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“Hitler.”
Hitler.
H I T L E R!
Claire slammed his wine glass down with more force than intended and mutters a preemptive "my bad" as he turned his gaze away from Miyoshi. How could that rat-brain let him toast the one and only dictator of Germany? He knew how Claire felt, how America felt about that guy! In honesty he was more angry at himself for not expecting that to be the case. He was used to Miyoshi's dry if not cruel affect and this mission would be no different.
He just needed to keep himself from turning as Himmelred as his hair.
Claire lifted his glass to drink once more before gesturing to Kimura Asagi to refill his glass. Unfortunately, everyone seemed engrossed in Richter's story. To some extent, the conviction in his voice caught the redhead's own interest as he chewed on the older man's words. He understood more of them than earlier and found himself agreeing to the man's ideas. He knew little about Berliners or Bavarians (that part was all noise to him), but the idea of bravery resonated with him.
Frankly that disgusted him.
He didn't need to sympathize with these men. They weren't Saniwa and certainly weren't on the right side of the war.
Now's not a time to get balled up, Potato-Brain. He shuddered, closing his eyes.
Upon opening, he felt (or rather hears) a shift in the room. It wasn't very Kazetani of Miyoshi to commit a social faux pas and Claire had known him long enough to recognize the symptoms of soul tablet withdrawal. He hid his frown under some hard wipes of a napkin and narrowed his eyes toward the Japanese man as he deflected Neumann and Richter's questions.
“Have the two of you met before? I am just curious.”
Helene and Amelia were quick to pick up the conversation, meaning that Claire could plan his next move: slipping away.
Five minutes--no three minutes. That's a good number, he nodded.
He tapped his fingers along the edge of the table, counting down each second in his head until something resembling two minutes and a few seconds passed.
"If you don't mind, Ich muss jetzt gehen. I should turn in too," he announced as he stood, "in New York I'd be sleeping by now."
It only takes a few strides for Claire to be free of the dining room's atmosphere, but the sound of conversation reassures him that they are in good hands. More importantly, he ought to find Mouse's cabin. Though they hadn't gone too in depth regarding plans there weren't many places to hide on the Joffre and he doubted that the Saniwa felt like hiding in the cargo area (at the very least he hoped that no one would need to go back there). Walking down the hallway, he counted off each door until he saw Miyoshi in the distance.
"Christ Mouse," he whispered, dashing over to the Spiritualist, "how long's it been since you tabbed up?"
Hitler.
H I T L E R!
Claire slammed his wine glass down with more force than intended and mutters a preemptive "my bad" as he turned his gaze away from Miyoshi. How could that rat-brain let him toast the one and only dictator of Germany? He knew how Claire felt, how America felt about that guy! In honesty he was more angry at himself for not expecting that to be the case. He was used to Miyoshi's dry if not cruel affect and this mission would be no different.
He just needed to keep himself from turning as Himmelred as his hair.
Claire lifted his glass to drink once more before gesturing to Kimura Asagi to refill his glass. Unfortunately, everyone seemed engrossed in Richter's story. To some extent, the conviction in his voice caught the redhead's own interest as he chewed on the older man's words. He understood more of them than earlier and found himself agreeing to the man's ideas. He knew little about Berliners or Bavarians (that part was all noise to him), but the idea of bravery resonated with him.
Frankly that disgusted him.
He didn't need to sympathize with these men. They weren't Saniwa and certainly weren't on the right side of the war.
Now's not a time to get balled up, Potato-Brain. He shuddered, closing his eyes.
Upon opening, he felt (or rather hears) a shift in the room. It wasn't very Kazetani of Miyoshi to commit a social faux pas and Claire had known him long enough to recognize the symptoms of soul tablet withdrawal. He hid his frown under some hard wipes of a napkin and narrowed his eyes toward the Japanese man as he deflected Neumann and Richter's questions.
“Have the two of you met before? I am just curious.”
Helene and Amelia were quick to pick up the conversation, meaning that Claire could plan his next move: slipping away.
Five minutes--no three minutes. That's a good number, he nodded.
He tapped his fingers along the edge of the table, counting down each second in his head until something resembling two minutes and a few seconds passed.
"If you don't mind, Ich muss jetzt gehen. I should turn in too," he announced as he stood, "in New York I'd be sleeping by now."
---
It only takes a few strides for Claire to be free of the dining room's atmosphere, but the sound of conversation reassures him that they are in good hands. More importantly, he ought to find Mouse's cabin. Though they hadn't gone too in depth regarding plans there weren't many places to hide on the Joffre and he doubted that the Saniwa felt like hiding in the cargo area (at the very least he hoped that no one would need to go back there). Walking down the hallway, he counted off each door until he saw Miyoshi in the distance.
"Christ Mouse," he whispered, dashing over to the Spiritualist, "how long's it been since you tabbed up?"