angryhearts | closed;

WHO: Sam Wilson and Commander Shepard

WHAT: she told him they never did anything nice :|

WHEN: after everyone's back at the hotel

WHERE: the pool area

NOTES: none so far!

Look, between Mad March, watching Shepard fall from the clutches of the giant bird, and getting pretty banged up fighting another monster with Jet - yeah, the end of the camping trip could have been better. He's just thankful Aziraphale was there to heal him, and he didn't end up sent off to wherever the hell others who were badly injured did.

Anyway, the point is, he's ready for some R&R. And even though it'd just been dumb banter between the two of them, and he's pretty sure that Shepard thought he was joking - well. He's setting up a candlelight dinner for them anyway.

It's not in his room, since, well. His room isn't exactly fit for the kind of atmosphere he's going, but still. The pool area is big enough that it'd been easy to find an area tucked out of the way, and it's practically deserted in the night. No one had stopped him from taking a tablecloth from the fine dining place and draping it over the outdoor table, or from lining candles all along the small edge of the pool nearby to go along with the ones on the table.

The staff hadn't let him back into the kitchen to cook, which is unfortunate. But they'd at least let him put in requests, so it's something. The bar had been much more willing to let him leave with a variety of alcohol and mixers, so hey, at least he can play bartender for a bit.

He'd asked Shepard to meet him down here at 8, and he's just finishing lighting the last of the candles when it rolls around.

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Eight o'clock and the sun was setting, casting a rich violet glow over all the world. It would have been romantic, except that the sun had been setting for about the last seventy-two hours and, to all appearances, would continue to be doing so for the rest of all eternity. Shepard had never been on the surface of a tidally-locked planet before, but she knew they weren't temperate, so whatever the hell it was that made it always twilight here...

...Well, it was a little creepy, excellent mood-lighting or otherwise.

And when Sam had asked her down here she'd been expecting almost anything else. A debrief, maybe, though if she'd thought about it a bit more she'd have imagined something more like a drunken bitching session. This was... Candlelight and fancy hor d'oeuvres and white tablecloths paired with a setting for two. Private. Cozy

Romantic?

"...Uhh..." Shepard was stopped at the door. She wasn't dressed for black tie, was indeed wearing nothing fancier than a cotton tee, emblazoned with the stylized A of the System's Alliance, "...What's all this?"

If it helps, Sam isn't exactly wearing anything fancy, either. He can pull off a suit with the best of them, but he's more comfortable in jeans and a dark green button up.

He grins when he spots her, and it only turns a little bit sheepish when she gives him a what the hell? kind of response?

"I'm pretty sure I promised you a candlelit dinner."

"Did you now?" She's still confused, but it's edging towards that smile, there in the corners of her eyes, and the bemused tilt of her chin, "I guess you did."

She has only the vaguest memory of any such promise, really. But after another moment's lingering in the doorway, seems to give it up for unimportant and crosses the open floor to meet him.

"I've seen some weird shit, but... I've never been asked out mid-combat before."

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sorry this took so long. brain turn into a cheese this past week