“Fucked up on something?” Klaus laughed, looking mournfully at the end of the cigarette. Nothing left. He held onto it so that he could dispose of it responsibly. “I’m sobering up. That’s the problem. I was fucked up-” He couldn’t tell now if the chill he felt was because he was mostly naked in the middle of the night or if it was the ghosts closing in on him. Either way, drugs would help, and there were none here. “-and that was fine-” he looked around distractedly, his heart pounding with the fear of seeing something lurching towards him, or running, or just standing there. He didn’t know which ones were worse.
“I’ll take something else when I get in. That’ll make it better. That’ll be better,” he murmured to himself. There were more pills there. He had a nice little stash. Even some weed would help but that really just put him to sleep so that the ghosts could wake him up when it faded.
“The drugs keep the ghosts away,” Klaus said in a sing song voice, walking backwards a few paces, eyes wide as he tried to see if there was anything around him. “Thank you for giving a shit. Most people don’t. And I’m okay with that. I prefer that. Love gets you nowhere. Oh, here it is!”
He smiled, looking at his distressed denim style trailer that was missing a window and rusting through on one side. “I have more drugs in there. Don’t worry. I have more clothes in there, too-” presumably. “I wish I knew if I’d lost some. Do you want to come in?” That was polite, after all. Klaus was an asshole for defensive purposes, but he wasn’t a bad person.