[ In a sea of waxy faces, Hilda feels like quite the knight in shining armour. Though really, it's not Claude that needs saving as much as it is the figures around him: bulldozing over any attempts at sensible conversation with comments about other territories that aren't constructive as they are derogatory. Unfortunately for them, Claude has mastered the ability to manoeuvre conversations in ways that leave his partners scratching their heads.

But it is tiring, repetitive and doesn't serve as much purpose as he would like, which means there's barely any hesitation when he turns to Hilda, catching onto her meaning immediately; attention shifting as easily as the tide. ]

Oh Hilda, give them some privacy. [ His voice isn't sincere in the slightest, smile quirking all the more genuine (and all the more devious), as his head dips down toward her, conspiratorial. ]

Though at the pace Cyril is taking things, I doubt they'll need it. You should've seen Lysithea's face when he dropped her off with only a hug a couple nights ago.

[ Not that he had been spying on them, but nights run late when you sit at the Alliance roundtable, and Lysithea did always stand out in the moonlight, pale hair and delicate features luminous under the stars. ]

I wonder if he'll work up the courage to hold her hand tonight.