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[hellogoodhigh]

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text;

[therewillbeorder]

I found this number on my mirror when I was taking a shower this morning, I wonder who could have left it there.

text;

[hellogoodhigh]

gee i wonder
could have been ghosts
maybe you need a little seance in your bedroom ;)

text;

[therewillbeorder]

Perhaps you should invesitgate my shower as well.

text;

[therewillbeorder]

What are you doing tonight? I have something for you.

Text;

[hellogoodhigh]

oh yeah?
am i going to like this surprise? ;)

Text;

[therewillbeorder]

Maybe, you'll have to come over and unwrap it.

text;

[the_horror]

Okay, this is dumb, and it's Knock Outs fault, but how many times have you been hugged today? Because I think I'm going to start keeping a tally.

[hellogoodhigh]

like seven??
what do you mean this is knock out's fault??

[the_horror]

Weird, right? I've had five so far.
Did you miss his radio show, or whatever it was. He literally told locals to go hug imPorts.
I expect diego to kill someone.

text;

[therewillbeorder]

[With Poe becoming unhinged recently, Hux knew it was time for the talk. The I-destroyed-five-planets talk.]

What are you doing right now? I wanted to talk to you.

text;

[hellogoodhigh]

oh yeah? what about?
i didn't leave anything at your place last night, did i?

[vanto]

You haven't stopped for a drink in a while. Found somewhere better to go to?

[hellogoodhigh]

had some stuff come up in my personal life
you know, hospital stuff, nbd
could really use a drink tho

you free? i can trade some stories for a drink...

untraceable text

[maskormods]

\\

h-s•-n-i
o-n-’
t-o-t-s
t-s•-h
s•-s•-r-:-n-t•
d•-v-i-e-o-l
i-t-t-g-a
e-h-s•

text; Nov 2, morning

[the_horror]

Hey, where have you been hiding? I haven't seen you at the house in a bit. I made pancakes.

text; Nov 2, Mid morning

[the_horror]

Wakie wakie, I made food and we're suppose to do some training today, remember?

text; Nov 2, afternoon

[the_horror]

Bro. You stood me up? Cold.

text; Nov 2, late afternoon

[the_horror]

[Literally none of these show as being seen. What. The fuck.]

Come on man, are you ignoring me? Check your damn device, or something.
You have me worried.
At least tell me to fuck off?
Klaus...
Come on...

text; Nov 3, morning

[the_horror]

You know, you ignoring me is a real dick move.
At least say you're ignoring me.

text; Nov 3, Afternoon

[the_horror]

This is most likely pointless, especially if you're ignoring the family text, but stay out of Jeopardy. At least until someone figures out what's going on.

texts 11/20

[deadlycurves]

[during this.]

[Diego huffs an annoyed sigh and debates the usefulness of even trying. It won't do any good, Klaus won't change anything about who he is, not really, not any more than any of them have ever truly changed anything about the worst parts of themselves.

But Diego isn't good at keeping his opinions to himself and he slides into a private text conversation with Klaus all the same.]

You're an idiot sometimes, you know that, right?

[hellogoodhigh]

yeah, tell me something i don't know

[ Klaus replies without thinking. He's careless and exhausted because he's done with the fighting. Sometimes, he wonders if he should just... move out. Leave Allison and the rest to build up the team that should have been.

A team without him.]

not here; (tw war)

[pillz]

[klaus/kavinsky, no prompt]

By the time Kavinsky finds him at the hospital, Klaus Hargreeves can only muster the slightest surprise to find out who he is. Kavinsky from the Internet; the boy from the nightclub; the desultory stranger at Denny's. It is hardly a foreign concept, among men who love men, and men who love men while coming from a position of wealth and privilege -- that people lead double lives.

It's a surprise that isn't. Klaus is on his fourth day interviewing ghosts on behalf of Jeopardy's worried survivors, out of the medical center, which was determined less threatening than the police station. Business is both slow and unpaid, but rewarding; the native people are grateful for his service. Those words, Thank you for your service, are very sweet but also reminders of a time better left forgotten, and perpetual in his memory. Kavinsky walks up to his desk and says:

"Merry Christmas."

People know Klaus is here, of course. Siblings. Friends, if you can call them that. But it only takes him a few staring seconds to figure it out. "You're Kavinsky," he says.

"Santa Claus," Kavinsky corrects him. Then he slaps an envelope down on the table, sliding it across to Klaus, whose best effort to look office appropriate and business casual came deconstructed several hair ruffles and chair spins ago. The transaction looks shady, if one uses stereotypes.

But Klaus is confused. He slides the envelope closer to himself and opens it. There is a plane ticket inside. Port of origin is Jeopardy, USA. Destination is Tan Son Nhat International Airport, in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. Return airfare included, along with a tour itinerary. Villages, with romanized names that are obscurely familiar to him.

"What the fuck is this, Santa Claus?" Klaus asks, recoiling.

"Modern psychiatry's answer to necromancy's classic fuckups, where ghosts is concerned," Kavinsky says. "Apparently they had 'Nam here, too. Groups run this shit for this veterans all the time. It'd be good for their PR, too. Hero ImPort on for the ride."

Alienating the superpowered lunatics that he and his family are trapped on this planet with seems unwise; alienating one that has proved willing to sleep with him is counterintuitive on a different level. But he doesn't understand this acquiescence, because his head is suddenly filled with fucking circus music, and the stutter of Gatling guns. Grenades blowing black jungle sod into the air, hysterical laughter drowned out by the moans of those dying slowly in the medic tents. Opium abuse had been rampant among the soldiers, and Klaus Hargreeves had not needed the excuse even before he'd gone there. Klaus has nightmares of Vietnam that he does not discuss; ones that there is no one to discuss with. Because he had always been out of place. Out of time.

Klaus say, "People wouldn't go back." He says it with conviction. He had suffered differently a little, when he'd come back, but he understood that they had all nonetheless suffered the same. Dave, too.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Kavinsky says, without sounding very sorry at all. "They do. Regrown forests and village children. Like they did the right thing. Makes 'em feel better; less nightmares, fewer demons." Tattooed fingers reach over to him, hook the collar of Klaus' shirt -- except no. It's the chain to his dog tags. Dave's dog tags.

Klaus is going to lean back, take the necklace with him, but suddenly Kavinsky's mouth is there. Teeth and tongue. A nearby nurse makes a sound of disapproval.

"Do what you want, Hargreeves," Kavinsky says. He lets go of Klaus, his dog tags. "But it's only five days. And I don't think a drowning man should be in charge of keeping people breathing, even if he was doing it from a desk." He winks, and steps back, even as the sliding doors of the hospital open to welcome an influx of carolers and elves wearing rubber ear tips. Seasonal music tinkles in. Klaus has a headache without drinking, which does not seem fair.

But that night, he dreams in vivid color.

Of a humid forest that might have been beautiful without the bombs and the toxic, man-made rain. The clubs, with their Viet working girls -- who had kindly lent Klaus their eyeliner, and American Army boyfriends -- who had been good to trade cigarettes. Those biracial 'couples,' most of them fleeting dalliances, at best. Klaus dreams of his own love, which had felt more sincere than that, if no longer-lived. Seventies music plays overhead; Biere '33' fizzed out of a glass that wept under Dave's fingers, which were cold by the time they touched Klaus' cheek, his jaw, his mouth, his narrow chest under the damp fabric of his shirt.

Dave did not regret Vietnam, he said. No matter what happened, he could never regret Vietnam. Do you know why? And Klaus does.

[hellogoodhigh]

(( You are an absolute treasure and I love your writing!!! ))

text;

[atypically]

Hey man, it's Caleb. We talked once or twice on the network about therapists. Uh, so I don't know which porter town you're living in, but let me know. I've got some vetted ones in every porter town. I can only personally vouch for the one I'm seeing in Nonah, but I can give you the list for whatever.