[ Years of stealth and training himself to move soundlessly through any room at any given time under any circumstances is certainly paying off here. Each footstep he takes doesn't rustle anything left on the ground as he avoids any spots which look like they might offer up any kind of noise which would betray his presence. The same goes for making sure he doesn't brush anything overhanging the edges of a shelf that could clatter to the ground if it's dislodged or rustle loud enough to not be mistaken for anything but someone moving it.
The plan's going well as the door's not all that far away, or so he thinks. Another benefit of getting closer to it means he can hear what's being said rather than just the timbre of the voice he knows and one he's only just learned. It's not like he plans to listen - not in that goal of getting out of here as soon as possible - but what's said sinks in anyway and Claude stops mid-stride.
Hilda's been staying here? That alone has him furrowing his brow with the creases caused by it only growing deeper when that deflection she offers sounds too familiar. It sounds a lot like being prodded away from his desk during the war or looking at contracts and letters after it in the never-ending aftermath where the candles had burned too low to be of help to him without him even noticing. But when Claude says something happens from time to time, he's really saying it happens regularly, and it's impossible to not wonder if Hilda means the same.
There's a sort of idle anxiety gnawing at the edges of his mind at the thought of that and what it means beyond her undeniable absence around the loft. Even if they aren't on speaking terms, it has plenty of space for them to all exist in it without any kind of further interventions than have already been taken - why had she felt the need to leave?
He's snapped out of those thoughts by the sound of the door shutting. Instinct has him biting the inside of his cheek to keep from sighing; a closed door will certainly make the soundless part of this rather difficult. At least by the time he slips through it, he tells himself as he waits for the sound of Hilda's footsteps to advance before he does himself in the opposite direction from where she's headed, he'll be that much closer to leaving. She'll never know he was here unless Cyprian mentions who'd been by.
Plans are all well and good until they don't work - just like the handle to the door doesn't turn and throws a twist into that supposed easy escape. There's a second where Claude blinks at it uncomprehendingly, offers another tug to see if that'll help (it doesn't), and then glances back over his shoulder again. Can't loiter here for long without substantially upping the risk of being caught, so he slips into the shadows beyond more shelves. Maybe there's another way out besides this one and if so, he needs to find it. ]
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The plan's going well as the door's not all that far away, or so he thinks. Another benefit of getting closer to it means he can hear what's being said rather than just the timbre of the voice he knows and one he's only just learned. It's not like he plans to listen - not in that goal of getting out of here as soon as possible - but what's said sinks in anyway and Claude stops mid-stride.
Hilda's been staying here? That alone has him furrowing his brow with the creases caused by it only growing deeper when that deflection she offers sounds too familiar. It sounds a lot like being prodded away from his desk during the war or looking at contracts and letters after it in the never-ending aftermath where the candles had burned too low to be of help to him without him even noticing. But when Claude says something happens from time to time, he's really saying it happens regularly, and it's impossible to not wonder if Hilda means the same.
There's a sort of idle anxiety gnawing at the edges of his mind at the thought of that and what it means beyond her undeniable absence around the loft. Even if they aren't on speaking terms, it has plenty of space for them to all exist in it without any kind of further interventions than have already been taken - why had she felt the need to leave?
He's snapped out of those thoughts by the sound of the door shutting. Instinct has him biting the inside of his cheek to keep from sighing; a closed door will certainly make the soundless part of this rather difficult. At least by the time he slips through it, he tells himself as he waits for the sound of Hilda's footsteps to advance before he does himself in the opposite direction from where she's headed, he'll be that much closer to leaving. She'll never know he was here unless Cyprian mentions who'd been by.
Plans are all well and good until they don't work - just like the handle to the door doesn't turn and throws a twist into that supposed easy escape. There's a second where Claude blinks at it uncomprehendingly, offers another tug to see if that'll help (it doesn't), and then glances back over his shoulder again. Can't loiter here for long without substantially upping the risk of being caught, so he slips into the shadows beyond more shelves. Maybe there's another way out besides this one and if so, he needs to find it. ]