#date night at olive gardennnn

[grief-worn]

@ferinehuntress sent: "There's this Italian restaurant I managed to book a table at, if you're still keen on going on a proper date."

Now, more than ever, Shadowheart finds herself lost in her own mind. She's always preferred to swim through heads, not water. If not other people's heads, she'd drown in her own; a spirit of wanderlust at heart, maybe. Normally, she reins this in fast, but with recent developments in her own life, in her own faith, there's rarely a moment where she isn't staring off into space. Poor timing, she knows. There's no shortage of danger, and it seems the list of people wanting their heads on a spike grows longer by the hour. But can you really blame her?

She's the victim of a ruthless tug-of-war: between the volcanic upheaval of her own identity, and the sugar-sweet fantasy of young and vigorous love.

Karlach Cliffgate. An unlikely ally from the deepest recesses of Avernus, and now the object of each and every one of Shadowheart's desperate, yearning affections. Everything that isn't Karlach feels numb and lifeless, and the former Sharran treads a dangerous tightrope that teeters over total helplessness. Shadowheart is far from an obsessive lover, but she feels great tides of emotion all the same, and had she not trained ceaselessly in the art of the divine poker face, she'd of lost all her marbles after their first kiss.

Tonight is a rare treat. Quiet, almost boring. The group is resting for the day after a gruesome foray with the Steel Watch Foundry, and Shadowheart is perched casually in her little nook. Book in hand, and eyes intently focused on the printed text. She hasn't turned a single page in quite some time, though. Absolutely none of the information has reached her, and she doesn't even notice the seven feet of hulking barbarian until she's speaking out loud.

"Huh?" White locks of soft fall from her eyes as she gazes upward, her face already warm from Karlach's voice alone. "… restaurant?" Words that had initially passed right through her ears is replayed, and a dawning realization crests over her smile.

"Ah, you're serious?" Her book is quickly discarded and she's on her feet, scrambling to a stand, needing to steady herself with palms pressed to Karlach's midsection. So, so, hot, yet her skin is unharmed. The miraculous result of hard-work and an ass-load of infernal iron. "You mean — a date now? Tonight?" Oh Gods above, she'd need to get properly dressed, and fix her hair, and take several baths, and she still has that ugly bandage on her arm, and —

"You couldn't have given me more of an advanced notice? Karlach …" She's smiling, though. All bright teeth, with a silly sway to her step, she's a woman utterly entranced.