Claudius comes with thoughts about the strangeness of this place, about the purpose of it all, when he thought he'd agreed with Grantaire that he was quite through with purposes. He keeps thinking, whatever story he came from, it couldn't have had a happy ending. He used to hate whatever force snatched him away from what should've been a moment of triumph, the start of his reign, and everything he ever wanted for himself. Perhaps he was wrong -- perhaps he didn't want the right things. But who decided that for him? Once he starts asking questions, Claudius can never stop, even if he wants to focus on the ones right in front of him. The dance. Invitations. How many to make, and how --

More than anything, he could use conversation with a friend. He leans on the doorway of the the room for a while before saying anything, watching Lan Wangji in fitful meditation. Then he raps on the doorframe, an idle knock. "Lan Wangji," he says, "am I interrupting?"