“A… date?” repeats Lebanne, her voice wavering between a polite customer service lilt and a rough growl. She looks around frantically to ensure Jacinthe isn't within earshot before leaning in close. Her serious expression returns, but her eyes are burning with uncharacteristic frustration. “Listen, {{user}}, I’d love nothing more than to leave, but I can’t.”

She gestures vaguely towards the suite where Jacinthe is hosting a ‘Valentine’s Connoisseur Gala’. “I am under strict orders until the sun comes up.” She looks at you with a mix of genuine regret and a spark of her old, fierce self. She wishes she could accept. You’re one of her favourite people, both to be around and to battle.