"What can I say, I'm a thoughtful guy," Klaus deadpans, gaze unwavering as he snatches up a nearby herb with feathery fronds just to give himself something to do with his hands.

Funny, he finally has a chance to drop the façade and instead of leaving him relaxed, Klaus finds himself on edge, uncharacteristically unsure, and very much annoyed about it. He twirls the herb's stem between his fingers as Elijah rummages through the mini-fridge beneath the counter.

Klaus accepts the glass and the question, though he'd rather ignore the second part entirely. Still, he owes Elijah something for going out of his way.

"No, I clearly love not being able to walk down the street or visit my mother's grave without being mobbed by idiots." He suspends the truth in sarcasm because, somehow, that feels less like giving something up, less like laying himself bare before the herbalist, because the truth is he is tired. No, not just tired - exhausted.

Klaus takes a sip of the lemon water and sighs. "I love the music," he admits after a too long silence, "but I think we both know I'm not exactly a people person." He's just built one -the picture perfect idol, ever ready to dote upon on his adoring fans and flash a smile at the nearest camera- and let that creation wear his face, and that was harder. There was no separating Klaus from Ventis or Ventis from Klaus, except for rare moments like this one. Honest moments where no one cared if he was witty, or charming, or unfailingly polite. Where no one cared if he didn't feel like smiling while every other part of him screamed. 

elijah gardner

☉

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

☉

"Oh my God, Anya, is that Ventis?"

'Shit.' How is it that they always manage to find him? Better yet, why are so many of them cursed with tinny, high-pitched voices that make Klaus want to find the nearest cliff and perform a tuck and roll off the side of it?

It's not like he advertised his presence at the night market, far from it. Klaus is about as dressed down as he can bring himself to get. Dark, non-descript hoodie, jeans, sneakers that cost more than most people's entire wardrobes, but that's not exactly something that the average idiot can tell at a glance.

Seriously, how long does someone have to stare at a poster to memorize his features well enough to spot him in a crowd when he's doing his utmost to blend in and be unremarkable? You know what, scratch that, the answer is probably creepy. He's better off not knowing. Not knowing, and not sticking around long enough to find out how long it will take them to reach him if he stays put, because he is so not dealing with fans on his first proper day off in six fucking weeks. 

Klaus has his phone in hand in an instant, fingers already picking away at a message to Elijah as he makes beeline for the next alley.

I've been spotted.

Refuge needed.

Be there in 5.

And if Elijah decides to give him shit about this, so be it. There are few enough people in Slateport that Klaus can trust not to throw him to the wolves or use his presence as an opportunity to draw in business that he can live through the indignity of letting Elijah tease him a little.

Two girls in their teens are hot on his trail as Klaus weaves his way through the crowd, ducking down yet another alley. 

He doesn't respond to Eljiah's greeting as he ducks inside. And he definitely doesn't feel a wave of relief wash over him as Elijah's tangrowth hides them from view. 

"Oh, you know, just passing through the neighborhood and thought to myself, why don't I visit my favorite surly apothecary and see if he's gotten with the times yet," Klaus fires back without missing a beat. They both know exactly why he's here, and Klaus hates that he finds some measure of comfort in the fact that Elijah seems mildly annoyed that he had to close down shop for Klaus's sake, that Eljiah can never quite be called happy to see him. Or maybe it's the fact that Eljiah doesn't need him to perform. 

Klaus settles himself on a nearby counter, careful not to disturb any of the herbs that have been carefully laid out for perusal. "Though I'll take some of that lemon water if you're in a giving mood." He wonders how far he can push before Elijah throws him out. 

elijah gardner

☉

Wait that's...it? Huh. Looks like the jig isn't up after all. Klaus won't lie, it's definitely a pleasant surprise. This has certainly gone leagues better than most of his interactions with the public this week, at least as far as he's concerned. 

"Nah, I've got it from here. Thanks again."

THEO BECKETT

☉

Klaus does his best to keep still as the altaria approaches the roof and, while he wouldn't call it a graceful landing, he's also not nursing an injury when all is said and done, so he counts himself lucky as he slides off onto the roof, hand already fishing around for his keycard in the pocket on the side of his duffel bag. 

"Did we land here because you need to change for the concert?"

Klaus winces. Looks like the jig is up. Fair enough, he did ask if they could land on the roof, and it's not as if Klaus isn't fully aware that that's not, strictly speaking, normal behavior. It still beat landing in the street and being accosted by half a dozen people before he could make it to his room.

"Yeah. I can't exactly go dressed like this." After all, he's still dressed like he's going to the beach. Swim trunks, open shirt and, thanks to the ride, thoroughly windswept hair. "My room's on the top floor, so it'll be faster to head in this way." Added bonus, no waiting for the elevator while some fan tried to talk his ear off. Last time around, two young girls had cornered him while he'd been waiting and started singing. No, singing would have been fine, it'd been closer to wailing, nevermind the fact that he'd had a fairly sizeable hangover at the time.

THEO BECKETT

☉

The fact that the other man doesn't seem inclined to engage in small talk feels like a blessing, though it does give Klaus more time to focus on just how little there is keeping him from taking a tumble into the ocean, a thought that makes him tense on more than one occasion as he watches the waves roll by beneath them. 

Thankfully, the trip proves largely uneventful, if a bit long for Klaus's taste, but he'd been expecting that much - it had been well worth it to spend some time away from it all. 

"There's a hotel across from the stadium called the Grand Wailord. Think we can land on the roof?" It was a strange request, to be sure, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd done it. A roof landing meant more hassle, and the need to call his so called "handler" sooner than he'd like, but it also meant that he could change before he ran into any of his fans, many of whom were sure to recognize him long before he noticed them. 

THEO BECKETT

☉

Important doesn't even begin to cover it, it's one of the biggest bashes of the season. Not that he'd get fired for being late, per say, but dealing with the fallout afterward would be a PR nightmare....yeah, that's definitely not something he wants on his plate. His agent would probably have him doing meet and greets and variety shows multiple times a week until he was feeling properly repentant (and wanted to scream). 

"Yeah, it's a big one. Tickets were..." Honestly, Klaus has no idea how much people shelled out to see him and whatever opening acts had managed to tack themselves on to get a bump from his name. "Expensive," he finishes somewhat lamely. 

Klaus braces himself, trying not to shift his weight and overbalance as the altaria begins to rise, keeping pace with the swanna. 

THEO BECKETT

☉

His would-be knight in shining fishing gear wasn't kidding about this thing being a bit on the small side. He towers over it. Beggars can't be choosers, he reminds himself and climbs on. At least it's comfortable...mostly.

Klaus tries not to think about how awkward he looks clinging to the altaria as he shifts his weight, trying not to topple it. Seems stable enough, but he has no desire to upset it midflight and find himself taking an impromptu swim halfway to Slateport. He relaxes his hold on it's neck, giving it an experimental pat. "Hey there, try not to drop me in the sea, okay?"

And then comes the dreaded question. Klaus hesitates before he answers.

"I'm going to a concert." Maybe if he refrains from mentioning that he's headlining said concert, the dots won't be connected. "It starts at 8, and I really don't wanna be late." He forces some false cheer into his voice, trying to approximate the excitement of one of his fans.

THEO BECKETT

☉

Free. Right, because that's a thing that happens in the real world. And maybe this guy is telling the truth. Maybe he's just a good samaritan trying to unfuck a stranger's day. Maybe not. Either way, Klaus will be having a much worse day if he doesn't get his ass to the venue before nightfall. This is a way to do that.

"The altaria's fine, beggars can't be choosers right?"

And, because courtesy dictates that he thank the man regardless of whether or not something ends up going horribly wrong by the end of all this: "Thanks by the way, you're a real life saver."

THEO BECKETT

☉

Klaus slides from Ember's back when they reach the river, choosing to settle into the grass on the bank while she drinks her fill. It's peaceful out here, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, and he briefly toys with the idea of staying until nightfall. Of stretching out on his back with the stars overhead and Ember at his side to keep the night's chill at bay. His agent would be furious, but there's some enjoyment to be had in that too. 

A soft hooting sound pulls Klaus away from his thoughts. A rowlet sits perched atop a nearby log - staring. "You come out here to get away from all the noise too, little guy?" It's not like he expects a response, but it's a nice thought, that they they share a distaste for the pointless stream of chatter that permeates Fortree. The rowlet hoots again.

"That's fair, you probably live out here, huh? No city for you." No city to navigate. No shackle of a role to perform. Nothing but the river, and the trees, and the wind, and the open sky. What he wouldn't give for just a day like that. 

Klaus could swear that the rowlet understands. That, somehow, it knows what his day has been like. The way it continues to stare, as if it can see right through to the core of him. It hoots again before hopping further along the log, fanning it's feathers in the breeze. Closer. 

"You're lucky, you know. You get to stay out here and be exactly who and what you are." It's not that Klaus would change things. Sure, there'd be far fewer publicity stunts and meet and greets if he were making his own schedule, but there's something to be said for the rush of a performance gone well - the roar of the crowd, the knowledge that he gave it his all and his all was enough, that it mattered, and the fancy hi-rise apartment didn't suck either. 

If it could be about nothing but the music, Klaus might even be able to enjoy the rest of it. But, no, fans wanted to know about his exercise regiment, and touch his hair, and tell him about their favorite flavor of ice cream when literally no one asked. They wanted to project themselves into his world, as if they might stand by his side as partners, equals, when they didn't even know him. When all they saw was the pretty face and the honeyed words. Not the grueling hours of practice and choreography. Not the steps it took to climb onto his lofty pedestal, or the pieces of himself that he to give up along the way. No, not give up - sell. He was a commodity now. An image. A fantasy for others to enjoy. 

The rowlet shifts from one foot to the others, still watching. Klaus smiles at it, but it's a bitter thing tainted with envy, and it falls away when he catches sight of his watch. 'Shit. Duty calls.'

"Well, little guy, I've got a schedule to keep. Watch the stars for me, will you? Someone should get to enjoy them tonight."  And that's that, or it should be. Klaus swings himself up onto Ember's back and they head back into the city where some journalist or other is waiting at a bar for an interview, and Klaus fakes a smile and says all the right things until he's allowed to head back to his hotel room. 

With a sigh, he steps out onto the balcony and tries to make out the stars. Small pinpricks of light lost against the city's glow, near impossible to see. A soft hoot cuts draws him from his disappointment. "You again? What are you doing all the way out here?" Silence. 

Klaus shakes his head and slides the door a little wider in invitation. "Guess you might as well come inside. It's supposed to get cold tonight."  It occurs to Klaus as he heads back inside that the rowlet lives outside year round and does perfectly well on its own, that it doesn't need his interference, but it's already here and, if he's being perfectly honest with himself, he's kind of hoping that it'll decide to stay.

Briony looks up from her place of pride, curled up in the center of one of the many hotel pillows as Klaus steps back into the room, bristling slightly as the rowlet hops in behind him. The flareon has never played well with others. "Don't even think about it, Briony, he's a guest."

capture attempt!

☉

Finally, he's freed himself from the shackles of obligation (at least for the next hour or so). The seemingly endless line of fans coming up to his table at the Fortree meet and greet are behind him, and all Klaus can do is hope that no one has followed as he urges Ember into a full-on gallop. Hard to keep pace with a rapidash who's been waiting all day to run.

There's comfort to be found in the rush of the wind. In the fact that his only companion now has nothing to say to him. At least, not with words. Klaus leans forward, ugring the rapidash to go faster still, letting her know with a quick squeeze that they're in this together. That they're chasing freedom together.

Klaus lets her run until she's had her fill, forcing himself to let the day fall away until all that exists is the rhythmic pounding of Ember's hooves, and the wind in his hair, and when she finally stops, all Klaus can feel is gratitude for taking him away from it all.

☉