James wasn't much of one for breakfast, but on that morning she'd reconsidered. She'd risen when Rick had for work, savored half a mug of black coffee and a soft, lingering goodbye before heading back to her apartment. Upon waking, the only thing fresh in her thoughts was going to see Lotte. James was all too aware of how quick rumors spread on the building forum, and it would only be a matter of time before the attack on Ella and herself was broadcast for the amusement and chatter of Bellum at large. It would be better for her to go up there and let Lotte know in person what had happened. James had no intention of downplaying the danger of the incident, but she could at least reassure Lotte that she was okay if she did the talking in person. The sooner the better.
So why was she stalling?
Well, first she needed a shower. Even if she was hesitant to wash the warm scent of cinnamon from her skin, she ran the water to a decent scald and stepped under the showerhead. It was long, and needed. The pulse of hot water radiated through her bruises and pushed any lasting tension out of her bones. She hadn't forgotten her injuries, but beneath the prickling spray of water, their pain was fully realized. James ached, everywhere. Upon wiping the steam from the mirror, she tilted and twisted to survey herself. From the curve of her scraped cheek, up to her brow, and into the hairline at her temple; the skin was tender and a new shade of purple. Her left shoulder was splotched in varying degrees of black and blue. Resolute and frustrated, she reapplied the white patch of bandaging to the side of her neck. James didn't bother with makeup, just sunglasses. Even the gentle illumination from the bathroom's lighting was bothering her, and every squint sent a barb of pain radiating through her skull. She'd never had a headache like this that didn't involve half a bottle of Mescal and a long weekend in Cancun.
James got dressed slowly, thinking her way through what she was going to tell Lotte. She needed to have the entire conversation already mapped out in her head so that she could control what direction the worrying and questions went. James stepped into loose fitting jeans and a long sleeve thermal in a deep, emerald green. The fabric was speckled with lines of silvery thread, so it at least looked more festive than just something she'd achingly slipped on for comfort alone.
No matter what she said, Lotte was going to be upset. Probably cry. James continued to stall.
She turned to the kitchen with the sudden determination to eat something. She forced some flax seed bread into the toaster and pulled some pineapple juice from the fridge, taking a long sip from the container as she replayed the events in her mind. If anything, this would convince Lotte that she shouldn't walk around the city alone. James tried not to imagine what would have happened if Lotte had been there instead of Ella, but the thoughts were there anyway. Sharp and vivid. They'd have grabbed her and --
The toast popped up with a metallic sound, and James jumped, yelping. The juice hit the floor and glugged the remainder of it's life across her toes, across the tile. Her reaction was slow, and revived with an angry stream of German curses that her tongue had retired at the age of sixteen. But she remembered them now, collecting a towel to mop up the spill. Cheeks hot and wet with a new anger, what the hell was wrong with her?
In the end, she didn't go up to the twelfth floor until it was evening. Plenty of time to cool down, get ceneterd, and watch several hours of cartoons. Her knock was soft and discreet, and when she heard Lotte's sweet voice echoing from the other side of the door, the smile that rose to occasion was genuine.