All right. No more kicking doors. It's rude, it's inconsiderate and what if Ms. Weston freaks out and fireballs him in the face? He'd burn to a crisp being confused with a rampaging bandit out to violate helpless women. With a sigh, the knight used the handle to open one leading into a room that didn't look like complete shit. Fancy handles too, the kind that bandit-leaders would use to adorn THEIR part of the fortress. Huh. Cuddles' eyes immediately zoomed in on a familiar sight - his lady's pale rear. It doesn't even shock him anymore after Claire's new-found knowledge that day that her carpet does indeed match the drapes. Although, it's rather re--Oh.<br/><strong><br/>-Smack!-<br/></strong><br/>His gaze slowly trailed to the source of the lovely beats filling his ears at regular intervals. A metronome of skin slaps, a rhythm of emotions that only a dancer would have the discipline to endow. Claire's stony slouched stance nearly tripped into a thunderous, trashed train-wreck at the realization that Maribelle's hands are tenderizing the ass that belongs on the royal throne of Weston.<br/><strong><br/>-Smack!- -Slam!-<br/></strong><br/>The wooden append to the last smack was the exit to the hallway being securely closed. While the young chevalier still had enough nutrients in his brain he concluded that whatever Alice did, she deserved this. And he wouldn't want to get the kind lady who's teaching her a lesson to be troubled needlessly. Alas, this wouldn't be the conclusion any bystander would have towards Claire's view of the situation. Not while the blackguard is a dark, imposing figure who just slammed shut the only way Alice would get past or cry out for help.