Gellert fought the automatic urge to take a small step back when Roxie began stripping off her clothes, revealing a covering that was less than underwear--less than the chemises, corsets, camisoles, and petticoats of even the woman of illest repute. Gellert was not blind; he supposed it had always been clear that the women of the future wore much less beneath their clothing than they had at the dawn of the twentieth century. Of course, at Durmstrang they had primarily swum naked, but that had been all boys, and a common-enough practice for the time. Swimsuits were reserved for more mixed company.
But this was far more revealing than a woman's swimsuit. It was not that Gellert was offended, really--it was a bit refreshing, to see that by Roxie's time people had released some of their reservations regarding modesty and propriety. It was simply unexpected.
"I regret that I do not own a swimsuit of my own," Gellert said as he followed her toward the edge of the water, debating whether she wished him to avert his eyes or not and deciding that no one pranced around in such clothing who did not want to be seen in it. He held her gaze and then, after a moment, simply dashed into the water after her. The first hit of cold was exhilarating, spinning through his nerves and making his mind feel fresh and clear.
He grinned. "You're right. It's perfect." Deciding he was deep enough, Gellert let himself fall back, crashing into the water and letting himself slip under its surface, the cold pressure enveloping him on all sides.