[ Though his hand doesn't stop moving up and down her back as he continues sketching shapes around her back and tucking unruly strands of pink hair out of his way as he goes in something else yet familiar, there's certainly a mental pause at what she says about him and Sylvain. A grouping, it sounds like, though he doesn't think it's just from the earlier antics.
Something he sets aside since it can wait for a moment while he mulls that over in the back of his mind and focuses on what it is they're actually talking about: ways to torment Lorenz, and the utter delight Hilda finds in that. She's not alone in that, of course, but the grin on her face feels as warm and bright as any beam of sunlight. ]
Wait, you don't happen to remember what it said, do you? Other than being an ode to the glory of House Gloucester since that's all I can picture him doodling around on his notes. Not that he'd ever admit to that either, but he did make the mistake of sharing a desk with me one time and I got an eyeful of everything.
[ There's less scandal in that than it sounds like; Claude's certain Hilda can guess what the rest of it was like. That doesn't mean it's not still fun to imagine much as he's idly tried to picture Lorenz being anywhere in Abraxas now and again to entertain himself and the two of them have done as well before - well. Before things went awry, and they can add this back to the list of things to make up for.
The thought of Sylvain - what they'd witnessed and what might've not been something the man in question had ever wanted to them to know in so much awful detail - loops back again from where he'd sidelined it as he studies her face again for a few seconds. ]
But - if you're saying you'd like us to write some poetry about you we could make that happen. Maybe make it the subject of the next reading? Only good things, of course.
[ He knows that's not what she's saying and same for being the subject of any such poetry reading even if it's nothing but praise. But - maybe it'll nudge out something closer to what she'd meant earlier, or whether they're both thinking the same things about Sylvain since the Featherhive. ]
no subject
Something he sets aside since it can wait for a moment while he mulls that over in the back of his mind and focuses on what it is they're actually talking about: ways to torment Lorenz, and the utter delight Hilda finds in that. She's not alone in that, of course, but the grin on her face feels as warm and bright as any beam of sunlight. ]
Wait, you don't happen to remember what it said, do you? Other than being an ode to the glory of House Gloucester since that's all I can picture him doodling around on his notes. Not that he'd ever admit to that either, but he did make the mistake of sharing a desk with me one time and I got an eyeful of everything.
[ There's less scandal in that than it sounds like; Claude's certain Hilda can guess what the rest of it was like. That doesn't mean it's not still fun to imagine much as he's idly tried to picture Lorenz being anywhere in Abraxas now and again to entertain himself and the two of them have done as well before - well. Before things went awry, and they can add this back to the list of things to make up for.
The thought of Sylvain - what they'd witnessed and what might've not been something the man in question had ever wanted to them to know in so much awful detail - loops back again from where he'd sidelined it as he studies her face again for a few seconds. ]
But - if you're saying you'd like us to write some poetry about you we could make that happen. Maybe make it the subject of the next reading? Only good things, of course.
[ He knows that's not what she's saying and same for being the subject of any such poetry reading even if it's nothing but praise. But - maybe it'll nudge out something closer to what she'd meant earlier, or whether they're both thinking the same things about Sylvain since the Featherhive. ]