[ Said half-heartedly with no real attempt to disguise it as anything but what it is like he might any other time, but Wanda's right. It had to be that association, something he'd thought about and then pushed aside because that ached in a different way than everything else about seeing old friends once more.
The tug on his sleeve pulls him back from that particular spiral for now and with a smile that's equally forced as it is meant at the invitation to get comfortable - and the apology, though this is his only response to that - Claude takes a seat next to her. The fire's warm and takes the chill out of the clothes he's trying not to look at now that there's not much to do but that. He leans forward to prop his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of them in an unconscious sort-of mirroring of how she's sitting.
He'd meant to sit in comfortable silence of the kind where neither of them needed to find something to say until it felt right, but - the wind. It hurls itself at the cabin and shrieks in a way he's never heard the gales in Derdriu reach. This sounds more like one from a battle or like any of those he's avoiding thinking about, even if the noise seems to get louder while he attempts to ignore it as if it's seeping through the cabin walls, like it's approaching. ]
Of the... death you've been seeing, are any of them people you know? And are they here? [ That question's not clear enough, what with them both seeing things, and Claude pulls his gaze away from the fire to look at Wanda. ] Not- not as visions. As themselves.
no subject
[ Said half-heartedly with no real attempt to disguise it as anything but what it is like he might any other time, but Wanda's right. It had to be that association, something he'd thought about and then pushed aside because that ached in a different way than everything else about seeing old friends once more.
The tug on his sleeve pulls him back from that particular spiral for now and with a smile that's equally forced as it is meant at the invitation to get comfortable - and the apology, though this is his only response to that - Claude takes a seat next to her. The fire's warm and takes the chill out of the clothes he's trying not to look at now that there's not much to do but that. He leans forward to prop his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of them in an unconscious sort-of mirroring of how she's sitting.
He'd meant to sit in comfortable silence of the kind where neither of them needed to find something to say until it felt right, but - the wind. It hurls itself at the cabin and shrieks in a way he's never heard the gales in Derdriu reach. This sounds more like one from a battle or like any of those he's avoiding thinking about, even if the noise seems to get louder while he attempts to ignore it as if it's seeping through the cabin walls, like it's approaching. ]
Of the... death you've been seeing, are any of them people you know? And are they here? [ That question's not clear enough, what with them both seeing things, and Claude pulls his gaze away from the fire to look at Wanda. ] Not- not as visions. As themselves.