Magnus prompted Klaus, “And you? Are you going to apologize back to me?”

Klaus shrugged his silverware. Like, Magnus' inquiry wasn’t worth a real shrug, “What is there to apologize for? You were rude, I forgive you.”

Magnus whispered, “Asshole…”

“What was that?” asked Klaus.

“Nothing,” said Magnus.

Klaus sipped his wine, “I’m sorry I called you pathetic.”

Magnus held his glass up for a toast, “Apology accepted.” 

Klaus declined the toast. The anxiety level in the room ratcheted up. One of the maids, a new girl, went to fetch the broom and dustpan in case Klaus or Magnus threw a tantrum. 

Small talk was indicated by conventional social norms, but Magnus didn’t like to start conversations, “Where are you from again?”

Klaus stuffed his mouth with food, “I’m American.”

“Is black like your favorite color?”

Klaus shook his head, ‘no,’ or maybe it meant: ‘Stop asking me things.’

“I assumed, because like, all your stuff,” Magnus gestured to the wallpaper, the upholstery, his outfit, the carpet, and then just waved his open hands at the room.

Like most other things in the mansion, the dining room suffered from fundamental design flaws. First, it had been furnished by someone who had never seen a real dining room before. Its decor was so egregious in its efforts to look expensive that it was kind of depressing. The table was almost as long as the actual room, which made it functionally useless for everyday meals. The walls were lined with tacky amateur reproductions of classical art that negated the intended effect of having art in the first place. The dining room’s color palette was consistent with Klaus’ aesthetic of ‘black on black.’ Its wallpaper was a shadowy black garden suite that evoked a depressive episode.

Klaus sat across from Magnus and shoveled food into his mouth with a vengeance. Like, somebody at a barbecue eating with an open mouth, smacking their lips and being nasty. Magnus could not bring himself to swallow in the presence of such a gross display. His anxiety level was off the charts and Klaus' loud eating made it worse.

Klaus paused mid-bite, “Why aren't you eating? Is it the food? I can get you something else."

"The food is fine," Magnus shoved something in his mouth.

Klaus rolled his attention towards the unfortunate serving staff, who stood locked at attention against the dining room walls. The wallpaper was expensive to clean so the serving staff had instructions to intercept projectiles at all costs. Everything in front of Klaus was a potential projectile. Staff braced for impact.

Magnus swallowed his food before answering, to set a good example for Klaus, “Honestly? I'm stressed."

Klaus returned to his meal, then changed his mind, “You’re stressed out about the kidnapping, I’m assuming.”

“Yeah,” Magnus nodded.

“So it’s my fault?” asked Klaus.

"Now hold on, I did not say that!” shouted Magnus.

The lowest ranking serving girl returned with the broom and dustpan.

"I'm always stressed out," Klaus groaned. “I’m dealing with a lot of things that you don’t know about. It’s not easy to be a small business owner. I need a vacation!”

“How about we take a night off from the kidnapping?” asked Magnus.

Klaus slammed his fist on the table, “Yes!”

Magnus sipped his wine, “We could pretend I’m just a regular guest and not a captive.”

“I would love that, Magnus.”

The staff exhaled. An after-dinner reception was prepared in Klaus’ nicest salon. Magnus was escorted there by a staff member after dinner. Klaus lingered in the dining room to strategize with Jesse. 

Jesse duly praised him, “This is what happens when you’re sober!”

“I think it’s the suit,” said Klaus.

“It’s a great suit,” Jesse agreed. “But you should ease up on the liquor for the rest of the night. Focus on Magnus.”

“Not sure I can do that,” said Klaus.

“I know you can do it,” said Jesse. “Please, try.”