"Don't ye talk to me like that, Jamie Madrox," she shot back. "Ye're the one that took me out, remember?" Okay, she might have goaded him into it, but he didn't have to take the bait. She ran her fingers through her hair, wincing at the pulling on her sensitive skull as her fingers caught the tangles. She watched Jamie stumble over to her, torn between being annoyed and amused. "D'ye do this much? Get drunk, I mean. 'Cause ye don't seem like it."
She handed over the jacket and shuddered at the thought of the mysterious homeless foot-fetish man. “Ugh. Well, he can keep ‘em, I don't have shoes nice enough to fight a pervert for.” She shielded her eyes and looked up at the sun. “What time d'ye think it is? We should get inside before someone finds us out here and assumes the worst, yeah? Torid gossip material, and all that.” Despite her words, she grinned at him, still a little too woozy to make any effort to get off her lounge chair.