Me, write a poem? [ Claude looks a little amused at the prospect. He can't imagine himself doing it, truly. But nor has he met anyone whose beauty, intellect and personality begged to be memorialized in a way only accomplished through pen and paper. But he's read his fair share of romantic poetry, and believes the notion to be rather lovely in and of itself. ] No, never. I wasn't courting a soul back home. In all likelihood, I'll have a political marriage, and that will be that, though I suppose there's always the chance of finding a lover after that.

[ He says it with the sort of pleasantness that another would use to discuss the weather. If it is to be a political wedding, he thinks, there's no reason for himself or for the woman he marries to hold themselves back from love, provided they practice discretion in the process. ]

Maybe I would, with the appropriate inspiration! But just because you're not seeing it doesn't mean that romance isn't happening. They're just a little more subtle than the...

[ He considers his words. ]

Horny toads out there.