Great, another meet and greet. Klaus is convinced that there's a special place in hell for people who think that one on one events are a good idea. He'll take one of those large, public affairs that force him to sign autographs until his hand cramps over this any day, thank you very much. Unfortunately for Klaus, he doesn't make the schedule, his thrice damned agent does.

So he forces himself to go through the motions of preparing as though he actually cares. A feat that includes dressing like he's trying to get himself ambushed (that never fails to go over well with fans), and steadfastly refusing to read the brief on the winner that's been left on his coffee table. He'll be spending enough time listening to some idiot prattle on about what makes them special soon enough, no point in pre-loading and annoying himself before he's even arrived. 

In hindsight, he probably should have read the brief, but you know what they say about hindsight. Instead, he winds his way toward the entrance, picnic basket in hand, to find Oscar and Mars waiting already there for him, a sleek persian weaving it's way between them. They don't look like look like the usual fare.  No tops cut so low they scream trying too hard. Nothing eye-gougingly bright. And, most importantly, they don't look especially excited to see him. Maybe today will be less grating than expected.

'Why do I feel like I've missed a memo?' And why does that one guy look so familiar? 

"I'm guessing one of you must be Oscar." That had been the name at the top of the sheet that he'd resolutely decided not to read, right? He's usually good with names. Less trouble to be had that way. "I hope you and your friend have brought your appetites!" There, that ought to do it, center the contest winner but don't ignore the plus one. 

oscar clayton & Martín del Mar

☉

Between being called champ and Mars's terrible rendition of...honestly, Klaus has absolutely no idea what that was even supposed to be beyond a general travesty and an affront to songs everywhere, it's all the idol can do to keep from visibly twitching. Instead, he takes a beat to internally curse his 'stupid fucking agent and his stupid fucking contests' before plastering a smile on his face that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

It doesn't help that the pair of them look familiar, like he ought to recognize them, but his brain steadfastly refuses to supply additional context. Not that that's unusual in Klaus's line of work. Fans all start to blur together after a while - a mishmash of vaguely familiar faces and overblown enthusiasm that Klaus would prefer to forget. There are so many things worth forgetting - like their names, the moment he finishes with this arceus forsaken picnic.

Klaus swears his agent chooses activities for these things based on what's most likely to maximize his misery. Bastard.

For the time being, he'll use their names (Oscar and Mars) and play at being enchanted by their presence. Hang on every word and make them feel like they're special, because that's the deal isn't it? Fame and fortune for a little piece of his soul every now and again. Because no one turns up to see Klaus Cartier. No, they all want Ventis. Princely, polite, vapid, Ventis with his honeyed words and shows of humble enthusiasm. 

Klaus beams at them. "Bird watching?" That's a new one. Not altogether exciting, as prospects go, but maybe he'll luck out and it'll cut down on small talk. "Can't say I've ever had the pleasure. My schedule's pretty tight these days, so I don't get much time to pick up new hobbies." That much was true at least. "Guess you'll have to show me how it's done." Assuming it was more than just sitting around trying to make out the vague shape of a tail sticking out from behind some leaves in the distance, or something equally inane. 

oscar clayton & Martín del Mar

☉