there it is!"

The two stood, their jaws tensed in the same familiar way, brows furrowed. Like father, like son.

"I'm gonna go now." Klaus stormed past his father, his eyes glaring at the ground as he charged ahead.

"I always thought you would take over the firm one day."

Klaus stopped, not entirely sure why.

"I'm sick, son."

His father's voice was softer now. It made Klaus want to turn, uncertainty and fear rising in him. He quickly shoved it away, letting the anger flow back. It was easier to be angry. Tiring, yes, but certainly not as confusing as the other emotions. He didn't have time for uncertainty tonight.

"Rough." Delayed but there.

"Why do you always do that?"

"Why did you?" Immediate. He should turn. At that thought, Klaus did turn and looked his dad straight in the eye, a smirk toying at the corner of his lips. Inappropriate, yes. Toying with his father, trying to egg him on. It was easiest to revert to that cocky teen he had once been.

"I beg your pardon?" He almost seemed surprised.

"You know what I mean."

"I'm afraid I don't."

"Whatever, Pa. I don't feel like explaining myself. Dealt with enough emotional roughage for one day." Klaus nodded his head toward Lisbeth's grave. "And she never did like our arguments."

"She was a girl. Of course she didn't."

Klaus coiled in on himself, but kept his control. The only outward sign was the slow tensing and balling of his fists. How, after ten years of silence, could his father get to him this way? He had felt so good those ten years, so free. He thought he had unfettered himself from the years of anger, anger with him for not believing him, for constantly being so tough on him, for making him feel like nothing was ever right. Nothing was ever good enough. Damn, even having feelings wasn't right.

"I hope you rot in hell."

His voice was low, almost a growl. He held his father's gaze for a few heated moments then marched off to Baby. She purred to life moments later and her engine revved as he took off much too quickly for the road he was on, but he didn't care. He just couldn't.

...haunting me taking its sweet time
Holding on I'm lost in a haze
Fighting life to the end of my days
Don't wanna be rude but I have to...

He turned the dial after a few moments of trying to get into the song. He needed something else.

...yellow submarine
Yellow submarine, yellow submarine
And our friends are all aboard
Many more of them live next door
And the band begins to play....

"Too bloody happy." He punched the horn then flipped off the radio. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable in the silence. It was reckless of him to even be considering a hunt tonight.

He should go back home. But what would he do an entire bloody drive back to his flat? It wasn't like he could call Matt. It wasn't like he could call Kat. It wasn't like he could call anyone at all. And it would feel damn good to get rid of the aggression. It wasn't healthy, feeling this, maybe, but was hunting? Was eating half the food he did? Was sitting playing the games he did or watching the movies he did? Anger wasn't going to kill him any faster than any of that. Or maybe it would. Klaus snorted. One could hope.


((Korn - Narcissistic Cannibal, Beatles - Yellow Submarine.))

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