Viktor Hargreeves

The search for Kallus is paved with the best intentions. Luther takes the ground, Viktor takes to the sky. He levitates to the highest buildings, floats himself down on rooftops below. He listens as hard as he can, until all noise in the city and in his head is one shrill, undiscernible pitch.

Without marigold to listen for, Viktor is at a disadvantage. He can find his siblings in the city anywhere, hear the cadence of their hearts. The speed of their breathing. He can feel how little progress they've made -- and how Luther's heart is ticking up another panicked time signature.

The dark corner on the street where his feet touch down explodes into view in pure, white light. A couple of people in masks wince back. They're bent over a mangled body, blades sticking out from his chest. They hiss at Viktor and grab their weapons. Three more people step out from busted storefronts. The largest one grabs Viktor and pins his arms down. Startled, he struggles. The part of him that explodes at the first sign of danger has been tamed to the recesses of his mind. All he can do is burn himself brighter, the highest temperature, and hope he blinds them. He keeps his own eyes shut tight. One of the men screams in agony. He can't tell which or how many more there are.

Since December, Viktor has felt disconnected. He pulled his loved ones close. He dove into work. All of the "no" projects became yeses. Every weekday, he teaches, tutors, plays, comes home to change. Late nights blend into early mornings, full of coffee and squinting at the previous night's texts -- mostly to make sure he didn't send anything he'll regret to one particular party.

While his students and coworkers may not see the creeping mania, Viktor's siblings certainly have. He has the sense they're all watching him closely, checking to see if the smallest time bomb with the longest fuse is sizzling toward the biggest explosion.

But that's his bullshit and he knows it. They care, and they're right: Viktor's not in a great place. He doesn't know what to do about it.

As always, Klaus has some (cooky) ideas. As Viktor makes it a habit to say yes to his family, he knows how he ended up here, on the roof standing at the lip of the pool in board shorts and a long-sleeved rash guard he purchased back when he had tits to worry about. He's already shivering, everyone's breath visible on this crisp, cold winter weekend day. He glances up doubtfully at Klaus and Obi-Wan. Surely there are other ways to shake his depression loose.

"Can't we get in the hot tub instead?"

They meet at night. It's only fitting. Marcus, Lizbeth and Sam all work in darkness.

Sam isn't invited, for obvious reasons.

Until now, the three of them have communicated about the issue mostly in glances. A few vague texts confirm they are on the same page, each reaching their conclusion independently.

Viktor offered Hargreeves House. He can make sure they're alone (even though he's already talked to his brothers and Five about it). It's mentioned that Marcus' place is safer. He has protections. The location is more remote. There isn't as much space to be concerned about interlopers.

As Viktor gets out of the rideshare, he sees remote is right.

It's a cute place, set right at the edge of the woods. One story, well-kept garden, a porch setup with an little table and ashtray. No one would suspect it's the home of an exorcist and his mysterious husband.

It's the perfect place to plot. If only the circumstances weren't so dire.

Marcus and Viktor exchange pleasantries. Viktor is on edge, preoccupied. When Lizbeth arrives (there was talk of going together, but they figured it was best to travel on their own in case Sam got suspicious), Marcus leads them further into the house. I see strange artifacts and sigils. Marcus opens a door and we enter a spare bedroom. The door closes. There's a beat of silence. Viktor tries for a welcoming smile, but it comes out tight and weak. Finally, he says it.

"There's something wrong with Sam." They all know, and maybe Lizbeth or Marcus has said as much out loud before, but Viktor hasn't. He looks between them. He is the least equipped to deal with this problem, but he knows he can learn -- and that these are the right people to work it out with.

Within the first month of school, Viktor encounters complications.

Teaching music theory was different back home. It was a conservatory, full of people who have done nothing but study their entire lives. Here, anyone can take the course -- which means a higher instance of students that don't seem to give a shit.

Attendance was another non-issue. Missing one day in theory can mean a lot of confusion. Kids paying a fortune to attend a prestigious school don't play the game.

Barton kids definitely do.

He doesn't take it personally, simply notes the shift in energy. Apathy will be reflected in grades -- another thing he hasn't really had to deal with.

Classes have been in session for less than a month and this girl -- seemingly perfectly sweet -- has missed about half the sessions. Viktor is concerned. Not two months in and he's already having his first one-on-one with a nearly-failing student. He exercises patience as she explains her plight.

"This class is so hard," she sighs. Viktor nods.

"For a new musician, the concepts can be challenging," he agrees.

"It's not that." She seems full of sorrow. Viktor watches with quiet interest until the silence suggests the girl is done speaking.

"I understand it can be overwhelming. Attendance is an important part--"

"No!" Her irritation is contagious. "I can't focus. There's a ghost haunting this room and it wants to hurt me."

At first, Viktor felt guilty that he didn't believe her. He's sensitive in the face of attempted manipulation, and he fears it's clouding his judgement. Maybe this girl isn't a disinterested liar and she's actually scared.

Luckily, there's a way to know for sure.

They probably could have gone in by the light of day, but Viktor has learned in his time with his brother that paranormal investigations are best done at night. Armed with keys to the classroom and Darrow's best ghost detective, they're about to get some answers.

"We don't have to stay long," Viktor says in almost-apology.

Once Viktor is well and truly satisfied that Luther isn't dead, he takes some time. First, it's alone with himself, examining feelings and teasing out... memories, maybe? Really, it feels like they are, but it's not possible. It can't be. Viktor's been here. Instead of landing in the righted timeline in 2019, Viktor had landed here. He never saw--

(the outline of Reginald's new children, siblings tossed around the Sparrow Academy, a blinding white discharge of power, a busted-ass hotel, his family licking their wounds, a diner downtown...)

Dissonance so extreme has a sound now, like a throbbing, blinding hangover that comes and goes. It is not entirely dissimilar, Viktor knows firsthand, from torture.

What guides Viktor back is himself. That guy in the mirror. Viktor Hargreeves, concert violinist, forgotten child, destroyer of worlds, is considering his reflection with something he's never felt: patience. Elation. Freedom. He turns the shower on to begin a day of chores and errands, smile bright as the sun.

1. Boutique Shop
The sun is shining outside, too. It's hot, but a faint breezes seems to follow Viktor where he goes. Whether it exists in the air or the sway comes from him, he couldn't say. Bony little hands stay tucked in the pockets of his jeans as he walks, passing a window with a very handsome pair of sunglasses in the window. Viktor drops the underwhelming pair he has on to give them a better look. As he examines them, he sees his faint expression in the reflection of the window and knows he's about to spend more money on a garment that he has since he ended the world.

It's not like colors are brighter -- though there is a tint to his new shades he's not used to. It's trying on clothes that fit in a way he likes. Being excited to try it on. The way he nervously pulled his ID out of his wallet to pay for his new clothes to find the ID in the window slot has changed, as well.

Viktor leaves the store in a whole new getup, shades to shoes.
And tosses the old shit into a nearby garbage bin.

2. New Leaf Used Books
Errand one, check. A pleasant task, shedding old shit to make way for new. The second is just as breezy. Viktor spends a good enough amount of his free time in bookstores. They all know him, and they all know (much to Elio's annoyance) that New Leaf is his favorite. They get strange and interesting curiosities, often of unknown origin. Viktor has found some fascinating music books, and it's reached his ear that some new ones have hit their well-loved shelves.

Viktor checks his new watch: still early enough for coffee. And if he's got the timing right, around the time Dani might be needing a pick-me-up if she's working this shift. He knows her order, and the barista knows them. Though, this time, it takes him a minute for the kid to register. Instead of writing what they always do on the cup, the kid asks for a name. Viktor smiles brilliantly.

Two cups of coffee in hand, Viktor strolls to the bookstore. If Dani's not around, someone will surely take a free coffee while Viktor gets his hands on some new sheet music.

3. Piano Bar
Someone from the orchestra invited him, and he wasn't going to go, but Viktor can't be home tonight. Whether it's the dream or Five's weird, unsteady vibes or the creeping feeling that something terrible is coming... these are the shitty feelings Viktor's been steeped in so much of his life. Scrimping for attention, a feeling, a purpose -- belonging. Darrow is a place Viktor belongs. It's where his family is, where his people are, and it's given him another gift: a shortcut to healing himself, to be who he's always been.

It's a raucous night, at least for classical musicians. People drift in and out, smoking or meeting dates or relocating to the next bar along the stretch of them. This is open mic night, and there are many atrocities to be visited on these poor, unsuspecting patrons in the form of terrible spoken word poetry from a harpist and even a few basically-karaoke hits. The night is exactly as Viktor guessed it might be when he was telling his friends and family about it. That was only yesterday, but it was a foot and a half of hair and thousands of memories ago.

The next person Viktor recognizes will be treated to a warm, brilliant smile that didn't exist before this man was let out of the box he didn't know he'd been in.

[Find him at some little clothing/accessories boutique, at New Leaf Used Books, walking between either of these locations or at a little jam sesh in the evening at the piano bar.]

For the first time in Darrow, Vanya needs to get away.

In their very special, fucked up way, her family is perfect. Seven precious gems forged in pressure and darkness. Sorry - five. Diego's never been here and Ben is gone. She has no remaining brainpower to process the grief of missing Diego. There's too much that's happened without him and not enough pleasant history to hang onto. She loves him, she would be ecstatic to see him, but she can't seem to miss him the way she feels like she should. Not like she misses Ben. And now Allison.

Hargreeves House feels more like it is home to a ghost than when it was. They're down two bodies now, and the halls feel nauseatingly spacious, like the sprawling walls of the Academy - the ones Vanya brought down without a second thought. It's a dangerous association, but she's been lucky. So far the worst of her grief has manifested as nothing more than a day of unseasonable, pouring rain. That is not an accident. Vanya keeps herself firmly in check, sacrificing sleep and sometimes human contact altogether to reduce the risk of an Incident. She's bereft of both, but only because she can't bring herself to be without people right now, and she can't keep crawling into her siblings' beds in hopes of finding sleep and expecting them to tolerate it. Especially when she wakes up feeling like she is about to scream. Like tonight.

It's late when she decides to abandon pursuing sleep, but she knows someone who is usually around late. He may even be out and about - a thing that would lessen that pang of guilt from bothering someone so late. Not that she bothers him, he says. She even believes him.

Hey, where are you?, she texts him before layering up: hoodie first, then coat. If Sam isn't up and around, she'll just walk. She can't be here tonight. It feels too much like what they left behind.

When they said yay sisters all of that (non-linear) time ago, Vanya found hope for a better future. Their father put himself in the ground to bring them together, and the son of a bitch managed to do just that. It makes her angry, like so many things do, that her destiny couldn't be fought, that had Five not managed to make his way back, her anger was destined to turn the world to ash.

But their family, in their father's absence, built something better for themselves. There's no way to know how badly they messed things up before they found themselves in this pocket dimension. The Hargreeves had to blow up a whole timeline and disappear to be together. That tracks. Fortune befalls, chaos ensues: a concept that surely would be on the Hargreeves family crest, were there such a thing.

Allison and Vanya talk a lot, and there is a recurring theme to their lengthy chats: loneliness. Each of them is eternally grateful to have most of their family here in one loving, if scattered knot. Most of them have jobs, other friends, hobbies - but only one of them has the type of companionship they all crave. It's no surprise, the Hargreeves sisters estimate, that closeness is a commodity to them, though for very different reasons. Vanya lived a life invisible, Allison's dishonest. Each of them fights to be seen. For Allison, she doesn't need a rumor to command a room. Vanya's charm is much more subdued. She gathers courage, they both do, but their self-esteem still isn't great.

It is over drinks that they decide to go out for Shakespeare in the Park, Allison on stage and Vanya in the orchestra. Allison's rehearsals are scheduled and long and arduous, while Vanya's are spent alone in her room, plugging away at arpeggios and learning everything she can from books and the internet about the era, the role of the violin in Elizabethan theatre. They make time for each other, and oftentimes, the conversations wander to this project they're both involved in. Vanya is a part of something, and Allison is a part of it, too. Her heart is fit to burst. What more could she ask for?

Naturally, it is also over drinks that Vanya drags out a flyer for bisexual speed dating. It's been in her pocket for a week or so, and the event is fast approaching. She wants to go, she finally tells her sister, and before she can explain that she doesn't think she has the courage to go alone, that it's not just for bisexual people, Allison tells her she is in. Words dry up in Vanya's mouth. All she can do is raise her glass and smile quietly.

Unfortunately, the event itself is not what it was promised to be. It's largely men - kind of gross men that Vanya thinks saw the word bisexual and made a few small-minded leaps. Everyone is kind of uncomfortable. The event is disorganized. There are no drinks. Vanya's facing down two hours of awkward conversation. Many ask her about Allison. She would be furious if it all wasn't bizarrely funny. Just one more round, she thinks, and steels herself for whatever bullshit is about to come. The bell rings and she looks up at the person sitting across the table.

It's Allison.

"Oh." Vanya blinks at her for a second, then all of the tension she's built up breaks. She laughs - the first real smile of the evening. The laughter keeps coming, but she tries to hold it in behind pressed lips. There's no use.

Spring is pulling in from the cold. The gusts of wind swirling from the light cloud cover are warm. Vanya is controlling its movement, not the other way around. She's found a lot more control. There's a lot that keeps her grounded.

She has her family. That is huge. She makes coffee every morning and breakfast most of them. She goes out with most of them, stays in with Five, ventures out on her own. She cares for people that aren't family, and they dare to care back. She has Elio and Sam and Obi-Wan - people who make her feel like she belongs outside of Hargreeves House, too.

So, she takes risks. Getting mightily drunk and dancing and making breakfast the next morning (with the help of some sunglasses and Obi-Wan) like a badass, for example. Sometimes she uses her powers on purpose sometimes, mitigating the risk for the next effort by accomplishing the first. Soon, she'll be auditioning for the Darrow Symphony Ochestra. Now, she's even been on dates (multiple)!

The Bar Redhead now known as Jamie is a nice girl - cute with a restless spirit, confined to Darrow like anyone else. It's all she's ever known. She, not unlike Vanya, got along in her life mostly by herself. She likes music, she has music tattoos and she is beautiful. Her apartment is full of succulents and geometric patterns. She is kind to people, whether they deserve it or not. Moreover, she kind to herself.

So, why isn't Vanya crazy about her?

It's under her skin all morning, well into the afternoon. A cup of coffee in the early quiet of the house doesn't bring her peace like it usually does. In the library, she reads the same page over and over again, retaining none of it. Her attempts to meditate fail. It's only when a small sob of frustration cracks the corner of her window that she realizes she's on the verge of a panic attack.

She wants to talk to Klaus. It has to be him. The idea of talking to any of the others paralyzes her. It has to be Klaus, but he either isn't up yet or isn't home. Before she can talk herself out of it, she texts him.

Meet me on the roof?

Now, with her violin and the open air, Vanya does the only thing she knows how to: she plays. It's a complicated piece, one that she can only just begin to remember all of by heart. This is her favorite part: when the music comes off the page, into the memory.

The wind, for a lack of a better word, harmonizes. The music she makes resonates to the wind and she is the conduit. The wind isn't howling, it's almost playing along. She's caught in the magic of that for a while, taking breaks to sever her control when she starts to second-guess herself or when she needs to rest her hands. Always, her mind wanders back to the question: what is the matter with her?

"Hey there, beautiful."

The sound is coming from the left, but Vanya pays no attention. Even without sound-sensitive powers she would have heard it, but an entire life in New York City has taught her to neatly ignore this sort of attention. She's been told that the way she dresses discourages this behavior but, 1) that's an absurd and backward concept and 2) no, it doesn't. There are all kinds of lies that Vanya has been told about what will and won't subject her to this sort of attention. Books are, she has been assured, an absolute turn-off. Yet here she is, coming out of the library with a stack of them and this is still happening. She's annoyed, but at the people whose voices she can still hear telling her these things and at this dude that's trying to make his shit hers.

"Did you hear me??"

Of course she did, but she's also got the benefit of having her face firmly in a book. It's a book of music, an advanced book of violin exercises. After the first excited session where her fingers were finally reunited with bow and strings, she came away feeling complete and very, very rusty. Before coming to Darrow, not a single day passed where she didn't play, save for her time in Texas. With this little book of arpeggios and finger-stretching exercises, plus a few deconstructed pages of some classical favorites, she is feeling excited all over again, just like she did the day she saw found the new extension of her arm in that vintage shop. Nothing can bother her, she thinks. With her family and her music, she's finally starting to feel complete, again. Maybe for the first time.

"Hey! Don't ignore him!"

The voice is coming from the opposite side of the little alley she's found herself in. She lifts her eyes and sees that there are two men standing between her and the end of this stretch of space between buildings. At first, she's alarmed, disarmed and a little confused from the seismic shift of being inside the peaceful library brimming with potential knowledge and... this. There are few things that impress her less than displays of useless masculinity.

"I'm not interested," Vanya says curtly, though not entirely impolite. It's a stronger tone than she'd have used in the past, but she didn't know who she was then. What can the voices of these men do to harm her? Nothing. In fact, with her power, the sounds they make are more a danger to themselves than the are to her.

"Ohh, you think you're too good for us?" There's three of them now. Vanya swallows a little lump in her throat and tries to move between them. A hand stops her by the shoulder, just a little too close to her chest. When she looks all the way up at one of them, her eyes are burning. Two of them laugh.

Whatever is said next misses Vanya's understanding entirely. One hand shoves her back and another pulls from behind. She's focusing on her breathing, not the whine of the tuning fork that is threatening to piece her inside. She is stronger than them, but suddenly she can't remember that. It feels too much like something else. She doesn't want to remember what, but she does:

It's "Leonard." It's the men Leonard hired to touch and harass her so that she would blast out and fulfill what he believed was his destiny as the thing that un-ordinaried wayward Number Seven. The world is full of men like these that only want to manipulate and take. Their hands feel like others, like the tight, oppressive grip of her father's hand on her shoulder telling her no, you mustn't go because you are nothing.

The world is closing in - a feeling she used to associate with needed to take pills. All she wants is to close in with it, but the tone in her head is a shrill scream now. She can feel the energy bending around her as her hair is swept off of her shoulder in a nauseatingly tender gesture. At some point, the books have been knocked from her hands that are now in tight fists. They are trying to take control of her and it is working, just not in the way they think.

"STOP!" She bellows, and the world slows down. It's only when she can see three pairs of eyes open wide that she has any idea what is happening. Blue-white light shoots out from the center of her. One of the men is looking her dead in her blindingly white eyes as the blast comes tearing out of her in a devastating orb. Two of them are kicked back several hundred feet. One of them slams against a wall. The streetlight on the corner swings and shakes ominously. There is no satisfaction in her. They wanted to be the thing that scares her, but there's no terror like what Vanya fears for herself.

Before she knows it, she's tearing backward in a frantic half-run. She's almost at the edge of the alley, but something trips her and she goes down hard, skidding backward on her arm and ass so hard that the sleeve of her coat rips all the way through. She's tripped on the shoe of a felled fourth man. She crab-crawls backward, startled, as her fists clench in anticipation of another, more deliberate blast.

Klaus is sober tonight.

At least, it seems that way. He's a little edgier at dinner - not cruel or snappy, just a little less liquid. It's not the sort of thing most would notice. Even on his worst days Klaus is still so very much Klaus. It's a perfect strategy: keep them guessing regardless of sobriety and they'll never know the difference. With family, this is not an afforded luxury. Especially to Vanya. She spent her childhood studying her siblings as fastidiously as she did any of her other studies. Always on the outside, Vanya wanted to see everything she could in hopes that it would make her siblings see her. No one wants to be watched that closely, so it never worked the way she wanted. Until now.

Five helps her clean up after dinner and they all go their separate ways: upstairs or out. Vanya spends some time in the library, but all she wants is to play music. It's been a month and her fingers are itching. She feels like Klaus might: restless and itchy for something to focus on that isn't beyond her control. She goes upstairs to try meditating. The results are okay for a bit, but she ends up just falling asleep.

A sound stirs her. It's like a bump. For a second, she's afraid she's blasted energy out in her sleep again. Her surroundings are intact. No cracked mirror, no jolt of her bed back to the floor. There's another sound - a voice - and she can't tell much except that it's coming from Klaus' room. The first thought she has is that Klaus is doing Klaus things - with Obi-Wan or whoever. She's about to roll over and tune it out, but the next series of sounds is unmistakably distressed.

Before she can register she's done so, Vanya's on her feet and out the door, padding with soft urgency so as not to wake Allison or Ben as she goes by their doors. Now that she's in front of Klaus' door and the sounds are louder, she's starting to create terrible scenarios in her head.

She knocks. "Klaus?" she calls through the door in an urgent half-whisper that she hopes he can hear. As much as she doesn't want to barge in and risk invading Klaus' privacy and possibly seeing something she would rather not, she absolutely will.