What did my poor bed ever do to offend you so badly?

[ He makes a play at sounding mock offended on his bed's behalf, even though he's quite comfortable taking up space in Claude's right now. At least until the man flops down with them and obnoxiously drapes his legs over Sylvain's, trapping him in place.

He reaches out, prodding at the underside of Claude's knee with a snicker as the man makes himself comfortable, but accepts the meat pie as an apology offering. ]

Wait, we've instated quotas now? Since when? And are you really sure that's the thing you wanna put a limit on?