"Ohhh, another one for the Brit Club we've got formin' around here." He muses, grinning. "I'm Klaus, welcome to your fog-covered hell," His motions are so free, like he's made of liquid more than a person, hands in a sort of constant motion as he gestures to the nebulous 'everything' of this place. "we don't have any t-shirts, but we've got creep-factor in spades, so I hope that'll do ya." he winks, a playful tease.