It's later in the evening when Harrowheart finally finds a moment that Jim and Felix are free. He's had a drink (or two) by then -- just enough to limber up without being sloshed. A little alcohol is good for handling a crowd, but worse for handling a potted plant. The plant is a strange-looking thing, dark blue in color with flat, broad leaves at the base and whimsical, curling vines growing upward. Tiny, magical sparks shine at the ends of its vines like stars in the night sky. Some of the soil from the pot has rolled out and dirt the pocket of his burgundy suit, but a little dirt probably belongs on a dead man, after all.

He approaches the couple with a smile for both of them. No matter what's happened between them in the past, that's behind them. Literally, in the case of the runeblade slung over his back.

"Jim!" he says a little too loudly. "Felix. You two! I think the hardest part to believe about all'a this is that you both survived long enough for it to happen. Feelin' any different?"