His confession of where he'd grown up, and where he'd lived previously, was perhaps the longest Clara had heard the house guest speak. It was certainly a far cry from his usual nods and bursts of short, bitter laughs she was used to. And for a moment, the witch once again found herself captivated by the sound of his voice, not necessarily the words he was speaking. Try as she might, the Seer just couldn't place his accent beyond the general 'Englishness" of it and for some reason, that bothered her greatly.
This was also the first time he'd actually uttered her name.
And it grounded her somehow, connected her back to the present. Maybe if he noticed her here, noticed her enough to speak her name out loud. then she really was here, and not amidst the curls of smoke that had long floated upwards to join the heavens.
And if Clara was in the here and now, she could deal with the reality taking place in the here and now. She had to be.
"I'm not Kit. I've got no artistic pretensions. If I could have an easy life, I'd take it in a heartbeat."
It didn't occur to the witch to apologize for her presumptions up until now, just as it didn't behoove her to consider that his privileged life may be different from Kit's but that didn't make it any similar to her own. No, Clara didn't consider such things as she slowly walked over to where he sat, quietly taking a seat beside him, her own legs now mimicking his and dangling off the roof. perhaps whichever angel was in charge of protecting his life would extend that courtesy to the psychic as well?
No words were exchanged between the two, the witch didn't really feel it necessary as they sat a few feet apart from each other, both likely reliving their own personal hells, whatever his may be. After a while, the cigarette fell from her fingers, disappearing into the abyss because Clara no longer needed the frail support it offered.
For the time being, Klaus's silent presence had replaced that role, and for now, it was enough to slowly steer her back to sanity.
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