Harrow. There's a moment of panic as Felix spins on his heel, a mite unsteadily. Way too late to stop Jim beelining for the death knight even if he could. He can see the tip of the hilt over Harrow's back - his gaze is always drawn there - but he looks away before he can catch sight of the blue glow that seems to pass for the runeblade's eyes. There's a moment, as he mumbles his excuses to the apothecary he's talking with, that Felix could make his escape. Could turn and disappear into the crowd. Harrow might (might) be offended and Jim would be disappointed in him later but could they really blame him?

And yet he's still standing there. Long enough that Jim's calling out to him and the awkwardness registers in his own mildly sozzled brain. They're hosts. They're husbands. He can't snub a guest, can't leave his definitely more soused partner to face this alone even though he really wants to bolt.

But he can't. And oh. Oh yes, he had a plan in case this happened. Felix reaches back and tugs up the hood lying tucked unseen into his collar. It's made of shadow-grey silk, soft as a whisper as he pulls it over his head. There. Some protection, he hopes. Felix arranges a charming smile on his face and strolls closer in time to catch Harrow's question.

"I suppose you aren't the only one who'd be surprised," he remarks, smile twitching a little. "Hard to say if this-" he reaches out to touch Jim's arm- "feels any different. It's just more... official now."