"Just so," Claudius says, with a fierce appreciation, glaring down in his whiskey and wishing for one burning instance that he could do more than complain. It's enough that his Galahad is free, enough for Claudius to keep him and never fall again for those wistful what ifs that tell him Galahad might be happier without him in God's welcoming grace. But he still hates God on behalf of every Galahad that's suffered, and wishes there was a poison to infect divinity. "You know, my first friend here -- or my second, they came so close together -- he told me that God is a jokester, whose wit is beyond our understanding. We're all sure to die before ever approaching the punchline. But what punchline would be worth it? What divine plan could make any of us laugh, and excuse all the suffering it took to complete it? The Grail was at Corbenic all along?"