"Are you kidding? She'd be leading the troops herself whether she was bleeding out or not."
Klaus has no doubts in his mind that Allison would want them out there, hitting the ground, if only to help Vanya. But rest is necessary in war, he knows, because to burn out before the final battle could be disastrous. This is no different, then, in many ways. Rest now, fight harder later.
He tilts his head, looking sidelong at Diego when the hand comes to his shoulder and he huffs softly through his nose, corners of his mouth curling in a faint smile. For all of Diego's bluster, his bullheadedness, he's never been able to escape the strange fondness that wells up somewhere deep in him for his brother. Even as children, he would have followed his word earnestly, though whether that was respect or naivety, he doesn't know.
"But fine, fine, stop fussing dear god it's a miserable look on you. I would hate for you to wrinkle," he smiles and pushes himself up to his feet, stretching his arms over his head, almost catlike in the way he moves. "And I'll fill you in, don't you worry. The funny thing is, all of you underestimated me the moment I stepped through the front door, but the jokes on the rest of you, because I love a good punchline and my comedic timing is unparalleled."
He pats Diego's back as he passes, though he pauses briefly to look back at Allison. "I'll be back in a gif."
Klaus disappears for more than five minutes, despite what he'd promised. He takes his time in the shower, though all he wants is to soak in the claw foot tub and let the water all but melt him. He's not sure where the water takes him, but when he blinks his eyes open, twenty whole minutes have passed and he feels heavy. A year of battlefields, restless nights, and physical exhaustion still thrums to life in his bones but the water does something to help him feel a little more human.
He slips into the mess of his room and changes, opting for charcoal jeans and combat boots and a slouchy sweater that almost definitely belonged to Patrick at one point in time, but who's counting. The itch to return to Allison's side is there and urgent, but he tries to calm himself, to trust his sister in the hands of Diego, and opts to make a couple of ham sandwiches and two mugs of coffee instead.
Toeing open the door, he slips in, moving to set the tray on one of the counters off to the side. "Order up, Number Two, one must eat and properly caffeinate if one expects to stop the upcoming apocalypse, after all," he murmurs, voice gnarled and twisted into an over the top, dramatic rendition of Reginald Hargreeves.
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Klaus has no doubts in his mind that Allison would want them out there, hitting the ground, if only to help Vanya. But rest is necessary in war, he knows, because to burn out before the final battle could be disastrous. This is no different, then, in many ways. Rest now, fight harder later.
He tilts his head, looking sidelong at Diego when the hand comes to his shoulder and he huffs softly through his nose, corners of his mouth curling in a faint smile. For all of Diego's bluster, his bullheadedness, he's never been able to escape the strange fondness that wells up somewhere deep in him for his brother. Even as children, he would have followed his word earnestly, though whether that was respect or naivety, he doesn't know.
"But fine, fine, stop fussing dear god it's a miserable look on you. I would hate for you to wrinkle," he smiles and pushes himself up to his feet, stretching his arms over his head, almost catlike in the way he moves. "And I'll fill you in, don't you worry. The funny thing is, all of you underestimated me the moment I stepped through the front door, but the jokes on the rest of you, because I love a good punchline and my comedic timing is unparalleled."
He pats Diego's back as he passes, though he pauses briefly to look back at Allison. "I'll be back in a gif."
Klaus disappears for more than five minutes, despite what he'd promised. He takes his time in the shower, though all he wants is to soak in the claw foot tub and let the water all but melt him. He's not sure where the water takes him, but when he blinks his eyes open, twenty whole minutes have passed and he feels heavy. A year of battlefields, restless nights, and physical exhaustion still thrums to life in his bones but the water does something to help him feel a little more human.
He slips into the mess of his room and changes, opting for charcoal jeans and combat boots and a slouchy sweater that almost definitely belonged to Patrick at one point in time, but who's counting. The itch to return to Allison's side is there and urgent, but he tries to calm himself, to trust his sister in the hands of Diego, and opts to make a couple of ham sandwiches and two mugs of coffee instead.
Toeing open the door, he slips in, moving to set the tray on one of the counters off to the side. "Order up, Number Two, one must eat and properly caffeinate if one expects to stop the upcoming apocalypse, after all," he murmurs, voice gnarled and twisted into an over the top, dramatic rendition of Reginald Hargreeves.