...depends on the olives, honestly? Some are black, some are green. Some are this odd, reddish-purple shade. They're all oval-shaped, though. And salty.

[listen, klaus can't very well judge him for that when he himself is ingesting random plants with no idea of what they could do to him. not because he's hurting for food though, so that would make those circumstances different.

tempting as it is to reach out and touch, he resists, folding his hands in his pockets, just in case impulsiveness tries to get the better of him. wolves and dragons, huh? he'll remember that.] Better safe than sorry, I guess? [lying isn't something klaus's good at, but he's never been against twisting the truth a little, and sometimes, not even necessarily in his own favor.]

Old enough to know better, boss. [which sounds. so, so tired (and probably a little weird with the ‘boss’ joke). it's not a proper answer, unfortunately.] I'm twenty-nine.

[and a giant manchild, so ivar's assumption isn't entirely wrong.] I, uh, do a lot of stuff people wouldn't think of.