He clams to hate me for many things, depending on what hour of day it is. One hour I may be too fat, and the next too tall, and the next I live in Berlin and not Nice.

I have lived through far too many "bad things" in my own world for this place to bother me too terribly much, your holiness.

[he flicks his ash out of window for a moment, remembering the sound of screaming coming from his own throat as rough hands wrestled him back into place, restraining him back into sanity.]

Klavier does not. I have been keeping to myself, actually, much as I know I should not. Though... [a slightly bitter chuckle] ...he might actually be glad. He never could stand Monsieur Delacroix. Few could.

[and he takes another drink of his tea]