[ It isn't the first time that Claude's appreciated the quick work done for the Knight's Hall. Though he hadn't much frequented it when they were students, and doesn't now spend time within its walls, he's taken note when making rounds to survey the status of repairs.
Even so, he better appreciates it now. There's no overstating the impact of a clean room lit warm by a steady fire. The contrast against the gray day and the cool rain enhances the effect, such that that disturbingly fuzzy feeling resumes, curling in his chest. Alone with it, he can better subdue it.
Claude busies himself with the practical: removing his boots, his gloves. Laid out before the fire. Having taken stock of the hall when first entering, Claude had noticed cloak and armor. Though, yes, he is nosy, he doesn't generally go through other people's things without a set purpose in mind, without a reason. His purpose at the moment? Getting dry.
Which should, in the vein of the practical, involve removing his shirt. He doesn't. He considers it, sure enough, especially as the minutes flow into the quarter hour and Dimitri hasn't arrived. But even if Dimitri doesn't show, anyone else might come to take shelter. Odd as it might look that he chooses to stay in the sopping shirt, it isn't as though Claude's a stranger to those at Garreg Mach thinking him odd, and better odd than what a look at his abdomen might suggest.
Then Dimitri does show, and it's something of a moot point. Claude's crouched in front of the fire, clothed but for gloves and boots, and glances to the door just as Dimitri peels off his shirt. Quite a nasty array and a touch surprising, given his diminished experience with the king in his own time. If Teach hadn't saved Dimitri, Claude would wonder if he wasn't in fact dead.
But he doesn't stare and he doesn't ask. Instead, he flicks a grin toward the door then focuses it on the fire, below the careful veil of his gaze. ]
You recall correctly, and I'm honored you remembered. Only, it's plenty warm here. Besides, you might not mind it, but you were out there soaking longer than I was. Take care of yourself first.
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Even so, he better appreciates it now. There's no overstating the impact of a clean room lit warm by a steady fire. The contrast against the gray day and the cool rain enhances the effect, such that that disturbingly fuzzy feeling resumes, curling in his chest. Alone with it, he can better subdue it.
Claude busies himself with the practical: removing his boots, his gloves. Laid out before the fire. Having taken stock of the hall when first entering, Claude had noticed cloak and armor. Though, yes, he is nosy, he doesn't generally go through other people's things without a set purpose in mind, without a reason. His purpose at the moment? Getting dry.
Which should, in the vein of the practical, involve removing his shirt. He doesn't. He considers it, sure enough, especially as the minutes flow into the quarter hour and Dimitri hasn't arrived. But even if Dimitri doesn't show, anyone else might come to take shelter. Odd as it might look that he chooses to stay in the sopping shirt, it isn't as though Claude's a stranger to those at Garreg Mach thinking him odd, and better odd than what a look at his abdomen might suggest.
Then Dimitri does show, and it's something of a moot point. Claude's crouched in front of the fire, clothed but for gloves and boots, and glances to the door just as Dimitri peels off his shirt. Quite a nasty array and a touch surprising, given his diminished experience with the king in his own time. If Teach hadn't saved Dimitri, Claude would wonder if he wasn't in fact dead.
But he doesn't stare and he doesn't ask. Instead, he flicks a grin toward the door then focuses it on the fire, below the careful veil of his gaze. ]
You recall correctly, and I'm honored you remembered. Only, it's plenty warm here. Besides, you might not mind it, but you were out there soaking longer than I was. Take care of yourself first.
[ Challenging though Dimitri might find that. ]