Magnus admitted he was unclear about the difference between a salon and a study or the distinction between fine cigars and cheap ones. He accepted rum and cigars all the same. He waxed poetic half-high on his weed pipe and a cigar, “We should get some treats. We deserve it, this kidnapping has been super stressful.”

“Agreed,” Klaus sat up in his chair and screamed in the imagined direction of his butler.  “Jesse! Jesse? Jesse!” 

Magnus packed weed into a hand-carved tobacco pipe and let his cigar go cold in the ashtray.

After about the sixth yell, there was a rumbling somewhere in the mansion. Jesse emerged through the salon’s double doors, “You screamed my name?”

“Jesse, I’d like some chocolate cake for my guest,” Klaus waved his cigar at Magnus.

Jesse took a judgmental lung-full of the salon and his features settled into a parental disappointment. Next to Klaus was a half-empty bottle of rum. Klaus was obviously drunk.

Klaus swung his glass of rum, “How long does it take to bake a cake? I know it’s short notice. ”

“Screw that, it’s a weekend!” Magnus had no authority to say what day it was, and no, it was not a weekend.

Before he shut the french doors behind him, Jesse made eye contact with Klaus.

“What?” asked Klaus.

“Nothing. I’ll figure something out,” Jesse excused himself and left them alone.

“Jesse is the best butler,” Magnus announced. “He’ll take care of us.” The ‘us’ echoed off of the inside of his glass.

“Jesse’s great,” said Klaus. “I’m not worried.”

The process of hotboxing the salon started over again. It was alright if you’re into that, but Magnus coughed into his glass. It took a few drinks to lighten the mood and loosen tongues. In the cigar smoke, it was easy to talk and then maybe say something you didn’t mean to.