[ the influx of newcomers, as per usual when they suddenly arrive some mornings, has been ... really, painstakingly dull. alois had begun to wonder why he was bothering. visiting the gardens, or drawing, or reading would have been much more entertaining.
this time, though. —this one, even before he's speaking, alois is staring with wide-eyes at the screen of his communicator. they sting and prick. he's taking a breath, and he's sure the air has split him in the middle. it's claude. it is claude, isn't it? his claude. his claude. his hands are shaking, but he doesn't seem to notice that at all. the butler turns to blur and fuzz for a moment, until alois blinks a lot, and brings him back into focus.
it's claude. looking perfectly well and not starved at all, and ahhh, he's splitting apart. he thinks about claude weaving spider's silk in and out of his ribcage to keep him properly put together. he's thinking about claude's hands on his cheeks, now. claude. claude's here. ]