"Yeah, okay, Klaus," Five grouses as he tips a swallow of whiskey back, swallowing it with a satisfied sigh, "When you actually have a relevant idea to bring to the table about, y'know, saving the world — then you can provide some input, all right?"

Five's not trying to be condescending; Klaus knows that. Klaus also knows that Luther, Allison, Viktor, and Diego agreeing with Five are just a result of Klaus' own doing. He's lazy and unreliable, a drunkard and a pill popper, so why the fuck should they care about what they think?

Doesn't fail to make Klaus huff dramatically and roll his eyes. "You guys are sooooo boring!" he yells over his shoulder as he saunters away, into the drawing room, where his dad — Reggie — had once sat down and tried to, like, be a dad with him in. Like, one time. It meant a lot to Klaus, okay?

"Pft, they're all being dumb again. God," Klaus mutters as he collapses into Reggie's old, comfy, luxurious chair, his legs kicking out and his arms stretching out. There's a dead cigarette hanging between his lips, but he doesn't dare light it. He's comfy, now, all things considered.

"You could say that again," you agree, sitting on top of Reggie's desk.

Klaus spits out the cigarette, jumping — he's startled, his eyes bugs out, and his heart rams against his chest like it's trying to fucking kill itself.

"You weren't there before! I'm too high to see you!" Klaus rambles, blinking furiously.