Metal claws clamped down on Bricen's shoulder - the younger knight had pulled up behind them as well. The muffled voice echoing from Claire's helmet ideally would have been: [ Excuse me, good sir. My lady seems to have been exhausted from the combat taking place today and would seem to be retiring for the afternoon. Please give us some time to gather ourselves and we can discuss various things of importance later on.]<br/><br/>Alas, the demonic face-plate which was tailored for intimidating lesser vagrants, entertaining small children and selling little wooden toys deemed it fit to interpret everything stated as growls and angered breathing. Like "Laplace" is a magic word that conjures up images of very unpleasant things. Unpleasant things that Claire must pay tribute to in blood and gristle to satiate. Traumatic matters which compulsively compels the knight to dot his Is and cross his Ts. A thumb jerked back towards the hallway, where the villagers still continued to gather.<br/><br/>From the sound of it, Claire desired for Bricen to break their bones and swallow their souls. Or comfort them and answer whatever questions to soothe their worries. Either way, the bodyguard clearly had an issue with the other knight following them.