( klaus is not typically one for the dance floor, but he does enjoy good music. considering his was the guiding and deciding hand in the performers on stage (and everything else in the establishment) he's quite content to take a few well-deserved moments by the bar throughout the night, drink of scotch in hand, taking in the fruits of his labor. (and, of course, his staff's.)

he would also rather skip the brown, bespoke suit he's in for something more casual, but despite preferences, he wears it like a second skin.

should he catch your eye, he may raise his glass in a silent toast and an invitation to come chat.

otherwise, you're welcome to approach him. there are moments when the sharp, easy calculation in his eyes softens to something longing, turned inward. likely he is thinking of his daughter, his family, and new orleans in general. surrounded by the ghosts of his home at the end and start of the year is a bittersweet balm. )

a.
( when not skirting on the outskirts of the party, weaving in and out from staff areas to ensure the perfect night, klaus also finds time to stop at the wall of secrets and resolutions upstairs. as the owner and the host, he supposes it only fitting he take part.

he plucks up a black marker, chooses a circular frame, and begins to draw in simple, swooping lines a white dove in flight. )

b. (cw: forced truths, privacy invasion, aphrodisiacs)
( there comes a point where it's obvious something's been spiked with duplicity's ever-inescapable aphrodisiacs—klaus isn't particularly surprised—but he supposes, if nothing else, it's good for the festivities, so it's good for business. (though he will tracking down every supplier for not abiding by his explicit instructions.)

the heat along his skin and the mild lust in his thoughts are more of an old friend after so many months in the city. he accepts them, finding another drink and a place to sit back and watch. he's not easily tempted, after all, and more likely to seek out those he knows rather than those he does not.

perhaps the mirror above the bar or the reflective glass beside his booth might give an inkling to his thoughts and desires: his fangs deep in a woman's bared inner thigh as she writhes. )