Klaus

When Klaus entered a room, one felt the most dreaded aura. He turned heads and sent shivers down the spines of even the most fearless men. Something about him seemed unnatural, almost wrong. As if you were looking at a fake painting or a photo of a bird incorrectly labeled as "Shipwreck 1832".

And yet, despite his overwhelming presence, he carried himself in a manner similar to a gentleman. Like the type of fellow you could ask over for tea, or a game of croquette. His posture was perfectly linear, every step he took evenly paced at the beat of a clock. He used the language of a scholar and had the manners of a king's butler. 

His looks were also nothing to overlook. Klaus had the bulky build of a soldier straight out of boot camp contrastingly paired with an angelic face seemingly carved by Michael Angelo himself, topped with a head of silky blond curls. He was handsome in a horribly unnatural way. Too perfect.

And as he walked into that pub, each of those components caught the attention of the bartender. 

"Good Afternoon, young man," he said, mindful of his tone.

Klaus deemed a brimmed hat and a dark coat that made his already large shoulders look mammoth. He placed his hat in one hand and tipped it in his direction.

"Good Afternoon." he rumbled. 

The bartender gave a polite smile and grabbed a glass from a rack. Klaus's crystal-like eyes followed his movements as he spoke.

"A vodka, if you will. Dry." Klaus said.

The bartender nodded and began to pour from the clear bottle.

"Vodka, eh?" he pondered out loud, "folks around here usually stick with a whiskey or gin. I haven't opened this bottle in years."

Klaus moved his attention away from the man's actions and to the window. He looked off, his mind wandering in the mist outside.

The bartender finished pouring the drink for the odd man, his fingerprints left a small fog on the glass. The bartender chuckled to himself.

"I don't get a lot of folks since the fog began," he said, sliding the glass towards him. 

Removing his gloves, Klaus took it and the glass looked like a tea party accessory in his enormous hand. He raised it to his lips and sighed.

"This mist..." he took a large gulp, swallowing every drop until the glass too was fogged with his breath, "It's a mist..." he continued, "Not a fog. But I'm afraid the people residing here don't seem to have clear enough eyes to see it."

He placed the glass down on the table and stroked a hand over his chin. The bartender shook his head.

"You must be mistaken. It's a fog, young man."

Klaus raised a brow, his gaze curiously fixated on the man. He gave a clever smile.

"You prove my point." 

Behind him, the door swung open. A loud and shaky cough hurried in from the cold, the click of a cane following suit. The bartender raised his head and nodded in satisfaction. He leaned on his arm over the table.

"Mr. Schwarz! It was about time!"

Klaus turned to find in the shadows of the corner of the pub, a smallish old man hobbling into a booth. His coughs echoed through the small pub.

Klaus tipped his hat, "Good afternoon, sir."

The old man waved at him with one hand and covered his mouth with the other.

"Whiskey?"

He coughed and nodded, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket. Klaus moved his eyes back to the bartender, he had an odd dislike for the sickly.

"It's the older folks who have it the worst. This fog can't be good for their health." The bartender smacked his lips and pulled down a bottle of whiskey from the shelf.

"This damn fog!" The old man growled and pulled his hat off in a huff.

Klaus locked his jaw in frustration. He tucked a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a few rusty coins and tossed them onto the table. He wasn't going to listen to their buffoonery and blind chatter. He had enough of that at home.

He made his way to the door, a cold wind from beneath greeted his legs. The old man perked his head up, two beady eyes stared at the blond gentleman. Klaus could barely see him in the dim light.

"Take care out there, sir." He said.

The old man tipped his head, and Klaus saw his hair was raven and without the streaks of old age that he assumed it to be. 

"You as well, sir." He replied.

And as quickly as he arrived, the gentleman disappeared into the fog.